Field Study's Man in E11 reports from a new site of redemptive rot

Field Study's Man in E11 returned from the allotment caked in a foul smelling mud. The stench was rank; a powerfully noxious blend of sweat and vomit, in which the emetic field student seemed quite comfortable and even pleased with himself, particularly when he belched. His eructations added to the odious miasma which hung around him like a strange aura. He reminded me of a mongrel terrier we had, a great rabbit-er, which would roll in cow-pats and any stinking thing else, to mask her smell for the hunt. I retreated as far from the field student as I could in an effort to avoid the rhizomatic intrusions of his stinking muddy field. I tried to ask him what on earth, or in the earth, he had been doing. Each time I opened my mouth I gagged. We resorted to writing each other notes via a very cheap reporters notebook.

Where have you been?

     

Climbing in the high canopies of the purple sprouting broccoli forest.

Hovering above a field of newly emerging lovage.

Floating over primroses flowering on the edge of the sodden swale of A.

Diving in the fetid putrefactions of nettle and comfrey. 

Swimming downhill, aflow in their juices.

to a new site of redemptive rot.

Our new compost bays and liquid manure bins, transplanted from Plot A to Plot B.

But why the god damned awful stench?

That is you!

Who?

You!

Me!!

Yes you!

No!

Yes!

But how?

It is you, because of what we are trying to compost in those bays; the remnants of your stream, or should I say, sewer of consciousness writing experiments from the darkest beginnings of your 21st century. Yes, do you not recall the bilge and effluence that flowed from the tips of your multi-buy value bics, scrawled into all those nasty value reporters notebooks? Volume upon cathartic volume of loathsome reflection and regurgitated petty psychosis.

We have been soaking them to a pulp, diffusing them in a potent municipal multicultural food waste compost mix (just add lots of water and mix), in wheely bins for nearly 7 months. It was time to liberate the bubbling bacterial bile from the wheely anaerobic dumps and incorporate them into the compost heaps. I stink of your partially digested outpourings, the weight of your spew, the writing (no, rotting) on so many a spiral bound page - both sides!

Damn! I'm sorry Field Study's Man in E11, for subjecting you to such an onerous and odious task. I have to say though, I am rather taken by the sodden prettiness of some of the less disintegrated tomes, those which still convey something legible of my not yet totally pulped fictions. Take a look at these palimpsests - these stinking 'thinks' come back to haunt me.

Rot.