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Fire

Submitted by on October 24, 2012 – 4:50 pmNo Comment

Bury and art is not something that you would normally say in one sentence unless it was to express the lack of art within the Bury realm. Art there was in Bury.

The surrounding hills had decanted of humanity as they descended on Bury town centre. Hordes of track-suited bottoms tucked into socks looked on at the fire gardens which were impressive. The explosive leap of flame, shooting a fireball into the air, surprised and delighted. The air was hot with convected heat. Trees were aflame with heart shapes, and glass containers contained flaming flames. There was fire everywhere and not a firefighter in sight. This isn’t what I avoid paying my rates for.

I walked from there to the church in the centre of Bury, the roads were closed to cars which I enjoyed. I love it when roads are closed to cars, unless I’m about to drive down one of them, then I think it’s fucking unreasonable to be closing roads for some arty-farty nonsense. But I wasn’t driving so I walked right down the middle of the road just to make a point to myself.

The church was selling tea and cake and so I went in. But there was more than tea and cake, there were a few other FC fans in there as well as me. Maybe the influence of the Nun is spreading.

In the main part of the church was a young woman and a pianist. The woman was singing while the pianist played the piano which was surprising. The singing woman really had a loud voice, she almost hurt my eardrums. I wasn’t happy about that, I don’t mind loud singing as long as it doesn’t hurt my eardrums. I mean her singing was ridiculously loud, if there was an award for ridiculously loud singing she would win it, hands down.

I left the church deaf, what is not really the done thing because I thought you were meant to go into church with an ailment and come out cured of that ailment. I’m surprised they didn’t poke my eyes out while I was in there. But they didn’t they only deafened me, so I suppose I should be pleased.

The next thing I came across was the laughing yoga, which wasn’t funny at all. It was just this bloke laughing. I didn’t feel stretched out or balanced or anything so that was shit.

The health art was a few stalls in an empty shop unit giving out those leaflets you see when you are at the doctors. ‘Wash your hands to avoid bowel cancer’, ‘Eat penguin fat to stop scrotum disease’ and ‘Wear baggy bloomers for a healthy pelvic floor’. The laughing yoga idiot laughing all the while.

At the top of one of the buildings was a light thingy that picked up your presence and from that generated various light patterns that were projected onto the floor and screen. This was pretty good. I like art that interacts with its environment or people or whatever. This led nicely into the indoor art which had another woman sat on the floor in another empty shop unit, a masterpiece of Tory economic policy. She was playing the violin and some computer generated music which made these bobbly ball things that were suspended from the ceiling pulsate to the rhythm of the music. Now this was all right because there wasn’t any really ridiculously loud eardrum-bursting singing or a stupid bloke laughing for nothing. It was just good old fashioned weird music and pulsating globules like any drugged out trip.

I arrived back in Manchester where the music is just loud not ridiculously loud

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