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The Curvature of Certainty
The Curvature of Certainty
The Curvature of Certainty
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The Curvature of Certainty

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It is in the nature of the human condition to experience a “life” which ultimately culminates in an ill defined and poorly understood state of being known as “death”. The only solace life seems to offer us is that, at least up until death, we may look back upon it.

Although the transition from a “life” state of being to a “death” state of being tends to be associated with huge sadness and trepidation, it is above all else its inevitability which makes us what we are...

The certainty of our ultimate transition can be ignored in the course of a busy, stressful, exploitative life, but in the home straight it is an equaliser beyond compare or reproach...

LanguageEnglish
Release dateFeb 25, 2014
ISBN9781311816689
The Curvature of Certainty
Author

Deacon Martin

Deacon Martin is a writer, director, comedian, musician, and actor from Bristol, United Kingdom.

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    Book preview

    The Curvature of Certainty - Deacon Martin

    The Curvature of Certainty

    Further writings from a disordered mind.

    Deacon Martin

    Illustrations: Julia

    copyright Deacon Martin / ecrp 2009

    Smashwords Edition, License Notes

    This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

    ....another East Coast Road Production

    www.ecrp.co.uk

    Road House

    59-61 Abington Avenue

    Northampton NN1 4PB

    curvature@ecrp.co.uk

    The Curvature of Certainty

    or

    Sob Story

    Contents

    Introduction

    After Henry

    Emotion

    Rennes

    the Eye of the Hurricane

    the Common Understanding (patois)

    the Wail

    Return Curve, Real Time

    Letter Home

    Letter to Hettie

    Rare Privilege

    other

    Introduction

    It is in the nature of the human condition to experience a life which ultimately culminates in an ill defined and poorly understood state of being known as death. The only solace life seems to offer us is that, at least up until death, we may look back upon it.

    Although the transition from a life state of being to a death state of being tends to be associated with huge sadness and trepidation, it is above all else its inevitability which makes us what we are…

    The certainty of our ultimate transition can be ignored in the course of a busy, stressful, exploitative life, but in the home straight it is an equaliser beyond compare or reproach…

    After Henry

    After the old man died my back locked up big time. Hilarious really. Couldn’t move properly for months. It had been a little suspect before I left for the funeral, and I had pushed it a little harder than usual just to keep up appearances but I hadn’t expected this kind of trouble.

    Managed to keep it under control for most of the stay with the family but got drugged up for the flight home. By the time the plane got to Heathrow I could hardly stand or sit or walk. I was locked pretty solid. Naturally, for the first time (in my experience), none of the conveyor walkways were operating. I had to drag my useless butt through those endless tunnels from the plane to the baggage collection, then from there through the customs and ID controls, and then down to the underground to pick up the train to Acton Town, dragging the frigging suitcase and shoulder bag the whole way.

    By the time I got off the train, the pain was beginning to move down my legs. Jane picked me up and helped me clamber in and out of the car, but I couldn’t stay long at theirs. I was dreading the 2 hour drive home, but, wanting desperately to get it over with as soon as ever possible, I dragged the bags out to the old van, hauled my carcass into the driver’s seat, and set off.

    Driving was actually significantly easier than walking. Grating nerve ends with each gear change, but no significant lifting. Reached home and dragged my wasted self and clobber into the house and immediately headed for bed.

    ...only to discover yet another tortuous irony. Bed, that delusional goal of the last day and a half, was just another trap. I couldn’t get comfortable but every move, every millimetre of re-adjustment was associated with lightning-strike, creasing agony.

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