The London Pigeon Wars by Patrick Neate

Author:Patrick Neate [Neate, Patrick]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Horror, General, Fiction
ISBN: 9780141922355
Google: ad7LVF7vAzkC
Amazon: B002RI9JIW
Goodreads: 231790
Publisher: Penguin
Published: 2002-12-31T11:00:00+00:00

14

What goes up must come down

Do you object if I take a ninety from the narrative thrust and detach myself like a sulky coochie from the flock (who's just dropped the squirmiest squirm into the reservoirs at Barnes, say, or lost the handsomest geez to some harlot rival with no charms but a coy coochie coo) ? After all, I never set myself up as a war historian, chronicler of chaos or top-storey storyteller so this process is as novel to me as it is no such thing to most niks. And that is imprecisely my point.

In the aftermath of consciousness, it is no surprise that the more cerebral geezs – if you can use such an adjective of a vanitarious species with acorns for brains – looked to nik knowledge for explanations of the here and now (which had, of course, before Trafalgar, been indistinguishable from the there and then and the where and when too). I have already said that ‘consciousness is a blessing in disguise’ but, the way I scope it, the niks know that better than anybirdy – or at least did so once upon a time – and that's the verity.

Consciousness is as raw as the Thames at Tilbury in a November nighttime so no wonder they dress it up in all kinds of winter woollies. Let me illuminate it like this (and nuts to the niks because I can be a feisty fuckster given the right thermal to think upon): do you peep more about a peepnik from his thoughts or his threads (and I'm not just beaking about his logos but his logoi too: the stories that he tells about himself, that are told about him, that unravel in his every gesture and affectation) ? It's his threads, right? So cash savouries conceal themselves behind high walls in Hampstead as surely as streetnik desperadoes conceal themselves like genies in Bethnal Green bottles and poor blaxens slide past questions with more questions (like, ‘You think I give a shit?) while city slicksters slide past answers by sliding CDs into multichanger car stereos that provide other answers (like, ‘All you need is love, doobedoobedoo’).

If memory is about fear and fear is about loss then most niks have figured out or had figured out for them by a collective unconscious (and isn't that a phrase that illuminates pinpointedly?) that the easiest solution to the hazards of now, then and even when is to forget and the very first thing to forget is how to think. And that is to say, therefore (as the loquacious coochie Gunnersbury might have it), that, in this city, the prognosis for peepniks is procrastination; to forget exactly what it was that made them niks in the first place. So what am I saying? I'm saying don't look down on me from your comfy cumulus when I tell you that us pigeons proved ourselves to be just the same. After all, we've got threads of our own. We're a feathered species so it's no wonder we're feather-brained.

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