Wednesday, June 30, 2010
flee my all
It’s hard to believe but I used to be something. Not just one of your run of the mill stooges you’d step over in the street but a real somebody. I had it all; although not everything I had belonged rightfully to me. I took what I wanted with both hands, covering all I saw with gold but lacking in a substantial way any of the glory normally associated with these excesses. Living like a king means nothing if the peasants are still flinging shit at you. You would never see it, it was just a sense. That feeling of loyalty that is chained to absolute fear seemed to be veiled to thinly just for the sake of mocking, the underground resistance to prevalent in the streets to afford the title. A chain reaction that was not a forceful wave but more a conscious progression through the people as if it were a simultaneous realisation of a notion to the understanding of fact. At the daybreak they would have me by the neck from a tree, a slow jangling dance of the damned for them all to witness. I had hatched a plan of escape but it didn’t extend past the notion of running away. Details of how or where weren’t to play a part as options were limited to the airport or a shabbily constructed boat of unknown condition and the outlook grimly pointed towards short-lived freedom before an embarrassing capture. I figured “why not?” if you’ve got no chance may as well aim high. A spirited chase until daybreak got me clear of the town limits but dense bushland was my savoir. Just past the tree line I fell down a small ditch onto the invading militia.
Rigorous efforts to hurry demise
The stench of the halcyon days still clung to the feeble, those raised for the good life in the great times of old and yonder. A distant memory for those who used to be able to afford it. Now the thinning veil of society drapes across a skeletal husk of decency. Some are prospering greatly at this time of last drinks, the pretty and the simple grabbing all the advantage of the post apocalyptic pantomime. A pout and a wink all that’s needed to tip it in their favour. Any time past last drinks and you don’t even need the wink. A slight indication of a notion down that line of thinking will get you all the attention usually reserved for those hard at it. Why can’t we share a house with him? “He had never done similar with us” a response muddled up for appearance rather than reason or persecution. The fact a need had not existed prior was as of no concern. A decision that his fate was dyed in the wool, yet ours was one of rainbows and gold. A glistening oasis one had to clench with both hands, and drag into reality. It may exist just beyond the horizon, we must warn the others.
scapegoats sailing boats
The ship an upturned mess of ribs and boards. A bared back skeletal frame claiming its salvation from the sea by pounding the rocky shoreline with its unassailable carcass. People scattered in the water desperate to once again feel the ground beneath them while they kick and thrash at the sea that tries to reclaim them, tokens of the scuttle. A warning to all who should tempt the waves and a show of forth, wrath be the carnage that the deep waters are free to disperse, if the wind so allows. The lucky trudging off up the sandy bay into the arms of an ever embracing township. They were fools to think the enclosed cliffs were anything but there to kill them. But once again the ritualistic sacrifice of a ship full of idiots was generously shunted towards them; hope more than anything that this time was more than just different. Back to the local ale house to salt wounds and drown in a more pleasant manner, under the golden sway of ale and scotch. This was the way man was supposed to destroy himself, self loathing and self destruction with an upside. A reminder of why fateful journeys were planned and lost in a too frequent cycle to be considered even on par with foolish. The halcyon days had dwindled along with the stocks of this favourite of poisons. The town was running out of drink and the only known source was beyond the breakers. A land of barley and hops or so assumed. They cared not to dream of a distant place of beauty; everyone here was trying their hardest to forget where they already were. A time honoured tradition dyed in the wool of all that dwell within this cove. Isolated by the geometry of the valley that it fills and the general distain for ship building that it had built up through its lively history. A new face arrived amongst the last batch of survivors that had saved themselves from the waters. Under the salt and sand that crusted his clothes he appeared to be dressed like someone of note. The usual mob got hold of him though, accused of witch craft or alike, no one is allowed to just turn up in this town. Omens as they were of why the ship went down. A short fumbled inquiry led us to the fact he had actually caused the wreck, sailing a smaller boat directly into our flagships path. My amazement at his ability to pilot ship from foreign lands to not quite our shores amazed me but I was at odds with a town with a penchant for witch hunts, and this one was open and shit as he piled the evidence against himself with his own testimony. Tomorrow he would burn but tonight he was my guest. A fact I’d forgotten to have relayed to my wife. Why can’t we share this house with him? Purposefully overlooking the evidence that justified my lady’s opinions being yelled carelessly from the street. He could build a descent ship to get us all out of the corner we have backed ourselves into. My claims unsubstantiated and her a wily one with a penchant for an over enthusiastic pout he was banished to the barn. The argument I had such a tight clench on released and idealoligy turned to the wind he was left for the roughians to deal with after last drinks. I dare not break the news to him; he was probably still looking forward to having a tomorrow.
Winter is for me
Next to the window I draped myself wearily across my desk, the day had ground me down the tiniest bit, but that was enough to make me give up. My view out over the woodlands was bleak at best. The winter cold had crushed the life out of the trees leaving them leafless skeletal tangles littering the empty fields. I enjoy the cold of the season but it seems nothing else does. Everyone huddles inside creating confused unnatural mix of the unwary hiding from the lingering frosts, doorways and lobbies now jammed with people trying to draw their last few huffs of the artificial heat before bursting forth on the realty of the streets. Indoors becomes a claustrophobic maze of unmoving pedestrians, no real purpose to their step, just occupying space as long as it’s warm. The day finally comes to an end and I can escape the crush. The open air is gloriously harsh on the skin. A sense of the cold cobblestones rising through the soles of my well worn boots. The night is mine alone as I stroll the emptying mall, the lights of storefronts cast shadows across my path the outlines of the to and frow of the outlined shapes sealed behind their glass cages. Trapped by an invisible barrier of temperature deficit. I smile to myself and embrace a gift of winter.
Water bottle murder
From out of the blue a conjection of noise filled the small courtyard. I peered from my balcony to see what caused the resulting commotion but couldn’t ascertain any visual evidence of the fracas. The greens keeper’s voice filling the atmosphere with baffled cries of desperation. I ran down to offer what feeble assistance I could muster, I’m not very practical and anything beyond folding and stapling paper was above my expertise. Puffing and panting as I arrived by his side, exhausted by my descent of the multiple staircases I had just traversed. I was expecting torn limbs, and rivers of crimson to confront me, horrific sights of an arduous battle of flesh against machine. But the scene that confronted me was visually calm, like walking in on a radio play of all noise with no movement. Grabbing the groundskeeper by his shoulder I shook him lightly and demanded to know he was alright. For fortunate he was, but it was a bottle of water that had received the wrath of the mulching machine. Flinging sharded plastic into the hard gravelly surface of the courtyard emanating tiny crackles and pings as it struck the bluestone. I told him to get back to work and next time unless it’s a finger or more keep the noise down or there would be disciplinary action
The buisiness menu
Egg salad sandwich is the most horrific of all lunchtime options, yet I watch him purchase one every day. The stench seeping out of his skin’s every pore for the remaining hours of the day. On the odd special occasion he would bring in a tureen of garlic prawns which in effect created a force field around him. His office an impenetrable fortress of odour. He was either oblivious to the work conditions he was creating or this was a very clever ploy. No one would bother him from lunch onward; afternoons were his without disruption or deadline.
The favourite game in the office was to send in unknowing temps into take dictation. He loved to talk and often forgot the point of his story so a long session of undirected talking often resulted. The temps would emerge much later, horrified and traumatised but were always greeted with a welcoming cheer. They were now part of the club.
It all came unstuck for him when a new personal assistant organised him a mid afternoon meeting with the senior Executive team. His body unable to adjust to the now abundant presence of people and his inflexible nature of diet not changing it led to an unfortunate incident during the CEO’s address. It started as a squeak ad ended as a hearty rumble of buttocks on moulded plastic seat. A radiated stench encompassing all in the vicinity. The scrambled noise of panic. Chairs crashing to the tiles. Frantic people pushing bystanders to the ground, for others to trip over and trample. Wild eyed hoards high on adrenaline and panic search recklessly for an escape. The illuminated beacon of an exit sign. Later that day he ‘retired’, his office still being aired out, his replacement arrived. It was clear to the staff that the meeting had been to tell him that he was being let go, his indiscretion hurrying up the implementation. It was rather cruel they didn’t even give him the rest of the day. Carrying the personal items he had gathered together from his desk he nodded gingerly at the man who was taking over all he had commanded. The man brushed passed him ignoring the metaphorical torch the old man was trying to pass on. He was a 30’s something hotshot fast talker who looked the part and definitely believed he was about to own this building.
HE took and instant shine to me, offering me his tutelage and mentoring. I often received this, I have assumed it’s due to a look of ineptitude and a willingness to be moulded into someone else’s image easily occupying their shadow.
The favourite game in the office was to send in unknowing temps into take dictation. He loved to talk and often forgot the point of his story so a long session of undirected talking often resulted. The temps would emerge much later, horrified and traumatised but were always greeted with a welcoming cheer. They were now part of the club.
It all came unstuck for him when a new personal assistant organised him a mid afternoon meeting with the senior Executive team. His body unable to adjust to the now abundant presence of people and his inflexible nature of diet not changing it led to an unfortunate incident during the CEO’s address. It started as a squeak ad ended as a hearty rumble of buttocks on moulded plastic seat. A radiated stench encompassing all in the vicinity. The scrambled noise of panic. Chairs crashing to the tiles. Frantic people pushing bystanders to the ground, for others to trip over and trample. Wild eyed hoards high on adrenaline and panic search recklessly for an escape. The illuminated beacon of an exit sign. Later that day he ‘retired’, his office still being aired out, his replacement arrived. It was clear to the staff that the meeting had been to tell him that he was being let go, his indiscretion hurrying up the implementation. It was rather cruel they didn’t even give him the rest of the day. Carrying the personal items he had gathered together from his desk he nodded gingerly at the man who was taking over all he had commanded. The man brushed passed him ignoring the metaphorical torch the old man was trying to pass on. He was a 30’s something hotshot fast talker who looked the part and definitely believed he was about to own this building.
HE took and instant shine to me, offering me his tutelage and mentoring. I often received this, I have assumed it’s due to a look of ineptitude and a willingness to be moulded into someone else’s image easily occupying their shadow.
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
Broken men don’t dream
She saw the sadness in her eyes and it hurt. She turned away and kept walking toward the door. He slumped down into his arm chair, a piled mess of elbows and duffle coat. He wasn’t a fan of life anymore. Just trying to waste the days.
Doctors sketch
Doctor: I’m afraid she’s caught crazy.
Waving arm crazy.
It’s a very treatable condition.
Simply take no booze and no drugs.
Parents: I don’t think she can do that.
Doctor: Alright the other solution is no booze, more drugs.
But of the prescription kind.
Parents: She won’t like that either
Doctor : Oh. Well then here is a prescription for do whatever the hell you like.
Parents: Well that sounds quite promising. How does that work.
Doctor: Get out of my office
Waving arm crazy.
It’s a very treatable condition.
Simply take no booze and no drugs.
Parents: I don’t think she can do that.
Doctor: Alright the other solution is no booze, more drugs.
But of the prescription kind.
Parents: She won’t like that either
Doctor : Oh. Well then here is a prescription for do whatever the hell you like.
Parents: Well that sounds quite promising. How does that work.
Doctor: Get out of my office
Lunch might be difficult
Everything I touched was ash, my face a mess with tears and dirt, hardened across my cheeks and around my mouth. This place was hell, if not before the accident it certainly was now. Except without the fire and brimstone, they got that wrong. It was endless nothing that tore your soul apart. Scorched earth lay as far as I was prepared to look. The gas station was a giant hole in the ground now. I assume the tanks went up when all this started, and along with it most of the food supplies as it housed most canned goods and dried meat products. Scavenging from the deli can only go so far, without power most of it had already turned, an oversight eco friendly hippie types missed when demanding fresh produce. Damn them all.
boutique beer
The pint thrust before me was dense and brown.
“Honey you say” Trying to fake interest with accentuation on the raised eyebrow.
“Yea matey, honey, its good aye.”
“How do they put the honey in the beer?”
“Micro brew mate, better than that production line shit I normally see you throwing down your neck.”
Smaller batches equal quality apparently
“Boutique, it’s just like cufflinks.”
I was confused, and I assume it showed.
You know
A jab in the ribs with an elbow helped to clear nothing up.
You’ll have to explain, diagrams, pie charts or slideshows may be necessary
Alright, it’s just like dressing up. Slobs wear t-shirts, Collars class that up. So those of us better than dressed up slobs have to go the cuff, you know, to show were still superior.
Just like our beer, matey.
I was relieved the y had returned to mate. I thought I was slipping down the friendship ladder.
Plebs drink local brew. Then when they’re trying to be fancy they’ll go an imported. So as you can see we have to drag ourselves up another notch, to boutique. They’ve no idea what it even means.
Yes, that makes sense, but ill put it into a flowchart when I get back to the office so I don’t get lost in the intricacies.
“So once I’ve Mastered fancy beer and cufflinks I’ll be as good as you?”
“Oh deary no, you can see I’m far superior.”
“So you’re better than me then?
Well yes of course I am. It’s blatantly obvious to all and you asking the question adds even more to the argument. It makes you seem to be stupid and oblivious.
It’s not economically pheasable that you could be better than me.
But I’m better than that guy right?
Yes, defiantly, but not everyone can tell at a glance. So drink that boutique and clamp something shiny metal on your wrist.
Oh, I’ll try I guess.
“Honey you say” Trying to fake interest with accentuation on the raised eyebrow.
“Yea matey, honey, its good aye.”
“How do they put the honey in the beer?”
“Micro brew mate, better than that production line shit I normally see you throwing down your neck.”
Smaller batches equal quality apparently
“Boutique, it’s just like cufflinks.”
I was confused, and I assume it showed.
You know
A jab in the ribs with an elbow helped to clear nothing up.
You’ll have to explain, diagrams, pie charts or slideshows may be necessary
Alright, it’s just like dressing up. Slobs wear t-shirts, Collars class that up. So those of us better than dressed up slobs have to go the cuff, you know, to show were still superior.
Just like our beer, matey.
I was relieved the y had returned to mate. I thought I was slipping down the friendship ladder.
Plebs drink local brew. Then when they’re trying to be fancy they’ll go an imported. So as you can see we have to drag ourselves up another notch, to boutique. They’ve no idea what it even means.
Yes, that makes sense, but ill put it into a flowchart when I get back to the office so I don’t get lost in the intricacies.
“So once I’ve Mastered fancy beer and cufflinks I’ll be as good as you?”
“Oh deary no, you can see I’m far superior.”
“So you’re better than me then?
Well yes of course I am. It’s blatantly obvious to all and you asking the question adds even more to the argument. It makes you seem to be stupid and oblivious.
It’s not economically pheasable that you could be better than me.
But I’m better than that guy right?
Yes, defiantly, but not everyone can tell at a glance. So drink that boutique and clamp something shiny metal on your wrist.
Oh, I’ll try I guess.
Trains cause pain
The train rushed past in a fury of noise. The cold numbed my hands and face. It had also slowed my reflexes but not my thoughts. Interacting with the world was arduous and involved. My mind whirred relentlessly. There was no stopping that.
I hadn’t heard the whistle, the ambience of train motion or the shouts of the guard. Collision was imminent until a flash of tin grabbed me from my dreams, a shiny chocolate rapper flew by my head dragged and dangled in the wind commanding my attention. My eyes followed it and my body came along for the ride turning ever so slightly now uncrossing the path of the train and myself.
The train guard so relieved by my miraculous yet unknowing escape from death he rushed at me to embrace in a kind hug. I was startled by the contact and fell backwards into the now stationary train striking my head on the stainless steel stairs.
I hadn’t heard the whistle, the ambience of train motion or the shouts of the guard. Collision was imminent until a flash of tin grabbed me from my dreams, a shiny chocolate rapper flew by my head dragged and dangled in the wind commanding my attention. My eyes followed it and my body came along for the ride turning ever so slightly now uncrossing the path of the train and myself.
The train guard so relieved by my miraculous yet unknowing escape from death he rushed at me to embrace in a kind hug. I was startled by the contact and fell backwards into the now stationary train striking my head on the stainless steel stairs.
Family servitude
My father had always assumed he was a hearty standalone type but without his wife there to prop up his illusion of self reliance his world crumbled fast. This meant he required a full time nurse and carer, but this he couldn’t bring himself to admit. He forced them to wear formal service suits and attire and be referred to as butler. He burnt out a lot of them in the first few weeks but finally one of them stayed. Whether this was through ignorance or they enjoyed the antics we didn’t ask. We didn’t even discover their actual name, it was just butler. Who they were and what they did meant the same thing to us.
And dad loved having someone to be in charge of. He missed the old days when he used to be a hands on whip cracker on the production line floor at the factory. Loud clear orders barked directly at incompetence. That had all been phased out with HR and PR legislation running amok through business. You couldn’t tell someone what’s what without three to five lawyers and representatives of different gender and cultural backgrounds standing in between to mediate. Sugar coating words so they lose all meaning. The fun had left; he had to consciously avoid all unskilled labourers and was left upstairs sulking in the boardroom. Yelling there didn’t go down well either even though the HR found no issue with overpaid executives coping a blast for pure idiocy (HR despise anyone payed more than themselves and pity anyone who earns less). The problem arose from the fact that apparently the university types, thought themselves above being belittled in front of others. Quitting was their way out and a lot of them took it. Leaving him in a position of toothless tiger. All aggression without an outlet which depressed him greatly. These butlers were now copping 15 years of pent up frustration. He had tried to bring (let-out) his frustration home but was at least weary of the fact he knew mum was fiery and wouldn’t take to well to any nonsense. He would take it slow, ease into it. The first comment in she tore strips off him, he sulked away with his plan in tatters within minutes. Shortly after the fruitless exploit while wandering the grounds, the result of being thrown out of the house after his indiscretion, he came up upon the notion that us three children were important in the scheme of things. But only if we were really successful. This was going to be his legacy and he knew how to push hard. As his life settled into a nice routine of work and family life ours was degrading to a point where the former meant the latter. Every waking moment was now one long raucous explanation of how we were failing him and ourselves.
This suited me fine, as up until now I had been rambling through life without direction or forethought. Someone else planning it for me was perfect. Freedom from thoughts, where to aim and how to get there laid out before me like numbered stepping stones
My sister was not so welcoming of the regime change turning against our father and then against herself falling into quite a self destructive pattern. Booze and drugs weren’t her fault; it was the family taking care of turning her life into a chore as far as she was concerned.()
My brother survived it by discarding every piece of personality he had ever conjured. Bland was his coping mechanism working under the theory ‘if you don’t draw attention then you can’t be noticed’. It meant a slight distancing from the rest of the world but he had never really enjoyed the company of others when he was younger anyway.
And dad loved having someone to be in charge of. He missed the old days when he used to be a hands on whip cracker on the production line floor at the factory. Loud clear orders barked directly at incompetence. That had all been phased out with HR and PR legislation running amok through business. You couldn’t tell someone what’s what without three to five lawyers and representatives of different gender and cultural backgrounds standing in between to mediate. Sugar coating words so they lose all meaning. The fun had left; he had to consciously avoid all unskilled labourers and was left upstairs sulking in the boardroom. Yelling there didn’t go down well either even though the HR found no issue with overpaid executives coping a blast for pure idiocy (HR despise anyone payed more than themselves and pity anyone who earns less). The problem arose from the fact that apparently the university types, thought themselves above being belittled in front of others. Quitting was their way out and a lot of them took it. Leaving him in a position of toothless tiger. All aggression without an outlet which depressed him greatly. These butlers were now copping 15 years of pent up frustration. He had tried to bring (let-out) his frustration home but was at least weary of the fact he knew mum was fiery and wouldn’t take to well to any nonsense. He would take it slow, ease into it. The first comment in she tore strips off him, he sulked away with his plan in tatters within minutes. Shortly after the fruitless exploit while wandering the grounds, the result of being thrown out of the house after his indiscretion, he came up upon the notion that us three children were important in the scheme of things. But only if we were really successful. This was going to be his legacy and he knew how to push hard. As his life settled into a nice routine of work and family life ours was degrading to a point where the former meant the latter. Every waking moment was now one long raucous explanation of how we were failing him and ourselves.
This suited me fine, as up until now I had been rambling through life without direction or forethought. Someone else planning it for me was perfect. Freedom from thoughts, where to aim and how to get there laid out before me like numbered stepping stones
My sister was not so welcoming of the regime change turning against our father and then against herself falling into quite a self destructive pattern. Booze and drugs weren’t her fault; it was the family taking care of turning her life into a chore as far as she was concerned.()
My brother survived it by discarding every piece of personality he had ever conjured. Bland was his coping mechanism working under the theory ‘if you don’t draw attention then you can’t be noticed’. It meant a slight distancing from the rest of the world but he had never really enjoyed the company of others when he was younger anyway.
Diamond smuggling in the current times
He had become a diamond smuggler. A grand job for the Sauvé gentleman. A gesture to the himself he wasn’t dull, or an illusion to others the he was mysterious. Aparently he was a very successful smuggler. No actual proof backed that up, I think it was an assumption based on the fact that he hadn’t been killed or caught. We knew nothing else about the job, not even small details or a general outline, what countries do you even need to smuggle diamonds into these days anyway. Besides all that nonsense he did wear it well though. Thick aviator sunglasses, pencil moustache and Panama hat. A call back to the olden days of smuggling. I constantly badgered him trying to ascertain how he got into this caper but always to no response, just diversions and distractions. He has given only one skerrick of information, a tiny glimpse into a smugglers mindset released under heavy intoxication at a family affair.
“The only bad thing about being an international diamond smuggler is that having your underpants chock full of diamonds is quite uncomfortable but still even this has is upside. It leaves your crotch smelling of diamonds, and the ladies love diamonds.”
An intrigueing fact if true or if it were just a comment in jest. This lead me to wonder about what my brother was like under the cool bland veinier he had lived under for so long.
“The only bad thing about being an international diamond smuggler is that having your underpants chock full of diamonds is quite uncomfortable but still even this has is upside. It leaves your crotch smelling of diamonds, and the ladies love diamonds.”
An intrigueing fact if true or if it were just a comment in jest. This lead me to wonder about what my brother was like under the cool bland veinier he had lived under for so long.
A fine collection of haircuts.
They had managed to turn a regal mansion into a cut and paste copy of inner city living. Dining rooms converted into loft style apartments, the kitchen now a free rang vegan cafe/lounge bar and the manicure lawns were just scattered with second hand record and used clothes stalls. It was surrounded by the massing collection of trend.
A harsh experience lay before me as I was walking through it all on my way to the house, my house should I reiterate. The judgement I was subjected to tore my ego apart.
I did strike up a conversation with one young lady though on my tumultuous journey. The ‘house that zippers built’ was the way I overheard they were referring to the mansion. Leaning in trying to give my two cents worth in as smartass a tone I could muster I announced “ We’ve gone well beyond zippers now. Clasps are the way of the future” I waited for ridiculed but y sarcastic ton of overzealous joy must’ve intrigued her. “Really clasps? Like big brass buckles on your pants front?”She inquired.
“Oh no, no, no, no. Tiny discreet metal tabs like the one I’m fashioning on this said pair of slacks” I explained while pointing down to my zipper less fly as if an infomercial salesman. “See these bits here just clip around these bits here, it’s a far superior pants retention system.”
Someone who I assume was a friend of hers ran over and dragged her away by the arm yelling “Nice to meet you” over her shoulder while departing. I realised that from a distance our conversation would have appeared to be me looking her up and down and pointing wildly at my crotch Very acceptable behaviour in these crowds excepts I wasn’t one of them. Their impression of me was as an outsider trying to lure one of them away to a van with candy.
I wasn’t disappointed though as the interest in the clasps had seemed genuine. And as she was a hipster it either means that this is the fashion of tomorrow or several decades old. It’s an even bet but it was promising.
A harsh experience lay before me as I was walking through it all on my way to the house, my house should I reiterate. The judgement I was subjected to tore my ego apart.
I did strike up a conversation with one young lady though on my tumultuous journey. The ‘house that zippers built’ was the way I overheard they were referring to the mansion. Leaning in trying to give my two cents worth in as smartass a tone I could muster I announced “ We’ve gone well beyond zippers now. Clasps are the way of the future” I waited for ridiculed but y sarcastic ton of overzealous joy must’ve intrigued her. “Really clasps? Like big brass buckles on your pants front?”She inquired.
“Oh no, no, no, no. Tiny discreet metal tabs like the one I’m fashioning on this said pair of slacks” I explained while pointing down to my zipper less fly as if an infomercial salesman. “See these bits here just clip around these bits here, it’s a far superior pants retention system.”
Someone who I assume was a friend of hers ran over and dragged her away by the arm yelling “Nice to meet you” over her shoulder while departing. I realised that from a distance our conversation would have appeared to be me looking her up and down and pointing wildly at my crotch Very acceptable behaviour in these crowds excepts I wasn’t one of them. Their impression of me was as an outsider trying to lure one of them away to a van with candy.
I wasn’t disappointed though as the interest in the clasps had seemed genuine. And as she was a hipster it either means that this is the fashion of tomorrow or several decades old. It’s an even bet but it was promising.
The curse of witty retort
“Well this all looks in order” expresses the bank manager gleefully.
“Your mum looks in order” he responds.
“Sorry, What?” the manager responds set back by the comment.
“I mean your face is in order” immediately looking embarrassed. “Wait no I’ll get it, just give me a minute. Ah... ah... Thank you. That’s what I meant. It was right on the tip of my tongue. I hate when that happens, don’t you?
“Get out” the manager said turning back to his computer.
“Yea that’s more than reasonable. Thanks for your time.” He said standing and walking out of the office in a muted hurry.
What a terrible time for his stupid witticisms to flare up again. It had cost him his job, his relationship and now just when he was getting back on his feet he insults the bank manager who was about to help him stave off bankruptcy. He headed off down the local to drown his sorrows. He never had any wit related trouble while drunk. According to his doctors it’s the first thing to go under the influence of alcohol in many circumstances.
This solution had not worked well in daily life. A mix of recklessly drunk and obnoxiously sober had led to the downturn in home and work life. No happy medium was ever struck, just seesawing from one to the other.
He edged gingerly up to the bar and nervously asked for 2 beers. This was going well. Down these beers and he’d be right. A rush of alcohol through the veins would flush the wit out.
“Midi or schooner glasses love?” the barmaid acquired chirpily.
“Your mum’s your dad.” Darn it “I meant schooners,” He handed over the correct change in coin, then threw some more down a tip or apology, she could work out which. He scurried away from her angry glare to a table he found hidden away from the main bar and sunk deep into the chair. The beers didn’t stand a chance, being violently engulfed at speed. He returned back to confront the barmaid to repeat the order and this time it passes without the wit induced awkwardness from earlier but still under a blazing glare. He returned to the new found haven of his recently declared favourite table.
His sister strolled up and sat down opposite him, he stared at her drinks, one in each hand just like him, and both for personal consumption. She had come to ‘comfort’ him, but normally this mainly meant a life lecture, one that he had heard many times but he would always put up with. She meant well and she was his sister, what could he do but love her for it.
“Heard you had trouble again?” She said knowingly, he’d been the one to tell her.
“Yea, same old trouble.” He felt relieved that the words came out right. The beer was working.
She spoke quietly and softly. “You know my thinking on the problem. I know you don’t like it but it’s your only solution.”
Playing dumb wasn’t an option. But he took it anyway.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You know, my Tourettes theory, people will forgive you for your outbursts if you tell them it’s Tourettes” she stated softly.
“But it’s not Tourettes, I know it and you know it.” He cried while trying not to yell.
“Does it matter if it’s not, it looks the same from outside.” She queried.
“I can’t just lie like that; I don’t want that stigma following me around”.
“What stigma, tourettes or lying? How would anyone know about either? Do you prefer the stigma of being an asshole wise mouth? Because that’s what your lugging around now.” She was upset and she wanted him to know.
“Why can’t everyone just be fine with the disease i have, if they want to i can underline it with ‘kind of like tourettes but not’. I can right it on my business cards” he snarled.
“You don’t have a business anymore.” She responded snappily with a sly smirk.
“Ouch.... harsh lady” he sunk further into his chair.
“You need a drink?” she offered, more a truce than an offer.
“That’s what she said” they shared a look, his head dropped.
“Damn it, I meant yes please” he corrected himself.
“Something strong by the sound of it” she offered.
“Yea a bucket of jack or a gun”. He said, surprising himself.
“Was that you or the wit” she said, standing and leaning on the back of her chair.
“I’m hoping wit” he puzzles.
“You worry me” she says starkly
“Yea. I know” apologies in his words.
“Your mum looks in order” he responds.
“Sorry, What?” the manager responds set back by the comment.
“I mean your face is in order” immediately looking embarrassed. “Wait no I’ll get it, just give me a minute. Ah... ah... Thank you. That’s what I meant. It was right on the tip of my tongue. I hate when that happens, don’t you?
“Get out” the manager said turning back to his computer.
“Yea that’s more than reasonable. Thanks for your time.” He said standing and walking out of the office in a muted hurry.
What a terrible time for his stupid witticisms to flare up again. It had cost him his job, his relationship and now just when he was getting back on his feet he insults the bank manager who was about to help him stave off bankruptcy. He headed off down the local to drown his sorrows. He never had any wit related trouble while drunk. According to his doctors it’s the first thing to go under the influence of alcohol in many circumstances.
This solution had not worked well in daily life. A mix of recklessly drunk and obnoxiously sober had led to the downturn in home and work life. No happy medium was ever struck, just seesawing from one to the other.
He edged gingerly up to the bar and nervously asked for 2 beers. This was going well. Down these beers and he’d be right. A rush of alcohol through the veins would flush the wit out.
“Midi or schooner glasses love?” the barmaid acquired chirpily.
“Your mum’s your dad.” Darn it “I meant schooners,” He handed over the correct change in coin, then threw some more down a tip or apology, she could work out which. He scurried away from her angry glare to a table he found hidden away from the main bar and sunk deep into the chair. The beers didn’t stand a chance, being violently engulfed at speed. He returned back to confront the barmaid to repeat the order and this time it passes without the wit induced awkwardness from earlier but still under a blazing glare. He returned to the new found haven of his recently declared favourite table.
His sister strolled up and sat down opposite him, he stared at her drinks, one in each hand just like him, and both for personal consumption. She had come to ‘comfort’ him, but normally this mainly meant a life lecture, one that he had heard many times but he would always put up with. She meant well and she was his sister, what could he do but love her for it.
“Heard you had trouble again?” She said knowingly, he’d been the one to tell her.
“Yea, same old trouble.” He felt relieved that the words came out right. The beer was working.
She spoke quietly and softly. “You know my thinking on the problem. I know you don’t like it but it’s your only solution.”
Playing dumb wasn’t an option. But he took it anyway.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You know, my Tourettes theory, people will forgive you for your outbursts if you tell them it’s Tourettes” she stated softly.
“But it’s not Tourettes, I know it and you know it.” He cried while trying not to yell.
“Does it matter if it’s not, it looks the same from outside.” She queried.
“I can’t just lie like that; I don’t want that stigma following me around”.
“What stigma, tourettes or lying? How would anyone know about either? Do you prefer the stigma of being an asshole wise mouth? Because that’s what your lugging around now.” She was upset and she wanted him to know.
“Why can’t everyone just be fine with the disease i have, if they want to i can underline it with ‘kind of like tourettes but not’. I can right it on my business cards” he snarled.
“You don’t have a business anymore.” She responded snappily with a sly smirk.
“Ouch.... harsh lady” he sunk further into his chair.
“You need a drink?” she offered, more a truce than an offer.
“That’s what she said” they shared a look, his head dropped.
“Damn it, I meant yes please” he corrected himself.
“Something strong by the sound of it” she offered.
“Yea a bucket of jack or a gun”. He said, surprising himself.
“Was that you or the wit” she said, standing and leaning on the back of her chair.
“I’m hoping wit” he puzzles.
“You worry me” she says starkly
“Yea. I know” apologies in his words.
Self medicating bonanza
“Why am I yelling? Help me stop yelling.” A gentleman yelled from the top of the stairs down to the butler.
“You’re the one driving this storm. Hopped up on cold medicine. You sir are a codral maniac” the butler replies knowingly.
“As long as I stay this side of Sudafed monster I think I’ll be able to save myself and others from any physical or emotional damage” the gentleman throws back his head with a wobbly pride.
“I doubt it, the way your medicating you brain will be a liquidy mush by lunch.” The butler responds smartly.
“Lunch! What time is it?” asks the gentleman frantically.
“9:30, but I don’t think that has too much relevance to you. You haven’t slept in 2 days.” The butler states wile nodding his head in the direction of the bedroom hopefully.
“Oh yea, I remember Wednesday. Switching from night time formula to non drowsy. Hoohoo. Momentus. Gave me heaps of energy.” He remembers the experiences of the last few days fondly.
“By night time formula are you mean the morphine you were taking. You know that won’t treat your flu.” Sweeping a pile of viles into the bin off the counter.
“It didn’t have to. I didn’t even notice I was sick. I was gloriously ill. Every second of it bliss. Made me sleepy though.” He said, visibly tiring with the thought.
“It also made you hallucinate and try to mount the dog.” The butler shouts from the laundry while emptying the trash down the garbage chute.
“Oh you can’t blame that on the morphine. It could have easily have been the fever, or I could have wanted to do it of my own accord. That’s not morphine’s fault.” The gentleman replied staunchly.
“I see.” He lingers baffled in the statement, Raised eyebrows go unnoticed.
“And what’s with the daily recommended dosage. That’s for chumps. I’ve exceeded that several times over and there’s not the slightest inkling of dying going on inside me. I think it’s made up to scare kiddies. Like the boogie man.” He claims, while pretending to stand at an imaginary podium, speaking to the crowd of 1.
Cue spontaneous fountain of spew erupting from the gentleman’s mouth.
“Looks like it’s time for new medicine. These pills aren’t working anymore. Bring me something in a blue box. Away with you now.” Tapping his walking stick twice upon the wooden floors so it echoes through the house.
“Very well sir” the butler, wanders out to the medicine cabinet, and sits down on the stool with his head in his hands staring at hundreds of boxes of pills in envy.
“You’re the one driving this storm. Hopped up on cold medicine. You sir are a codral maniac” the butler replies knowingly.
“As long as I stay this side of Sudafed monster I think I’ll be able to save myself and others from any physical or emotional damage” the gentleman throws back his head with a wobbly pride.
“I doubt it, the way your medicating you brain will be a liquidy mush by lunch.” The butler responds smartly.
“Lunch! What time is it?” asks the gentleman frantically.
“9:30, but I don’t think that has too much relevance to you. You haven’t slept in 2 days.” The butler states wile nodding his head in the direction of the bedroom hopefully.
“Oh yea, I remember Wednesday. Switching from night time formula to non drowsy. Hoohoo. Momentus. Gave me heaps of energy.” He remembers the experiences of the last few days fondly.
“By night time formula are you mean the morphine you were taking. You know that won’t treat your flu.” Sweeping a pile of viles into the bin off the counter.
“It didn’t have to. I didn’t even notice I was sick. I was gloriously ill. Every second of it bliss. Made me sleepy though.” He said, visibly tiring with the thought.
“It also made you hallucinate and try to mount the dog.” The butler shouts from the laundry while emptying the trash down the garbage chute.
“Oh you can’t blame that on the morphine. It could have easily have been the fever, or I could have wanted to do it of my own accord. That’s not morphine’s fault.” The gentleman replied staunchly.
“I see.” He lingers baffled in the statement, Raised eyebrows go unnoticed.
“And what’s with the daily recommended dosage. That’s for chumps. I’ve exceeded that several times over and there’s not the slightest inkling of dying going on inside me. I think it’s made up to scare kiddies. Like the boogie man.” He claims, while pretending to stand at an imaginary podium, speaking to the crowd of 1.
Cue spontaneous fountain of spew erupting from the gentleman’s mouth.
“Looks like it’s time for new medicine. These pills aren’t working anymore. Bring me something in a blue box. Away with you now.” Tapping his walking stick twice upon the wooden floors so it echoes through the house.
“Very well sir” the butler, wanders out to the medicine cabinet, and sits down on the stool with his head in his hands staring at hundreds of boxes of pills in envy.
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
A burlesque beauty
The promise of a ‘quality showcase’ from an over enthusiastic spruiker had me intrigued. A show of the burlesque arts sounds downright classy on paper. I followed the direction of his extended arm down a lane to a set of stairs leading down to a dank cellar bar.
It was a hidden oasis for those who feared daylight hours and sunlight contacting the skin. No windows gave it atmosphere as well as bad air circulation, the later resulting in a potent smell and a bitter taste on the palette which lingered heavily. The dim lighting gave me an uneasy feeling that these girls would look rough on stage and even rougher on the street. I ordered a drink, scotch neat, i didn’t trust the ice in this kind of place. Whatever they were watering down the spirits with was bad enough. I took a seat at a small table jammed in an odd little corner off to the right side of the stage bout half way back in the crowd and awaited the theatrics. The lights dimmed lower than I thought possible and a burst of crackling static broke through the rustling and murmurs. “For the gentleman among us please prepare yourself for the endless talents of the young, the amazing signora Amelia Sammut.” Oh an Italian miss, this will be great. The curtains parted and a young woman with all the Italian features expected but the palest of delicate white skin. She was gorgeously unique and I felt love. The stage lights exploded to life making her just glow.
“She’s not real Italian” remarked a gentleman sitting in front of me to his associate. “Half Australian I hear” he said in a huff. They seemed t not be able to get past the misleading introduction but I had no mind to listen to their concerns. The girl of my dreams was in front of me, even though until now I’d never known to dream of her. That didn’t matter as she would soon fill every waking moment of my thoughts.
She twisted and twirled and I stared at her beautiful eyes the entire time, catching a glimpse of her looking back every so often. The curtain fell and her act was done, but i so desperately wanted to see her more, as the next act started I went back to the bar to order another glass of whatever swill they were serving me. AS my drink was handed to me she sidled up next to me for her own drink order already placed on the bar by the bartender. As she picked it up she asked without looking at me “enjoy the show did you” i stumbled through small talk and chit chat, trying hard to impress without it seeming like close range stalking. She turned glancing me in the eye as she proceeded back across the room to the side stage door. That was all polite enough I thought very pleased with myself. My eyes followed her every step, she stops at a security guard standing next to the steps up to the stage, she leans in and whispers in his ear and gestures towards me, a little smile flashed my way. My heart beats hard. The security guard starts to walk my way; a thousand thoughts rush through my mind. I can’t grasp any of them in my excitement. I stand from the bar stool I had propped myself on to hear the message. He punches me in the stomach and I fall to the ground, confused I try to get back to my feet and he lands an elbow in the back of my neck. Once again I visit the tiles. Groggily I attempt to right myself one more time. Out of the corner of my eye I can see her running to me. To my aid, to straighten out this misunderstanding between security and myself. I lift my head to thank her for the assistance in the matter. She knees me in the groin. I go down. I start to doubt our future relationship. She tells me to get out and never come back. Wow, i love how decisive she is.
It was a hidden oasis for those who feared daylight hours and sunlight contacting the skin. No windows gave it atmosphere as well as bad air circulation, the later resulting in a potent smell and a bitter taste on the palette which lingered heavily. The dim lighting gave me an uneasy feeling that these girls would look rough on stage and even rougher on the street. I ordered a drink, scotch neat, i didn’t trust the ice in this kind of place. Whatever they were watering down the spirits with was bad enough. I took a seat at a small table jammed in an odd little corner off to the right side of the stage bout half way back in the crowd and awaited the theatrics. The lights dimmed lower than I thought possible and a burst of crackling static broke through the rustling and murmurs. “For the gentleman among us please prepare yourself for the endless talents of the young, the amazing signora Amelia Sammut.” Oh an Italian miss, this will be great. The curtains parted and a young woman with all the Italian features expected but the palest of delicate white skin. She was gorgeously unique and I felt love. The stage lights exploded to life making her just glow.
“She’s not real Italian” remarked a gentleman sitting in front of me to his associate. “Half Australian I hear” he said in a huff. They seemed t not be able to get past the misleading introduction but I had no mind to listen to their concerns. The girl of my dreams was in front of me, even though until now I’d never known to dream of her. That didn’t matter as she would soon fill every waking moment of my thoughts.
She twisted and twirled and I stared at her beautiful eyes the entire time, catching a glimpse of her looking back every so often. The curtain fell and her act was done, but i so desperately wanted to see her more, as the next act started I went back to the bar to order another glass of whatever swill they were serving me. AS my drink was handed to me she sidled up next to me for her own drink order already placed on the bar by the bartender. As she picked it up she asked without looking at me “enjoy the show did you” i stumbled through small talk and chit chat, trying hard to impress without it seeming like close range stalking. She turned glancing me in the eye as she proceeded back across the room to the side stage door. That was all polite enough I thought very pleased with myself. My eyes followed her every step, she stops at a security guard standing next to the steps up to the stage, she leans in and whispers in his ear and gestures towards me, a little smile flashed my way. My heart beats hard. The security guard starts to walk my way; a thousand thoughts rush through my mind. I can’t grasp any of them in my excitement. I stand from the bar stool I had propped myself on to hear the message. He punches me in the stomach and I fall to the ground, confused I try to get back to my feet and he lands an elbow in the back of my neck. Once again I visit the tiles. Groggily I attempt to right myself one more time. Out of the corner of my eye I can see her running to me. To my aid, to straighten out this misunderstanding between security and myself. I lift my head to thank her for the assistance in the matter. She knees me in the groin. I go down. I start to doubt our future relationship. She tells me to get out and never come back. Wow, i love how decisive she is.
Karl Stefanovic: Rise of the machines
Ever since I was delivered to my parent’s doorstep as a fully assembled boy I dreamt of being on morning TV. Just like every other child I spent every waking moment of the day solving advanced mathematical problems and spot welding car bodies in an automotive factory which left me little time to pursue said dreams. But one special day when i arrived at the factory for work my worlds met. A Channel 9 news crew were shooting stock footage for a story on the downturn in the car manufacturer’s trade and production. I was on my way to my work station on the conveyor belt when a producer spotted me and instantly saw the talent and personality I longed to be.” I’m perfect for an upcoming project he has on the boil” he claimed quite ecstatically.
I was excited but weary. I took him aside and explained that this was what I wanted more than anything but I had to tell him of my speech impediment. Clicks beeps and whirring sounds wouldn’t go well on live TV. He drew me in close and looked around suspiciously at everyone on the factory floor, then whispered in my ear “Don’t worry about that business, I’ve been working very closely with an audio engineer on exactly this problem. We have a beta version of a live audio screen filter. It’ll sought this problem out plus we will get all staff on set to sign waivers so they can’t go blabbing about your ‘little secret’.” The secret he spoke of was news to me, but the air quotations distracted me enough not to enquire further. He just stood there tapping his index finger on the side of his nose knowingly and that was good enough for me. We shook hands which wasn’t wise as my hands were still hot from the welding and I severely burnt the producers hands making him quite disagreeable but it didn’t matter I’d already signed a binding channel 9 contract saying they legally own me till I’m obsolete or malfunction.
This is it, my time to be in the spotlight. I rushed home to sit in front of the mirror and practise my insincere dronious laugh and monotone anecdotes. I became coupled on morning TV with a string of bland giggling female co-hosts. Each coming and going without a sign of relevance to individual personality. The show flowed on regardless of who filled the seats next to me. This a praise to my endless talents I can only conclude. With the spotlight now firmly on my rising star I was handpicked to go on a new reality show, ’Dancing with knives strapped to your feet’. A show of attrition where the uninjured win. I came away from the experience unscathed so declared victory and returned my focus back to morning TV. Things were doing smoothly but odd occurrences had started to gain my attention. Comparisons to fictional characters had started to be directed at me. I dismissed it quickly as jealousy. It was mainly internet dribbler of stoners and alike and didn’t faze me.
Sitting in my dressing room before the show one of the researchers handed me some material to browse and use for long winded banter on the show. I had no time to read it and decided to shove it in as an awkward interjection at some point in someone else’s anecdote, possibly during one of the on-air casts giggling fits which happen so regularly.
I glanced at the pages during the break. It was merely a Wikipedia profile page about me of all people. I had seen many other shows replace actual research or well thought out questions with just reciting their Wikipedia bio back to them or discussing obvious factual errors. Just before the break ended i flicked back through the pages to confirm that the picture they used was an authorised publicity shot. I didn’t wish to be represented at anything less than my most handsome. What confronted me was a golden silhouette of a mechanical by the name of C3PO. Oh what innestuous unnecessary conversation this would be. Job done. I’d claim the research as my own, look amazed and puzzled but not angry. I’d come out of this looking hansome yet able to take a joke.
Areal man’s man they’d say, a man of the people. I become distracted and the show had already gone back on air. Someone else was talking but I knew how to railroad the dialogue to where i wanted. So midway through someone else’s sentence I announced loudly over them, “hey I’ve just been on Wikipedia and someone has put a picture of C3PO up on my page.” Then a thought occurred to me one I assume everyone must ask themselves at one time or another in their lives. Am I a robot?
I remember at this moment feeling glitch and an overall sensation of exploding. I woke up in a doctor’s surgery that smelt allot like the factory I grew up working in. He kept asking me to refer to him as a technician not doctor which I found odd. But he was nice enough so I complied, I was fine, apparently I had just caught a bad case of self actualisation.
I was excited but weary. I took him aside and explained that this was what I wanted more than anything but I had to tell him of my speech impediment. Clicks beeps and whirring sounds wouldn’t go well on live TV. He drew me in close and looked around suspiciously at everyone on the factory floor, then whispered in my ear “Don’t worry about that business, I’ve been working very closely with an audio engineer on exactly this problem. We have a beta version of a live audio screen filter. It’ll sought this problem out plus we will get all staff on set to sign waivers so they can’t go blabbing about your ‘little secret’.” The secret he spoke of was news to me, but the air quotations distracted me enough not to enquire further. He just stood there tapping his index finger on the side of his nose knowingly and that was good enough for me. We shook hands which wasn’t wise as my hands were still hot from the welding and I severely burnt the producers hands making him quite disagreeable but it didn’t matter I’d already signed a binding channel 9 contract saying they legally own me till I’m obsolete or malfunction.
This is it, my time to be in the spotlight. I rushed home to sit in front of the mirror and practise my insincere dronious laugh and monotone anecdotes. I became coupled on morning TV with a string of bland giggling female co-hosts. Each coming and going without a sign of relevance to individual personality. The show flowed on regardless of who filled the seats next to me. This a praise to my endless talents I can only conclude. With the spotlight now firmly on my rising star I was handpicked to go on a new reality show, ’Dancing with knives strapped to your feet’. A show of attrition where the uninjured win. I came away from the experience unscathed so declared victory and returned my focus back to morning TV. Things were doing smoothly but odd occurrences had started to gain my attention. Comparisons to fictional characters had started to be directed at me. I dismissed it quickly as jealousy. It was mainly internet dribbler of stoners and alike and didn’t faze me.
Sitting in my dressing room before the show one of the researchers handed me some material to browse and use for long winded banter on the show. I had no time to read it and decided to shove it in as an awkward interjection at some point in someone else’s anecdote, possibly during one of the on-air casts giggling fits which happen so regularly.
I glanced at the pages during the break. It was merely a Wikipedia profile page about me of all people. I had seen many other shows replace actual research or well thought out questions with just reciting their Wikipedia bio back to them or discussing obvious factual errors. Just before the break ended i flicked back through the pages to confirm that the picture they used was an authorised publicity shot. I didn’t wish to be represented at anything less than my most handsome. What confronted me was a golden silhouette of a mechanical by the name of C3PO. Oh what innestuous unnecessary conversation this would be. Job done. I’d claim the research as my own, look amazed and puzzled but not angry. I’d come out of this looking hansome yet able to take a joke.
Areal man’s man they’d say, a man of the people. I become distracted and the show had already gone back on air. Someone else was talking but I knew how to railroad the dialogue to where i wanted. So midway through someone else’s sentence I announced loudly over them, “hey I’ve just been on Wikipedia and someone has put a picture of C3PO up on my page.” Then a thought occurred to me one I assume everyone must ask themselves at one time or another in their lives. Am I a robot?
I remember at this moment feeling glitch and an overall sensation of exploding. I woke up in a doctor’s surgery that smelt allot like the factory I grew up working in. He kept asking me to refer to him as a technician not doctor which I found odd. But he was nice enough so I complied, I was fine, apparently I had just caught a bad case of self actualisation.
Dinner guests
A heavy set man with a healthy moustache and arrogant Bulgarian swagger sidled up to our table, without even a glance at any of us he sat down in the chair opposite me and proceeded to shove chicken in the general direction of his mouth with some moderate success. His girth made sit next to him awkward, with a chunk of poultry in either hand, elbows raised, his belly was pressed hard into the diners either side of him. They could feel the effort he exerted in the process of eating at it was causing a rippling affect through his weighty rolls of flab which gently caressed their sides.
A man at the table had seen enough. “Excuse me. What do you think you are doing? We don’t even know who you.....” he was cut mid sentence by a waiter who had dashed from the other side of the restaurant looking quite frantic.
He looked quite relieved when silence had returned. He motioned for us to step away from the table to hear what he had to say. The fellow from the group began to restate his earlier objections to the uninvited guest’s behaviour but once again the waiter cut short the complainants rant.
“I do apologise. He is a nuisance, this happens allot though and upsetting him is the worst thing we can do.” We have procedures to deal with him so here’s the deal. If you can finish your meals without upsetting him you will eat for free plus we shall invite you back for another free meal in our banquet hall at your leisure. Oh and we also take a picture of the group dining with him. It’s kind of a tradition. We have a wall covered in these pictures next to the kitchen if you would like to have a look. You’ll see he is very harmless if you treat him the right way”
The group talked amongst themselves for a moment and turned slowly back to the waiter. “Ok” said one of the men. “But we will need to see this wall”. “Of course, come right through, it’s just down this way.” The waiter said gleefully and spun on his heel leading off toward the kitchen doors. After a few moments of scanning the pictures before them looks of confusion started to subside an gave way to a new air of intrigue.
“They do all look like they’re having fun” remarked one of the ladies. Agreement had been reached. “Alright we’re in but we want a copy of our picture.” “Of course sir” replied the waiter, perked by the group’s new found enthusiasm for the evening. As they returned to their seats the man had commenced eating what remained of their meals.
“Oh and just a note, no sudden movement or load noises. He is extremely violent if you draw his attention” the waiter whispered into the original complainant’s ear. “What?” The man replied losing his grip and dropping his fork. It crashes to his plate causing a large amount of noise and commotion. The chicken leg drops from the Bulgarians hands and he slowly raises his eyes to the originator of the ruckus. Through gritted teeth he bellows “What?” sending spittle and chicken debris showering across the table.
The waiter looks down at the gentleman and tepidly whispers “Oh..... Dear.”
A man at the table had seen enough. “Excuse me. What do you think you are doing? We don’t even know who you.....” he was cut mid sentence by a waiter who had dashed from the other side of the restaurant looking quite frantic.
He looked quite relieved when silence had returned. He motioned for us to step away from the table to hear what he had to say. The fellow from the group began to restate his earlier objections to the uninvited guest’s behaviour but once again the waiter cut short the complainants rant.
“I do apologise. He is a nuisance, this happens allot though and upsetting him is the worst thing we can do.” We have procedures to deal with him so here’s the deal. If you can finish your meals without upsetting him you will eat for free plus we shall invite you back for another free meal in our banquet hall at your leisure. Oh and we also take a picture of the group dining with him. It’s kind of a tradition. We have a wall covered in these pictures next to the kitchen if you would like to have a look. You’ll see he is very harmless if you treat him the right way”
The group talked amongst themselves for a moment and turned slowly back to the waiter. “Ok” said one of the men. “But we will need to see this wall”. “Of course, come right through, it’s just down this way.” The waiter said gleefully and spun on his heel leading off toward the kitchen doors. After a few moments of scanning the pictures before them looks of confusion started to subside an gave way to a new air of intrigue.
“They do all look like they’re having fun” remarked one of the ladies. Agreement had been reached. “Alright we’re in but we want a copy of our picture.” “Of course sir” replied the waiter, perked by the group’s new found enthusiasm for the evening. As they returned to their seats the man had commenced eating what remained of their meals.
“Oh and just a note, no sudden movement or load noises. He is extremely violent if you draw his attention” the waiter whispered into the original complainant’s ear. “What?” The man replied losing his grip and dropping his fork. It crashes to his plate causing a large amount of noise and commotion. The chicken leg drops from the Bulgarians hands and he slowly raises his eyes to the originator of the ruckus. Through gritted teeth he bellows “What?” sending spittle and chicken debris showering across the table.
The waiter looks down at the gentleman and tepidly whispers “Oh..... Dear.”
Blimp warfare
The zeppelin tore a huge silhouette in the sky. Looming ominously with its slow speed and limited attack capabilities. It seemed odd that it traveled all this way to perform a surprise attack. We had known of its coming for several days and had readied ourselves thoroughly. All strategic sites of importance heavily armed and manned. All women and children were evacuated to the old mine shaft now modified into a heavily fortified bunker. All the historic artifacts hidden in the town hall basement. We were ready.
The blimp was gunned down by the town 5 miles south. We saw it all. The entire battle consisted of a single gun shot and the blimp crashing slowly into the hillside. We felt cheated. Disheartened we slowly left our defensive positions and fox holes trailing our rifles behind us in the dirt. Those among us wearing camouflage suits and blackface feeling the most foolish of all.
The short walk back home was devastating and facing the kids would be humiliating. How do you exaggerate a war story when you missed out on the war? I reached the steps up to the front porch. I propped my gun against the wall and got one foot inside the front door when my ears perked up. A light ominous drone. I turned slowly to look out over the plains and there it was. A tiny speck on the horizon. A second even more secretive zeppelin. I grabbed my rifle back up, slung it over my shoulder and ran for the town hall.
“What kind of fresh hell is this” I screamed into the empty street as I giggled with joyous glee unable to wipe the smile off my face.
The blimp was gunned down by the town 5 miles south. We saw it all. The entire battle consisted of a single gun shot and the blimp crashing slowly into the hillside. We felt cheated. Disheartened we slowly left our defensive positions and fox holes trailing our rifles behind us in the dirt. Those among us wearing camouflage suits and blackface feeling the most foolish of all.
The short walk back home was devastating and facing the kids would be humiliating. How do you exaggerate a war story when you missed out on the war? I reached the steps up to the front porch. I propped my gun against the wall and got one foot inside the front door when my ears perked up. A light ominous drone. I turned slowly to look out over the plains and there it was. A tiny speck on the horizon. A second even more secretive zeppelin. I grabbed my rifle back up, slung it over my shoulder and ran for the town hall.
“What kind of fresh hell is this” I screamed into the empty street as I giggled with joyous glee unable to wipe the smile off my face.
Kitchen scraps
I’d like this to go thanks I said apologetically with a much emphasized “it’s not my fault” style shrug. I stopped short of nodding my head towards the others of my group seated at our table.
But my innocent remark that was met a cold stare and a whack in the back of the head with the tray under her arm. I’d love to believe it was an accident but deep down I suspected she knew what she was doing, a lunch time diner ninja using the guise of dottering old lady as a cover for uppity behaviour to customers.
She shuffled off clearing tables of plates with my food resting somewhere in the tower of cutlery. I didn’t feel confident I would see that meal again. Our bill came but still no trace of a doggy bag. My heart sunk. I really did want the lunch. It wasn’t just an act of lip service. I would have eaten it later I promise. But my thoughts somehow didn’t register on her radar and she was oblivious to my facial emphasis on the bare table in front of me. I gave up. She had beaten me at every mind game I knew. Throwing in the towel we got up to leave and as I was putting on my coat I was startled by a low dulcet voice. “Excuse me sir, your food?”
“Oh... Uh yes thank you” I was surprised and also very embarrassed I nodded graciously and took the neatly folded cardboard box from her grasp and tucked it under my arm and we all made our way back to the office. Once in my cubicle I opened the box. Before me was a pile of scraps from everyone else from my table’s meals. She had bested me once again.
But my innocent remark that was met a cold stare and a whack in the back of the head with the tray under her arm. I’d love to believe it was an accident but deep down I suspected she knew what she was doing, a lunch time diner ninja using the guise of dottering old lady as a cover for uppity behaviour to customers.
She shuffled off clearing tables of plates with my food resting somewhere in the tower of cutlery. I didn’t feel confident I would see that meal again. Our bill came but still no trace of a doggy bag. My heart sunk. I really did want the lunch. It wasn’t just an act of lip service. I would have eaten it later I promise. But my thoughts somehow didn’t register on her radar and she was oblivious to my facial emphasis on the bare table in front of me. I gave up. She had beaten me at every mind game I knew. Throwing in the towel we got up to leave and as I was putting on my coat I was startled by a low dulcet voice. “Excuse me sir, your food?”
“Oh... Uh yes thank you” I was surprised and also very embarrassed I nodded graciously and took the neatly folded cardboard box from her grasp and tucked it under my arm and we all made our way back to the office. Once in my cubicle I opened the box. Before me was a pile of scraps from everyone else from my table’s meals. She had bested me once again.
Monday, January 25, 2010
forget the circus, run away and join the trend
The phone hung loose and low, swaying at interval on the extent of the chord, beeps and crackles distorted the peace in a moderate sensibility. The door banged back and forth alerting all to the hasty exit. She was gone. The house a prison she had escaped and buried in her past. Just metres from the door she felt it. That rush of joy as freedom filtered into every single fibre of her soul. Regenerating the enthusiasm she had lacked for so many years. And she began to run. Across the front lawn, leaping over the gutter onto the black bitumen road that lead anywhere away from this place. There was no one chasing her and she knew it but she greedily looked back anyway just to satisfy herself that they didn’t care enough to follow. Her parents wouldn’t note her absence for a long time coming. Wrapped in their own little worlds, distracted by the noise and shine of the luminous appeal of the everyday mundane that was this life they lead. Running on adrenaline and short-sightedness she made it several blocks before allowing herself to procure a huge smirk to creep across her face. She was off to become a hipster, not that she would ever accept the title officially. She would contact them to inform them where to mail the checks she would live off, but first to find a loft and second hand clothes store, rebellion in the form of a fully imbedded sub culture. Tthis is what her life was destined to be. She was better than all around her and finally they would be told.
I used to to be my hero
“I think we may have lost our way.”
“Yea I can’t see the light at the end of the tunnel anymore.”
We both just sat there to depressed and exhausted to be angry.
The rage we once harboured & harnessed all but dissipated.
Just our self pity left to wallow in.
Both of us still holding in audible sighs, we had surrendered
but still aren’t prepared to admit defeat .
We were both such suburban anti-heroes.
But excess lead us down this dark path
& now we found ourselves lost amongst the bricks and concrete
The two frightened children we really are
Jumping at noises & shadows
“Yea I can’t see the light at the end of the tunnel anymore.”
We both just sat there to depressed and exhausted to be angry.
The rage we once harboured & harnessed all but dissipated.
Just our self pity left to wallow in.
Both of us still holding in audible sighs, we had surrendered
but still aren’t prepared to admit defeat .
We were both such suburban anti-heroes.
But excess lead us down this dark path
& now we found ourselves lost amongst the bricks and concrete
The two frightened children we really are
Jumping at noises & shadows
Negotiating a revolution
Near the rivers bore.
Something had to change.
All this toil for turnips.
Other peasants wouldn’t stand for this
So why should we.
I say revolt.
Over through this fat lordious ponce
& distribute the wealth.
Oh wait that’s communism
Alright something less corruptible
& rational than communism.
But inventing an entire new
System of government does sound
Rather difficult, slightly beyond
the capabilities of us farming types.
Rethink. Well.....
Let’s just demand better turnips
Yea! Job done
Something had to change.
All this toil for turnips.
Other peasants wouldn’t stand for this
So why should we.
I say revolt.
Over through this fat lordious ponce
& distribute the wealth.
Oh wait that’s communism
Alright something less corruptible
& rational than communism.
But inventing an entire new
System of government does sound
Rather difficult, slightly beyond
the capabilities of us farming types.
Rethink. Well.....
Let’s just demand better turnips
Yea! Job done
I think i got hit by reality
This isn’t living; this is just dying slowly with too many distractions. A world of shit with a delicate layer of bullshit sprinkled with glitter.
How to sell a nuisance
With rhythmic movements she wiped the dust from pristine gloves and picked herself up of the ground staring down her nose at that stubborn old brute of a mule. She straightened sharply ad pulled herself in close to the animals face. With pure hate flickering in her glazed eyes, she grabbed the mule by the ear and mane and delivered a discerning message “That’s the last time you ever kick me, glue factory’s gonna be a new home for you.” She screamed. The mule bucked and protested until she released the grip she had on it. That was it, She ran up past the barn and inside the farmhouse slamming the fly screen door behind her letting it reverb and shake its way back open.” I’m making the call now” she bellowed out the kitchen window.
Shortly after the meatworks truck rounded the bend. Two portly men dragged themselves from the cab and started to load the mule into the back. He kicked and complained and badly damaged a fence and the truck.
The old lady Stood leaning on the balcony railing waving a white handkerchief in a very sarcastic goodbye. Good ridence she uttered as with rhythmic movements she wiped the dust from pristine gloves.
Shortly after the meatworks truck rounded the bend. Two portly men dragged themselves from the cab and started to load the mule into the back. He kicked and complained and badly damaged a fence and the truck.
The old lady Stood leaning on the balcony railing waving a white handkerchief in a very sarcastic goodbye. Good ridence she uttered as with rhythmic movements she wiped the dust from pristine gloves.
for the simple boy
Poem i wrote while listening to 'simple boy' by Karnivool
If I could only cross the world.
I’d stay and rejoice it
The days they drag along the earth.
As the sun slowly burns it
I wish that you felt protected
I’ve failed and destroyed this
I just needed to run
Hide in the shadows
Till I’ve dug this hole big enough to be lost
Just not to face these things I know
Drag innocence down by the tail
Simple words
For everyone who lays here
Sheltered from the deluge
Sugar covered lies
So we can play sweetly
If I could only cross the world.
I’d stay and rejoice it
The days they drag along the earth.
As the sun slowly burns it
I wish that you felt protected
I’ve failed and destroyed this
I just needed to run
Hide in the shadows
Till I’ve dug this hole big enough to be lost
Just not to face these things I know
Drag innocence down by the tail
Simple words
For everyone who lays here
Sheltered from the deluge
Sugar covered lies
So we can play sweetly
man the jetty
Roy and me had the day to waste, the boat was old and worn, majestic in its defiance of the elements should have sank many years ago. Cruising gently up the wonnie river , setting wake in the cloudy brown filth of water. This stretch lined like a suburban street with old weatherboard shanty houses slowly inching their way closer to damnation as the weathered river banks recede. Old tom Phillips sat on a tree stump near the turner street jetty simultaneously flinging abuse and advice inexcusably up the empty valley for anyone to here, and I assume in his mind everyone knew to put his words to good use. We call him old tom but he is only 43 but years of huffing paint thinners had aged his face and faded his mind. It was easier to pretend he had lived a full life and was now enjoying the rewards of dementia than to starkly admit it was all self destructive narcissism that lead him down the rabbit hole chasing a buzz. We would endure a rant, smiling and waving like idiots as we slowly chugged past, our boats wash causing old tom atop the rotting wooden boards to rock uneasily as the jetty went to and fro with the waters motions. The only good thing about seeing tom on the river was you knew he was still breathing. I dread the day this river gets peaceful.
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
a night of seduction and places to hide
Love is a trap, and I am a fool. Stumbling blindly towards it. The second I laid eyes on her I knew she was someone else’s and I’d need an elaborate plan to steal her away. Charm was certainly lacking in my repertoire, but i made up for it with vast quantities quiet awkwardness. I popped my collar, I’d seen someone else do it and with my new found confidence I’d gained due highly to rye and coke i approached my soon to be new lady friend. I made it no more than 2 metres away from the intended recipient of my undying affections when i was reefed backwards by my shirt. I was met face to face with a hulking jock of a man. Apparently this lady was spoken for I soon found out, and my admiration had not gone unnoticed. I knew my hopes of a wistful frantic relationship were fading. The way I see it I had no hope form the start. A woman like that is like a magnet for needy self delusional guys like me. A polite and courteous reference to where inside my own body I should locate my sexual organs was noted and i was in the process of slinking away when for unknown reason a large bikie type stepped in to defend me. As he saw it I caused no ill and was not deserved of such treatment and did himself reference the many ways of bodily adjustment he could afflict upon others. Apologies flowed fourth from my adversary yet not alot of conversation was held. It’s not what he said, it’s what he thought and everyone could see that clear as day. Gruff exteriors are fine as long as they aren’t painted on this thin. The big mountain boy was showing his colours. If I could I would’ve thrown him out on his ass. Lacking the brass balls and upper body strength to pull off such a move I hid behind a waitress and waited till he sulked off into the night. Kicking boxes and smashing bottles as he went. A successful night in anyone’s books.
Sunday, January 10, 2010
Colorblind
A project to write about another artist through the redbubble website. Check out his art and writing.
http://www.redbubble.com/people/colorblind
Check out redbubble, its a good site for artists and writers
My perception of Colorblind
A rebellion not against life but those long streaking shadows that drag it down from purity, taint the world we know.
Savoring dreams of perfection as to not let his mind be enveloped,
A lover of women for their strength and minds. Attitudes so akin to ours yet so very distant in all its formality. Women, the mothers of salvation and calm.
Raw emotion the torch he holds aloft, to lead himself across the night. But with the brightness attracting the attention of all, good and bad, the light fallen across his face for the world to see the man he is. Hear the words he speaks, the words he carries, bound together page to page.
Here the rhythm with the words, the flow of language in their text.
Puzzles pieced together once scattered upon the ground. Dare to be careful, these problems not solved of force and brutality.
The love lost, pasts burning holes in fond memories. A pain written in love upon a mighty heart. Weighed heavy with longing. A heart lead by a head so wise. Knowing the heart to well, of its moods and manuscripts, thoughts so dark and lonesome, but in time lightened by joy of highs unknown. Struggle the lows and savor the highs,
The monster he sees himself, the hero he longs to be. A man wishing never to be forgotten but fighting to not live in the past. To put behind him that which has made the man we see. Horrified by war, the throwing of young men and women at each others bullets. Senseless he can see, for how do you fight for peace when there is no peace to bring. All the energy we have for destruction can he simply ask you to use this to save us all.Torn from college, short of fruition. The tears felt and shared. Cut deep by deception.
The wolf he feels Yearning for the freedoms of the wild.
The majestic world his spiritual animal. Grace and power he possesses yet still staring longingly at the birds in the sky no ties to the earth. Their shoulders unburdened, and spirits free. No mourn for them to suffer. Never to waste the day
http://www.redbubble.com/people/colorblind
Check out redbubble, its a good site for artists and writers
My perception of Colorblind
A rebellion not against life but those long streaking shadows that drag it down from purity, taint the world we know.
Savoring dreams of perfection as to not let his mind be enveloped,
A lover of women for their strength and minds. Attitudes so akin to ours yet so very distant in all its formality. Women, the mothers of salvation and calm.
Raw emotion the torch he holds aloft, to lead himself across the night. But with the brightness attracting the attention of all, good and bad, the light fallen across his face for the world to see the man he is. Hear the words he speaks, the words he carries, bound together page to page.
Here the rhythm with the words, the flow of language in their text.
Puzzles pieced together once scattered upon the ground. Dare to be careful, these problems not solved of force and brutality.
The love lost, pasts burning holes in fond memories. A pain written in love upon a mighty heart. Weighed heavy with longing. A heart lead by a head so wise. Knowing the heart to well, of its moods and manuscripts, thoughts so dark and lonesome, but in time lightened by joy of highs unknown. Struggle the lows and savor the highs,
The monster he sees himself, the hero he longs to be. A man wishing never to be forgotten but fighting to not live in the past. To put behind him that which has made the man we see. Horrified by war, the throwing of young men and women at each others bullets. Senseless he can see, for how do you fight for peace when there is no peace to bring. All the energy we have for destruction can he simply ask you to use this to save us all.Torn from college, short of fruition. The tears felt and shared. Cut deep by deception.
The wolf he feels Yearning for the freedoms of the wild.
The majestic world his spiritual animal. Grace and power he possesses yet still staring longingly at the birds in the sky no ties to the earth. Their shoulders unburdened, and spirits free. No mourn for them to suffer. Never to waste the day
Drink for drowning
I, a man
Made of wood
Bundled together with Lashing.
Shabbily constructed
Hastily finished.
Spindly an awkward
Thrust forward into a world
Not of his own making.
Anxiety an issue of daily concern.
Steeped in personal philosophy
Compulsive hang-ups.
Drinking the drowning.
Sinking the ship from the inside
The spirit the poison
Poured for so long now
Self destructive nature
My colours shown
Soulless existence
Never truly feeling
These bloodied hands and knees
No longer allow me to crawl
My helplessness now forces me to stand
Strength gained from the absence of it.
I strive to feel
Just to be a real person
Made of wood
Bundled together with Lashing.
Shabbily constructed
Hastily finished.
Spindly an awkward
Thrust forward into a world
Not of his own making.
Anxiety an issue of daily concern.
Steeped in personal philosophy
Compulsive hang-ups.
Drinking the drowning.
Sinking the ship from the inside
The spirit the poison
Poured for so long now
Self destructive nature
My colours shown
Soulless existence
Never truly feeling
These bloodied hands and knees
No longer allow me to crawl
My helplessness now forces me to stand
Strength gained from the absence of it.
I strive to feel
Just to be a real person
over run, this once my village
Invaders of fury and lust
Mercy a distant second to ferocity
Blood boiling in the veins
This rage I see even with eyes clenched tight
Foot steps heavier than the hills
Clutching myself in well worn hollow
Tremble to my own rhythm
Until quiet reaches me
Drag myself from the hole I embodied
Afraid of all that lies before
All that has past withered and dying
My feet resting upon the ashes of the village
The mud clinging hard to my skin
Tight and cracked
Reaking the foul stench of cowardice
A symbol to all I ran and hid
Mercy a distant second to ferocity
Blood boiling in the veins
This rage I see even with eyes clenched tight
Foot steps heavier than the hills
Clutching myself in well worn hollow
Tremble to my own rhythm
Until quiet reaches me
Drag myself from the hole I embodied
Afraid of all that lies before
All that has past withered and dying
My feet resting upon the ashes of the village
The mud clinging hard to my skin
Tight and cracked
Reaking the foul stench of cowardice
A symbol to all I ran and hid
The sound before the first step
Break the lines we walk
Paths trenched in the hillside
Trudged by all those before us
A beacon of the status quo
The reality it all reoccurs
A shiny new idea
Written in pencil
Shabbily pasted over the previous model
New and improved
Our heritage the weight staying us stead
Tradition the shackles that tie us to it
The man before and after
There to push us along the straight and narrow
Swept aside if to fall
Tumble to the bottom of the heap
Looked down upon as the masses lumber
Relentlessly towards fates inevitability
My pride, my folly
This the flag I raise
The splash of red against the grayscale
A chance of change for all to see
March not with me but for you
Steadfast feet to carry ambition
Marching now for the furthest of horizons
To concur my own mountains
Paths trenched in the hillside
Trudged by all those before us
A beacon of the status quo
The reality it all reoccurs
A shiny new idea
Written in pencil
Shabbily pasted over the previous model
New and improved
Our heritage the weight staying us stead
Tradition the shackles that tie us to it
The man before and after
There to push us along the straight and narrow
Swept aside if to fall
Tumble to the bottom of the heap
Looked down upon as the masses lumber
Relentlessly towards fates inevitability
My pride, my folly
This the flag I raise
The splash of red against the grayscale
A chance of change for all to see
March not with me but for you
Steadfast feet to carry ambition
Marching now for the furthest of horizons
To concur my own mountains
running from danger can be tiring
I was frozen in a place as the lights trailed across my face. The blinds a mess in the wind battering the filing cabinet that was wedged had against it. Glimpses of the docks just beyond the window sill flutter in my vision. The fits of hysterics in my mind contradicted with the comfortable high back office chair and the bustling nightly antics of impatiently high pitched forklift sirens crowding the warehouse upon which the office sits. Perched over me with smug self satisfaction the red suited man arches across the shadows to drag a gloved hand across my extended arm down to my knuckles. The worn brown leather rough against my skin, pulling at the raised hair along my forearm, A menacing smirk as he lifted my hand aloft by the wrist. “I’m sorry sir but this was inevitable” he touted boastfully as he fumbled in the desk drawer. My eyes glanced down as the light struck the fruits of his rummaging. “Now I don’t want answers sunny, I want apologies and you aint to forthcoming.” I could see he’d managed to grasp a letter opener, not the weapon of choice but unpleasant enough to bring about my unwarranted demise. The suspense slightly ruined by an ill chosen moustache, the whole hostage situation feeling a bit to close to pantomime to be concerning. The fear once imposed slowly dripping away to reveal the startled scarecrow of a man behind the suit and eerie smile. “You leave it to me, ill have my secretary right on it” I offered. “Clerical errors and alike and budgetary constraints and council approval” words without meaning thrown feverishly before me, my stepping stones to freedom. He forgot his menace momentarily to contemplate the string of nonsense laid before him. My chance had arrived, a flying leap across the office toward the door, tuck and roll into the hallway. I’d done it, escape was mine and I lauded it up with a merry skip to my car, the red suited man lent carelessly against my driver’s door. Seem m escape blinded me t he concept of alerting authorities or even engaging bystanders for help. Oh well, lessons learnt.
The road home is blurry
The day was lazy and lingering.
A stench that just hung over the week
Clinging close to the skin
Suffocating with the irreverence
My strength devoted to tasks beyond the week,
The mindset to stay saved for the weekend
The Friday night glaze being handed out
By the armful at the tavern
Most were arriving there
But just as many leaving
With wistful goodbyes
The drink ravaged piled into their cars
An adventurous and mildly fraught ride home
Drunk before sundown
The honor in itself
A defiant look worn proudly on their faces
Gun straight road
Bordered with the precessions of oaks
Towering along either side
This the gauntlet before us
The cars danced merrily
From one lane to another
Late afternoon sun
Draping long sullen shadows
Across the windshield they loomed
The light play met with swear and squinting alike
To repeat the folly a nightly occurrence
To break the cycle a weekly battle
A stench that just hung over the week
Clinging close to the skin
Suffocating with the irreverence
My strength devoted to tasks beyond the week,
The mindset to stay saved for the weekend
The Friday night glaze being handed out
By the armful at the tavern
Most were arriving there
But just as many leaving
With wistful goodbyes
The drink ravaged piled into their cars
An adventurous and mildly fraught ride home
Drunk before sundown
The honor in itself
A defiant look worn proudly on their faces
Gun straight road
Bordered with the precessions of oaks
Towering along either side
This the gauntlet before us
The cars danced merrily
From one lane to another
Late afternoon sun
Draping long sullen shadows
Across the windshield they loomed
The light play met with swear and squinting alike
To repeat the folly a nightly occurrence
To break the cycle a weekly battle
Aiming low is a lifelong goal
A blank stare and a cold part gave me the impression this child yearned to grow up to be a simpleton. Greeted at the door by plans for mockery and laughed about when after leaving the room. He was to fill other people’s day with momentary joy. Nicotine fingers and coffee stained teeth. Habits he picked up watching the ‘adults’ talk. Toddling through life in ignorance, a smudged and bedraggled smirk staining his face. He would get just where he was going, he just always seemed to be aiming at below average.
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