Featuring IMP-(p)roved audio (and IMP-posed (F)Annie-Mae shone), this is the “Simply Not Cricket(s)”/<<Anniversary Edition>> of Patrick Branwell Brontë’s, juvenilia-jarring, jotting :
More moor-stone than stoner, sad Spook speaks Manna-mannered memorial monolith monologue, ANGELically DEMON(ca)strating eight-year-old Alex(sl)anderPercy’s Technique via PBB and this, his, (h)oriDjinnal Hanoverian hexed text of November 17 1835 :
Mama, I have seen the Angels – I was playing the organ at the Church. It was quite dark. I had only a candle by me. I shuddered and felt a coldness in my cheeks. I could hardly see the page and had to gasp for breath. I was going to cry and looked back hastily. I – I – saw them in the dark, standing just at my back, quite white and very high. They reached to the roof and looked down on me smiling like spirits. There were a great many of them and one had his hand on the seat behind me. It pointed its finger to the paper on the keyboard and the others waved their wings impatiently. I – I – couldn’t speak – so – I began to play and played far better than ever I did before, but I don’t know what I did. They all sighed and stooped down their heads from high – white and solemn.
Wind Turbines high upon the hill,
They’re turning you against yourselves,
You claim Brontës,
Would not want these,
But you’ve never met them,
So let them alone.
‘phone the Press,
Detail your distress,
Sup on your over-priced cream teas.
Still searchin’ for lost victories,
Quote and then be smote,
They’re not the words YOU wrote.
Indicative of the finest workmanship, this charming early-twenties rendering of the
renowned nineteenth century northern purveyor of diatribes and discipline, is one of
only two surviving instances of the pioneering Kuttenpazt style.
Notorious, in later “Life“, as the ~ Culprit in the Pulpit ~ , the Neverend Willsoon, erstwhile
alleged Satanist, possible botanist and proven flaybottomist is arguably best remembered
as the proudly portly, simpering, simmering Simeon Smockleburst in “Ain’ There” – Cur Rebel’s stirring tale of ferish fetishes, incendiary service and wild(-child) abandonment.
Featured here in wassocky cassock ; and much mirth.
Opening bids expected in the region of Bayswater, however multiple fivers and
“favours” will be accepted from N.E. Biddy.