Travis Hedge Coke
There Is Nothing Left to Say (On the Invisibles)
7.01
Death
by Travis Hedge Coke
Death is the trick card, the draw no one ever wants to interpret directly yet shudders to interpret indirectly, either. Give us the King of something! we shout, even if only internally. Show us the somebody holding five swords! the sun! When it comes to Death and Deaths comes to us, we get weirder and weirder.
It is an always-narrowing bridge. The bridge of size. This is big.
Two of Swords
A stalemate, a crossroads, and a truce step into a bar. It hurts their heads.
The stalemate says, fair enough, and stops. The crossroads turns a bit to get past the bar. The truce
I don’t know know what the truce does. Whether it is a truce or a stalemate probably relies much on ego, does it not?
Something I have always felt endearing about crossed keys – the keys of Saint Peter, the keys of Heaven, the key to the diary and the backup – is that the keys give the power of binding and loosing, of unlocking and locking, and that there are either two locks or there is, yes, a backup key.
There is something amazing in the religious implication of a backup key to Heaven.
Seven of Cups
Inanna only had seven gates. I ask you to calculate how many doors you have opened, how many gates unlatched, in this life.
Ever notice the Hand of Glory is only ever a drawing in the comic?
The shape of the goblet between two similar faces is empty space and empty space can hold anything.
The old white horse, she ain’t what she used to be. Ain’t what she used to be; repeat.
Ain’t I Glad I Got out the Wilderness! Get out of the Wilderness. Get out of the Wilderness.
Three of Wands
Because there are three volumes, each designed to intrigue and invite in a different audience or an audience at different times, it seems The Invisibles is designed with three entry-points. Volume One, issue one. Volume Two, issue two. Volume Three, issue twelve. But, Volume Three ends on issue one because issue one could be mistaken for a first issue. It can be a first issue. Volume Three, issue one, mirrors Volume One, issue one’s existence as a preamble to the opening story of Volume One, issues two through four. The eventual trade paperbacks of The Invisibles numbered seven volumes when the series was completely collected, and those collections turned out incomplete. The omnibus is incomplete, lacking the paper dolls.
Every issue is someone’s first issue. Even if they read it before. “A mummified scarab.” “Soppy things.” Killing two with one peach. “For the fairest.” “My pickled onion as well.”
“You wrote the script, Love.” “It all came true.” “It always does.” Robin and Mob talking out of order at the end of a book which is not The Invisibles.
Like our moral judgments, our navigation is going to prove flawed. The more we try to avoid it, the more buoys and tollbooths and signs and caltrops we put down, the more we have to deal with our flaws.
Four of Cups
Stone fruits.
Play Jeanne. Françoise Hardy. Play it loud.
Six of Swords
Play Shonen Knife. Play Explosion and let it drift to Catch Your Bus. You’re the DJ now.
Nous vers Dianoïa. Nous nous sommes rapportés.
Three of Swords
Parlay Peaches, Princess. Sweet song.
Play Jean-Michel. “The pieces of the puzzle are now at the disposition of new players.” In 22, “The palate is super fresh with a racy and balanced character, showcasing depth and delicate fruit flavors. The vivacious minerality…”
Every issue. Every story. Every conspiracy. I could have talked to you about all of these. I’m perplexed. I wish there was more time. I thought there would be more time. Oh, the places you will go. I have been. We have. It was a long row, getting from here do there.
“Please come down flying low, for me.”
In the next section, I will tell you the truth.
– March 23, 2023
*******
Nothing in There is Nothing Left to Say (On The Invisibles) is guaranteed factually correct, in part or in toto, nor aroused or recommended as ethically or metaphysically sound, and the same is true of the following recommendations we hope will nonetheless be illuminating to you, our most discriminating audience.
Karnark. Karnak.
Judee Sill. Judee Sill.
Yoko Ono. Yes, I’m a Witch.
