Wednesday, April 30, 2008
When water meets rock,
It flows around it.
Wind, in its way
The elephant stands on one leg
Juggling coloured balls with the tip of its trunk
And awaits a shower of buns ― or maybe Tarzan.
Charming Your Inner Expletive
(Anger Management For The Deranged)
Celestial Vision 2
Monday, April 28, 2008
Saturday, April 26, 2008
Thursday, April 24, 2008
Oh No! Everything We Hold Dear Is Threatened By Hordes Of Evil Monsters Rampaging From The Depths Of The Underworld — And A BAT! 2
‘Ha Ha Ha Haaar!
‘Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Haaaar!’
‘Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Haaaar!’
‘Wait a minute.’
‘You missed out a Ha.’
‘No I didn’t.’
‘Yes you did. I said Ha Haar then you said Ha Ha Ha Haaar then I said Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Haaaar, and then, instead of saying Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Haaaar, you replied Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Haaaar.’
‘And that’s not right?’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Sure I’m sure. It doesn’t scan.’
‘Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Haaaar! Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Haaaar! Sounds OK to me’
‘What’s wrong with your ear?’
‘I don’t have any ears. I’m an evil monster, remember?’
‘I meant ear for poetry.’
‘Poetry? What are you? Some kind of softie? Our demonic laughter is the prelude to an orgy of slaughter, not some woofty romance nonsense.’
‘True. But not all poetry has to be romantic.’
‘Whatever. I had it right and you’re just confusing things.
‘Okay, then. Let me get the Manual Of Protocols For Hordes Of Evil Monsters Rampaging From The Depths Of The Underworld down off the shelf for a moment. I’ll prove it. Here we are. Page 77. It says
EM1 : Ha Haar!
EM2 : Ha Ha Ha Haaar!
EM1 : Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Haaaar!
EM2 : Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Haaaar!
‘Whaddya mean, ‘Yup’?’
‘I guess you’re right.’
‘Guess? It’s black and white.’
‘So. Which one did I miss out?
Sunday, April 20, 2008
Directly outside my window, a small alien vessel has crash-landed in my garden, destroying my gazebo.
Smoke spirals from its bronze hull, and through a porthole half-buried beneath the crumpled turf, I can see a tiny yellow creature slipping its head into a conical helmet.
Funny, but ever since Close Encounters and Alien, my emergency 23-point strategy for dealing with invaders from other worlds has been to ensure that I’m never more than thirty feet away from a bug-eye busting bucket of salt and continually ready to assume a poised karate crouch at the first hint of slurping ― particularly in the presence of fully extended hydraulic internal mandibles.
A little yellow guy, I’m not ready for.
Too late. He’s opened the porthole and he’s out, scanning my garden furniture with what looks to be an iPod. No, wait a minute, it’s not a scanner — it’s a blaster of some sort. A purple beam has just shot out of it and now the surface of the table is bubbling like a pizza and the chair legs are buckling. I’m not sure why, but he’s melting everything.
Maybe he needs it for fuel ― or glue to fix his ship. Or maybe this is his way of saying hello: some bizarre language.
What a weird little fellah. He’s barely a foot tall, and apart from his melty thing, I can’t see anything resembling a weapon. I wave at him from the window but he doesn’t see me. He’s just scooping around in the molten plastic with a long rubbery ladle, like he was stirring soup. Maybe that’s it. Maybe he’s hungry.
Now he’s got his iPod out again and he’s pointing it at the pool of plastic. Swirls are appearing, like it was a whirlpool ― and he’s just jumped in. It’s still swirling round, but he’s completely vanished.
Beats hanging around waiting to be towed away, I suppose.
A fire rages inside the cabin of his craft and it sounds as if someone has called the fire brigade. I really I ought to go down there and help out; explain what I’ve just seen ― but I’m trapped in this place. Doomed only to witness as the world spins by, directly outside...
Friday, April 18, 2008
‘Have you seen my slippers anywhere, dear?’
‘No. Are they under the bed?’
‘When did you have them last?’
‘Earlier on this afternoon, I think. When I was listening to the radio.’
‘Strange. They’ve got to be somewhere.’
‘Ooh. I remember. I tucked them behind the pouffe when I ran the hoover round. Yes. Here they are.’
‘Ha. I must be going senile.’
‘Shall I put the kettle on for a cup of tea, dear?’
‘Yes. That would be nice, petal. Thank you.’
Thursday, April 17, 2008
ahbfgf dbfgjhind85fnfhd dhjd ggdelizaabd fghfnfofmsns
hbdhnd dnd ddkdjdsdmdhd dzjfgfmalvoliudhdbegdvs
Just because I’m ugly that’s no reason to keep me imprisoned in this hellhole. Why won’t anyone listen to me?
Monday, April 14, 2008
A horse goes into a bar.
The barman says, ‘why the long face?’
‘Because I’m a horse,’ replies the horse.
‘Yeah. I can see that. But why the long face?’
‘Look. It’s been a hard day. Can I just have a beer?’
‘Hang on a minute,’ says the barman, setting down a half-polished glass. ‘So, let me get this right. Are you implying that your obvious emotional discomfort is merely a product of your anatomical structure and not, as most people believe, an external manifestation of your essence or spirit finding momentary expression upon an otherwise blank―and in your case, equine―canvas?’
‘No. I just want a beer, thanks.’
‘Phew. For a moment there, you had me worried. In the narrow nightmare world I thought you were suggesting, there could be no possibility of happiness for a whole range of species, and millions of animals―from pugs to angler fish to bulldogs―would have to be humanely put down to spare them the anguish of their evolutionary shackles.’
‘Maybe. Now, about that beer―’
‘The question is―who would be prepared to administer the cull? To forage around in the Mariana Trench for angler fish on what would almost certainly be a pretty miserable salary? And what sensible Government would be prepared to risk electoral defeat by enforcing the required legislation? Or raising the taxes? Even if we assume such an enterprise was financially viable, there’s no guarantee any of the species concerned would be spared for definite; that one or two individuals wouldn’t survive to breed, thereby perpetuating the misery.’
‘You’re probably right. Now, about that―’
‘There’s a whole minefield of contentious political arguments here, and much as I’d like no more than to stand here all day debating the various issues with you over a pint and a bag of crisps, I’ve got a business to run. So, what’ll you have?’
‘Half a bitter please.’
‘We don’t serve horses, mate. Fuck off.’
Thursday, April 10, 2008
We are blooms
Springing sunward from bulbs,
Feasting on dreams
We have wintered.
We shall colour
The forests asplintered.
Mantrate Thy Soul Aglow, Ye
Yodel and tabla improvisation 9
Monday, April 7, 2008
‘Turned out nice, hasn’t it?’
‘Yes, it has.’
‘Down, boy. Down. Don’t worry—he won’t bite. He’s just being friendly.’
‘What sort is he?’
‘He’s certainly friendly.’
‘Oh yes, he’s that all right. Only last week he—Christ! What are you doing...?’
‘It’s perfectly safe. Just an anaesthetic. You’ll be conscious again in approximately half an hour.’
‘Come here, boy. Come to Daddy.’
Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzt! Bzzzzt! Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzt!
Sunday, April 6, 2008
‘So - why do you call your dog Isaiah?’
‘Because one eye’s ‘igher than the other.’
‘Are you sure? Let me just measure him with this ruler. If what you say is true, each of his eyes should be equidistant from the corresponding ear, and also his nose. So let’s see. Right eye to right ear...8.3cm. Left eye to left ear...8.4cm. OK, it’s a millimetre out but I’m happy with that as a reasonable margin for error if you are. I don’t think the two measurements are sufficiently different to warrant the dog’s name: you just wouldn’t be able to tell from a distance. So what about the nose? Let’s see. Right eye to nose...9.7cm. And, again on the left...9.7cm exactly. So - both of his eyes are more or less symmetrical. And...yup...more or less the same size...side to side...and top to bottom. I do, however, concede that he does look a little lopsided. Wait a minute. I think it’s his neck. Yes. That’s it. Look - his head is tilted slightly over to the left, giving the impression that his right eye is higher up on his face than the left. So, in a funny way, you’re kind of right to call him Isaiah, because there is a marked difference to the observer, but as far as his actual physical features are concerned, it’s not a technically accurate name. You should’ve called him Wonky Bastard.’
‘I would have—but that’s the name of my other dog.’
Saturday, April 5, 2008
Oh No! Everything We Hold Dear Is Threatened By Hordes Of Evil Monsters Rampaging From The Depths Of The Underworld—And A BAT!
‘Ha Ha Ha Haaar!
‘Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Haaaar!’
‘Ha Ha Ha Ha-’
‘As you wish, My Lord.’
‘Are the manacles suitably rusted in preparation for our slaves?’
‘Yes, My Lord.’
‘What about the pokers? Are they red, red hot?’
‘Yes, My Lord.’
‘And the fingerbowls for after the feast?’
‘Awash with fresh lemon juice, My Lord.’
‘Then let us away. We have a population of feeble surface dwellers to terrorise, disembowel and enslave!’
Friday, April 4, 2008
Directly outside my window, the sky shimmers with an eerie glow, as if a hulking intergalactic asteroid transporter had pumped a dozen payloads of Venusian Horizon gas over next door’s fence.
Framed against the magenta skyline, a lone cat crosses a shed roof. She creeps cautiously, as if prowling for birds or fleeing from a rampant cat-buggering neighbourhood pervert I have yet to discover.
I fancy I might toss her a mouse-shaped nacho; perhaps even sound an alert with my tuba.
But I’m trapped in this place. Doomed only to witness as the world spins by, directly outside...
Thursday, April 3, 2008
To/Of/For A Giraffe
majestic creature of the African jungle,
why are you trapped in this cage?
You can bite your cruel captors,
but choose not to.
Kick them with your mighty legs,
but you do not.
You could even leap
o’er these cruel bars
and yet you stand,
head lofted high above the scowling faces
of your evil keepers and viewers.
I shall tear down this enclosure
so that you may run free.
Run free, run free,
run free as a long bird.
Wednesday, April 2, 2008
‘What are you reading, dear?’
‘Oh—just one of my old gardening books. I thought I might get out at the weekend and pot up a few hostas.’
‘Anything good in the paper?’
‘Not really. It’s all a bit depressing—and I finished the crossword this afternoon. I’m turning in now.’
‘Okay. I’ll read for a while longer, but if the light disturbs you -’
‘No. It’s all right. I’ll be fine, thanks. Good night, dear.’
‘Good night, petal.’
Tuesday, April 1, 2008
Pulling pants up,
Pulling pants down—
My child, you are eternal as the seasons.
Majesticus Robustus Exuberati