{ ... }

 

۞

  Many years later, or was it earlier, no chronology, no chapter, remember?  Tulpa workèd for the newspaper down from the Opera.  She had been offerèd the job as a subber, sub-editor, since moving away from her surrogate father, Llugnurgus, to London.  

  Tulpa's apartment was in Islington.  It suitèd her.  Not too long in the underground to get across to The Grand, the newspaper, her new employer.  

  Tulpa registerèd the streets of Islington just once, maybe twice, for satisfaction.  The rest of the time she went up and down those London streets her gaze was cast to the gemmèd azure above her.  Ireland had come to no longer be her captor.  Llugnurgus, her surrogate father had instructèd her.  Of course, she was adept at Cyrillic, and most of the other alphabets.  It was that sort of knowledge that had made the impression on The Grand Editor, who was helpless to employ her.  

  “A satisfactory answer … ” he had told her, as he welcomèd her.  

  {a firm handshake}  

  That night, after her induction, she thought about her colleagues.  One of her fellow subbers was a Cockney gent called William Quincy.  

  °William Quincy, anyone?° thought Tulpa, as if there could have been anyone else to occupy her.  

  Tulpa was years and ages older.  Her rose was growing colder.  She ponderèd a lover.  She never had had any from a celebrity of the likes of someone callèd William Quincy.  Qavanagh, QC.  Queen's council.  

  °Something appealing to me° Tulpa thought with intrigue, as if she was crossing a sea, in waves, towards William.  

  William Quincy was like fire to her.  She lit up a smoke, and drew on the elements because she felt cold.  She always drew on the elements when she felt her rose growing colder.  

  °The voyeur is in the voyeur of the beholder° she thought, about the media.  °And beauty beholds a rose growing older.  I'm not growing any younger without a lover° she thought.  

  Tulpa felt the cool menthol from the cigarette acquiesce with her aery libido.  

  Tulpa's chest rose gently and fell swiftly with an intercessory exhalation.  

  Things had suddenly got very very exciting for Tulpa.  She read-and-read what was written in her diary, as she did, repetitively, like the good editor and divider of truth that she was.  

  °Prive … ° she thought.  

  {turning pages}  

  °I'd settle for William Quincy, Qavanagh QC anyday, especially on a Sunday, because I'm lonely° thought Tulpa.  °He's my kind of celebrity.  Is celebrity idolatry to a Catholic such as me?°  

  IT READ:  

  Geomantic Notaçion for an Haiku

*****

*******

*****

A Tanka, by Tulpa  

Do I fall in love?

Everyone at school: female

A boy should call me?

To him, my virginity

His cock, my virginity

  {musingly}  

  {closing her diary}  

  It was a very old entry.  

۝