Wednesday, 27 August 2008

"I started off on Burgundy, soon I hit the harder stuff!"

"An Eagle pointing at my weaknesses" (Part 1)

I live at the dark end of the street, on the wrong side of town. 
Burgundy St. had once housed the artistic community of Olympia City; it was a hive of creativity, a bubbling, melting pot, but now the closest the majority of it's residents got to Art was a daily splattering of their porcelain bowls with shit belonging to the night before. It was sad state. A sight for sore eyes. A sore on your sad sight. It was nowhere.
I was there because I had nowhere else to be.    
I began the long walk towards the city, towards civilisation. As I rounded the corner of 22nd & 2nd I had the distinct feeling I was being followed.... 

Tuesday, 19 August 2008

'Bad Blog' on Loneliness

'Bad Blog' on Loneliness (Part 1)

The 'Bad Blog' on Loneliness was a curious place to say the least. Before visiting the 'Bad Blog' I hadn't been aware that places of this ilk existed; after visiting i wasn't sure why places like this existed. I don't mean to sound uninformed, I understand now the stated purpose of the establishment, but I'm fairly certain I don't agree. 
On approaching the 'Bad Blog' there are no clues as to the ambiguous aspiration of this enterprise. It lies between two identical Italian restaurants, the sort of restaurants you rarely see anymore, the sort of restaurant that seemingly exists only to feed the extended family of the owner, no money exchanges hand, no business ever fails, it had always seemed a nice way to do business to me. Basically what I'm trying to make clear is that in a fairly uninteresting dark corner of a back street, the 'Bad Blog' was still very unnoticeable.  

Lighten Your Load

Here's some handmade jokes:

Q - How do you make a mischievous cat fall off the side of a pool table?
A - Tell it that Jeremy Beadle isn't dead.

Q - How do you make an overweight Grandmother break a deck chair?
A - Tell her that Jeremy Beadle isn't dead.

Q - How do make a enthusiastic young footballer run into the goal post with disastrous and hilarious consequences? 
A - Tell him the Jeremy Beadle isn't dead.

Sunday, 17 August 2008

Secret Satan

The man cried, 'bargin!' The man sighed, 'incredible!' The people bubbled around the stage, clambering for a piece of what he had to offer. He didn't have to offer, he wanted to offer this, it was one thing that he desired to share, never before, but for evermore! Secret santa packing handbags in Taiwan, that's what he did now, that's what he planned. 

Thursday, 14 August 2008

A massive cube in the middle of the wasteland

A massive cube in the middle of the wasteland, in the self same wasteland there was a circus, a circus made of dirt. There were animals, zoo animals, like dumbo.

Tuesday, 12 August 2008

Whack-eyed & Blue

That state I'm in

This is the state i woke up in this morning. This is the story which saw me wake up in this state. 
As i rounded the corner to the builder's yard yesterday, a juggernaut rushed passed me, rushed is a strange way to describe the movement of a juggernaut i know, but rushed is what it did! Seconds later another, and seconds later another. The fourth juggernaut that passed was only just picking up speed; speed enough to make my death-defying leap death defying, but not speed enough to make it my last. 
So i leapt. 
In alone moments i like to think of myself as somewhat of an expert leaper, so i wasn't scared or nervous, i was confident, i knew i had the skill set required to leech onto this machine. As i did, i could feel the ferocious, stone age power of my horse, it leaked through me, this is what i'd missed, this is what had kept me leaping throughout my childhood, against doctor's warnings, through parental discipline, beyond friend's fascination. This too was my downfall. 
I was suckered right through the town centre, laughing at those short-sighted walkers, waving to friends from times gone by, this is what i had missed; i think they had missed it too judging by their wild applause and acclaim! 
That's all i remember, the rest i have consigned to the open road. I lay here whack eyed and blue.   

Thursday, 7 August 2008

My time away

The first day

We arrived at our destination this morning. It is very nice and extremely hot.
Our hosts seem accommodating if not a little over familiar. They seem to know an awful lot about me and my companion.
We were exhausted after the journey and fell asleep after eating a chicken.

The next day

We went on an excursion to the mountains today, it was very nice. The sun drenched landscape we had become accustomed to gave way to a land of colour, a limited palette, but colour all the same. I was surprised to find this alpine retreat in the middle of the desert.
We ate lunch, I ate a cheeseburger, then began the journey home.
On the walk I saw a wasp vomiting on the side of the road, on closer inspection i could see the the wasp was actually being sick on top of a minuscule ant. I had never seen a wasp being sick before and was surprised by how queasy it had made me feel. Without another thought I was sick a top both the living (but ill) wasp and the dead (murdered) ant.

Another day

Today i saw an abandoned hotel, it was called the 'Hotel Splendid'. I couldn't help but wonder.

A further day

I went to the fridge and took out a can of beer. It was to my great shock and confusion, that when I was closing the fridge door my selected refreshment spoke to me. He spoke clearly and confidently, but disappointingly not in what i had expected to be his native tongue. I presumed a beer domestic to a country would speak in the mother tongue of that country. It was explained to me however that this was very rarely the case.
At great length i was told that it is only compulsory for beer whose name includes or is wholly comprised of a human name to speak the language of its country of origin.
I thanked my beer for this information and allowed myself to pass comment that i thought this to be a little disingenuous.
Anyway, we chatted more as i drank and i was really beginning to enjoy the company of my drink, but i was becoming more cognizant of my growing thirst and my drinking partner's parallel rise in temperature. So i asked, in a veiled sort of way, if he had any last requests.
For a second time he surprised me. He didn't have so much of a last request, more a spoken epitaph, a reason for being, an admittance of love. He began:
"I have been all around the world, working in many different forms and roles, and never have i been touched, drunk or treasured like i have by you. You blow me away! The respect, the tender caress, you complete me. Thank you!"