The Curdling of Louche
Dear neighbours, further to our investigations last night into just when it was that the tender young Louche was ‘turned’, deviated, and/or corrupted from the fresh-faced youth he was, from the path chosen for him by his really very nice and normal parents (trombone abuse notwithstanding) and into the aberrant if suave mouth-piece of all that calls out from the deepest river of your dreams…
Behold the evidence. This first poem was written by the pristine Louche-child, we guess to be at around the age of 6 or 7, in, we may imagine, an outpouring of innocent wonder and awe at the glorious nature of the world around him:
“Fireworks Fireworks bang bang bang.
They are pretty.
They Sparkle in the night.
Thhey spray some colours
They light the sky.
They are golden.
Whizz whizz they go.
The Catherine wheel gose round.
They spray a rash of stars in The dark.”
The next piece from the pen of young Louche was written when I had reached the tender age of 11, published in the Edward’s Hall School Magazine. It seems clear at this point that… something has changed. The piece is entitled simply ‘Nightmare’:
In case you are struggling to read it, the text reads thusly (annotated):
“Hideous beasts lurch over me, ready to devour me, their distorted faces grinning evilly at me, their lipless mouths quiver
(phrase stolen lock, stock and barrel from HG Wells’ War Of The Worlds)
while saliva drips from their shining teeth. One of them roars valiantly as if to claim his meal…. me! After driving the others away it moves closer. Suddenly I feel the sensation of its razor-like teeth sinking into my now bloody flesh. But I have woken up now, it was a dream. All is different all except the distorted shadow outside my window!!!
(note irritating overuse of exclamation marks, a fan of hyperbole even then)
But wait… I am still asleep, still trapped in the twisted dimension of my nightmare! Now the shadow has gone and I am in an entirely different room. It has no doors or windows, and is painted white. Suddenly the room begins to close around me….. the walls are getting closer…. closer!! Suddenly my nerves snap and I fall to the floor – helpless! I look up; a thick forest surrounds me. I hear a scream! I look round….. a gigantic cross befronts me!
(nope, ‘befronts’ is not a real word. neologism at the age of 11!)
Suddenly it bursts into flames and blood drips off the ends!! I can stand it no longer….. I scream in mental pain! Only to find myself sitting upright in bed panting like a dog. The nightmare is in the back of my mind now…. and there it will stay until tonight!”
(I say again, Louche age ELEVEN)
The rot was in, it appears, by the time ‘Nightmare’ -or ‘Night Mayor’ (a title of which I would gladly accept the chains of office) appeared in print. So, we can assume that between the ages of 6 and 11 s o m e t h i n g h a p p e n e d . . . but what…?
Sadly neighbours, we may never know…