A dream, another bloody dream. Give us a minute and we’ll
Half a minute in the water was enough. My mind was all
get this over and done with, no questions asked. The important
set up to stay, but my body had different ideas. Even before we
thing to remember is that there was a double-bass player. I say
could get a debate going my legs were moving elsewhere. And
that – and yet I never saw him with a double-bass. Instead he
I was not the only one with renegade limbs. There were few
held a cardboard cut-out of himself: hips exaggerated and stomach
ankles able to withstand the perils of the icy sea; not whilst
underplayed. For practical reasons his innards were revealed, the
the choice was firmly in their feet. Arriving back on the sand,
strings of this irregular stand-in being his vocal chords, which
however, we were all surprised to see that a komodo dragon had
duly released a small spray of blood with every tuneful twang: a
wandered onto the beach in our absence. Currently allowing its
two-part harmony of sound and vision. Accompanying him was a
long tongue to slither over the remains of a mint choc-ice, the
pianist without a piano. He played a naked woman instead:
animal gave the distinct impression that its hunger was by no
a veritable Venus of Urbino laid out on a mahogany table, soft
means satisfied. So we escaped, with relief, into the icy
to the touch and delicately tuned. Her range was limited, but
clutches of the sea, where we remained for a while. Later on
they played a simple piece, with the eyes’ banquet safely
we swam up to a rock. Finding it to be inhabited by another
absolving all limitations. The steady repetition of two notes
dragon, we soon left. We swam to another rock. Again we
turned out to be very soothing. I can’t remember the drummer.
left. We swam from rock to rock until the night fell upon us.
(Pierre Monceau and Jean-Pierre Sertin)
