I used to write A LOT. I have close to 300 books of notebooks of writing in my cupboard dating back to 1980 when I got my first ‘diary’. (That is cute I used to actually write “Dear Diary”, then I wrote “Dear God”. I should return to writing “Dear God” come to think of it….).
In 2001 fairly new to Glasgow I was experimenting on every level. Glasgow was a thrilling place, it felt like every corner was ‘up for it’. Whatever venture you wanted to trial, it was ready and willing. So in addition to my developing experimental performance I started exploring more surreal forms of writing. I have just found one such example in my archive. ‘Beathag The’ was written in 2001-ish. I proposed it as a regular series for the arts newspaper ‘The Skinny’ (which was only in print format at that time). I imagined it would be accompanied by illustrations. Unfortunately (or not?) it was a bit too ‘out there’ even for them. So the piece has languished in my cupboard until now…..
The name Beathag is a girl's name meaning "life". Pronounced BEH-ak, this Scottish name is also seen as Bethoc. In that form it was the mother of Duncan, the monarch slain by Macbeth in Shakespeare's play. In later years, it was sometimes Latinized as as Beatrice.
BEATHAG THE
Beathag was a praying mantis with gorillas for arms and cups for hands, her hips swung like albatross dimes and yet she had the appearance of silence. Walking down the catacomb cairn Tennents lager dripping precariously from her toe-tacks she melted inequity just as soon as blushed a storm with her ferocious tempo. She wasn’t fearsome, she was secretly addictive. Bellowing down Sauchiehall Street in operatic splendour, she reflected not only the oddity of time that was but moreso…. what was to come.
(this continues my sharing of archival material for paid or founding members only)
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