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APRIL 2013

(RESPONSORIAL FARM)

Gadabout Press, April ed., 2013 !
FOREWORD

Hello.

As you may know, the Gadabout Press was founded on the ethos of response to
the work of others – no mere compilation of private pieces, but a community
which lives on paying attention to fellow artists and engaging with them.

For this edition, I extended the brief with the stipulation “No essays – instead,
let's have creative responses”. That way, I figured it might be a bit more
entertaining for the casual reader, but also interesting for the less casual reader
to try and trace the influences. There is certainly a great deal of intertextuality
here, some just created and some intertwining in that great web of signifiers,
Literature.

It has been fascinating for me to see just how differently each contributor has
been “inspired”, and quite how radical some of the departures have been. Indeed,
because most Gadabouters know each other, nay, have even spoken to each other
face to face, and know each other's extant work, some of the following has the
feel of an in-joke, or a private language. Please don't be fazed by this, or dismiss
either the author or your capacity to read: fun is to be had puzzling over the
references, and in the sheer exuberance for linguistic activity.

Further excitement can be derived from the non-linguistic offerings within. One
of the many benefits of an electronic journal, which we are only just beginning to
discover, is the ability to include multimedia, and hyperlink to external resources.
This PDF is a hub which can open out on many roads, and hopefully in the future
we can extend this principle and explore what it means for inter- and intra-
textuality. In the meantime, it's cool to have pictures and sound, and to see how
text can be translated into other forms and back again.

I must, and would like, to extend my warmest thanks to every contributor, not
only for their fantastic work but also, and mainly, for entering so gamely into the
spirit of response. It is on this basis that the Journal thrives - the Gadabout Ethos;
and it is a testament to everybody's commitment that it has been taken so
seriously and so stress-inducingly – for which, again, my thanks, appreciation,
respect and admiration.

Please enjoy irresponsibly.

James Smoker

Gadabout Press, April ed., 2013 !
CONTENTS

4 Crossword Clue
Ben Mortimer

4 A Cross Word
John Smoker re: Crossword Clue

5 A Cross-Word Clue
Ian Burrows re: Crossword Clue

22 The Lineation Club
Ben Mortimer re: A Cross Word

23 With a compressed air
Ben Mortimer re: A Cross-Word Clue

24 Cross-word? A response
Terry Moore re: all of the above

25 Odes of Convalescence from Kettering General
John Smoker

26 Of Kettering Convalescence from General Odes
Ollie Evans re: Odes of Convalescence from Kettering General

27 A response to Dylan Thomas' incitement to rage.
Terry Moore

28 Last Goodnight
Jenni Sidey re: A response to Dylan Thomas' incitement to rage.

29 Concurrence - A response to His sonnet cxvi.
Terry Moore

30 Death and the Maiden
Lizzi Mills re: Concurrence A response to His sonnet cxvi.

31 Parallel Italienisch Blots (Gabriele D'Annunzio)
Ollie Evans

32 *Mirth's Holy Show*
Ben Mortimer re: Parallel Italienisch Blots (Gabriele D'Annunzio)

32/38 Revenger's Tragedy Accompaniment
Alexandra Graham re: The Revenger's Tragedy

33 The Revenger's Tragedy
Jenni Sidey

38 First kiss
Lizzi Mills re: The Revenger's Tragedy

Gadabout Press, April ed., 2013 !
Welcome, welcome, to the third edition of the Gadabout Press.!
!
!
Our first sequence of six pieces all stem from a single, two-line poem. Ben
Mortimer got the ball rolling with this little teaser.

CROSSWORD CLUE

2 down the water
Ararmm

My grandfather, John Smoker, not particularly in the spirit of proceedings,
replied with characteristic pith:

A CROSS WORD

2 down
Bollocks!

Then, in a trademark flight of fancy, Mr Ian R Burrows concocted this monstrosity.
Efforts such as this go some way to redefining the word “inspired” so loosely that
we shall soon damn it as an Americanism and have to reinvigorate another archaic
lexical item to replace it, what. It is, however, well worth the effort. PS: It starts
on the next page.

Gadabout Press, April ed., 2013 !
A CROSS-WORD CLUE

a puppet drama

performed in supermarionation

Featuring

Sylvia Anderson, a widow

Gerry Anderson, a puppeteer; her husband

Gary Miller, a musician

THE VOICE OF GERRY ANDERSON (V/O)

Stand by for action! Anything can happen in the next half hour!

GRAMS: “Stingray” theme

FADE IN. INT. A RAMSHACKLE SUBMARINE CRAFT, INTACT WITH DUST. THE
CAMERA LINGERS A MOMENT ON THE BACK OF THE PILOT'S CHAIR, AND WE
NOTICE FIRST SOME FINGERPRINTS ON THE ARMREST AND THEN A PERSON
(GARY) SAT IN THE CHAIR. HE IS READING A NEWSPAPER.

SYLVIA ENTERS. SHE LOOKS ABOUT THE PLACE. INSCRUTABLE. SHE STARTS
WHEN SHE HEARS GARY.

GARY:
(singing)

Marina

Aqua Marina -

Why won't you say

That you'll always stay

Close to my heart?

Gadabout Press, April ed., 2013 !
HE SPINS IN THE CHAIR TO FACE HER. HE IS WEARING HIS IMPASSIVE HEAD.

SYLVIA:

The first thing is that I don't know who you are.

GARY:

I'm sorry if I scared you. I thought to get in touch when I heard
Gerry died.

SYLVIA:

I didn't say that you scared me. I said I didn't know who you are.

GARY:

Do you want to sit down? That's the co-pilot's seat right there.

SYLVIA:

I'm not decrepit.

SHE SITS IN THE CHAIR.

SYLVIA:

Your name is what again?

GARY:

I'm Gary Miller.

WE SEE SYLVIA'S UNCOMPREHENDING HEAD

Gadabout Press, April ed., 2013 !
GARY:

I sung. I sung some of the tunes when we used to (HE FLINGS HIS HAND
ABOUT THE SUBMARINE CRAFT INTERIOR) work on the show.

SYLVIA:

There were so many people in those days.

GARY:

You really don't remember me? At all?

SYLVIA:

I can't say that I do Mr (SHE TOSSES HER UNCOMPREHENDING HEAD)
Miller.

GARY EXTENDS HIS HAND AS IF TO TOUCH SYLVIA'S ARM AS IT LAYS ON THE
NEXT REST; IT HITCHES IN MID-AIR AND THEN HE WITHDRAWS IT.

GARY:

I'm sure sorry to hear that. I a - thought about you a lot.

SYLVIA:

Why am I here Mr Miller?

GARY:

Like I say, when I heard Gerry died I thought. Gee! I don't know
where to begin.

Gadabout Press, April ed., 2013 !
SYLVIA:

If you were saddened to hear of Mr Anderson's passing you only
needed to send a card. The workmen on the other shows did exactly
that. It was touching, and I was pleased that Gerry had their
remembrance. But crucially, Mr Miller, they did not waste my time.

GARY:

I wouldn't say I was a workman as such Mrs Anderson.

SYLVIA:

(STANDING IMPATIENTLY. SHE IS PUTTING ON HER COAT, WHICH SHE HAD
REMOVED)

And what would you say you were, Mr Miller?

GARY:

Well like I say Sylvia (SHE FLINCHES DEMONSTRABLY) I would say I'm a
musician. A singer. Not a workman. I wouldn't say I was a workman.
!

SYLVIA:

Well Mr Miller I can only apologise. For such an error. It was –
crass. And now good day.

GARY:

I wouldn’t say I was sorry that he died either.

(SYLVIA’S HEAD IS HARD AND FURIOUS)

SYLVIA:

Well. I would hope that you have the good grace not to base such an
– abhorrent! – statement on – petty grievances!

Gadabout Press, April ed., 2013 !
GARY:

Oh no, Sylvia. (SHE FLINCHES. WE SEE HIS THOUGHTFUL HEAD)It isn’t
that at all. I would say it’s all sprung out of something very
important. You don’t remember me.

SYLVIA IS STILL STANDING BUT SHE RESTS HER HAND ON THE CO-PILOT’S
CHAIR. SHE REGARDS GARY FOR A TIME WITH HER BLANK HEAD.

SYLVIA:

Perhaps. It’s hard to say. You’ll forgive me.

GARY:

(RISING. HE TURNS HIS BACK TO HER AND SPEAKS AS HE FINGERS THE
CONTROLS THAT HAVE NEVER HAD ANY ACTUAL FUNCTION)

It’s a funny thing but I always found the show very romantic.
Working on “Stingray”, singing for it – seeing it, on the
television. Very – romantic.

SYLVIA:

(SHE LAUGHS AS IF WITH SOME RELIEF)

Mr Miller, I cannot credit that you should find the show – (SHE
LAUGHS ONCE MORE.) Excuse me. Mr Miller – Stingray was an adventure
series. I can’t fathom that you would find romantic the goings on
under the sea of, of a tin can full of straight buttoned
submariners, their various perils, their various adventures, their
various. Inevitable – triumphs! No, I’m sorry, I can’t find that
there was anything especially romantic about the series!

GARY:

But I did, I found it very romantic. Even before you and I had met I
found that it was. All those things and people, chasing around,
killing, and, and dying, fighting back, winning out, all there
wrapped up under the sea. All those muffled battles and explosions
going on under there. That's what I found, anyhow.

Gadabout Press, April ed., 2013 !
SYLVIA:

(A SERIOUS HEAD)

It was never underwater you know. We never filmed any of it
underwater. They – that is to say the strings, on the puppets – they
simply wouldn’t work underwater. We filmed those scenes through a
tank.

GARY:

That’s real clever. Ingenious.

SYLVIA:

That was Gerry. He was devilish clever. He took care of all of that.
The look of things. He was a magician, he really was.

GARY:

It was some show.

SYLVIA:

It was. That show – Stingray – you know it was the first show they
had in Britain shot entirely in colour? (GARY IS LOOKING AT HER)
Gerry had this idea for it, that the credits would start in black
and white and then – oh it was wonderful – out the camera went and
suddenly: colour! It was quite a show, a really good show.

GARY:

You know something Mrs Anderson, I was unusual I think –

SYLVIA:

You know what Gerry told me one night? He told me he’d had the idea
of giving them different heads, different expressions, different
emotions, I mean – oh, we made love all night long. This wasn’t
Punch and Judy stuff, this was – new. He was the first, and I was
all his.

Gadabout Press, April ed., 2013 !
GARY:

I never really went all out for that stuff. The explosions, and
effects and all that stuff. I always cared more for the stories. For
the stuff they said. Or, you know, didn't quite say. (HE IS LOOKING
AT HER)

SYLVIA:

Hm! Very deep. I’m sure. Well you know it might not be fashionable
to say so, but Gerry knew it and I know it. It’s awfully important
stuff, the – spectacular!

GARY:

I suppose so.

SYLVIA:

You don’t mind if I smoke? We probably shouldn’t, of course, not in
here.

(WE CUT TO HER HAND. SHE LIGHTS A CIGARETTE IN A HOLDER WITH A METAL
LIGHTER INSCRIBED ‘FAB’)

SYLVIA:

Of course we’re not actually underwater, we’re being looked at
through a tank.

GARY:

(HIS SMILING HEAD) I guess so.

SYLVIA:

You’ll permit me an immodesty, will you, Mr Miller? While Gerry
handled the spectacle of things I did handle the voices. Those
things that were said or, that is to say – not quite said - that you
liked so much.

Gadabout Press, April ed., 2013 !
GARY:

(HIS SMILING HEAD STILL) I know.

SYLVIA:

Oh and I was good. I was very good in the voices game.

GARY:

(HE LOOKS OUT THE WINDOW AT THE UNMOVING SEA PICTURED AROUND THEM.
HIS SMILING HEAD IS FIXED)

The voices game.

SYLVIA:

I was Lady Penelope, you see. He couldn’t stand that! (SHE LAUGHS
AGAIN) He couldn’t stand that I played Lady Penelope! That I was
Lady Penelope! The character was based on me, you know. Perhaps you
detect a certain resemblance - ?

GARY TURNS TO HER AND SHE FALTERS. SHE WEARS HER LITTLE-USED
QUERULOUS HEAD.

GARY:

You know, that wasn’t my favourite - role you played.

SHE TAKES HER HAND FROM THE BACK OF THE CO-PILOT’S CHAIR. WE SEE IN
THE DUST HER FINGERMARKS.

GARY:

I thought you were something as Marina. Really something.

SHE LAUGHS.

Gadabout Press, April ed., 2013 !
SYLVIA:

I’m not sure I follow you Mr Miller.

GARY:

You know perfectly well what I'm talking about. On Stingray. The
slave-girl of the Titans. She was consigned forever underwater.
Completely mute. Not a word.

SYLVIA:

Yes, I know the character perfectly well. But I was a voices girl.
I’m afraid I didn’t have much interest in that - drab little fish!

GARY:

You don’t remember me at all. Not at all?

SYLVIA:

(SHE BRUSHES HER HAIR BACK OVER HER SHOULDER)

Your name is Gary Miller. You are the musician who sang over the
closing credits to “Stingray”.

GARY:

Oh Sylvia. (SHE JERKS ONCE AGAIN) You’re free now. When we met: I
knew.

SYLVIA WEARS HER PERPLEXED HEAD, STRAIGHTFORWARDLY.

GARY:

That’s why I wouldn’t say I was sad when I heard he died.

Gadabout Press, April ed., 2013 !
SYLVIA:

You did not know Gerry. And you do not know me. And that is all
there is to say about the matter.

GARY:

That one time you argued and I found you outside with a cigarette.
And I go to give you a light (HE HOLDS OUT HIS HAND) and you caught
hold of my hand because the damn cigarette was shaking so much!

SYLVIA:

I don’t recall.

GARY:

And you know what you said to me then? You told me that I had soft
hands.

SYLVIA:

Did I.

GARY:

And I saw the message then. I saw it clear. You hated him. And you
loved me.

SYLVIA:

Mr Miller you’ll forgive me – this is nonsense, you are speaking, I
am afraid, offensive nonsense. You’re – deluded! A fantasist!

GARY:

That’s it! That’s what you said to me! All fantasy - that's what
it's all about! You see?

Gadabout Press, April ed., 2013 !
SYLVIA:

I think I shall be leaving.

(HER HAND. SHE APPLIES LIPSTICK TO HER LIPS. WE SEE HER STOOP TO
CHECK HER REFLECTION AGAINST THE GLOOM OF THE WINDOW AND THE
UNMOVING SEA PICTURED AROUND THEM)

GARY:

There was that one episode where Marina spoke. A - a dream sequence.

SYLVIA:

Yes.

GARY:

Just one. She had never spoken before, not once. Never spoke again.
I know the reason everyone thinks, for her never saying anything, I
know that. It was one of the episodes - Marina and her kind were
cursed, or that’s what they thought: and they all believed that if
any of them spoke all the rest would die. Right? And nobody, not one
of them dares speak, just in case. Isn’t that right?

SYLVIA:

I don’t recall.

GARY:

That was the back-story. And in that dream sequence she barely
spoke. She didn’t move her lips. They said it was, a, some kind of
telepathic message.

SYLVIA:

She didn’t speak because her head was made that way, the – (SHE
MOVES HER HAND IMPATIENTLY) lips didn’t move.

Gadabout Press, April ed., 2013 !
GARY:

You were Marina’s voice. You see, I knew that. That one time, when
she spoke. That was you.

SYLVIA:

Yes. Well. Nothing to it.

GARY:

It was you though, speaking for yourself. Not even moving your lips!

SYLVIA:

(LAUGHING, AN OFFHAND HEAD) I daresay you won’t even recall what she
said! That silly girl underwater in somebody else’s dream.

GARY:

It wasn’t what you said. It was that you said it like you did.
That’s where romance is, it’s all in the messages, is what I think.

SYLVIA:

It’s about as – romantic – as a submarine full of men in uniforms!

GARY:

SINGING

What are these strange enchantments that start

Whenever you’re near?

Why can’t you whisper the words

That my heart

Is longing to hear?

(SPEAKING) I sang that for you.

Gadabout Press, April ed., 2013 !
SYLVIA:

Evidently, Mr Miller. There’s nobody else here. Is there. You have a
good voice.

GARY:

(HIS HAND. HOLDING HER ARM. SHE LOOKS DOWN AT IT)

That theme tune was for you. I wanted to speak back to you and tell
you, - Sylvia, I’m here, I can take you away from him.

SYLVIA:

I know what everyone thought about Gerry. But don’t you see, he made
us all. He made you what you are. He made me. He was so awfully
good.

GARY:

You’re free from him now though you see? I saw you, all this time,
trying to speak. All those - not quite messages, it was just like
they were lights shining through the water, and I went and I found
them, and now I’m here, Sylvia. You’re free from him now.

SYLVIA:

Oh yes I know what you’ll say about him. What everyone did. The arch
puppetmaster – but oh, Gary, can’t you see? He didn’t control us, he
brought us to life!

GARY:

He’s gone now. You’re free from him. You see?

SYLVIA:

(A QUIET GIRLISH HEAD) No, no.

Gadabout Press, April ed., 2013 !
GARY:

But didn’t you want this? You - brought me here!

SYLVIA:

What? This? What is it, Gary? An empty vessel. Sometimes hands.
Sometimes gestures. Sometimes surprised faces. All just happening
next to each other. I stopped wanting anything when Gerry went. Now
I just enjoy the show when I can.

GARY:

No. That isn't true. Marina wanted to say something and never could
and that wasn’t it.

(WE SEE HIS HANDS CLASPING HER ARMS. SHE SAGS, LIMP IN HIS GRIP)

GARY:

He’s gone. And he let you go. And you can say what you want now. You
can do what you want now. Sylvia.

SYLVIA:

And what if I still can’t? Or don’t want to?

GARY:

Marina, my Marina: why would you bring me here if you didn’t want
more?

SYLVIA:

What?

GARY:

I’ve read the messages, all this time. Marina. You spoke to me in a
way only I could hear.

Gadabout Press, April ed., 2013 !
SYLVIA:

You are mistaken I think –

GARY:

A hundred thousand clues plotted me all the way back here. I knew.
Only me.

SYLVIA:

No, no.

GARY:

Please, Sylvia. Don’t - silence! - yourself. He’s gone – and all the
strings are gone and all that hurly burly that used to get in the
way of those beautiful, simple stories we both always wanted. It’s
just me and you now, just the voices, just speaking, Marina: just me
and you.

SYLVIA:

Just two lines, intersecting at last.

(SYLVIA HAS HER SAD FACE)

SYLVIA:

There used to be explosions.

GARY:

I can’t make you see what I see, Sylvia. But oh, I want to. Sylvia.
(A GENTLE SAD HEAD) Anything can happen in the next half hour.

SYLVIA:

It’s not that Gerry won’t let me go, Gary. It’s that I won’t let
him.

Gadabout Press, April ed., 2013 !
GARY:

You’re sure?

SYLVIA:

No.

THERE IS AN EXPLOSION. THE CAMERA LOLLS TO ONE SIDE, AND WATER
BEGINS TO POUR INTO THE CRAFT FROM THE STERN.

SYLVIA:

(TERRIFIED FACE) What’s happening?

GARY BOBS OVER TO THE WINDOW HASTILY

GARY:

We’re sinking!

SYLVIA BOBS OVER AFTER HIM

SYLVIA:

That’s impossible – no, it’s impossible. Stingray never went
underwater, we filmed it through the tank – it was the strings, you
see!

(THEY BOTH CRUMPLE TO THE FLOOR NEXT TO EACH OTHER. ABOVE THEM THE
WATER SHUTTLES AND COURSES SILENT, FURIOUS)

SYLVIA:

Oh Gary, I can’t move.

Gadabout Press, April ed., 2013 !
GARY:

Me neither.

SYLVIA:

(HER HEAD IS FACE DOWN ON THE FLOOR) It’s happened. Hasn’t it? He
set me free. Gary: he set me free.

GARY:

(HIS HEAD, LIKEWISE, IS FACE DOWN) Yes.

SYLVIA:

I’m scared.

GARY:

Perhaps we’ve just got to let it happen how it's going to happen,
kid.

SYLVIA:

Yes.

(CUT TO THEIR HANDS, WHICH HAPPEN TO BE TOUCHING)

GARY:

I love you, Sylvia.

SYLVIA:

Oh Gary, Gary. (SHE SOBS) Thank you, Gary.

(ALONE TOGETHER IN THE CRAFT AND AROUND THEM A THOUSAND EXPLOSIONS,
AND THE OCEANS TEEM AND BOIL WITH FIRE AND ROMANCE)

GRAMS: “AQUA MARINA”

Gadabout Press, April ed., 2013 !
Phew. Mr Mortimer, evidently flattered at the effort to which both of his
responders had gone, responded to both. The first was extremely gracious in the
face of brazen abuse:

THE LINEATION CLUB

Penny drops with the weight of a testicle,
Eliciting a Real Man: ‘Urnest! UuRRnest!!
Mix me anothera those Death in the Afternoons
And gettaloada this!’ It’s a quiet night
In the rue du Cardinal Limoine, a coupl’a
Wise guys showed up some time around seven
But went down in a hail of bullets.
‘Geez this s.o.b.’s gotta wholelotta bllsurmrm…’
His ejaculation trickles to a murmur
Through the intervention of the glass of straight
White spirits which the butler, Ernest,
Places in front of him on a small table.
He leaves, and returns with a slab of pure red meat.
‘Whaddis a.h. ova country needs is some guys wi’ BALLS
To come innan sort this shit OUT –’ he jabs his pencil
Through the newspaper, into his leg,
Drawing blood. The lead breaks as he
Pulls it from the wound. He shrugs, and fills
An empty fountain-pen with blood from the
Spurting hole in his leg. ‘This…agh…goddamn,
‘“Solver! Messed up arm in arm” – now what the goshdarn –‘
Ernest, the butler, furrows his brow sympathetically
‘– Hyea, whait, I goddit…’ – and he writes in
The answer to the clue.

Gadabout Press, April ed., 2013 !
The second response, to Mr Burrow's screenplay, came with an explanatory email
by way of preface, which I include as a fascinating insight into a creative mind,
and to mitigate any potential loss of self-worth upon grappling with
uncomprehension:

'Response' in the sense in which songs, in the radio game of writing-in
with three thematically linked tunes, respond to one another. It is meant
to be a suggestive and reasonably candid record of coincidences which
struck me, bearing in mind that such candour cannot be that interesting
and that by the admixture of bizarre margination and the occasional
solidus almost anything can be rendered interesting.

The unifying power of the theologian and the wild leaps of the
triple-jumper are embedded in emblematic form.

And the piece itself:

With a compressed air

I once had a love affair and listened to the music from the film Submarine. We used to walk
together down by the water, and !
!
! ! ! ! ! ‘“Silly fellow, silly fellow” is against me.’
sd/ Jonathan Edwards

Should Have Done failed to leave his mark on the Pilgrim’s Progress,
And now he is a skateboarder, spraying ‘I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU’ on the soul’s
Underground carpark. It sounds like this:

I etched the face of a stopwatch
On the back of a raindrop [….etc….]

But the guitar’s strings move me!

Gadabout Press, April ed., 2013 !
And finally, having read all of the above, Dr Terry Moore couldn't help himself and
he unleashed his inner setter as a frustrated attempter of the Everyman (and a
man of eclectic tastes):

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Gadabout Press, April ed., 2013 !
!
If, like me, you found the previous material challenging (in a stimulating way),
you might appreciate this slightly more accessible offering from my honest
grandsire, John Smoker:

ODES OF CONVALESCENCE FROM KETTERING GENERAL

1.

None could be fairer

than beautiful Sarah,

the Kettering buttercup.

None could be faster

when she ripped off my plaster

and tore my left buttock up.

2.

A Lilford 'A' matron called Julia

Is lovely, not really peculiar.

But what can one say?

At the end of the day

Nothing else rhymes with Julia.

3.

This surgeon is good,

In his cap, gown and hood,

And could, I suppose,

In doublet and hose,

Be worth a theatrical knighthood.

Gadabout Press, April ed., 2013 !
In what could be described precisely as a piece of poetic justice, Ollie Evans
responded just as pithily as Mr Smoker did to Crossword Clue, though perhaps
more mischievously:

OF KETTERING CONVALESCENCE FROM GENERAL ODES

2.

Lovely rhymes with this Kettering peculiar

but nothing at the end of the buttock plaster

could surgeon a doublet cap, could hose

a ripped matron, could really be beautiful

in Lilford.

3.

My theatrical gown, a buttercup called

Sarah, when she and Julia tore up the knight

hood, is none fairer than the faster hood.

1.

Left none not none else, I suppose.

Be, and say ‘A’. Be, and what worth

can good be, on my day off?

Which is fair, I guess.

Gadabout Press, April ed., 2013 !
Dr Terry Moore (he of the Everyman persuasion), took the interesting decision of
using, as his point of departure, his response to more well-known works, which
can be found using Google (copyright squeamishness precludes their pasting here).

*)"+$,#-$+).#)/012-)34#52$6)7-87.+5+-.).#)"29+:)
)
))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))O!A%22!&.:!#';)!';'%&3:!:/)!*F%&;!.8!:/)!2%;/:)
))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))43)2)33!:.!#';)!P!B)$.'&!$F!@.$%&;!*)':/,!
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!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
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!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!O!A%22!&.:!#';)!';'%&3:!:/)!*F%&;!.8!:/)!2%;/:,!
))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))
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!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!+:#%R%&;!'!/)#.%@!>.3)<!@.&:%&1%&;!:/)!8%;/:0!
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!E)G#)!>.A)#2)33!:.!>#.2.&;!2%8)G3!*):)#$%&)*!*)B:,!
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!O!3/'22!;.!D1%):2F!%&:.!:/':!2'3:!;..*&%;/:,!
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
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!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!I.!A/)#)0!!I.!1>!.#!*.A&<!:.!)'@/!OG$!*)'8,!
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!O!A%22!&.:!#';)!';'%&3:!:/)!*F%&;!.8!:/)!2%;/:,!
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
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!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!T.1<!$F!2.H)<!$'F!#)@'22!:/)!*%UUF!/)%;/:3!
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!E)GH)!#)'@/)*!6!)'@/!*'F!%&!2%8)!*)8F%&;!*)':/,!
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!O!A%22!&.:!#';)!';'%&3:!:/)!*F%&;!.8!:/)!2%;/:<!
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!O!3/'22!;.!D1%):2F!%&:.!:/':!2'3:!;..*&%;/:,!
!
!
!
!
!

Gadabout Press, April ed., 2013 !
On the previous page was Jenni Sidey's response to Dr Moore's response to Dylan
Thomas' response to death. Ain't nobody said nothin' 'bout having to be words,
friends, and all the more fun for that. More of Jenni's work will feature later. In
the meantime, here's Dr Moore's second offering:

))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))!#-8;""+-8+)
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!*)"+$,#-$+).#)<7$)$#--+.)8=>7:)
)
!
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!V):!$)!&.:!:.!:/)!@.&@1##)&@)!.8!.1#!$%&*3!
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!W)&F!%$>)*%$)&:3,!C'@%&;!:/)!3:%&;!.8!H)#B'2!'33'12:!
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!7.&@1##)&@)!32%>3<!32%*)3!B)@.$)3!$.3:!1&R%&*<!
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!+'H';)!)H)&<!$'##%&;!:/)!2%8)!.8!2.H)!A)!@.1#:,!
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!V'&;1';)<!:/)!;#'H)3:!%$>)*%$)&:!.8!'22<!
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!E%:/!%:3!A.#*3!'&*!:/)%#!3>.R)&!3>.13)<!@'*)&@),!
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!XS1:!F.1!>#.$%3)*!F.1!A.12*YG!!XO!*.&G:!#)@'22!!
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!+'F%&;!A/':!F.1!3'F!O!3'%*,!-.:!%&!)33)&@),G!
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!XE/F!*.&G:!F.1!)H)#!3'F!A/':!F.1!$)'&0G!
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!XO!!*.,!!S1:!A/':!O!$)'&G3!&.:!A/':!F.1!!/)'#,G!
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!E)G#)!:/)!H%@:%$3!.8!'!@#..R)*!:..2<!B)&:!%:!3))$3!
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!Z&!@.&:#%H%&;!&.!A.#*3!.8!$%&)!B)!)H)#!A/.22F!@2)'#,!
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!['>>%2F<!&.:!BF!A.#*3!'2.&)!*.!A)!@.&@1#,!
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!C#.$!F.1#!2..R3!'&*!'@:3!O!*.!F.1#!2.H)!%&8)#,!!

On the following page, Lizzi Mills responds. DISCLAIMER: NSFW. Loosen your
collars.

Gadabout Press, April ed., 2013 !
Death and the Maiden

shall I believe that amorous death is unsubstantial?

there were no words just a single
gasp a pull behind the breastbone
and unresisting magnetism wheels
her unreluctance onwards in
hipbone to hipbone sudden consciousness
of nipples pressed against the fabric of
her dress in his guarding guiding arms

margarita faster she dances a
way over rooftops looks down just
an instant falling you want this you want this
not this yes yes turns away

his eyes warm on her neck awaken her
secret place she turns this time she steps
draws near sweet desolation reaching out
his longing runs over
her skin collects in her navel his eyes
touch the place between her breasts his
light a honey swell in the bowl of her hips

the steps marked out for them a dance of
irresistible cadences she chooses again and
again there is more

fingertip on collarbone a press
of promises unspoken every nerve
tingling and crying out for him a blink
in secret a single pearl melting
annihilation devoutly to be
maiden unmade the rest is

When you're quite ready, you'll find a translational matrix by Ollie Evans overleaf.
This was originally in a pretty landscape format, but transferring that into this
portrait document was beyond my editorial abilities. Sorry.

Gadabout Press, April ed., 2013 !
Parallel Italienisch Blots (Gabriele D’Annunzio)

unrecorded M inor Error Ringer Rung

Helluva tenebrous wave at the terrible ocular fizz. She held dead eyes against the stars that boded right
Knell silences are incredible and minutely In the unglowing silence shining minutely
pairing, they appear to open up the immiserating abyss. Into the mess of this unreasonable absence.

Oh see, for example, unsubtle, improvisional Act, when docked under minor unforeseen slugs,
cold gulp’s fossling over mastic muting! With fur felt in the far-stummped warnings!
Gentler in me, the solo evolves in quelling ocular visuals, Slowsome hobs to mirror's face, desist hearing and black out.

anchors that convulsing throat, blocked up by sanguine Not to say I don't shake hands with a bloodemptied mouth,
videos - these primed, unsure word-roles are rare Hearing eastern men again, words falling
crimes caught down the blotchy hole - dear sanguine, So rotten and red to drop them on minor wounds.
dapple plunged, caught up in this comic pinch and sanguine aire. But it's too bloodless, unfanged.

un ricordo Eine Erinnerung

Ella teneva a terra gli occhi fissi. Sie hielt die Augen starr zu Boden gerichtet.
Nel silenzio incredibile i minuti In dem unglaublichen Schweigen schienen die Minuten
pareano aprire smisurati abissi. unermessliche Abgrünge aufzureißen.

Oh se per sempre, sotto un improvviso Ach, wenn doch unter einem unvorhergesehenen Schlag
colpo, fossimo noi rimasti muti! wir für immer verstummt wären!
Lenta mi sollevò quelli occhi al viso. Langsam hob sie zu meinem Gesicht ihren Blick auf.

Ancora la convulsa bocca esangue Noch sehe ich den zuckenden, blutleeren Mund.
vedo. Le prime sue parole, rare, Ihre ersten, wenigen Worte fallen
cadono come gocciole di sangue wie rote Tropfen aus einer Wunde,
da piaga che incominci a sanguinare. die zu bluten anfängt.

Gadabout Press, April ed., 2013 !
This response from Ben “This edition of Gadabout brought to you by Ben
Mortimer” Mortimer (and helper Joe Roberts) relies partly on his having guessed
that the author of the Parallel Italienisch Blots is his erstwhile pal Mr Evans, but
it stands alone nevertheless, insofar as anything partly based on a found piece of
paper that we haven't seen stands alone.

*Mirth's Holy Show*
based on a piece of paper found in the Judith E. Wilson Drama Studio at the English Faculty,
University of Cambridge

Susan drinks lemonade while lovers' protean escalators concede silence to produce my valet
(same hat, then after all their wives now join Hippolyta), our napsack, our inn - streuth! I
know not why I am so sad! Charles' teasing embrace, stiff soothing, see *The Mood of Love*
play, on now, they got it wrong (what?), should dance with us, mould one-off jaunt, time-
bomber (Lancaster). New-shaven as we are, Susan, with hair over your ears, for such as you
will stop over-amused offers: that food portends hungrier ravens, pitch-black night - meal:
rays of light. And bright your mint-imperial majesty, a slender dhow, the ring escaped, our
hands... How is this splinter of our discourse meant? I come in all to make you laugh, sing,
wow! Enjoy fair eyes, serene, form smiles of peace. Knobbly magicians, aprons of pure
white, to have & to hold, both alike in dignity. Should say 'circumference', hone your idol's
features, take you home, where, girl, we'll be sweet again. 'Who's there? Never tell me, I take
it much unkindly'. Day: love this slow barge over general hues, do not meet with Man, but
clowns.

(help received in the writing by Joe Roberts)

Starting on the next page, Jenni Sidey's comic-book realisation of a scene from
The Revenger's Tragedy is a fascinating exercise in interdisciplinarity, as well as
being jolly good fun. It can be enhanced further by reading it with its soundtrack,
composed by Alexandra Graham in response to the comic, which can be found by
following this hyperlink. God Bless the Internet and its Union with Human
Endeavour.

Gadabout Press, April ed., 2013 !
(In case you missed the preamble to the comic, there is also a soundtrack,
composed by Alexandra Graham, which you can hear by clicking here)

And finally...Lizzi Mills responds directly to Vindice (and specifically Jenni's
rendering of him) in delightfully playful fashion, via an interrogation which seems
apt for a journal focussed on response – and which, for the end of a journal, is
fittingly unrequited.

First kiss

Generally speaking, it will take a body
Some ten to fifteen years to decompose.
How did you suffer all those years, Vindice,
O burning with the urge for murder? - Or
Did you not wait for subterranean processes
Of microbes, maggots, time, to take their course?
When did you disentomb that sacred flesh, that holy corpse
To subjugate it to your grisly will?
How many hours was she flat on her back
On that sinister laboratory bench,
While you, with tender delicacy, peeled
Layers of skin from skin and flesh from bone,
Revealed the gleaming ivory beneath?
When did you first conceive your Galatea
- Before, or after, Gloriana’s death?
And was it then, or later, that you dreamt up that kiss,
Those lips so delicately artificed
From carefully salvaged tissues - ah the bliss!
Don’t tell me that you didn’t have a go,
To make sure that his last would be my finest.

I never even fancied you, Vindice.

Thanks for reading. I hope you found something you liked, and something you
disliked violently enough to want to contribute yourself next time. Keep on
Gadabouting.

Gadabout Press, April ed., 2013 !

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