Holiday Reading

I am on holiday this week, Dear Reader…

holiday (n.)

1500s, earlier haliday (c. 1200), from Old English haligdæg “holy day, consecrated day, religious anniversary; Sabbath,” from halig “holy” (see holy) + dæg “day” (see day); in 14c. meaning both “religious festival” and “day of exemption from labor and recreation,” but pronunciation and sense diverged 16c. As an adjective mid-15c. Happy holidays is from mid-19c., in British English, with reference to summer vacation from school. As a Christmastime greeting, by 1937, American English, in Camel cigarette ads.

*Camel, Kamala is rather tenuous, Clicky… /lights up… At best… /drags… Although I did receive a book… /cough… er, in the post today from Legs…*

*/plumes smoke… No, that’s the first in Leggy’s delightfully demonic series, Clicky. It’s set during the English Civil War and the heroine is a witch called J…*

*No, Jessica. It’s in the title… /smokes contentedly… What kinda wussy name is ‘Jussie’ anyway? …/flicks ash…*

*Not SAMuel’s Girl either… /drags… butt nice catch on that Tweeter’s name… /blows smoke ring… I dunno, Clicky, what with all the Brexit and Trump bashing…/blows another… Mainstream media must take us for mugs…*

Normans House Stash

*Yes! …/final drag… A signed copy of Norman’s House, plus branded mug and magnets arrived today…*

*The Leg Iron Books fridge magnets will come in handy next month… /stubs butt… when I do that open mic reading, Clicky… /bites lip… I’m fucked if I know which of my stories I’m gonna read…*

Arsy Darcy

*It won’t be one of Mum’s stories… /squints… And thanks for the vote of confidence…*

…I’m going to spend my week away from work, at home, writing for the next Underdog Anthology – due out in Spring. I’m also going to be practicing reading aloud for an event. It’s a long story, Dear Reader, and I’ll tell you about it later. In the meantime, have a Song 😀

 

Story Time: Waste Not, Want Not

*What a good idea, Clicky… /pats snout…*

Happy Valentine’s Day, Dear Reader. I’ve no chocolates or flowers to give you, so please enjoy ‘Waste Not, Want Not’, one of my Halloween short stories from Underdog Anthology VI: The Gallows Stone

… And have a Song ❤

*******

Waste Not, Want Not
By Roo B. Doo

The dark October morning was filled with urgent lights – red ones, amber ones, blue ones that flashed – and urgent shouts, pounding footsteps and screams. Lance Parrish took in the chaotic scene around him in quiet disbelief, until he caught sight of the remains of his bicycle – his new Genesis Skyline bicycle – crushed beneath the filthy wheels of a gargantuan waste removal lorry.

He bunched his hands into fists and shook with rage. In all the years Lance had commuted to work by bicycle, he had witnessed plenty of traffic chaos, but none of it had ever directly involved him. Until today.

“Jesus Christ!”

He stalked round to the front of the vehicle and craned his neck up to catch sight of the driver, but the cab was empty. Desperate to see the face of the menace that had mangled his bike and nearly killed him, Lance scanned the faces of the gathering crowd, looking for an expression of guilt. “Where’s the driver?” he shouted hoarsely. “Which of you is the driver of this death trap?”

Nobody replied, the crowd’s rapt attention was firmly fixed on the activity around the front wheel of the truck. Several bystanders had their phones out, capturing the scene. Lance was torn between feeling contempt and gratitude toward the ghouls; he would need all the evidence he could get when he sued the waste company for all it was worth. “Do any of you know who the driver is?” he called out again.

And then Lance spotted him, or rather the logo of the waste company emblazoned on the back of a hi-viz jacket. The driver stood away from the crowd, yabbering into a mobile phone. He looked burly and mean – not the type to mess with – but Lance didn’t care. Filled with furious indignation, he strode over to front it out with the man. “Hey you! I want a word with you!”

“No, it’s-“  the driver spoke into his phone, rubbing his meaty hand across his furrowed brow, “-it’s not good.”

“Hey! Are you the driver of the truck?”

“Yeah. Emergency Services are here.”

Lance reached the driver. “I want to talk to you.”

The driver continued his conversation. “Of course. You’d better let the site know. I think I’m gonna be stuck here for some time.”

“You cretinous oaf. Don’t ignore me!” Lance bellowed in frustration.

“Yeah okay.” The driver smiled ruefully, “Okay, okay yeah. Will do. I’ll let you know. Bye.” He ended the call and started scrolling through the contact numbers of his phone.

“Excuse me!” Lance said pointedly but the driver continued to ignore him. “I’m the person you very nearly killed. You know, the one on the bike that you’ve utterly destroyed.”

The driver lifted the phone back up to his face. “Hello Kath? It’s me. Don’t worry, love, but I’ve been involved in an accident. Nah, nah I’m okay…”

Lance was incandescent with rage. Not only was the truck driver completely ignoring him, but he was calling people up to brag about coming through it all unscathed. Lance could scarcely believe the obtuseness of the man. Unless…“Oh my god!” Lance howled with righteous scorn. “I just bet you voted for Brexit!”

The driver turned and walked away toward the doorway of a nearby shop, continuing his telephone conversation, and leaving Lance in his wake. “A cyclist undertook me as I was turning left…”

Lance was gobsmacked to hear the lies pouring from the man’s lips. “What do you mean, I undertook you?” He followed after the driver, who was now slouched against the shop window, looking back out at the truck and the crowds. “You didn’t bloody well indicate, you moron! What’s your name? I’m going to have you for hazardous driving.”

“I didn’t see him, Kath.” The driver’s face seemed to suddenly crumple. “Believe me, there was nothing I could do.” The driver’s eyes brimmed over with tears. He sniffed back a wet sob. “Nah…”

Lance had heard quite enough and squared up to the brute. “Now look here. I insist you put the phone away and talk to me.”

“… he didn’t make it.” The driver’s chest heaved once before a stream of hot vomit landed where Lance was standing.

“Ugh! You’re disgusting!” Lance jumped back. “You’re a complete disgrace!”

“He didn’t hit you, you know,” a voice said from behind Lance. It had the timbre of a box of gravel.

“What?” Lance asked, furiously shaking his feet. “What do you mean he didn’t hit me?”

“Well yes, yes he did hit you. Earlier. But not just now, not with his breakfast. Look.”

Miraculously, Lance’s trainers were free of vomit. Not a splash of what looked like it had once been a full English fry-up, adorned either his shoes or legs.

“But that’s incredible.” Lance marvelled at the lack of spew on him. “Hey! Where are you going?” he called to the driver, who having wiped his mouth, lit a cigarette and was now walking quickly away. “Don’t run away from me now. I order you to stop!”

Lance started after the retreating driver but the voice from behind halted him in his tracks. “Lancelot Graham Parrish, let him go.”

Everything stopped. The driver, a cloud of cigarette smoke shrouding his head, froze in mid step. Traffic in the distance stood still and the noisy din of the hectic morning was suddenly replaced by cacophonous silence.

“Turn around and face me,” the gravelly voice entreated.

Lance didn’t move, standing agog at the morning’s turn of events. He didn’t know what the hell was happening but he was quite certain that he did not want to turn around.

NOW!” The voice commanded and then sighed, like a shifting sand dune. “If you would be so kind.”

With shuffling steps, Lance slowly inched around.  Everything appeared frozen in time. He could see the offensive waste removal lorry and the crowd held in suspended animation around it. There was no movement, no sound and no owner of the voice; Lance was perplexed.

“Down here.”

Lance lowered his gaze until they alighted on a black-robed figure that stood barely tall enough to make eye contact with his hips. “Who are you?”

“Who’d you think?” the robed figure said, producing a spinning scythe from thin air.

Lance jumped back, a reflexive action due to the sharp proximity of the flashing blade to his groin. “I thought you’d be taller.”

The scythe ceased spinning, the wicked blade pointed directly at Lance. “Did you just assume my height?” the robed figure asked coolly.

“No!” Lance blurted out, intensely aware of the crackle of electricity that coursed along the edge of the scythe blade. “You sound taller. Look, I’ve never been in a situation like this before. This is all very new to me…”

The robed figure watched on passively as Lance tried desperately to collect up the scattered rags of his thoughts.

“Am I dead?”

“Well, let’s see shall we?” The robed figure quickly turned and suddenly the world was animated once more. The crowd in front of the waste removal truck parted to reveal two men hauling a body out from beneath it. Lance heard the shrieks and groans of the onlookers, as the body being carried out broke in half, falling to the ground with sickening thumps. Several witnessing bystanders duly followed suit.

“So I’m dead?” Lance was slightly perturbed as his own lack of squeamishness. “I’m dead, so that makes you Death.”

“Ding, ding, ding! We have a winner!” Death cackled good naturedly. “Welcome to the other side, Lance. May I call you Lance?”

“Sure,” Lance replied numbly. His attention returned to the antics of his so called ‘rescuers’, who were slipping about in his remains, even as they attempted to scoop them up from the road.

“Good, good. And your preferred personal pronouns are ‘he, him, his’?”

“I’m sorry, what?” Lance replied, tearing his gaze away from the scene of his death to look down at the small black robed figure of Death, who was unsheathing an electronic organiser from its leather case.

“Well, you look more like a ‘xe, xem, xyr’, but I don’t like to make assumptions.” Death switched on the organiser and started tapping on the keyboard. “Sorry, formalities. You are Lancelot Graham Parrish. Date of birth 29th February 1972. Date of death 31st October 2018…”

“Aren’t you meant to use an hourglass for that sort of thing?”

Death gave the electronic organiser a shake. “This is an upgrade.”

Lance bent down to get a better look at the gadget held in Death’s bony grasp. “But, but that’s a Psion!”

“So?”

“They’re so old fashioned.”

“And an hourglass isn’t?” Death paused for Lance to reply but was met by embarrassed silence. “Psionic, from Psi, 23rd letter of the Greek alphabet, pertaining to psyche. Spirit, soul, you know. You may think the portable tech of 2018 is all singing and dancing, but believe you me, it would be nothing without the introduction of these babies.”

“Psion organisers?” Lance asked incredulously.

“Psions were made specifically for use on this side.”

Lance shook his head in disbelief. “Then how come my father was able to buy one from Dixons in the High Street in 1984?”

Death visibly stiffened. “God knows. We don’t like to talk about it.” The electronic contraption disappeared back into the folds of Death’s robe. “Come on, Lance, we’ve got to move you on.”

Lance watched Death glide away in the same direction that his Brexit-voting killer had taken. He took one last look back at the scene of carnage where he’d met his grisly end, before following the tiny figure, robed in black. “So tell me, Death,” Lance asked, picking up the pace, “you said ‘God knows’. I take it then that there a god?”

Death stopped, nonchalantly spinning the scythe, waiting for Lance to catch up. “I don’t know. Why don’t we go and ask her?”

*******

*Come on, Clicky… /lights up… Let’s go and what Cade and Leggy are up to…*

 

 

Missive From ‘Merica: From the Edge

Missive Time, Dear Reader! I challenged the Okie Devil of Text US to send a postcard…

*Cade… /squints… You must know, Clicky…*

*Oh, you were pulling my Leg…*

*******

25b4ab7631322ece54df907f5ccce0e1

You are reading this sentence.

You have read that sentence.

You have read the previous two sentences, and are now reading this.

I can see why some people hate my writing.

I certainly give plenty of reasons.
Let’s keep at it.
^Pan-Pot – Weltlinie^

original

My kids went to a Superbowl party yesterday. Just asked my youngest who won, and he said…

”The Patriots. No wait, the…um…no, yeah, the Patriots.”

I’m guessing that one of the two teams had a fair shot at being the victor, and I guess someone, the game’s MVP, is going to Disneyland. Speaking of that, a certain someone passed along a link to a YT video where the Superbowl is being declared as…a Satanic Ritual!!!

Now, I don’t mean to get off on a rant here, but this sounds vaguely…familiar. Lots of people I’ve bumped into over the past few years have talked about the ritualistic nature of events, and especially, sporting events. Not going to mention any names, but yeah, there seems to be a fascination in certain realms with those who have a fascination with events. Almost sounds like watchers watching watchers kind of thing.

Digress to the realm of digrestishness.
^Boston 168 – Oblivion [ODDEVEN004]^

Dial 911, and I come running. The video is below, and if you take the time to read the description, you’ll notice that it uses enough catchy vernaculars to choke a horse. That immediately makes me personally…skeptical.

Skeptical about the content. 

Yes, I actually watched this video all the way through. It pretty much contains the same old crap of manufacturing synchronicities and/or syncs or whatever, and they do this by taking images and juxtaposing them to suit the video creator’s needs. Not saying that stuff like this isn’t sometimes shocking or jarring, because it is. But that’s kinda the deal with seeing things for the first time. Meaning: we wonder as to the meaning; we stand (or sit) with mouth agape, and wonder as to the purpose.

Is this chance?

Is this fate?

Why did I find this?

The short answer is, because you were looking for it. The long answer is, well, that’s your own path.

You'll find it....whatever it is.
^deadmau5 “Soma”^

“The Blood of Jesus” is very important in this video. So are shapes and symbolism, and how Satanists uses symbolism to achieve their purposes or whatever. Ironic that the creators of this video also use symbolism to forward their own agendas. Not only that, they use the very same symbolism. Makes we wonder which side you are really on. But while watching the video, and listen to their “Christian” blah blah blah, all I could think about, was…

…but Jesus went to the Mount of Olives. Early in the morning he came again to the temple. All the people came to him, and he sat down and taught them. The scribes and the Pharisees brought a woman who had been caught in adultery, and placing her in the midst they said to him, “Teacher, this woman has been caught in the act of adultery. Now in the Law, Moses commanded us to stone such women. So what do you say?” This they said to test him, that they might have some charge to bring against him. Jesus bent down and wrote with his finger on the ground. And as they continued to ask him, he stood up and said to them, “Let him who is without sin among you be the first to throw a stone at her.” And once more he bent down and wrote on the ground. But when they heard it, they went away one by one, beginning with the older ones, and Jesus was left alone with the woman standing before him.

John 8: v 1-9 (ESV)

You gonna accuse Jesus of being Satanic for scribbling in the dirt?

Yeah, I didn't think so. 

Anyway, here’s the video if you have 13 minutes and 57 seconds to waste. 

^Satanic Ritual Bowl 53. Serpent Eyes Tree of Life. 69. Dragon of Babylon! 911^

giphy

As Roob has stated in her previous article, me and her watched Lord Of The Rings over the weekend. Yeah, all three of the fuckers.

The extended versions. 

What a journey that must have been. No…not the viewing by us over the weekend…the movie making process itself. I have no idea how long the process was, but it must have been long. Prolly a lot of people thrown together who had never met each other, possibly some long-term and lasting friendships created.

Q: Ever notice the views on a YT video, and you go back and watch the same video later, and the video has less views than it did the first time you watched it?

A: ???

Prolly has something to do with YouTube auditing and pruning views from click-farms or other nefarious revenue-generating streams. What’s that? You weren’t aware there was such a thing as click farms?

Click Farm

Click Fraud

You may also not have known that YT and other providers audit stats, but they do. What does YT video views/auditing, people meeting on a movie set, and click farms have to do with me and Roob watching the LOTR trilogy over the weekend?

MSM, baby. Networking.
^Regal – Fenix (Amelie Lens Remix) [INV020]^

If you want to watch people walk great distances in slow-motion, all while rehashing the same old arguments over and over, then LOTR is for you.

Stereotypes and archetypes. 

Holding on to the same old grudges, and doing the right thing anyway. The films definitely give you a lot of time to ponder the concepts addressed. That is, if you can stand the constant drone of the music trying to guide and direct your emotions. And the music in these films certainly does that. Almost as if the music is added simply to let you know how you should be feeling about a particular scene or set of events or whatever. It almost follows that soft-loud-soft principle that has become such a feature in contemporary/modern pop music.

Dynamics (Music)
Loudness
Frequency Response
Envelope (Music) (Redirected from ADSR envelope)
Attack
Decay
Sustain
Release

You think that certain people in certain groups/streams or whatever would use certain principles of warfare in an otherwise unrelated field or venue? Maybe even use musical principles as a tool of warfare? Prolly a stretch to think that someone would violate the sanctity and purity of something so wonderful as music, but to be fair, not everyone likes music. Lots of war, wars, battle/combat in this movie. Maybe music and warfare go together like bread and butter. Gollum hated bread for some reason tho.

Weird little fucker.
 ^FJAAK – The Tube [INVOLVE]^

giphy-1

Ever feel a weird pinch when moving a certain way? Like, just under the skin. You remove a heavy dish from the oven, and suddenly, there is this weird burning/tearing kind of feeling in the skin of your fingers and/or hand because of how you are holding the dish?

Ergonomics. 

How often do you remove heavy food-laden dishes from an oven? Your main concerns are not getting burned while simultaneously not dropping the dish. Suddenly, there’s this weird pain that threatens you with both. Not to mention, you are left puzzled as to exactly what this pain was, and what was causing it. You get dismissive. You were holding the dish wrong. It was your fault. Ignore it, and make a note to hold dishes differently in the future when removing them from the oven.

^Pan-Pot – White Fiction^

That’s how easy mistakes are to make. You spot a minor irritation, and you make corrective action(s) that allow you to keep finding more and more ways to do things wrong. I’m not damning your ability to overcome obstacles, I’m simply trying to illustrate where things sometimes maybe start to go wrong. You’ll wind up down the road with some mobility threatening disability, and you will start to wonder where it all started.

You’ll look for “the big stuff” first. “Major” injures and traumas. Slips, falls, accidents of any kind that you can attribute to the disability so that insurance can get their socialistic heads wrapped around where to collate you and your ailment. They ain’t gonna pay for it otherwise.

Not that I’ve been down that road or anything, and not that I still travel it now. Just trying to maybe pass along, that yeah, I’m still working on it, and maybe you can help me out by making some mental notes about the things that you normally might think of as being dismissible and/or negligible. Especially those things that you move to the “welp, that’s just part of getting old” pile of excuses.

Sorry, that's not good enough for me.
^Setaoc Mass – True Lies [SK11006]^
giphy-2!!!11!11!!!FUCK!!!11!11!!!

I’m supposed to be writing a postcard. Limeys hate postcards, and they hate German postcards even more. So let’s us see what an Okie can come up with for Limeys to hate on.

Hrrrmmmm. 

Where should I start? I KNOW!!! Don’t postcards have like a standard? Like, postcards have to be of a certain exact set of dimensions in order to be qualified as a postcard?

Postcard Sizes

AH AH!!!!!! There’s mention of “Old British Postcard Sizes” on that article. THAT’S where this hate comes from!!! Goddamn Limeys think they have a monopoly on postcards. Buncha uppity fucks. Let’s see if we can find what the history is.

Postcard

Kitsch

Them’s some strong words coming from 1921. Wasn’t the war well over by then? Weren’t England and Germany supposed to be making nice? Being friends? I guess victory is sometimes as bitter a pill as defeat. I know it sure seems to be that way with Brexit. But what’s that bit about German women being plain? I’ve known a few German women, and they sure as shit didn’t seem “plain” to me. So what in the fuck are these knuckleheads talking about?

^deadmau5 / Faxing Berlin (Original Mix) [full version]^

It seems to be the job of Limeys to be grumpy and/or have a generally bad disposition. Germans tend to be be similarly classified. So what in the fuck is going on with this almost 100 year old battle over the postal systems and their products and services?

Kitsch
Kitschy
Kitschiness
Kitschy
Kitsch
Corny
Kitch
Kitchen
Scheiße
Shit
Corn
Peanuts
Peanut
Bantu
Bantu Peoples
Bantu Languages
A6
Grumman A-6 Intruder
Flight Of The Intruder (Novel)
Rhodopsin-Like Receptors
ISO 216
ISO 9000
Shinola

Ah. Basically, this is some kind of North Sea nonsense as to what is/is not, shit. I would imagine that the principle argument that Limeys have would be any subjective annotations that are made on the postcards themselves. Like, a picture postcard of Buckingham Palace, where the accompanying description says something like

“This is the building where the King and/or Queen of England do most of their fucking and shitting.”

Not that anyone would ever do such a thing.
^deadmau5 / Orca [full version]^

giphy-3 

Speaking of the post and postal systems, me and Roob watched this film called Going Postal the other day.

Going Postal

My first introduction to both Terry Pratchet and his Discworld universe. Yeah, Roob quotes him all the time, and I can kinda follow because it’s usually a contextual reference to whatever is being talked about, but I’ve never read any of his stuff before. It was an interesting tale to be sure.

A fun watch. 

Pretty straightforward, with just enough weirdness to make the tale pretty goddamn strange, and leaves a lot to the imagination as to who these players really are. The acting was great, and, it had Charles Dance in it. Did you know that there is a famous TV fisherman over here in the USA called Bill Dance? And yes, we here in the US actually have outdoor shows where we watch people out hunting and fishing.

^Wehbba – Catarse [DC192]^

A certain someone just passed this along.

Which Category Do You Identify/define Yourself?

On a related note, a week or so ago, someone I talk to on Twitter passed this along to me…

Birth Chart

I went through the whole thing, and the best that I could come up with, was they basically called me a queer. Not completely mind you. It said I was about 9/10ths nelly fag, and the remaining 1/10th was, and I quote…

”not completely homo, but still pretty fucking gay”

OK, so, no, it called me none of that. BUT!!! It did say that I was overwhelmingly feminine. I registered like “8” out of 10 on the gaydar. I guess I might take offense to that if I was “a man’s man” or “macho dude” or whatever, but I’m not. Yes, I like to hunt and fish, but I also like to camp…

*No, Clicky, he means with tents and things…*

*/facepalm… Never mind…*

That means I like the whole process. I don’t want to simply catch the fish, I want to clean it, cook it, eat some myself, and maybe have a person or two or more around the table with me. That means I want to make my own coleslaw and hushpuppies…

giphy-4

*Not a typo, Clicky…/shrugs… I thought hushpuppies were shoes…*

I want to do the dishes afterwards. Dunno why being good in the kitchen makes me queer, but whatever. I can eat well under the right circumstances, and do so with little to no assistance. Prolly will do an entire blog post over at my own place on these astrology results. Might be fun.

Sure is a shitload of data to contemplate.
^Amelie Lens – Drift^

giphy-5 

There was something else I was wanting to talk about, but I can’t recall what it was. Anyway, I’ve already got four posts sitting in my drafts folder over at my own blog, so I guess I’ll go work on those. Hope your week is a good one, and keep an eye on that negligible shit…k? Just be mindful of it. Your body is speaking to you…

listen.

The conversation, is what it is. I guess “that” is, whatever you make of it. And no, I’m not trying to ambiguous, evasive, cryptic or mysterious. Just trying to relate that maybe sometimes the most confusing and incomprehensible of conversations are those that ultimately have the most meaning.

We know, when we know, and not before. 

To relate, do you know what it would sound like if I asked you 100 questions at the same time? And yeah, I mean, 100 different and independent questions, and asked them all at the same time. Would you be able to answer them all in a single answer? Would that single answer encompass 100 independent, specific and succinct answers to my 100 questions?

K, now think about what you are asking of your body at a given time. Like that little pinch we talked about earlier. You wanna know why it is happening? You want answers? Welp, you basically are going to be asking a whole lot of questions of that pinch and your body, and you’re going to do it all at once. The nature of nesting and embedding, and the nature of time and times. Of course, you could just ask for a miracle and be done with it. But whatever you do, that’s your choice.

Good luck.
^Leftwing & Kody – What You Sayin^

giphy-6 

cYacFa

^Gary Beck – Say What (Adam Beyer Remix) [SAVED RECORDS]^

*******

*Well yeah, of course there are Hush Puppy boots, Clicky, but that’s not what Cade meant, either… /shakes head… And get a Song…*

 

Chinese Whispers

abdstreamssmoke

*Adora Belle Dearheart from the last post, Clicky… /lights up… I really did enjoy remote viewing ‘Going Postal’ with Cade this week… /drags…*

‘As is obvious from Moist’s nickname for her, “Spike”, she isn’t that adorable, nor is she a ‘dearheart’.’

abdspikes

*/winces… Okay, okay I’ll get on with it. Sheesh…*

Not sure if you’re aware, Dear Reader, but on the 4th of February, in a couple of days time, the Chinese Year of the (Earth) Dog comes to an end…

… And the Year of the (Earth) Pig begins the very next day…

*Indeed, the female, Earth pig, Clicky… /smokes… Pug to pig, nicely done. A game! My turn… /pats snout…*

‘According to the Chinese Horoscope theory, Female Earth is connected to the farmland. Pig mainly contains Male Water with Male Wood. Male Water is river and Male Wood is tall tree or wooden boat. The sign of 2019 Female Earth Pig year is a river flows over the farmland. It might cause flooding.’

fountainspeak

*/flicks ash… Aha! That’s 2-2… /sucks teeth… Well Lashy does say the Aeon Sophia has a wicked sense of humour… /final drag… *

gpunderdog

*Underdog Anthology VIII: Mo’ Biomass Strip will be out in the spring, Clicky… /stubs butt… I suppose I could write a story about a diamond pig…*

*/gulps… Yikes!*

Enjoy the Chinese New Year festivities this weekend, Dear Reader… And have a Song ❤

*You win, Clicky… /rolls eyes…*

 

 

Adventures in Proof Reading…

I’m spending the day proofreading, Dear Reader. A final read through of Leggy’s novel, ‘Norman’s House’, intended for release next month…

garyk30 calcs on a fagbox

*Aw fanks Clicky… /slides out cigarette… You put Garyk30’s comment on the box? …/flicks lighter… Fink it’s meant to go on the back, luv… /drags… Still it looks miles better than before… /plumes smoke…*

… And I experienced a sync earlier when I stopped to make myself a sammich because I was feeling a bit peckish. Ham, pickled onions and mayo if you must know…

*Royalty? …/squints… Castles…*

roob relates a castle sync on merovee

*/drags… Play the Song, Clicky… /blows smoke rings…*

‘He forgot all about Mandy and Norman as he stared at the expanse of grass. The sun had set behind the surrounding buildings, but there was still enough light to see the garden. All of the grass had been cut, and raked into neat piles. A faint promise of new green showed through the yellow stalks. The patches of shrubbery were still wild, although even they seemed more controlled than they had on his last visit.’

Norman’s House by H.K. Hillman – to be published February 2019

frank posts phoenix cluster to roob sync 31

*/flicks ash… I’d been looking up furty one after seeing GaryK30’s calculation, Clicky… /deep drag… Come to fink of it… /holds smoke… Phenex was in ‘Jessica’s Trap’… /streams smoke… A fantastic read…*

… Royal castles, whispering grass and a rough calculation came together to sync with a gardener in a novel that I’m currently proof reading…

The Thirty-first Spirit is Foras. He is a Mighty President, and appeareth in the Form of a Strong Man in Human Shape. He can give the understanding to Men how they may know the Virtues of all Herbs and Precious Stones. He teacheth the Arts of Logic and Ethics in all their parts. If desired he maketh men invisible, and to live long, and to be eloquent. He can discover Treasures and recover things Lost. He ruleth over 29 Legions of Spirits, and his Seal is this, which wear thou, etc.’

— S. L. MacGregor Mathers (1904)

normans house front cover

*/stubs butt… Coming soon, Clicky. Ooh… /rubs gut… Get a Song, I’m gonna… /farts loudly… That’ll be the pickled onions working…*

Enjoy your weekend, Dear Reader… And have a Song 😉

Story Time: Caesar’s Were-Wife

Dear Reader, I thought I’d share with you my tale from Underdog Anthology VII…

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*Fanks, Clicky… /pats snout… Be ready at the end with a Song…*

Enjoy!

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Caesar’s Were-Wife

by Roo B. Doo

Caroline Kempton-Truss closed the slim, pink folder in front of her, and placed it on the stack of coloured folders in her tray, ready for filing. Her desk was neatly spartan, like the rest of her office. She preferred to keep her surroundings like her thinking – lean, clean and tidy; everything in its right place. As the Local Authority’s newly appointed Director of Public Health, she fully intended to encourage her way of thinking throughout the workforce.

She gazed out of the picture window at the car park below. A steady stream of employees were leaving for the Christmas break already, tightly wrapped up against the bitter winds that swirled around the building regardless of the time of year. To Caroline they looked like ants – a slack army of fat ants that merely required whipping into shape. Now that the January health campaign was complete and ready to roll, she felt content to start their transformation.

There was a soft rap on the door behind her. Caroline returned to her desk and sat down, smoothing the crease in her tailored trousers as she crossed her legs. “Come in.”

Her secretary, Natalie, opened the office door and stepped inside. “Hi Caroline. I was wondering if I could possibly leave now. I have accrued sufficient overtime.”

Caroline looked at the slim, gold watch on her wrist. “It’s only two o’clock.”

“Yes, but it’s Christmas Eve,” Natalie spluttered nervously, “and the offices are closing early today at four anyway.” She hopped from foot to foot. “Plus it’s very quiet out there. It’s Christmas Eve.”

“Yes, I know it’s Christmas Eve,” Caroline snapped, immediately regretted her tone at Natalie’s flinch. Velvet glove, Caroline, she reminded herself, Velvet glove. “Of course. Yes of course you can leave early, Nat, but come and sit down first. I have a couple of things I need to talk to you about.”

Natalie closed the office door and sat down dutifully next to Caroline’s desk, hands tightly gripped in her lap. “Should I go fetch my pad and pen?”

“Good thinking, but not necessary,” Caroline replied, sliding open the bottom drawer of her desk. “This is for you. Merry Christmas,” she continued, handing over a cellophane wrapped basket filled with tubs and bottles, nestled in straw. “Smellies. They’re all natural and sustainably produced.”

Natalie sniffed the cellophane package gingerly. “Oh yes, I can tell,” she said, blushing, and placed the basket under her chair. “I’m sorry but I didn’t get you anything.”

“That’s okay.” Caroline leaned back in her desk chair and surveyed the secretary she’d inherited when she’d taken the job. Natalie was efficient, attentive and punctual; everything she could wish for in a PA. Her extensive knowledge of Local Authority protocol and procedures was a boon for Caroline’s ambitions. But Natalie was irredeemably flawed in Caroline’s eyes: she was a mess in need of fixing. “How old are you, Nat?”

Natalie raised her eyebrows at the bluntness of the question. “Oh.” She shifted in her seat, deciding to sit on her hands. “Um, well I’m going to be forty-five tomorrow.”

Now Caroline felt uncomfortable; she thought Natalie looked much older. “Tomorrow? Your birthday’s tomorrow?”

“Yes, that’s why my parents called me Natalie. Because I was born on Christmas Day.”

“Oh well, very many happy returns for tomorrow.” Caroline smiled broadly but thought, Forty-five? You look at least ten years older. Perfect. “Nat, I hope you don’t think me rude but you are exactly the type I’d like us to hit, and hit hard, with the ‘New You’ health campaign for January.”

“How do you mean?” Natalie asked, her eyes narrowing. “You want another secretary to look after you?”

“No, not at all,” Caroline exclaimed, realising her gaffe. She attempted to reign in the situation. “You’re brilliant, Nat. No, I was thinking more broadly about middle-aged women in general. You know, too busy working and maintaining families to have time to look after themselves properly. No time to cut out the vices that, they wrongly believe, help them to cope.”

“But I don’t drink or smoke,” Natalie replied cautiously, “and I don’t have much of a sweet tooth.”

“Ah but you do vape.” Caroline licked her lips. “I’ve seen you downstairs in the car park at lunchtimes. The vapour clouds those things make are hard to miss.”

Natalie cocked her head to one side and gnawed at her bottom lip. “But vaping helped me quit, Caroline. Without it, I’d still be smoking twenty a day.”

“And it’s commendable that you’ve quit smoking, it really is. Tobacco is the worst,” Caroline said emphatically. She herself had tried smoking once at college but the taste disgusted her, so she had no trouble in not taking it up. “But when you’ve gone through the pain and strife of kicking one disgusting vice, why replace it with another?”

Natalie shook her head. “I don’t think of vaping as disgusting. I find it relaxing and it’s much safer than smoking.”

“Ah but the jury is still out on its safety, Nat. When smoking first became popular, the long-term health problems it causes weren’t known. In fact smoking was promoted as a good thing. The same could be true of vaping. We just don’t know.” Caroline re-crossed her legs, again smoothing the crease of her trousers. It was a sound argument, regardless of her personal view of the practice.

Natalie continued gnawing her lip. “And it would only be for January?”

“Yes!” Caroline smacked her hand flat against the surface of her barren desk. “Exactly. For the ‘New You’ campaign. Think of it in terms of Caesar’s Wife.”

“Caesar’s wife?”

“Yes. It means to be seen to be above reproach. Look at it this way – how can we persuade the public to change their ways if we are not prepared to do it ourselves?”

Natalie’s lowered gaze flick up toward the office door. “I will think about it over Christmas.”

“Don’t think, Nat. Do!” Caroline chuckled. “‘Do for the New You’. It is the campaign’s strapline after all.”

“Okay,” Natalie murmured. “Is there anything else or can I go now?”

“Well,” Caroline mused, “You eat an awful lot of red meat. Bacon sandwiches at your desk for breakfast several times a week. I’m vegan, but fortunately I can tolerate the smell. Others though might find it too enticing – going vegetarian is one of the key planks of the ‘New You’ campaign.” Caroline could tell from the look on Natalie’s face that she was still sceptical but ploughed on regardless.  “It would really help others around you if the bacon butties could be knocked on the head for the month as well.”

Natalie stood up. “No, I mean is there anything else you need me to do before I can go home?”

“Oh sure, well just this filing, thanks.” Caroline grabbed the stack of folders from her tray and handed them over to Natalie. “And then you can go. As the Duty Officer until we close up at four,  I’ll be here for a couple of hours yet. There’s no rest for the wicked, eh?”

“No.” Natalie turned to leave. “Merry Christmas, Caroline.”

“You too. And have a very happy birthday, Nat. I look forward to seeing a ‘New You’ in the New Year.”

After Natalie had left, Caroline turned her attention back to the scene outside her window and contemplated how the conversation with Natalie had gone. True, she hadn’t got a firm commitment from her, but Caroline felt confident that it had gone pretty well, despite the shaky start. Every journey starts with a single step, she reassured herself smugly.

The sky was already starting to darken and the stream of departing employees had turned into a trickle. Soon I’ll be the only person left, Caroline thought and stifled a yawn. She decided that a brisk walk around the emptying building would liven her up. Stopping only to pick up her mobile phone, Caroline left her office.

Her stroll took her through several desolate floors of the building. She sighed and tutted at the desk clutter on display, safe in the knowledge that hardly anybody was still around to see her displeasure. Caroline passed bank after bank of desks that heaved with paperwork, tacky personal effects and garish Christmas decorations. The kitchenette areas on each of the floors told their own horror story. Sweet tins full of uneaten cakes and biscuits were piled high on counters, just waiting for staff to return after the break. The fridges were no better, packed as they were with plastic milk bottles, all at varying levels of emptiness, marked with each owner’s initials in thick, black ink. This whole place is infected, she thought disdainfully, I’ll have my work cut out for me here.

It was just past four o’clock by the time Caroline returned to the deserted Public Health department. With everybody else gone, the overhead lighting had switched off automatically, and the floor felt abandoned. Caroline shivered and wondered if the heating had also been turned off.  She walked smartly back to her office, glad that she could finally pack her things up to go home, but when she got there, it wasn’t empty.

“Nat?” Caroline stopped in the doorway and called to the shadowy figure, looking out of the window. “What are you doing standing in the dark. I thought you’d already left.”

“I had,” Natalie replied. She turned her head toward Caroline. “But I forgot to take my Christmas present, so I walked back.” She pointed at the cellophane basket still sitting under the chair next to the desk. “And I also have a gift for you.”

“You didn’t have to do that,” Caroline chided with a smile. The flutter of concern Caroline had felt on spying a shadowy figure in her darkened office had dissipated to be replaced with warm glow of acceptance. She decide to push her luck. “You know, your active participation in the New Year campaign would be present enough.”

Natalie shrugged and turned her head back to view outside the window. “Look. The Moon is rising. It’s not quite full.”

Caroline joined Natalie at the window. “Oh yes.” Caroline smiled, “Thank God it’s not a full Moon. The last thing anyone needs on Christmas Eve is a werewolf on the rampage.”

“Yeah,” Natalie laughed softly. “It’s a fiction created by Hollywood, you know.”

“What is? The Moon or werewolves?”

“Oh the Moon is real, but so are werewolves. The first has no effect on the other though. Except in the movies.”

“Really? How do you know that?” Caroline checked her wristwatch; it was all very well chitchatting with staff but time was ticking on. She moved away to collect her handbag and coat.

Natalie didn’t move. “In Poland, where my grandparents came from, there is a long tradition of werewolves, and many legends. Practically the whole of eastern Europe has them. And none of them involve the cycles of the Moon as far as I can tell. Still, everyone believes it does.”

Caroline pulled on her coat and started buttoning it. “Have you made a study of it?” she asked distractedly.

“A little because of my birthday. According to Polish myth, werewolves are born on Christmas Day. It’s an affront to God or something.” Natalie turned to Caroline and grinned. “I’m not one, by the way,” she said, holding up her hands.

“That’s good to know,” Caroline said, belting up her coat and hoisting the strap of her handbag over her shoulder. “Well, I think it’s time we pushed off. Do you live very far from here? I can give you a lift.”

“Not far, but no.” Natalie retrieved the gift basket from under the chair and joined Caroline at the door. “I’m meeting my brother downstairs. Actually there’s something I wanted to ask you about.”

“Sure. Let’s walk and talk.” Caroline led the way through the darkened office to the brightly lit lift lobby. She pressed the button to call for a lift and smiled at Natalie. “What’s on your mind?”

Natalie watched the progress of the lift’s journey up from the ground floor on the electronic display above its doors. “It’s about what you said earlier and Caesar’s wife. Is that going to be in effect for all our health campaigns from now on, or just the ‘New You’ one?”

“Ideally, yes-” A whistling howl of racing wind filling the lift shaft interrupted Caroline’s reply. She grimaced at the noise. “Leading by example is so important, I think.” The lift arrived and she ushered Natalie to get in first. “At the very least I’d like us to be seen to be practicing what we preach.” She hit the button for the ground floor.

“Like a religion?” Natalie asked slowly, gnawing softly on her bottom lip.

“Well no, but in many ways, yes.” Caroline tittered at the analogy; she hadn’t thought of Public Health quite like that before, but now that she had, she rather liked it; she would use it in the future. “Our bodies are temples after all.”

They reached the ground floor and started toward the exit to the car park. Caroline’s elegant heels click-clacked on the polished stone floor as she crossed the Reception area. A lone security guard sat behind the counter, looking bored. “Merry Christmas,” she called to him as she passed.

Natalie stopped at the counter, placing the gift basket on it. “Hey Caroline!” she shouted at the retreating figure of her boss. “Caroline. Have you met my twin brother Gene?”

Caroline stopped and walked back to Natalie and the guard, who was prodding at the gift basket with his finger, nose wrinkled.

“I didn’t know your brother worked here, Nat,” she said, apprehensively. She’d barely paid the security guard any attention before, but now that she looked, she could see the resemblance between him and Natalie. He was darker and hairier than her, but they had the same eyes. “So it’s your birthday tomorrow as well? What time will you be finishing?”

“Tomorrow,” Gene replied sullenly.

“Oh well. Happy birthday for tomorrow anyway.” Caroline nodded and turned to leave. “To both of you. And have a lovely Christmas.” Pleasantries concluded, and with the exit in sight, all she wanted to do was leave.

“Caroline’s a vegan, Gene.” Natalie’s voice rung out clearly across reception. “She wants us to give up eating meat for the New Year.”

Caroline stopped in her tracks. “Now Natalie…” She turned and was enveloped in a cloud of steam.

“And vaping,” Natalie said drawing on her vape contraption and releasing another cloud of steam in Caroline’s direction. “She’s thinking of starting a religion.”

“What? Another one?” Gene sneered. “Is there a fucking seminary, churning out Public Health priests?”

Caroline held her breath and batted the vapour cloud away. She was lost for words and perplexed at the sudden change in her secretary; she’d never encountered such insubordination before. “You’re not allowed-”

“Not allowed?” Natalie roared, interrupting Caroline. “I’m not allowed to vape inside? Why not? There’s nobody else here.” She turned to her brother. “Is anybody else left in the building, Gene?”

Gene’s jaw jerked forwards several times, as if it was trying to leave his face. “No, sis. Just us,” he barked and gnashed his teeth. “They made sure they all left in good time,” he croaked.

“Now look here-” Caroline was interrupted again, this time by Gene falling off his chair, his body convulsing violently. “Oh my god! Is he okay? Natalie?!”

Natalie peered serenely over the reception counter. “Yeah, he’s fine. He’ll just be a second.” She turned her attention back to Caroline. “But you might not be,” she said coldly. “That’s up to you.”

Caroline’s mouth flapped silently. She couldn’t believe what she was seeing or hearing. The sound of tortured whines and yelps coming from behind the desk hurt her ears. The stretching, cracking and snapping noises were turning her legs to jelly. “I… I… I…”

“That’s right,” Natalie spat, “it’s all about you, isn’t it Caroline? You want to turn everybody into an replica image of you because you’re so wonderful.” She blew another cloud of vape in her boss’s direction. “Don’t think the rest of us here don’t know what you’re up to. The way you constantly judge us. We’ve seen it all before. And to be frank, we’re fucking tired of it.”

A maleficent howl reverberated around the empty reception lobby. Caroline’s bladder gave way, as did her legs, and she collapsed to the floor with a sodden thump. She sobbed in horror as the howling suddenly stopped, to be replace by a deeply sinister growl. What is happening? her mind whimpered.

Natalie crouched down next to the quaking Caroline. She put her arm around her back and held her upright. “It was funny you mentioning werewolves earlier. It must be your obsession with transformation that made you think of it. Time for your gift, I think.”

She lifted the shaking woman to her feet and walked her closer to the reception desk. Pulling up Caroline’s coat sleeve to reveal her trembling arm, Natalie gave three sharp whistles. A snarling maw appeared.

“I like you Caroline. I don’t want to have to kill you like all the rest,” Natalie cooed. “They’ll just install another knob, exactly like you, to try and change us.” She gave another whistle, low and long.

Caroline shrieked in pain and terror as Gene’s slavering jaws clamped around her arm. She felt a viscous pooling of blood and saliva on the desktop beneath her arm. She screamed again.

Natalie smacked Gene’s snout firmly and whistled again. Caroline’s arm fell limply from his jaws and he backed away, growling and licking his chops.

“That, Caroline, is your Christmas gift from me and the rest of your work colleagues,” Natalie whispered fiercely into her ear. “Transformation. You are going to be amazed at how different the ‘New You’ will be next month.”

*******

Have a Song, Dear Reader 😀

More Of US

I meant to post about this earlier, Dear Reader, but have been rather remiss due to other matters requiring my attention…

On the evening of the 20th November 2018, the Red universe of MEROVEE disappeared…

Merovee gone blue

*Poor Frank! Tremayne-dos fella… /sparks light… Oh no, Poor Us! Everything we’ve posted there over the past six years, cruelly snatched away… /lights up… I gotta say, that’s a fucking weird image for WordPress to backdrop their message with, Clicky… /drags… Cheering crowds? …/streams smoke… Arms raised…*

*/smokes… Hmm… /thinks*

Weirdly enough, four days later on Saturday 24th November 2018, Dear Reader, an army of ‘Yellow Vests’ took to the streets of Paris, Franc-e, demonstrating against a rise in Green taxes…

*If you take the yellow out of green, you’re left with blue… /flicks ash… An’ if you take the red out of purple, you’re left with blue…*

*Didn’t Brazil recently elect their own ‘Orange Man’, Clicky? …/stubs butt… Witch means if you take the red/excretion/piss out of ‘Trump’, you get yellow…*

Fortunately, Dear Reader, there is a new MEROVEE sight, although its address has changed to Meroveus…. More Of Us… Sounds scary 😉

Have a Song…