Tuesday, May 25, 2010

Directly Outside 12

Retreating stabs at the future mass — a horizon of blades thrust, pommels rolling backwards like clubs, bludgeons.

Let me siphon a troupe of dwarven dancers idiotique from my soul with a handy 1954 clothes mangle.

It’s all I have as I cling to this swirling internexus of stuff: what I fancy goes in vs what I fancy comes out. Get the balance right and you can just about walk straight. Get it wrong and you inflict or genuflect. Blades, pommels, blades, pommels aaaaarrrgggghhh.

‘So,’ says dwarf #1, adjusting his stomach in readiness, ‘what’s the crack?’

Dwarf #2 laughs. ‘The crack is what’s showing out the back of your pants, fatso!’

More dwarves, laughing, taking sides. Uh oh, how there’s a diminutive riot. Size doesn’t matter in a riot, it’s still a riot.

Now, the pommels are close up, like rhinos shorn of horns. Take your eyes off things for a moment and they change. Same with seeing, though we never see it. What was I to do in any case? Grip blades and proffer pommels? here, take this, and do as you will?

Knives existed before we invented them. What they do, what they are, how they hurt us. All here before metal and wit to smelt.

Three dwarves left, so it seems, now they’ve knocked each other unconscious. Two of them I recall from the reduced height melee, the other one is the fatso crack wise guy. Could have done with Fatso himself, in spite of the lurid dungarees.

‘What to do,’ I say, ‘with horizons...’

Fatso crack guy — Bug Eyes Harry, as I now see from his name tag (though why he wears it, I haven’t a clue: just the one eye, unbuggy) — says, ‘this dialogue tag took so long to get going, I’ve run out of fantasy life. So adieu, farewell, auf wiedersehen. And don’t forget to water my pot plants.’

So it’s me and two unknown dwarves wrung from a mangle against the retrograde twist of blades into the future.

I submit!

I submit!

Maybe soon, I’ll no longer be trapped in this place, doomed only to witness as the world spins by, directly outside.


fairyhedgehog said...

Um, something about some dwarves or something? You're not Sleeping Beauty are you?

*very confused little mammal goes back to sleep*

Phoenix said...

Haven't the foggiest what the rest of this is about, but was absolutely brought up cold by this Tom Stoppard-ish Rosencrantz and Guildernstern Are Dead-ish observation:

Knives existed before we invented them. What they do, what they are, how they hurt us. All here before metal and wit to smelt.

Smacked me like a gom jabber. Brilliant.

Whirlochre said...

Sleeping? Beauty? Sadly, I'm neither at the moment.

Interestingly, insofar as this is genuinely about anything (which, incidentally, it is), the knife line was the one screaming to be cut. Problem was, I liked it so much I left it in. Glad I did.

fairyhedgehog said...

So, is there a guide to help the "hard of thinking"* i.e. me?

*Pratchett's phrase, not mine.

Whirlochre said...

Snooze-O-Hog Awakened
Maybe I'll decode this in a future post.

fairyhedgehog said...


Whirlochre said...



Robin S. said...

Good luck with the read through and edits, Whirl.

P.S. My word ver is 'styll', and you've definitely got it!

Robin S. said...

Ok- I could have SWORN I put a comment on here hours ago, that said...good luck with your editing battles, Whirl, or something like that.

Well, anyway, now I've said it again.

Robin S. said...

Oh shit. I see it now. It's just that Whirlio's thing was so damn long...

Whirlochre said...

It's just that Whirlio's thing was so damn long...

Welcome to the world of the virtual triple take...

Bernita said...

It's all about the workmen, right?
(Please tell me it is?)

Robin S. said...

Hee hee. Can't believe I wrote that. But now, I'm glad I did!