Thursday, 27 May 2010

gun crazy dude and the 70's van

I was catching a ride with a friend of mine from what seemed like a theme park after closing hours. We went down into the car park to this amazingly pimped out 70’s van. As I opened up the van I heard a voice. I looked over to see a young asian man sitting in the front seat of his car with the door open. Once he caught my attention he asked me f it was legal to carry a gun here in this country. I said no. He got out of his car and aimed this rifle at me. He shot at me. A bullet grazed my arm. I was suddenly completely freaked out. And began running around the van. He shot directly at me again. This time he missed me but was still coming after me. As he has going to shoot again my friend came up behind him and put him in some sort of choke hold. I wrestled the gun from him but instead of shooting him I stabbed the tip of the gun up through his soft fleshy chin. He was wearing glasses. The gun sank into his skin like a pen being pushed through cold butter. I did this a few times until he got the point. Once he calmed down we got into the 70’s van and pulled the yellow curtains closed, layed our heads back on the green shag rug, watched the sparkle of the mirror ball….my friend offered me a drink from the wet bar. I requested eggnog.

Thursday, 20 May 2010

Plum Lover Woodpecker Seahorse

I found a plum resting in a mint patch. I bent down over to take a bite. I didn’t use my hands.  The mint filled my senses. Instead of going in on the flesh of the plum with my teeth. I nudged it open with my tongue. It opened up and its sugary juice wet my mouth.  With my tongue I was searching for the stone. I couldn’t find it. With my fingers I spread open fruit to reveal the pit. Happy at reaching the heart of the fruit I handed it to my lover. He lapped up the sappy fruit until all that was left was the seed of a plum tree.

I was then given a box much like a match box although this box was made of wood rather than heavy paper. I slid open the box to find it filled with the fibre from the soap root plant. Nestled in the fibres were 3 miniature woodpeckers. These were a strange breed of woodpecker that was crossed with the sea horse so they had  tails that curled upward towards their breasts. They were no longer than a half inch long. I picked them up very carefully one by one and placed them in my palm to explore the miniatures. They were all dead. They had turned there skeletons inside out. Their feathers and skin still intact but lining the inside of the bones instead. They were dry and hollow. Somehow though the wood peckers had their plumage still on the top of their heads. They felt as though they would crumble under the slightest pressure. I placed them carefully back in their fibrous grave. I slid closed the box.

Wednesday, 19 May 2010

I was in the BBC radio station.

I was in the BBC radio station. We had just finished a live radio session for the a radio Dj that I was unfamiliar with. We were packing up our gear when someone down the hall started playing the recording of what we had just played on the show. I stopped all business to take a listen. “wait…something is really off…” what ? It was my voice singing my words and melody as I had done just minutes before but instead of sounding like the old me the recording had me sounding more like Leonard Cohen. I was singing Murder of Birds two octaves lower. Knowing that I hadn’t actually sung murder of birds two octaves lower and that its not actually physically possible for me to do so. We went in to question the engineer. The rather soft and round engineer was sitting at the mixing board cleaning something red and gooey out of the mixing board looking frazzled. He was wearing a bib making him look rather doe boy. The red gooey stuff was all over his bib and pant legs. After a series of forensic investigation we came to the conclusion that the engineer had been eating something red and gooey and that he spilled it all over the mixing desk causing my vocal in the recording to shift pitch by two octaves giving me that Leonard Cohen quality. Once we had found out who and what was the culprit of this pesky little mishap the doe boy engineer took to flailing as fast as he could out of the BBC station leaving a smear of red goo behind him. Then somehow a girl I went to school with whos name I have forgotten and who I have not thought since I saw back in those days but who appeared exactly how I remember her was standing there preparing herself for the pool. She was wearing a sheer smock from the fifties over a Gstring bikini.
She was looking into the mirror over her shoulder to her backside and adjusting the G string bottoms to fit just so and said  “that’s how the girls are doing it these days right” and slinked out of the room on her way to the pool.

Then there was a knock on the door of my shack. I opened the door to be flooded with the light from a tropical sunset. Standing at my door illuminated was Beyonce. She looked like a tropical angel in a tropical heaven. I said “hi  Beyonce. What are we doing tonight ?”

I slipped on my favourite pair of jeans.