*

we get to the show and (fucking peaking) the place is surrounded, the peelers are everywhere, armoured trucks, lined up, outside the venue, soldiers (peaking) kids with their machine guns and the kids themselves, starving, and written on, and surrounded, and boys take off like balloons, what is called pogoing, in the lingo, a young man is pogoing, on the spot, in the lingo he is dancing, a bold one is jumping, up, into the air and it’s, he has let go, it’s, he hangs there, it’s, he’s weightless, now, floating there, looking down at them, and taunting them, boys are, groups of boys we are, as boys we lift up Belfast, and there is something to his throat, a connection, as he is floating into the air, is God’s more, boys, God’s more, lads, taking off into the air, one after the other, and the peelers are making a joke of calling them home but then Fuck Forever, and in motion, but now the soldiers are rising up and spitting down on the looking up and from the yelling, it is clear, that God is on our side, yes, even if he is like, yo-yos, and dragging them down to earth, through room after room (within a room) (secret room) as everyone is taking their clotheses off and removed their belts with the studs and piled high and Barney is taking his belt off at the checkpoint and he goes to take his trousers down, he thinks we need to undress and to be naked weapons, out front, and as we go inside we are taken up, and propelled, on a wave, blind wave is being lifted up and Rebel Songs, as a sound begins, a Rebel Song is a sound that comes and that goes, an echoes, is what is lagging, beneath, in the form of a snake, blind wave is white snake, grub is father as mother is riven, flowing, with blinding and passing, and queerer than the singer, a raven steps out of white light, a black raven at the white rock is a swan in a terror to transform itself, till a snake, burrowing out, is come in, in its tearing of terrible, muscle, is what is spitting, is what is spitting is tearing and force-eating, its way, outside, is life, on life, is its whole body convulsing, and by force, revealed, as a snake, black snake as a hood, worn by Miracle, as a word, set teeth, into silence, as my father, who holds the microphone in his tiny, dead hands, him what makes the noise, is the shape of a black snake, coming into ice as horses into war, as legs reaching up, as hands reaching up in a great wave of reaching up whose name is Set, Baby, and what is called Egypt, and what is known as the Free State, and the terrible thought of God, looking back behind where Art stood, and seeing only his own face and blackness, his hood like a blind black bally, is to start to sing, as Miracle wears the crown like a shroud, and the song becomes as all around it, standing, staring out of the song, like ghosts come back to the place of their own murder, is the show, called Family, and is containing, restraining, as Family Is Forever, these words are the song that is singing (doth we comprehende all speeds, daemon, as we cannot see a flye as it moves from here to there, are there not daemons, I name them, that move faster than sight) and behind it, this tremendous noise, this screaming metal machine music (I hate the British army and I hate the RUC) until everything is locked and frozen, into the half-formed arms of a song that remembers as Family, as the snake is white, riot, as the sea is Forever, Family, as the scene is dissolved, as the plug-ugly guitarist returns, as I slide through a gap in the crowd, Is Forever, as I hit the floor: