The Queen is Dead

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Here lies Old Blighty, devoured by feedback. The song spins off from the incident in 1982 when an intruder broke into the Queen’s bedroom for a bit of a chat. At the same time the lyrics admit to the difficulty of finding a real love. I pictured a punk romance in which England struggles to dream. Advice to young Royals of any stripe: beware not the enemy without, but those who love you the most.

The story was constructed from samples of the song’s lyrics, a Keats poem, and a few other items I can no longer recall, all mixed together in a cut-up engine, rearranged, a story searched for and found, characters and events emerging into view as though from a mist of words.


Published by Serpent’s Tale, 2010.