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AP Wolf
Chief Inspector
Username: Apwolf
Post Number: 858
Registered: 2-2003
| | Posted on Tuesday, February 17, 2004 - 3:38 pm: | 
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Jack’s Room (10) (with thanks to Robert for the auto-cue)
‘Well, I hope you got your money’s worth, young Jack,’ I told him as I slipped the gold coins back into the smart bag. ‘Five sovereigns is a powerful lot of money.’
‘They did,’ he growled as he snatched the bag from my hand and banged it back in his desk as quick as a flash.
‘You shouldn’t snatch, Jack,’ I gently warned him and then asked: ‘Who got their money’s worth?’
‘Them that did it,’ he hissed angrily, so I left that subject for now.
I strode over to the tailor’s dummy and fingered some of the cloth.
‘This is a pretty thing, Jack, did you make it?’
He scampered over and ran his hands lovingly over the cloth.
‘Do you have a name for it?’ I asked.
‘No names,’ he replied simply.
‘No names, no faces, no arms and no legs, eh Jack?’
He stood bolt upright with his back straightened, smiled at me like a handsome young gentleman and then in a completely different voice full of confidence and strength said: ‘That is absolutely correct, sir! Absolutely correct! You are sir, if you don’t mind me saying so, a deuced clever fellow and a gentleman to boot!’
I stood back and looked him up and down in admiration.
‘That is very good, Jack, very good indeed,’ I told him. ‘Quite the little gentleman when you want to be aren’t you? Now, let us see… let us pretend that you are leaving the club and making your way home. As you enter the Whitechapel district you suddenly stumble - through your mild inebriation - and collide with a lady. I shall be the lady, and you Jack will be you. Are you ready?’
‘I don’t drink alcohol!’ he spat out with considerable venom, showing me once again that one must tread very carefully when confronting such folk as Jack, for everything, simply everything had to be correct and precise.
‘Sorry, Jack, sorry,’ I held my hands out in apology. ‘You stumble against the lady because you have slipped on a cobble. Now, how is that for you dear boy?’
‘Is it a game?’ the boy slyly asked in his hissing little voice.
‘Yes, it’s a game, Jack, let’s play the game properly now, see, you stumble against me like this…’
I pulled him towards me until we gently collide and I cry out in a high falsetto: ‘Oh sir! Have a care, you have almost knocked me over!’
He raises his head and smiles charmingly at me.
‘My dear girl!’ he cries. ‘I am most dreadfully sorry, but I must say a more charming collision I couldn’t have wished for!’
‘You are too kind, young sir!’ I cry and flutter my eyelids in what I hope passes for a coquettish fashion.
‘Allow me, madam, to take your arm and escort you to the main thoroughfare as there is danger in these ill-lit side streets,’ Jack suggests as he links his arm through mine and we march around the room together.
‘Very good, Jack,’ I tell him as we disengage. ‘Shall we try another game, this time you have decided to take a stroll in the night, in this area where you live, and I - as the lady of course - see you alone and make a suggestion… how’s that?’
‘Is it another game?’ he slyly asks again.
‘Yes, Jack, it is a game, and you must play it properly. This time I approach you, are you ready?’
He nods his head and I appear in front of him.
‘What’s a nice young fellow like you doing in an area like this at night, then?’ I ask, this time in the throatier rumble of an older woman who has smoked too much and drunk too much gin all her life. ‘Looking for a good time I’ll be bound. Well for four pence I’ll put a smile on your face all right.’
‘Four pence, Madam?’ Jack politely enquires. ‘Why should I give you four pence, Madam?
I turn my back to him and pretend to throw my petticoats over my back.
‘For this, young sir!’ I call coarsely. ‘For a slice of heaven.’
He makes no reply and when I turn round he is no longer smiling. He also has a large knife in his hand.
‘I should slit your throat and rip out your guts you Catholic whore scum!’ he hisses.
‘Yes Jack you should,’ I agree. ‘But you won’t because it is just a game, isn’t it Jack?’
The knife whistles past my head and thuds point first into the door with enough force to have killed a man outright.
‘Splendid throw, Jack!’ I congratulate him.
‘Thank you, kind sir!’ he calls out cheerfully. ‘What shall we play next?’
‘I think Jack we will play the game of collecting pieces of cloth for your special collection on the… eh, on the pretty collection over there. Is that all right with you? I shall be the girl again.’
He nods his head eagerly, so I begin to mince up and down the room as if carrying a parasol to protect myself from a sudden shower or even the scorching sun. Jack follows me up and down like a shadow, slightly astern of me, never looking at me, always looking steadfastly straight ahead, suddenly he quickens his pace, I feel a small tug on my jacket, no more than that and the young fellow is off, out of the door and down the stairs like a blasted jack-rabbit.
I turn my jacket so that I can see the back and sure enough there is a large section of the cloth on the left flap missing.
‘What the devil…’ I begin to say but Jack’s grinning head pops around the door and he waves the small piece of cloth at me.
‘Very good, Jack!’ I exclaim. ‘How the very devil did you do that?’
A large pair of scissors appear in his other hand and he snips the air with them.
‘Ah! I see now,’ I tell him. ‘What happens now then, Jack?’
He appears from behind the door, quickly moves to the tailor’s dummy and then smoothes the piece of cloth from my jacket over the hip of the dummy, from a pocket of his jacket he extracts a tack and attaches the cloth with it and then stands back to admire his work.
He has his routine now and I am finally able to sit back in the easy chair, pour myself another whisky and watch him about his curious business.
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Natalie Severn
Inspector
Username: Severn
Post Number: 289
Registered: 11-2003
| | Posted on Tuesday, February 17, 2004 - 4:17 pm: |
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Very interesting AP.Carefully drawn and credible.Mind when you whisked your pretend petticoats over your head I wondered what might be going on and whether some false teeth might
suddenly become part of the picture-given all the ideas that were thrown about last week.Anyway thankfully not and the point was admirably made
indeed.I can see a chap such as this behaving in just such a way if accosted.
Natalie |
AP Wolf
Chief Inspector
Username: Apwolf
Post Number: 860
Registered: 2-2003
| | Posted on Tuesday, February 17, 2004 - 5:55 pm: |
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Thanks Natalie
good to have you back, and yes, thank god the chap's false teeth didn't fall out and complicate the picture further. We might have had to call out a Ripposaur to retrieve the situation. |
Robert Charles Linford
Assistant Commissioner
Username: Robert
Post Number: 2112
Registered: 3-2003
| | Posted on Tuesday, February 17, 2004 - 11:29 pm: |
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Thanks folks. Yes, Natalie, I'd love to see the painting.
AP, as Natalie says, it's all credible. And it's easy to imagine how a strong-minded but unbalanced person could convince a feeble-minded and even more unbalanced person that the Catholics were both running the country and controlling the backstreets, poisoning them with their whores and diseases.
One only has to go back a few decades to see how sane people were persuaded that the Jews were at one and the same time responsible for both international capitalism and international communism.
Robert |
Natalie Severn
Inspector
Username: Severn
Post Number: 294
Registered: 11-2003
| | Posted on Wednesday, February 18, 2004 - 7:30 am: |
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Hi Robert the painting is one of a series I have done several of Whitechapel and one of Polly Nichols and now one of Mary Kelly.This one follows your idea of a window,seen from the outside at night and the beginning of his last "work".Indoors is reddened by the glow of a fire in the grate and he can just be discerned crouching by the bed.The ghost of Mary is hammering at the window[Wuthering Heights-ish].
You may not like it but as soon as I can I will photogragh it and put it on the thread.
Best Natalie.
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Robert Charles Linford
Assistant Commissioner
Username: Robert
Post Number: 2116
Registered: 3-2003
| | Posted on Wednesday, February 18, 2004 - 9:52 am: |
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Hi Natalie
Sounds fantastic.
Wuthering Heights? Good job McCarthy didn't try to open the door by reaching through the window - to find icy fingers clutching his hand!
Robert |
Robert Charles Linford
Assistant Commissioner
Username: Robert
Post Number: 2118
Registered: 3-2003
| | Posted on Wednesday, February 18, 2004 - 11:06 am: |
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JACK
Rip you 'neath a wandering star
No idea just who you are
Take you home and keep in jar
Isn't it a scream?
No more songs and no more chatter
Worry not, it doesn't matter
Ghosts can't die and fall and shatter
All is but a dream
I'm not Jack and I'm not here
Long ago I disappear
Being real makes world too clear
Seeming is my passion
So I hop from soul to soul
Place to place and hole to hole
Face to face and role to role
In my funny fashion
Soon the dreaming will be done
And the longer sleep begun
As the final setting sun
Slips to night unending
Cold will staunch the running gore
And the knife will be no more
Gone is Jack and gone is whore
Finished with pretending
Robert |
AP Wolf
Chief Inspector
Username: Apwolf
Post Number: 863
Registered: 2-2003
| | Posted on Thursday, February 19, 2004 - 1:33 pm: |
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Jack’s Room (11)
Jack is a very busy boy.
So busy that he becomes almost tiresome after a while, and if it wasn’t for my professional interest I would throw my hat at him and tell him to desist from his ceaseless pacing, his constant to and fro, the scribbling and scrabbling of paper, the opening and closing of heavy medical books and the rustling therein of thin pages… dear god! The boy is a powerhouse of energy when he finds his awesome stride, if only such energy and talent could be turned to positive effect this lad could change the very world we walk upon.
I once took it upon myself to study a plethora of beasts at the zoological gardens at Regent Park - I am a founding Fellow of the society - and did indeed spend many happy hours at that establishment for an entire year, and it proved most instructive and educational especially when I was able to apply what I had learnt to such cases as the one I study now.
It quickly became obvious to me that caged animals develop an extraordinary regime of routine that they would never adopt in natural surroundings and circumstance, the example of the polar bear that rubbed its back with pleasure every time it passed a large fencing post was a classic one, for the animal cannot have had an itch in exactly the same place every time it passed the post - which was about four hundred times a day - but it nonetheless scratched that imaginary itch with a great deal of pleasure.
‘Remove that post!’ I told the polar bear’s keeper, which he did after locking the dangerous animal inside.
We both studied the animal’s behaviour when it was released back into its small yard, and lo and behold it approached the post that was no longer there and rubbed its back elaborately on the post that was no longer there and then continued to do that for the next twenty years until it died.
‘Ah!’ I exclaimed to the keeper, who lit up a cigarette and glared at me as if I was totally mad.
This provoked a fury of study on my behalf, and in the course of that year I was able to show that this very type of behaviour is common to all captive animals, in other words I was able to show that a restrictive environment quickly builds up repetitive behaviour of a nonsensical nature which appears to us to have no purpose, but I would argue is absolutely essential to the animal being able to successfully survive in a restricted environment as the repetitive behaviour induces the smoothing and calming reward of routine, and that routine becomes the dominating factor in the animal’s life.
So what then happens when you remove that animal at a single stroke from the mind-numbing comfort of its daily routine and set it down in an alien environment where there is no routine and anything and everything can happen?
What happens then is that we have created a disaster of almost unimaginable proportion, for that animal will strike out in its confusion and fear at any other living creature that approaches it, if it is ignored it will seek the fastest way back to its comfortable environment, preferring the darkness of night to make its way rapidly to anywhere that might hold even the slightest ingredient of its former confined life, but try and persuade it from its purpose then you face tooth and nail with a vengeance…
‘What do you think, sir?’ Jack asked, shoving a piece of paper in my face.
I took the paper and studied it.
It was the usual thing, a dismembered and mutilated woman splattered in blood and with her vitals hanging out of her torso.
‘Excellent, Jack,’ I told him. ‘The woman appears to have had a dreadful accident?’
‘Indeed, sir,’ he agreed.
‘What do you think might have happened to the lady, Jack?’
(Ah! I fear I reach the point where my pen will give me away and you will recognise me for the fraudster I am, posing as an accomplished investigator with a brilliant insight into such despicable crimes, when in reality I am no more than a writer of comedy, but I’m afraid I cannot refuse or resist the opportunity.)
‘I fear,’ said Jack. ‘That the poor lady has fallen down the stairs.’
And we both rolled around the floor hooting like chimps and weeping uncontrollably with hysterical laughter.
(Fine poem by the way, Robert.)
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Robert Charles Linford
Assistant Commissioner
Username: Robert
Post Number: 2124
Registered: 3-2003
| | Posted on Friday, February 20, 2004 - 1:48 am: |
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AP, interesting what you say about the smoothing and calming effects of routine.
I heard a story about a German woman sitting in a train and counting on her fingers...one, two, three, four, five...one, two, three, four, five...over and over again.
She had lost all five of her sons in the Great War.
Loved the stairs again.
Robert |
AP Wolf
Chief Inspector
Username: Apwolf
Post Number: 866
Registered: 2-2003
| | Posted on Friday, February 20, 2004 - 2:03 am: |
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Thanks Robert
Yes, I shall continue with the serious side of the story forthwith, as the 'routine' angle is an interesting one.
Sorry about the stairs, just couldn't help myself.
I hold uncle Charles responsible... for everything. |
Robert Charles Linford
Assistant Commissioner
Username: Robert
Post Number: 2131
Registered: 3-2003
| | Posted on Saturday, February 21, 2004 - 7:59 am: |
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TRAINS
On September 30th, '88
The Eddowes Express was running late,
Could only chug from Bishopsgate
To keep its strange appointment with fate.
Far away in the empty night
A driverless train, no guard, no light,
Fuelled by hatred, madness and fright
Switched to the downline, whistling spite.
Resulting collision left one dead.
The wreckage was taken away to the shed.
Death train unheeding careered ahead,
Bound for hell, and Kelly's bed.
Robert
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AP Wolf
Chief Inspector
Username: Apwolf
Post Number: 870
Registered: 2-2003
| | Posted on Saturday, February 21, 2004 - 1:14 pm: |
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Talking to my soul here Robert, for I have long tried to capture a poem featuring Jack as some kind of great, blind locomotive fuelled with so much hate that it sends sparks of electric venom throughout the night as it crashes through humanity using its sharpened cow-catcher like a great blade, sweeping all of Victorian society before it and dumping it somewhere in a sea of blood.
You beat me to it, and a bloody good poem to boot!
My hat is once again off to you, sir.
But I shall still try with my dark effort concerning trains. |
AP Wolf
Chief Inspector
Username: Apwolf
Post Number: 871
Registered: 2-2003
| | Posted on Saturday, February 21, 2004 - 1:27 pm: |
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Jack’s Room (12)
‘Enough, Jack!’ I command. ‘The task ahead of us is too vital for the survival of mankind as a civilised society for us to be rolling around the floor in mirth - as much fun as it is - so to your desk boy and pay close attention to what I have to say.’
‘Yes, sir!’ he squawked and did that very thing.
‘Now Jack, my boy,’ I announced, once he had settled himself. ‘Do you know what an orang-utan is?’
‘An orang-uwhat, sir?’
‘An orang-utan, Jack, is a large and hairy primate peculiar to the tropical jungles of the Spice Islands…’
‘Spice Islands, sir?’
‘Yes indeed, my boy, the Malaccas and so forth, a balmy land full of soporific nature, kindness and sublime peace… Ah Jack lad! Could we but transport you there and plant your feet in the golden sand with a bright orange sun burning your back and the call of the great green forests for you to explore, I’ll be bound that you would be sketching other than these poor wretches ripped to pieces…’
‘Do you think so, sir?’ he called brightly.
‘I know so, Jack, for I myself was brought up in the East Indies and I have never ripped a woman apart in my life, but I jest with you lad, and we stray from the subject at hand, let us get back to our topic forthwith. Allow me to tell you about the orang-utan I have had the pleasure of meeting, he is the only specimen in the country, kept at the zoological gardens in Regent’s Park, and what a jolly splendid specimen he is too! Well, Jack, I studied this singular beast for the best part of an entire year; and at feeding times when the keeper placed large amounts of fresh fruits and vegetables into his cage what do you think the old orang-utan did, Jack?’
‘Had his dinner, sir?’
‘One would have thought so, Jack, but no, you are wrong, for what the beast did was to collect all the fruit and veg and then sling them through the bars of his cage so that they landed just out of his reach in the area below his cage, in fact so determined was this hairy fellow to ensure that every single piece of food was out of his reach that he would lay down by the bars and flick the remaining items away with his long fingers…’
‘How extraordinary!’ cried Jack, by now quite entranced with my little story.
‘Indeed!’ I confirmed. ‘The hairy varmint then retires to his bed of what we call ‘wood wool’ - a by product of the saw mills, Jack, that is very much like hard wool - and gathers a great mass of the wood wool which he then crushes between his chest and powerful arms, once he has compacted the mass he then begins weave and twist it with his powerful hands until he has created for all the world what looks like a length of coarse and crude rope. Once this has been achieved the hirsute chap ambles over to the point of his cage where he has slung his dinner, lays down and thrusts both hands - clutching the rope - through the bars and then begins to flick and curl the rope around the fruit and veg just out of his reach until it is once again within his grasp and then he eats it with a great deal of relish. This remarkable performance will go on all day long and the hairy chap is always surrounded by crowds of astonished onlookers; and I believe it to be the most marvellous exhibition of animal intelligence that I have ever seen…’
‘But surely not, sir!’ exclaimed Jack. ‘For the poor beast has simply made more work for itself and should have kept his dinner on the table in the first place!’
‘Excellent, Jack!’ I cry. ‘You are of course absolutely right in that regard, but you must allow me to conclude the tale before passing judgement on our hairy friend.’
‘Sorry, sir, please continue!’
‘Very well, Jack, what then do you think happens when the keeper places the great ape’s food outside of the cage in exactly the same place as the ape normally does, just out of reach of its fingers?’
‘The hairy varmint will make its rope and then retrieve its food from outside the cage as normal, sir?’
‘No, Jack, I’m afraid you are wrong there. For what happens is that the hairy fellow sits looking listlessly at its dinner all day long without even the slightest hint of rope making or retrieving going on, and if the keeper doesn’t eventually move the food back into the cage, I am convinced that the hairy brute would sit there forever without making a move for its dinner until the great hairy beast eventually died of starvation.’
‘That is extraordinary, sir!’ cried Jack with his eyes positively aglow in his enthusiasm for my little tale.
I could not help the great sigh that escaped me at that moment, a sigh of sadness at the simplicity and ease with which one was able to divert and engage the usually frantic minds of such killers and turn them to good purpose. I do believe that given the necessary requirements then I could indeed make murder most foul a thing of the past, but our society has not yet grasped the horror of what it is inbreeding and instilling in the heads of our children, but one lives in the hope that society will one day wake up and recognise the subtle difference between education and eradication. Ah, I meander, it must be the whisky, I am more used to brandy.
‘But sir, with all respect,’ asked Jack. ‘What is the point of the story?’
‘Ah, the point, Jack, quite right, everything must have a point in our modern day and age, even when the point is as obvious and sharp as the point on your own deadly knife. You must allow me to have a whisky and a smoke or two to contemplate, in the meantime you can sketch me what you think this hairy fellow would have looked like, and let the murdered and mutilated whores of Whitechapel rest in a little peace tonight.’
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Robert Charles Linford
Assistant Commissioner
Username: Robert
Post Number: 2134
Registered: 3-2003
| | Posted on Saturday, February 21, 2004 - 2:30 pm: |
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Yes, AP, I'm puzzled by the orang-utan too. Do they behave in this way when females are introduced into the cage?
Your train poem sounds great, and you should go ahead with it - but for goodness' sake don't call it Thomas the Tank Engine!
Robert |
Natalie Severn
Inspector
Username: Severn
Post Number: 300
Registered: 11-2003
| | Posted on Saturday, February 21, 2004 - 3:48 pm: |
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I am enjoying this story AP.I am fascinated by
animal behaviour too. Getting slightly lost though with regards to any parallels with the ripper!
Robert, I thought your poem,"trains" was brilliant
and lovely.
Natalie. |
Robert Charles Linford
Assistant Commissioner
Username: Robert
Post Number: 2136
Registered: 3-2003
| | Posted on Saturday, February 21, 2004 - 4:41 pm: |
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Thanks Natalie. Maybe I'm barking up the wrong tree here, but I think part of what AP's getting at is that certain kinds of upbringing can amount to a form of captivity (in this case, in the early years, physical as well as "spritual") and that such a (human) animal when confonted with the outside world is liable to react in surprising ways.
Robert |
AP Wolf
Chief Inspector
Username: Apwolf
Post Number: 872
Registered: 2-2003
| | Posted on Saturday, February 21, 2004 - 4:47 pm: |
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Thanks Robert & Natalie
Despite the whisky the chap is drinking I do hope the purpose of the story will become clear, problem is when I start these things I never know where they are going, that is until they get there. The pen sort of moves on its own.
One lives in hope that all will be revealed in the morning.
Yes, Robert, it was a brilliant poem, and all I see are trains at the moment and Thomas chugging his long way up the hill, to be stopped by Inspector Cutbush wanting to make sure that he took on enough water to complete the journey.
I do seem to think that the orang-utan was taking a simple sample of our day to day to life and then turning it into an enormously complicated affair that would perhaps have immense ramifications for many others who observed him doing that, but had sparse effect on himself as he turned lunch into dinner and dinner into breakfast, however the observers would have read all sorts of things and many different interpretations into his isolated, individualistic and totally insular behaviour and then began applying what they had learnt to the everyday life that they knew and understood, although they themselves were not in a cage, they might still feel that such behaviour could be related to their own condition, when it obviously could not be.
Hence a juxtaposition between the keen observer - drinking too much whisky - and his client, Jack the serial killer, who is enthralled by the story but cannot possibly relate it to his own isolated, individualistic and totally insular condition…
Err… I better wait for daybreak, and a more sober mind.
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Robert Charles Linford
Assistant Commissioner
Username: Robert
Post Number: 2138
Registered: 3-2003
| | Posted on Saturday, February 21, 2004 - 5:01 pm: |
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Hi AP
I remember Bertrand Russell writing a very funny passage about the study of chimps or some such primate.
He said that chimps who'd been set a problem behaved differently according to the nationality of the observers. Chimps who were observed by American zoologists rushed around with frantic energy until they hit on the correct solution by chance. Chimps observed by German zoologists just sat quietly until they evolved the solution from their inner consciousness, and so on, and so on.
Robert |
Jed Vicars
Unregistered guest
| | Posted on Saturday, February 21, 2004 - 5:36 pm: |
|
"Your's Truly"
Dear Boss,
Are you at a complete loss?
I've sharpened my knife,
To take someone's life,
Under the Moon
And the Big Dipper.
Yours Truly,
Jack the Ripper
----------------------------------------
"Just around The Bend"
by Jed Vicars
The killer named Jack
Walking in the back
Alleys to hack
Apart his victims.
As he leaves he kicks'em.
Leaving them in pieces,
Some with blood in their creases.
Soon the cops arrived
All of them horrified
At the sights,
That lay in the moonlight,
Just after midnight,
Just after midnight,
On those dark and gloomy nights
In 1888
In which Jack lied in wait
To kill,
In the still
Of the night,
The prostitutes which he thought were the plight
Of the world.
The sight of the murders would make your blood curdle.
The murders were gruesome,
Most likely not done by a twosome,
Not by a twosome.
The murders took place
In the area called Whitechaple.
No one could solve the case,
That happened
In the lower east end
The lower east end
Of London
Just around the bend. |
Natalie Severn
Inspector
Username: Severn
Post Number: 305
Registered: 11-2003
| | Posted on Saturday, February 21, 2004 - 5:46 pm: |
|
Hi again AP and Robert.Thankyou for the prompting Robert and I can see the reasoning better now.I am inclined towards a view of behaviour that is determined by our environment myself.Indeed when I was studying Linguistics I read about Kamala the Wolf Child which you may have hearf about,What was interesting was how so very much that comprised Kamala had been determined by her upbringing by the wolf.She couldnt relate to human beings at all and I think she died pining for her mother wolf and siblings.But the nature versus nurture debate still goes on.
I"m looking forward to the story unfolding,AP.
Robert Bertrand Russell was such an old fart at times-especially when he was changing lovers!I think he doctored one or two historical profoles too when it suited him.He may even have made your quote up!I wouldnt put it past him.
Best Natalie. |
Natalie Severn
Inspector
Username: Severn
Post Number: 306
Registered: 11-2003
| | Posted on Saturday, February 21, 2004 - 5:53 pm: |
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Jed Vicars.Tremendous atmosphere very scary indeed.Congratulations.
Robert I needed to edit the above post.I meant profiles not profoles.Think I"ve been away from the boards too long and am over excited to be back!
Natalie
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Robert Charles Linford
Assistant Commissioner
Username: Robert
Post Number: 2139
Registered: 3-2003
| | Posted on Saturday, February 21, 2004 - 6:40 pm: |
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Natalie, just as long as he didn't doctor any profiteroles. Yummy.
Enjoyed that, Jed.
TO JACK
If a woman's got a womb,
Well, leave it there I say!
Why rummage around in the gloom
Then take it and run away?
Where do you think it looks best?
In your jar, or under her vest?
Why must you always tinker?
Jacky, old man, you're a stinker.
If a woman's got some intestines,
Why must you interfere?
Leave them where they are restin'
Better still, just keep clear!
Where is the rational place -
In her tummy, or next to her face?
But oh, you always know best.
Jacky, old chap, you're a pest!
If a woman's got a heart,
What business is it of yours?
Leave it alone, you old fart!
Stop picking on 'er indoors.
How is it going to pump
Inside your pocket, you chump?
Where is the sense in that?
Jacky, old chum, you're a prat.
Robert
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AP Wolf
Chief Inspector
Username: Apwolf
Post Number: 873
Registered: 2-2003
| | Posted on Sunday, February 22, 2004 - 3:42 am: |
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Jed
I enjoyed those poems very much indeed, a bit hip-hop but more than anything they put me in mind of ‘The Hurricane’ by Bob Dylan, which is one of the best poems/songs ever written - in my humble opinion anyway - sort of ultimo story telling rhyming; very compelling stuff.
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AP Wolf
Chief Inspector
Username: Apwolf
Post Number: 874
Registered: 2-2003
| | Posted on Sunday, February 22, 2004 - 3:53 am: |
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Very effective Robert
I have always maintained that Jack will turn out to be the complete and utter ‘prat’, ‘nerd’ and ‘anorak’, and your poem sums up that prattishness wonderfully. I mean if the fellow wanted to eat fresh heart - if that was indeed his intention - he only had to wander over the road to the slaughterhouse at St Paul’s and he could have had a thousand fresh lamb’s hearts for a tenner, no reason to go ripping people apart and getting covered in blood.
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Robert Charles Linford
Assistant Commissioner
Username: Robert
Post Number: 2142
Registered: 3-2003
| | Posted on Sunday, February 22, 2004 - 4:25 am: |
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Thanks AP. Yes, Jed's pieces were very good. But I'm going to have to swot up on Bob Dylan as I only have two of his albums, and haven't heard "The Hurricane". Funnily enough I do have an album which features a song in which he mentions Jack - "a bald wig for Jack the Ripper who sits at the head of the Chamber of Commerce".
Robert |
AP Wolf
Chief Inspector
Username: Apwolf
Post Number: 875
Registered: 2-2003
| | Posted on Sunday, February 22, 2004 - 4:56 am: |
|
Robert
'The Hurricane' was one of Dylan's much later albums - very experimental, but my favourite - around the early 80's I would guess? The 'Hurricane' was the fighting name of a world-class heavy weight champion boxer who many thought could have been the world's best but he was arrested for murder and jailed for life, however many thought him innocent and that he had been set-up by the police and underworld, Bob Dylan threw his all into trying to get the chap freed and the song was enormously popular in the States at that time.
You got me with the quote from Dylan regarding Jack, which song was that? |
Robert Charles Linford
Assistant Commissioner
Username: Robert
Post Number: 2143
Registered: 3-2003
| | Posted on Sunday, February 22, 2004 - 5:40 am: |
|
Hi AP
I'll see if I can disinter it from whatever pile of whatever stuff it's under. But I do remember it's the first song after "Like A Rolling Stone" - maybe the album was "Highway 61 Revisited"? Then the next song starts "God said to Abraham 'kill me a son', Abe said 'man you must be putting me on'.
Robert |
Robert Charles Linford
Assistant Commissioner
Username: Robert
Post Number: 2144
Registered: 3-2003
| | Posted on Sunday, February 22, 2004 - 8:09 am: |
|
BUNGLER
(With thanks to AP and Mr Bean)
What happens if I rip just here?
Take that out and put it near.
Peek inside and view the gear.
"Look at all those bits and stuff."
What is this, and what's it do?
Ask her, but she's gone all blue.
As for me, I haven't a clue.
Though not as full as she was before,
Can't close her up, this bloody whore.
S'ppose I'll have to take some more...
Still no luck! Er, try the face.
Now I'm really cramped for space.
Best be careful, just in case.
Oops! That error's too big to repair.
Only wish I had a spare.
Look around but no whore there.
I hear stomp of policeman nigh!
Clap my telescope to eye.
Walk off gazing at the sky.
Robert
|
AP Wolf
Chief Inspector
Username: Apwolf
Post Number: 883
Registered: 2-2003
| | Posted on Monday, February 23, 2004 - 1:10 pm: |
|
Robert, enjoyed that very much indeed, here is my contribution to the broken watch:
She Drunk
Oh! She drunk and just fall down
Maybe she hit head on hard ground
Poor thing
she broke her wing
Make her good once more
Silly little whore
Put bits all back in
Maybe tick begin
Maybe someone lock
And tick wont tock
Silent clock
Under frock
Silent night too tight
Shining star
So bright
Smell of gin
Push back in
Smell of fear
Smell of beer
She look pale
Smell of ale
She drip drop
Not to stop
This still move a bit
Shove it in, it fit
Shove it more
Silly little whore
She fall down
Once more
Silly little whore
|
Robert Charles Linford
Assistant Commissioner
Username: Robert
Post Number: 2150
Registered: 3-2003
| | Posted on Monday, February 23, 2004 - 2:38 pm: |
|
Loved that, AP. I occasionally think of Jack as a Tommy Cooper character, smashing someone's watch and then, with a flourish, producing...a broken watch.
One day I swear I'll do Miller's Court as another fine mess created by Laurel and Hardy, but not till you've finished your Jack's Room pieces.
By the way, I think that Dylan song in which he mentions JTR is "Tombstone Blues".
Robert |
AP Wolf
Chief Inspector
Username: Apwolf
Post Number: 886
Registered: 2-2003
| | Posted on Tuesday, February 24, 2004 - 11:33 am: |
|
Jack’s Room (12)
‘You see, Jack, almost everything is a matter of habitual routine, even you my dear boy live your life to that unwritten rule, why, look at you, always busy with something, your little letters and drawings that you enjoy so much, studying your illustrated medical books, looking after your friend over there, making sure she has new cloth, and I note that you even turn to the large family bible on your desk and study certain passages again and again - you must show which passages these are presently as I have an abiding interest in all matters religious - and not to mention the time you spend gazing at yourself in that broken mirror, why, you must have been at it for two hours at least since we met by chance in your little hideaway up here. Therefore Jack, can you imagine your situation if someone came along and at a stroke removed all your little items with which your busy yourself with?’
‘That would be ghastly, sir!’ cried Jack in genuine alarm.
‘Quite right, Jack, ghastly it would be indeed, for then you would find yourself with limitless time on your hands and with nothing to fill that great vacant space. Why, I once knew a German chap who upon his retirement spent the next twenty years boring into his nose as if he expected to find enlightenment at the end of that nasal tunnel, and eventually the poor chap died from a nasal tumour, so he had in fact picked himself to death through simple boredom…’
‘Remarkable!’ cried Jack.
‘Yes, Jack, but even more remarkable was the example I gave you of the orang-utan, for although the entire purpose of the animal’s behaviour was orientated towards retrieving its dinner, its actions were not provoked by hunger but rather by tedium, hence when someone placed its dinner outside the cage it would no longer play its little game, because someone had disturbed its routine. Take your friend over there, Jack. Now you like to collect the cloth for your little friend yourself don’t you Jack? I thought so, well what if I came marching in here with twenty bits of different cloth that I had snipped away from the skirts of passing ladies and presented them to you, would you thank me for the pleasure?’
‘I most certainly would not, sir!’ he informed me most briskly.
‘Exactly, my dear young fellow, for the cloth represents does it not the culmination of an entire series of routine events that begin here in your little chamber, staring with your earnest perusal of the medical books, followed by the fairly lurid pictures you draw of naked and mutilated women, an hour or so before your broken mirror - this is done for the confirmation of your project and to completely disassociate yourself from the events that are about to take place - and then I would imagine you take the scissors from your desk, smarten yourself up and then take to the streets…’
I broke off to glance at my Hunter watch.
‘At about now, I would guess, Jack, as it is now quite dark outside and you will be able to scurry about without too much hindrance, then you will chance upon some lady and follow her at a distance, admiring the cloth that sits below the waistline, until chance and opportunity combine allowing you to rush pass the lady and quickly scissor out the small section you desire, most times without the lady even noticing that she has been abused in such a strange manner. And then you will rush home with your little trophy, pin it to your little friend there and I imagine it is then that you probably take a piece of broken glass from the mirror and cut yourself on the arm…’
‘You really are too clever for your own good,’ sighed Jack.
‘I haven’t finished yet, Jack, so please do not interrupt. Now the strange thing about all this, is that your entire focus is on the cloth that covers certain intimate areas of the lady’s body, with which you are quite familiar with from the study of the medical books, and of course your crude but quite forceful illustrations do depict these intimate areas as well, hence you have a remarkable working knowledge of such things when it comes to pen and paper but that remarkable working knowledge is totally unrealistic and forms the foundation of your routine of fantasy, however you do need to have something to strengthen that foundation, something quite solid and real, something taken from a woman on the streets and then brought back here, something tangible that you can touch and feel, which you do, before you carry out the punishment on your own body by cutting your wrist or arm, and then allowing that blood to drip onto the most recent piece of cloth that you have attached to your friend.
I would imagine, Jack, that pieces of cloth that you have snipped where you have ‘accidentally’ stabbed the lady concerned and have a small sample of her blood on would be of particular value to you?’
He nodded his head in confirmation.
‘Now Jack, we must wonder mustn’t we, just exactly what your reaction would be to a lady who approached you and rather than you removing the small piece of cloth she instead removed the entire clothing covering that intimate area of your obvious focus and openly displayed this to you and invited you to take your pleasure there for the price of four pence?’
Jack shuddered, there was no other word for it, and then began to weep uncontrollably, rocking back and forth at his desk.
‘You see don’t you Jack that such an event would be a fatal collision between two quite separate and distinct worlds, for I imagine no woman has been inside this room since you created your little friend over here, no woman would be allowed into this fantastic empire, and I believe you would slit your own mother’s throat if you found her here in this inner sanctum of your distorted desires.’
He continued rocking and weeping.
‘And the woman who showed you what was under her cloth you would slaughter, wouldn’t you, Jack? And you would not take a small piece of cloth as a trophy, oh no, Jack, you would take all the little bits and bobs that you see in your medical books, you would rip and tear, and I believe you would eat those things here in this room…’
The movement was so quick that I didn’t see it coming but the next second Jack was on top of me and pounding me with his bony fists, we both fell to the floor and to prevent serious injury to myself I was obliged to take Jack into a neck-lock.
At that moment the door opened and uncle Charles peered down at us.
‘I don’t like to disturb you,’ he said. ‘But young Jack’s supper is ready.’
|
Robert Charles Linford
Assistant Commissioner
Username: Robert
Post Number: 2154
Registered: 3-2003
| | Posted on Tuesday, February 24, 2004 - 1:03 pm: |
|
Very thought-provoking, AP. I liked the way you advanced step by step to the point where you shattered Jack's little world.
Uncle Charles coming in at the end was a very nice touch.
I thought it all worked very well except for maybe the eating bit, which seemed like a bit of a jump. Or was the narrator meant to be fishing here?
Robert |
AP Wolf
Chief Inspector
Username: Apwolf
Post Number: 887
Registered: 2-2003
| | Posted on Tuesday, February 24, 2004 - 1:23 pm: |
|
Thanks Robert
very kindly said.
The narrator uses provocation as his main tool, but you are quite right... I used a bungey when an elastic band would have done the job better.
I haven't had a drink yet so I suppose it must be tiredness, perhaps I should have a drink? |
AP Wolf
Chief Inspector
Username: Apwolf
Post Number: 888
Registered: 2-2003
| | Posted on Tuesday, February 24, 2004 - 4:39 pm: |
|
(following another current thread)
Interview with a Serial Killer
‘Take a chair, Jack,’ invited the interviewing officer.
Jack sat on the floor in the corner of the room.
‘Come on Jack, sit down and make yourself comfortable,’ insisted the IO.
‘I don’t sit,’ hissed Jack.
‘Ah well, that’s okay, whatever you are comfortable with, here have a cigarette,’ offered the IO pushing a pack of Benson & Hedges at the young man.
‘I don’t smoke,’ spat Jack.
‘Cup of coffee?’ offered the IO.
‘I drink water, nothing else,’ hissed Jack.
‘A chocolate biscuit?’
‘I eat only bread… no butter.’
‘Right then, young Jack, you know why we are here?’ asked the IO.
Smiles all around amongst the gathered IO’s and warders.
‘You are here,’ hissed Jack. ‘To stare at a fish in a bowl.’
‘Not at all, Jack, you don’t mind if I call you Jack?’
‘Call me whatever you like, you Catholic scumbag.’
‘Fine, that’s okay, Jack, now I want to ask you a few questions about your crimes. The first thing we’d like to know is about your own childhood. Did you have a difficult childhood, Jack?’
‘If I could have met myself as a child I would have slit my own throat and splattered my guts all over the pavements,’ spat Jack.
‘I see, and how did you get on with your mother and father?’
‘I threw my scumbag of a father down the stairs and broke his legs and slit my mother’s throat but unfortunately I didn’t kill her.’
‘Well, that’s great Jack, now do you feel that you lacked a male role model, sort of a fatherly figure, as you grew up, what about your uncle, weren’t you very fond of your uncle?’
‘Oh yes, so fond that I used to slit his arms and wrists for him and push him down the stairs but the scumbag wouldn’t die until he shot himself.’
‘So no father figure in your life then Jack?’
‘I would have killed him if I could.’
‘That’s fine, Jack, just fine, now tell us how you feel about women?’
‘I like to kill women.’
‘Why is that then, Jack?’
‘Because they are there.’
‘Fine, Jack, how many women have you killed?’
‘All of them.’
‘Now, Jack, you know you have to cooperate with us or else you will loose many of your privileges in here, you do know that don’t you Jack?’
‘What privileges are those then?’ asked Jack.
‘Well, we could stop you from exercising in the yard…’
‘I don’t go outside, never.’
‘We could order you to be confined to your cell…’
‘I never leave my cell, this is the first time I have left my cell in five years.’
‘We could stop your visitors…’
‘If someone visited me I would kill them.’
‘We could put you in solitary confinement.’
‘I am in solitary confinement and I like it.’
‘We could stop your mail…’
‘I write the letters around here.’
‘We could remove the pail from your cell.’
‘I piss on the floor anyway.’
‘Look Jack, we are here to help you…’
‘Then take a knife and slit my throat.’
‘Did you have sex with the women you killed?’
‘Do I look like the sort of person who would copulate with the dead?’
‘But did you get a sexual thrill from killing them?’
‘No, I got a thrill out of killing them.’
‘But might that have been a sexual thrill?’
‘Do you honestly think that I would get a sexual thrill out of slicing some old whore’s throat and then gutting her?’
‘But then why do it, Jack?’
‘Because I like killing women.’
‘But why not kill men?’
‘They fight back.’
‘So you targeted the more vulnerable members of society?’
‘Obviously, what did you think I was going to do? Start butchering weight lifters or lesbian bus drivers?’
‘Are you attracted to women, Jack?’
‘I like killing them.’
‘How did you select your victims, Jack?’
‘They came up to me and asked me whether I fancied a quick one.’
‘And did you, fancy a quick one?’
‘Yes, I killed them, very quickly.’
‘But you did get a sexual thrill from doing that?’
‘No, I just killed them.’
‘Why?’
‘Because they were there.’
‘So you experienced no sexual pleasure from murdering and mutilating these poor women?’
‘No.’
‘But you must have fantasised about killing these women?’
‘Why should I fantasise about killing the women, you Catholic scumbag, when I was actually killing them?’
‘Look Jack, I think we have got off on the wrong foot here. Is there anything you would like? Something we could bring you, a glass of something, what about a whisky?’
‘I don’t drink alcohol, but you could bring me a knife and then I could usefully slit your pox-ridden throat.’
The door to the interview room opens and a kindly old gentleman enters clutching a sheet of paper.
‘Jack!’ he calls. ‘How many times have I to tell you that correct spelling and diction is everything in these little notes you write. Why, right here you once again make some dreadful errors, and this little sketch is all amiss again, this poor woman has her kidneys where her heart should be…’
‘Sorry, sir!’ cries Jack, rising to his feet. ‘I confused Katy with Kelly and heart with belly.’
‘Never mind, Jack,’ replies the elderly gentleman. ‘Let us get you back to your little room and we can have a little chat.’
‘Oh, sir, that would so pleasurable, I should quite enjoy that!’
‘You can tell me all about Kelly then, can’t you, Jack?’
‘Yes, sir, I will,’ sighed Jack as the two left the interview room arm in arm.
The IO’s and warders slammed shut their books.
‘Who is next?’ asked the lead IO.
|
Robert Charles Linford
Assistant Commissioner
Username: Robert
Post Number: 2155
Registered: 3-2003
| | Posted on Tuesday, February 24, 2004 - 5:08 pm: |
|
Brilliant and masterly piece of satire, AP. It should be required reading for all those poor innocent interviewers about to be sent forth on their motive-gathering missions.
Maybe SSB should be required drinking for me if that's the effect it has!
Robert |
AP Wolf
Chief Inspector
Username: Apwolf
Post Number: 890
Registered: 2-2003
| | Posted on Wednesday, February 25, 2004 - 1:24 pm: |
|
Thanks Robert
Yes, the SSB certainly seems to do the trick sometimes.
Believe it or not I did actually base the dialogue on real-life interviews with various serial killers in the USA.
For instance when Carl Panzram was asked by a concerned committee of official prison visitors whether he might not one day reform, he replied:
‘I wish you had one neck between the lot of you, then I’d strangle you like a chicken… the only way to reform people is to kill them.’
Richard Ramirez when asked if he had any words of comfort for the families of his victims before sentencing in a Texan court:
‘You maggots make me sick… see you in Disneyland.’
Satire pure but based on factual interviews.
|
Robert Charles Linford
Assistant Commissioner
Username: Robert
Post Number: 2167
Registered: 3-2003
| | Posted on Saturday, February 28, 2004 - 6:26 am: |
|
Hi AP
Just musing on recent discussions about how Jack didn't like his fantasy world being shattered :
THESEUS
He wandered through his nights and days,
In and out the tunnelled ways,
Tiny string clutched tight in hands,
Twined and twisted with fairy strands.
But 'twas no great and grand adventure,
Muddled maze bereft of centre,
For the centre moved with stealth
And the centre was himself.
When the sharpened tongue of crone
Snipped the thread with mocking tone
Theseus found himself alone
A million miles adfift from home.
Then he swung his sword at whore
And fashioned his monstrous Minotaur.
Robert |
AP Wolf
Chief Inspector
Username: Apwolf
Post Number: 896
Registered: 2-2003
| | Posted on Saturday, February 28, 2004 - 1:20 pm: |
|
Robert
Muse on!
That was a stunning revitalisation of the poetry thread after a few days dormancy. Loved every word and enjoyed immensely the classical feel to it, as well as the futility and lack or purpose, apart from of course a curious self-purpose - that remains unknown to us - seemingly inspired by a rude interruption of his inner self.
My hat is off to you once again.
It might take awhile for me to catch you up as an old friend has just returned from a year in the Blue Mountains of Jamaica and he has made the dreadful error of giving me an entire case of ‘Wray & Nephew’ overproof white rum plus a box of limes picked from the trees in his garden there, and I fear the spirits are taking over again.
|
Robert Charles Linford
Assistant Commissioner
Username: Robert
Post Number: 2170
Registered: 3-2003
| | Posted on Saturday, February 28, 2004 - 2:06 pm: |
|
Thanks AP. All I have to sustain me is a cup of Kearley and Tonge tea and the odd Jaffa from the nearby orange market. Oh well.
Robert |
AP Wolf
Chief Inspector
Username: Apwolf
Post Number: 897
Registered: 2-2003
| | Posted on Saturday, February 28, 2004 - 5:03 pm: |
|
He wandered through his days and night
And through that foul labyrinth finds flight
Clutched in tiny hand his tiny string
Swept away on fine fairy wing
Strands of some great unwinding thread
Pick like little sharp needles in his head
In centre of maze stands confounded
All himself by self surrounded
Feels the lash of tongue unleashed
Feels the need to kill the beast
Afore it is created or take breath
To put the dark baby to the death
To clean the sore
So slew that Minotaur.
|
Robert Charles Linford
Assistant Commissioner
Username: Robert
Post Number: 2172
Registered: 3-2003
| | Posted on Saturday, February 28, 2004 - 5:38 pm: |
|
Great one, AP. It takes my one a stage further.
Couldn't resist this about calls of nature :
Was Jack the first sex killer-in-chief,
Or was it Jill who was seeking relief?
Was Jack for his poor member distraught,
Or was it Jill who was taken short?
Answers are few and questions are many :
Spending fourpence or spending a penny?
Mad Jack made madder
By Annie's weak bladder?
Perhaps. But when gore-covered he stands
It is Jack who must now wash his hands.
Robert
|
AP Wolf
Chief Inspector
Username: Apwolf
Post Number: 900
Registered: 2-2003
| | Posted on Monday, March 01, 2004 - 4:45 pm: |
|
Tainted Blood
Scaredy cat
Scared of rat
Little choice
Of little voice
Scared of sparrow
Scared of shadow.
Take a drink
And stick it in
Lousy bitch
Give me itch
Damn near hell
Pox and swell.
Sooth with lotion
Sooth with potion
But it in me skin
Me blood run thin
Me heart move round
Me heart doth pound.
Voice in me head
Voice in me bed
‘rip stitch whip
Whip stitch rip
Kill the itch
And kill the bitch.’
Form a fist
Cut me wrist
‘I’m a devil
I’m a kettle
I’m a Protestant
No popery…’
Ah cut me baby
Yeah, tainted blood
Just cut me baby
Tainted blood.
Once I ran to you
Now I run from you
And all this blood
I feel
Makes me feel all so real
Tainted blood, baby
Yeah, tainted bloooood, baby
Touch me, touch me girl
All I want is blood from you
All I want is that from you
Ohhhh! Tainted blood
I get this thrill from you
All I want is that from you
Your shattered love is real
And tainted blood is all I feel
Ohhhh! Tainted blood…
Tainted blood baby
…tainted blood baby
Once I ran from you
Now I run to you
This tainted blood you gave me
Need some more just to save me
That’s tainted blood baby.
|
Robert Charles Linford
Assistant Commissioner
Username: Robert
Post Number: 2180
Registered: 3-2003
| | Posted on Monday, March 01, 2004 - 5:59 pm: |
|
I really enjoyed that, AP. The tainted blood angle with its various meanings is very powerful.
There's something very pleasing about the last verse and the way it suggests a mind going round and round in a circle of worry.
I'll have to try doing a poem about blood too.
Robert |
Robert Charles Linford
Assistant Commissioner
Username: Robert
Post Number: 2183
Registered: 3-2003
| | Posted on Tuesday, March 02, 2004 - 3:09 pm: |
|
TAINTED BLOOD TOO
Tainted blood
Worm in bud
Poisoned well
Pumped from hell
Mend your boat
While afloat
Can't be done
Water run
Seed unsow
Blood must flow
Age-old curse
Universe
Step outside
See it wide
Godlike view
But not of you
Rip and slash
Seize your stash
Cleanse with flood
Just leaves mud
And tainted blood
Worm in bud
Robert |
Natalie Severn
Inspector
Username: Severn
Post Number: 361
Registered: 11-2003
| | Posted on Tuesday, March 02, 2004 - 3:36 pm: |
|
Fascinating poems these AP and Robert.They flow around and swirl to a sinister beat both of them.Very powerful.
Best Natalie. |
|
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