Breaking the rules of Scarborough...
Lin Lin Lin. Always the same. Always something new.
There was one late August many a years ago. Perhaps there was again the same crime in human history. War or love? Always the same. Always the latest news. Just like history itself played out every game through any and each heart. Imagine if true love could prove that the searches for signs ought to be a rule. Just like Tina Turner knew that kind of love – and it would be? The same rule obeyed all over and again. Playing by the shame. And over an again in history Mankind tried to stick to true love, but seemed to fail over and over. Then came Modernism and the New Epoch creeping in and anything about love searched its own law. Rule or fool of love? Marriags seemed to be a new kind of option, to choose the ”correct” one. Break all the rules just to figure out what there is behind the screen of Hollywood. Kisses for real? Kisses for fun? Or your first kiss as your first sign? In Räppe there was a place for young people to meet. Drink. Dance. Search for a bed to go to, but most of them forgot to bring out their token. Only one night´s sleep. Only the rest on an arm. Something lousy, but not regarded as a crime anylonger. Modernism had a promise to the world: YOU CAN BE YOUR OWN AND ACT UPON YOUR OWN RULE!!!
But the signs of the depressed, the sad, the broken down was everywhere left. The schizofrenic people began seeing outside the box, they were all true in seeing visions from their own heaven, the spheres of Plato or Pluto. Lin in this had her vision but gave them a slumber in the womb of null, just to escape...Being someone very special meant that anyone could search that very special heart. A nun at womb she hid her snake in there, a kundalini Devil as a matter of fact. And it gave her no court of justice, but screwed her brain with thoughts...That´s how her signsystems began giving her a full screen all over town. My hometown. Bruce Springsteen´s hometown...
Lin went for it. The ´it` having no proof but the token in it. No action was needed. No making love...Only faith of the Lord was to protect her. Lin had both a curse and a protection above her. The sin of Mankind could only be swept away by a sign in Scarborough.
It was a call heard from the attic of North Yorkshire. A cry from madness of that old book. Famous it was. Back in her hometown (be it a city?) Lin could hear a yell, a cry, a tone, a sad voice that crept out from the spheres of Scarborough. And that very song...”Are you going to Scarborough fair? Please make me a cambric shirt, with no seam nor needlework, then you shall be a true love of mine…” And many an odd strangers had heard that music, but few heard the call from the attic, cause they came to North Yorkshire more of love, in search of it, than in search for the call of madness... Although Lin could hear her seven voices, and tones from colours of the Rainbow still she was as innocent as a child, or a young brat girl. Only a mad woman could go in search for the call of what the inner voice itself said. Make me a shirt spun of silk of velvet of kisses and pleasure alone.
Oh to Lin all kinds of culture had that voice, a touch of magic. We can all hear it, see it, sense it, tune into it… anytime as a matter of fact.
Deep in every core of every heart is hidden a well, and in that well a sign...However!
The odd thing is that we search for different signs. As Lin was madly in love with a sign she search for her Aries truth. All over the place! Everywhere. In attic basement tapes choirs and tunes and all that jazz!
A sign is reaching out with its Uranius forces from the Water-bearer´s signsystem. All over the place.
The mad thing about madness it that you can hear the tone all over the town, but...The odd thing is that certain cities have more of truth for different reasons. A town has its own chord in accordance with symbols. You can see signs everywhere, but you cannot find them everywhere. To go on a journey means you can become a philosopher, in your own respect for that matter. Berlin? Tokyo? London? Stockholm? Barcelona? Växjö? Scarborough? New York? Boston? Minneapolis?
Oh signsystem do not obey the rule of the false one. Oh sign do not obey the traveller if it be false longing. Only a true mission on earth can give us truth. If for a lie you search a sign then comes around the bend a kind of falling apart. How many journeys do we have to go on before we find out that our own feet took us on the tour ?...The sole feet went for the road itself, and destiny obeys all rules if your sign play out themselves along the way.
Lin had to go to Scarborough for many and one reasons.
She came into town one dizzy afternoon. Her hostage (eh well – host?) family met her, took her to their home. She looked at houses shimmering glimmering roofs wet streets mystery each and all. Modernism was a game that had to be over. Is it over yet. Modernism gave us all signsystems of the earth and madness fell at our own hearts. We could go to say think sleep fuck do anything. One town strived for moral. The other for sex. One town strived for studies and the rest for codes. Conduct?
Lin had parents who had brought her up to stand in the affair of her own words. But words somehow drove her confused and a bit mad…To rule your own mind? Or being ruled by a sign?
Bid it to sit by your side? Did it bid salutes to follow in her pathway? Because of one sign of silence Lin followed it. ”Hallo darkness my old friend, I´ve come to talk of you again. Because a vision softly creeping, left it signs when I was sleeping.” Madness? In your deepest sleep you dream your visions. And at nights the signs play on all we have. Better to wake up, meet the morning, unfold your dreams of longing and there – by the light of dawn you hear silence talks ! Words of whisper.
Down all way to Brittany, up too North Yorkshire. How can a quizz hold its sign in the mirror of the pond? How can the quizz itself be the rule to be followed? A quizz want an answer and only a true sign can give a faithful response. Whereto? From where?
Are you going to Scarborough? That is the quizz Lin went for. Did she say yes? Did she shiver to her bones to just get down her own spine for the chakra-wheel? Oh no, but then again…
A snake of the kundalini wheel brought out stuff from her mad mind. In search of one and the only? Be it love? Be it truth? Be it faith? How odd and queer …
She had never been madly in love. Her love was a longing for solidarity… Lin´s love for human understanding meant that love, peace and understanding meant more to her emotions than a simple affair that was a summer short something…
That late August dwelled into her with apples and swell weather. I a classroom of Scarborough. The weather brought about senses and the senses brought out false wisdom in that classroom where Lin wanted to study English. A yorkshire accent was fun and special. An accent was very special. A kind of Scottish, perhaps maybe not. The one? The one sign? A word...And the class began.
Everybody was thrilled with an Italian lady speaking Media and Media Industry. Lin was not. Media was too many symbols, and as such nothing to go for. A ripped off cloak of rhetoric was from now on Lin´s own object of study. The cloak of rhetoric has no seam nor any needle work. It my be clad on the Devil, an Emperor or a hippie freak. Anyone can rip off symbols from that cloak of wisdom. But a lie is still a lie if it lay in the mouth of the false one. So many words and so much to say… Lin wanted another cloak. And yes.
That gown has no seam if a lawyer proves to be proud of his work. A work that has the trial of truth to be thought upon. Lin went to that courtroom with her class. The teacher Mrs J followed the students. And the lawyer dressed up for the trial. Lin fell into awe and that awe brought her to a quizz and suddenly all fell in places. The gown has to be born of words. And words be flesh. And words came about in the Lord´s hand as he held his speech. It was in that courtroom.
Spin on me spin on me again…
Signs make us confused. Now the school, the law, the courtroom, the teachers and students – all went together into one in Lin´s brain. But one and the one only combined all aspects into unity. At that point all way through the one sign sought after began playing out itself through mind, spirit, soul and – perhaps the body. In Scarbourough my dearest I came to see you. Perhaps as my one and true one. I met her, my fraud. And a foul play in that classroom tried to play my poker face out into the open. My enemies robbed – or tried to – rob my heart and turn it into ashes. My Scarborough was my Lord and he be my name. My name be my lust and my lust my pain…
A trial in the court would have proved me free. My one true sign made people go for madness, that voice in the attic. Be my fraud my dear! My love be my lust.
An intertext within literature sneak into each tradition. So how can we see splendid from brilliant? And brilliant from mediocre? If all touch upon all the one and true sign might be crammed within overflood of sentences. God has a trial at the very core of our heart. Lin had be tried by justice in the classroom of Scarborough. Are you the one? And as everyone thought she had beliefs of her own they became thiefs of words. Stole her sayings. Stole her letters, and letters alone. Signs down to the bitter sciences of language tried to follow a new course of history. But then!
A holy city must be asked for you to give your one heart as a pawn in the game. Lin gave away her heart to the teacher. She saw no other escape. That turned Lin into a scapegoat of Scarborough, the city that held her shirt to be…
Many a cold and lonely nights back in Växjö Lin still heard that chord and that tone of the spinning ecliptica of the solar system. Aries at heart. Cancer in emotion. Saturn in Scorpio. When visiting Nort Yourkshire Pluto came to crash down her false friends but went for the core of Lin´s deepest sin. And she had her trial in a stuffy room on the bottom Floor. Brit-oh-lang shall last for long because of crime´s punishment. To punish another heart means that the mobber tries to pick the signs from a true one. But the wheel of the universe keep on rolling. ”Left a good job in the city. Proud Mary keeps a´rolling, rolling on the river...”
Proud Mary was the faithful one, given a name of truth. Somewhere in an old people´s home she is sitting. Like a ship. Like a sail. Like a proof of old age. Proud Mary, a true Christian who was the only one who took Lin under her wings. The rest? Their wings wanted to fly high above Lin – and they did. Cause down on earth they could not find her pragmatic and Swedish role.
Lin was of Sicilian and Slavic ancestry. Pragmatic signs she knew not. But in search of the one shirt it came to clad her in her rhetoric cloak. Perhaps it was stolen from the courtroom of trials. No seam has ever touched upon her worldly love. That she was raped at seventeen came to drive her into voices of madness. And that foul way to having been fooled proves nothing in the end. Raping the virginity of the of the hips is not always the worst. That high up ladies raped her true heart was worse than anything. And by being raped at heart she stole something in the drawer of wisdom. The drawer of poetrie hold it all. To steal but the cloak is odd. But could it be given a heart with no studies? Maybe, perhaps not.
It spins and spins again. The token of that city. And to stroll into the language of the English language means Lin can walk far. Clad in the cloak of rhetoric. It has no seam, but is woven out of artistic pleasure. And that is also a kind of lust in the end...Art for art´s sake!!!