Absence...
is not vacuum,
but a bottle filling with air.
With specific weight
and momentum,
it crushes you,
second by second.
04/06/2013
Mutilation.
Two buds, torn
from the old tree.
My two chicks,who
must learn to fly
without feathers.
Scream of passion,
cathartic force.
I can cry again, I'm alive.
When will my two buds
return to their garden?
04/06/2013
Wake.
Another father's head
hangs on your mantel.
In your trophy room
gather all your guests,
feminazis one and all.
Over wine
and Hors D'Oeuvres
you toast your triumph
over your vanquished foe.
04/06/2013
Contentment.
A long day,
finally behind.
A day
of important decisions
and stupid mistakes,
seeing the faces I love
more than my very breath.
Life changes,
now I'm hyped up.
Not happy, too far
and alone for that.
But I have peace.
04/06/2013
Done deal.
You made up your mind
before knowing of me.
No matter how I act,
I'm already condemned.
If I'm upset, you call me aggressive;
if I cry, unstable;
if with a sad smile of disbelief,
disrespectful;
if I insist, uncooperative;
if I'm calm, unconcerned.
As I said,
you made up your mind,
and I'm fair game to you.
03/06/2013
With friends like this...
You approach me
as a friend, concerned,
yet...
I hear my tormentors' words
coming out of your lips,
amped up by your status
and our joint experience.
When the lynch mob
finally knocks my door down,
I know it'll be you
bringing the rope.
03/06/2013
Thursday, 29 August 2013
Wednesday, 28 August 2013
Assorted clouds.
Meanwhile.
State of flux, enthropy,
dreaming the cup
to reverse its journey to the floor
and be whole again.
I dream awake, longing;
I sleep, dreamless;
I wake, worried.
And the morning light
wipes the slate clean.
19/05/2013
Mirror, mirror on the wall.
Inflexible judge of character, unbending.
Scars from battles of yore, won or lost,
finally, overcome by courage.
Ravaged by time, my father's countenance stares at me.
I stare back, safe in my knowledge.
18/05/2013
Mirror, encore.
I just met myself,
asking a cigarette
from me.
21/05/2013
Balancing act.
Days of decisions,
life-changing or inane.
Days of actions,
and omissions.
In the end,
just days.
20/05/2013
Freedom.
To do all you like,
to eat when you're thirsty,
and drink when you're hungry,
to scream your mind out...
Until the axe falls.
20/05/2013
Wakey wakey.
Whodunnit? Wha?
Whe? Hooow?
(Pint of coffee)
Frigid and unfriendly,
the kitchen tiles usher us
to another morning of chaos,
strife, toil and opportunity.
16/05/2013
Nocturnal.
Not for me the iambic, measures, rhymes.
I got a guitar (and a bass) for that, thanks.
The blues come, unbidden,
just as any other thing.
It's about looking with your fingertips
in a dark room, for that person who waits,
or not.
Or maybe.
16/05/2013
The impostor.
I fancied myself a warrior poet
fighting my grandfather,
the war criminal.
I do long for that time
when hope bore arms,
long before
the Kalashnikov got replaced by the guitar.
Today, I'm only a pathetic shadow
of those brave
sisters and brothers,
long gone.
16/05/2013
State of flux, enthropy,
dreaming the cup
to reverse its journey to the floor
and be whole again.
I dream awake, longing;
I sleep, dreamless;
I wake, worried.
And the morning light
wipes the slate clean.
19/05/2013
Mirror, mirror on the wall.
Inflexible judge of character, unbending.
Scars from battles of yore, won or lost,
finally, overcome by courage.
Ravaged by time, my father's countenance stares at me.
I stare back, safe in my knowledge.
18/05/2013
Mirror, encore.
I just met myself,
asking a cigarette
from me.
21/05/2013
Balancing act.
Days of decisions,
life-changing or inane.
Days of actions,
and omissions.
In the end,
just days.
20/05/2013
Freedom.
To do all you like,
to eat when you're thirsty,
and drink when you're hungry,
to scream your mind out...
Until the axe falls.
20/05/2013
Wakey wakey.
Whodunnit? Wha?
Whe? Hooow?
(Pint of coffee)
Frigid and unfriendly,
the kitchen tiles usher us
to another morning of chaos,
strife, toil and opportunity.
16/05/2013
Nocturnal.
Not for me the iambic, measures, rhymes.
I got a guitar (and a bass) for that, thanks.
The blues come, unbidden,
just as any other thing.
It's about looking with your fingertips
in a dark room, for that person who waits,
or not.
Or maybe.
16/05/2013
The impostor.
I fancied myself a warrior poet
fighting my grandfather,
the war criminal.
I do long for that time
when hope bore arms,
long before
the Kalashnikov got replaced by the guitar.
Today, I'm only a pathetic shadow
of those brave
sisters and brothers,
long gone.
16/05/2013
Tuesday, 27 August 2013
A borrowed raven, my very own.
No longer I fear your shadow,
looming near,
though your name is not Lenore.
Nor it bothers my reflection in the mirror,
or,
indeed my lonely pillow, as I learnt to utter
NEVERMORE!!
I regained brothers, sisters,
shed some light upon my soul.
And perched above the bust of Pallas,
darkening my chamber door,
I see your shadow,
nevermore.
There are ashes, from the embers
of fires, long long ago.
In the mirror, head held high,
in the watches of the night,
I found peace, as I mutter
"nevermore".
"And the raven, never flitting,
still is sitting, still is sitting.
On the pallid bust of Pallas
just above my chamber door."
And each time the fiend
opens its ghastly beak,
seeking to shriek, I can feel the urge,
causing me to purge,
as I scream right back:
"Enough of that, NEVERMORE!!"
16/05/2013.
Note from the author:
This piece is a tribute to Edgar Poe. I got caught in his cadence and tones of light (or lack thereof).
Section of Poe's "The Raven" included. I marked it in bold and italics, as it is not my brainchild, but a source of inspiration.
looming near,
though your name is not Lenore.
Nor it bothers my reflection in the mirror,
or,
indeed my lonely pillow, as I learnt to utter
NEVERMORE!!
I regained brothers, sisters,
shed some light upon my soul.
And perched above the bust of Pallas,
darkening my chamber door,
I see your shadow,
nevermore.
There are ashes, from the embers
of fires, long long ago.
In the mirror, head held high,
in the watches of the night,
I found peace, as I mutter
"nevermore".
"And the raven, never flitting,
still is sitting, still is sitting.
On the pallid bust of Pallas
just above my chamber door."
And each time the fiend
opens its ghastly beak,
seeking to shriek, I can feel the urge,
causing me to purge,
as I scream right back:
"Enough of that, NEVERMORE!!"
16/05/2013.
Note from the author:
This piece is a tribute to Edgar Poe. I got caught in his cadence and tones of light (or lack thereof).
Section of Poe's "The Raven" included. I marked it in bold and italics, as it is not my brainchild, but a source of inspiration.
The elephant and the sidewinder.
Like every morning, the bull elephant prepared for his short trip to the watering hole.
At fifty years of age, he was just slightly off his prime. Veteran of a thousand and one battles, his scars and broken tusk told of his story to be the lord of the Namib desert.
The sidewinder felt the deep rumbling in his underground lair with unease. He got to think that the pachiderm, in his malice, was choosing to create havoc near his home.
The behemoth, however, was oblivious of the crooked, creeping serpent's existence from his lofty viewpoint.
His attention was focused on however many sweet memories as can fit into an elephant's memory. Which is, very many.
That particular day, the sidewinder chose to stand up to the bull elephant. With a chorus of hissing and much revolving, he sought to frighten the elephant as he had done with others in the past.
Oblivious, the elephant stepped over the serpent. It became a red smear wiped clean on the next step on the hot sand.
A myriad of driver ants cleaned the scant remains within the hour. The hot desert sand and wind dessicated the few bones left.
On his way back home, the bull elephant trampled over the dry bones, which, now pulverized, mingled with the endless sand.
To this day, the pachiderm remains unaware that there was a serpent "once upon a time".
And he continued to enjoy his stately stroll of every morning.
At fifty years of age, he was just slightly off his prime. Veteran of a thousand and one battles, his scars and broken tusk told of his story to be the lord of the Namib desert.
The sidewinder felt the deep rumbling in his underground lair with unease. He got to think that the pachiderm, in his malice, was choosing to create havoc near his home.
The behemoth, however, was oblivious of the crooked, creeping serpent's existence from his lofty viewpoint.
His attention was focused on however many sweet memories as can fit into an elephant's memory. Which is, very many.
That particular day, the sidewinder chose to stand up to the bull elephant. With a chorus of hissing and much revolving, he sought to frighten the elephant as he had done with others in the past.
Oblivious, the elephant stepped over the serpent. It became a red smear wiped clean on the next step on the hot sand.
A myriad of driver ants cleaned the scant remains within the hour. The hot desert sand and wind dessicated the few bones left.
On his way back home, the bull elephant trampled over the dry bones, which, now pulverized, mingled with the endless sand.
To this day, the pachiderm remains unaware that there was a serpent "once upon a time".
And he continued to enjoy his stately stroll of every morning.
Statement of intent.
I appreciate I have left the English hemisphere of my garden of letters quite untended.
I also believe it is good practice on the part of any creator to make a statement of intent.
I have nothing against those who smear dung on a canvass and call it art. So long as they intended to do so as a form of expression.
I posted the statement below on Facebook, on 16/05/2013. I did it as soon as it became apparent to me that I had many things to tell.
I still stand by that statement, and I wish to make it part of my blog today:
WARNING!
The verse and prose published is a work of fiction born of a freed mind with a love for literature.
The themes might be adult in nature and has a strong component of satire.
Any resemblance to deceased or living persons, locations or situations is purely coincidental and without intent to offend or insult.
You might very well dislike my creations. You are free to look away. True genius is measured by the extent and type of criticism it attracts. Of course, I'll change my mind on that if I make a heap of money as a writer (unlikely).
To all of you, my current friends, friends I am yet to meet and even those who chose to be my friends no longer, I wish you a happy and fruitful day.
Raul Pinto Ocaña.
I also believe it is good practice on the part of any creator to make a statement of intent.
I have nothing against those who smear dung on a canvass and call it art. So long as they intended to do so as a form of expression.
I posted the statement below on Facebook, on 16/05/2013. I did it as soon as it became apparent to me that I had many things to tell.
I still stand by that statement, and I wish to make it part of my blog today:
WARNING!
The verse and prose published is a work of fiction born of a freed mind with a love for literature.
The themes might be adult in nature and has a strong component of satire.
Any resemblance to deceased or living persons, locations or situations is purely coincidental and without intent to offend or insult.
You might very well dislike my creations. You are free to look away. True genius is measured by the extent and type of criticism it attracts. Of course, I'll change my mind on that if I make a heap of money as a writer (unlikely).
To all of you, my current friends, friends I am yet to meet and even those who chose to be my friends no longer, I wish you a happy and fruitful day.
Raul Pinto Ocaña.
Monday, 26 August 2013
Insomniac musings.
When reading is not enough.
Dreaming worlds to life
as an exercise in avoidance.
Wallowing in grotesque
to indulge the desire
of escapes and flights of fancy.
Rewriting to see the oppressed as powerful
the unloved as cherished
The unhappened as come to fruition.
04/08/2013
I said goodnight to the world...
Out of custom.
Out of wishing others the pleasant dreams
I once used to have.
To await, until, with impunity,
I can unleash my words upon the page.
04/08/2013
Complicated?
I just had no clue
and I'm no nearer.
I suspected, no, I knew,
that the train would depart
without me in it.
Feigning non-chalance,
I headed to the station,
ready to fly the kerchief.
And I stood on the platform
like the idiot I am,
the tracks empty at my arrival.
I am Forrest Gump.
04/08/2013
My lonely wolf howl...
echoes in the Chilterns
with itself as an answer.
Padding in the night,
searching for my lost cubs.
No pack, no quarry,
just the endless trail.
A prison with no bars.
04/08/2013
And the truth shall set you free?
There is nothing for free,
certainly no free lunch.
I still am paying for the truths
of almost eight years,
with some bills still due.
Prisoner of my truth,
chained to the rock,
I see the tide rising.
04/08/2013
Dreaming worlds to life
as an exercise in avoidance.
Wallowing in grotesque
to indulge the desire
of escapes and flights of fancy.
Rewriting to see the oppressed as powerful
the unloved as cherished
The unhappened as come to fruition.
04/08/2013
I said goodnight to the world...
Out of custom.
Out of wishing others the pleasant dreams
I once used to have.
To await, until, with impunity,
I can unleash my words upon the page.
04/08/2013
Complicated?
I just had no clue
and I'm no nearer.
I suspected, no, I knew,
that the train would depart
without me in it.
Feigning non-chalance,
I headed to the station,
ready to fly the kerchief.
And I stood on the platform
like the idiot I am,
the tracks empty at my arrival.
I am Forrest Gump.
04/08/2013
My lonely wolf howl...
echoes in the Chilterns
with itself as an answer.
Padding in the night,
searching for my lost cubs.
No pack, no quarry,
just the endless trail.
A prison with no bars.
04/08/2013
And the truth shall set you free?
There is nothing for free,
certainly no free lunch.
I still am paying for the truths
of almost eight years,
with some bills still due.
Prisoner of my truth,
chained to the rock,
I see the tide rising.
04/08/2013
Maudlin
...of late,
of late nights,
of being too late.
I thought my butterflies
were killed by eagles, crushing my innards
in their attempts to fly.
Big mistake, not eagles,
but eagle owls.
12/08/2013
Sunday, 25 August 2013
Regression, or A Pair Of Trousers.
Chapter 1.
Engaged.
Henry was savouring the rare calm ritual of morning coffee before leaving for work. Jane was at the toaster, a slow raiser.
Ernesto's heavy tread preceded his appearance at the kitchen door. An unfamiliar spark of light glared on Jane's right hand.
- "So you finally found the guts to propose, you dog. I was starting to think you'll leave it for your last will. Congrats, mate!".
- "It's good to think things twice. I made my mind a long time ago. I was only worried about the timing. I'm the luckiest guy you'd ever hope to meet."
Ernesto settled down to another coffee, whilst Jane was attacking her muesli and toast with her usual gusto.
- "I believe it's for you to tell how it happened, Janey", said Henry.
- "It was a pleasant night out, but what he said... I'm used to all the usual things you hear about your eyes by dribbling idiots checking out your cleavage..."
- "Go on...", said Ernesto.
- "Henry said he first fell in love with me... when I was helping him move in. He cooked for me that day and I asked for seconds. That was the moment, he said. He then got on his knee and asked if I would like Chez Henry for many years to come, as the guest of honour..."
- "I don't know whether I'm gonna swoon or be sick. That's gotta be the corniest thing I ever heard. You the man, Hank!"
- "I better hurry, or I'll be late."
With a kiss to her, he vanished into the day.
Chapter 2.
Working day.
Henry could not settle into his daily work as usual. He felt the familiar tightness on his chest as he kept replaying the previous night in his mind.
He could not believe his luck. He left Jane behind with the old neighbourhood, as he moved away to study. He had actually settled in Leeds.
He finally returned, as he finished with Linda. His parents had been complaining for seven years already.
And he met Jane. Mark's little sister. Little no longer...
At that thought, the familiar urge to call, and the butterflies came to join the tightness in his chest.
- "Are you ok?", asked Gwen from the next cubicle. "You don't look quite yourself".
- "I might be coming down with something, I think I'll ask old man Holmes to let me go today"
- "You do that, and ask Janey to have some mercy on you, you know."
Chapter 3.
Epiphany.
With a pounding headache, Henry walked into the flat. The shower was running in the bathroom.
There was something behind the door, blocking it. With a sinking feeling, he realised they were Ernesto's trousers, with the familiar belt buckle hanging in front. His wallet still inside the back pocket.
Movement in the edge of his vision made him turn. Not an spectral apparition, though Ernesto's towel-clad suddenness increased his growing feeling of unreality.
- "So that's where I left them. I hope you don't mind, but I came to borrow some of your after shave, since it seems to work for you. I better run, see you later, bro."
As Ernesto
(dog)
picked his trousers from the floor,
(dude)
Henry noticed a pair of socks
(bro)
and underwear
(gotta run)
sliding off the trousers cuffs.
He sat on the bed, stupefact. Cogitating (dog). What was he doing (dude) undressing in his (bro) room? He must have been (gotta run) in a real rush.
Chapter 4.
Rules of disengagement.
Jane let herself in, juggling grocery bags, purse and keys. In the kitchen, Henry sat at the table, vacant, staring at the pattern of the cloth as if on the verge of revelation and enlightenment.
- "How long has this been going on?"
- "Honey, are you all right? You seem.."
- "Ernesto. And you. How. Long. HAs. THIs. BEEN. GOING. ON?"
- "I don't know what..."
- "Spare me the bullshit. How long have you kept your... options open with Ernesto?". He got up from the chair with premeditation, a glint in his eye almost a match for the stone on her right hand.
Chapter 5.
Mother.
Julie was at the printer, collecting her latest piece. Her mobile vibrated inside the trousers pocket. Sure it was another 'no win, no fee' call; bemusement gave way to dread. Why was Jane calling in the middle of her working day?
- "Hi..."
- "...COME...HENRY...GONE MAD...HE MIGHT GET HURT".
click.
Chapter 6.
Countdown.
Julie saw the crowd near her son's block. She pulled up and commenced to run.
In the throng, an impossibly younger-looking version of Henry was grappling with Jane. He seemed slimmer, almost gangly.
- "MINE, BITCH! GIVE IT BACK, YOU WHORE!"
With mounting horror, Julie realised her son was trying to rip Jane's engagement ring off her finger.
- "You're hurting me, stop it!".
With each passing second, Henry seemed to be losing substance, his shirt sagging, his stubble long gone. His trousers' cuff dragging on the pavement. His voice shrill, screaming like a banshee.
She finally let go of it. She was no longer looking at a man. Facing her, was a boy. A boy of about seven, clothes hanging from his pre-puberal frame.
- "Keep it! I don't want to hear from you for the rest of my life!".
Chapter 7.
Resumption.
Julie approached the forlorn child sat on the kerb, crying with the ring in his hand. She put a hand on that once-familiar small shoulder.
An initial feeling of pity was stifled by a grim feeling of determination. She would comfort... and he would learn. He'd have to.
- "Get up, Henry. This is sad. It's back to school with you tomorrow morning."
High Wycombe, 16/07/2013
Engaged.
Henry was savouring the rare calm ritual of morning coffee before leaving for work. Jane was at the toaster, a slow raiser.
Ernesto's heavy tread preceded his appearance at the kitchen door. An unfamiliar spark of light glared on Jane's right hand.
- "So you finally found the guts to propose, you dog. I was starting to think you'll leave it for your last will. Congrats, mate!".
- "It's good to think things twice. I made my mind a long time ago. I was only worried about the timing. I'm the luckiest guy you'd ever hope to meet."
Ernesto settled down to another coffee, whilst Jane was attacking her muesli and toast with her usual gusto.
- "I believe it's for you to tell how it happened, Janey", said Henry.
- "It was a pleasant night out, but what he said... I'm used to all the usual things you hear about your eyes by dribbling idiots checking out your cleavage..."
- "Go on...", said Ernesto.
- "Henry said he first fell in love with me... when I was helping him move in. He cooked for me that day and I asked for seconds. That was the moment, he said. He then got on his knee and asked if I would like Chez Henry for many years to come, as the guest of honour..."
- "I don't know whether I'm gonna swoon or be sick. That's gotta be the corniest thing I ever heard. You the man, Hank!"
- "I better hurry, or I'll be late."
With a kiss to her, he vanished into the day.
Chapter 2.
Working day.
Henry could not settle into his daily work as usual. He felt the familiar tightness on his chest as he kept replaying the previous night in his mind.
He could not believe his luck. He left Jane behind with the old neighbourhood, as he moved away to study. He had actually settled in Leeds.
He finally returned, as he finished with Linda. His parents had been complaining for seven years already.
And he met Jane. Mark's little sister. Little no longer...
At that thought, the familiar urge to call, and the butterflies came to join the tightness in his chest.
- "Are you ok?", asked Gwen from the next cubicle. "You don't look quite yourself".
- "I might be coming down with something, I think I'll ask old man Holmes to let me go today"
- "You do that, and ask Janey to have some mercy on you, you know."
Chapter 3.
Epiphany.
With a pounding headache, Henry walked into the flat. The shower was running in the bathroom.
There was something behind the door, blocking it. With a sinking feeling, he realised they were Ernesto's trousers, with the familiar belt buckle hanging in front. His wallet still inside the back pocket.
Movement in the edge of his vision made him turn. Not an spectral apparition, though Ernesto's towel-clad suddenness increased his growing feeling of unreality.
- "So that's where I left them. I hope you don't mind, but I came to borrow some of your after shave, since it seems to work for you. I better run, see you later, bro."
As Ernesto
(dog)
picked his trousers from the floor,
(dude)
Henry noticed a pair of socks
(bro)
and underwear
(gotta run)
sliding off the trousers cuffs.
He sat on the bed, stupefact. Cogitating (dog). What was he doing (dude) undressing in his (bro) room? He must have been (gotta run) in a real rush.
Chapter 4.
Rules of disengagement.
Jane let herself in, juggling grocery bags, purse and keys. In the kitchen, Henry sat at the table, vacant, staring at the pattern of the cloth as if on the verge of revelation and enlightenment.
- "How long has this been going on?"
- "Honey, are you all right? You seem.."
- "Ernesto. And you. How. Long. HAs. THIs. BEEN. GOING. ON?"
- "I don't know what..."
- "Spare me the bullshit. How long have you kept your... options open with Ernesto?". He got up from the chair with premeditation, a glint in his eye almost a match for the stone on her right hand.
Chapter 5.
Mother.
Julie was at the printer, collecting her latest piece. Her mobile vibrated inside the trousers pocket. Sure it was another 'no win, no fee' call; bemusement gave way to dread. Why was Jane calling in the middle of her working day?
- "Hi..."
- "...COME...HENRY...GONE MAD...HE MIGHT GET HURT".
click.
Chapter 6.
Countdown.
Julie saw the crowd near her son's block. She pulled up and commenced to run.
In the throng, an impossibly younger-looking version of Henry was grappling with Jane. He seemed slimmer, almost gangly.
- "MINE, BITCH! GIVE IT BACK, YOU WHORE!"
With mounting horror, Julie realised her son was trying to rip Jane's engagement ring off her finger.
- "You're hurting me, stop it!".
With each passing second, Henry seemed to be losing substance, his shirt sagging, his stubble long gone. His trousers' cuff dragging on the pavement. His voice shrill, screaming like a banshee.
She finally let go of it. She was no longer looking at a man. Facing her, was a boy. A boy of about seven, clothes hanging from his pre-puberal frame.
- "Keep it! I don't want to hear from you for the rest of my life!".
Chapter 7.
Resumption.
Julie approached the forlorn child sat on the kerb, crying with the ring in his hand. She put a hand on that once-familiar small shoulder.
An initial feeling of pity was stifled by a grim feeling of determination. She would comfort... and he would learn. He'd have to.
- "Get up, Henry. This is sad. It's back to school with you tomorrow morning."
High Wycombe, 16/07/2013
Mrs. Red Riding Hood, THIS TIME, IT'S PERSONAL! Part 5.
IN HER OWN FOOTSTEPS
Chapter 12. Reunited.
On the deck of the Sea She-Wolf, Mary luxuriated on the feel of the sea spray and the sun over her bare breasts.
It had been surprisingly smooth. Wolf had dragged Hunter's limp carcass out of the window. Taking a page out of Hunter's book, they had used a bear claw in his cabinet to simulate a bear attack.
His professional insurance had done the rest. As he was deemed to have been killed (and partially eaten) by a wild predator, she had been entitled to a generous compensation that allowed her to buy the yacht and leave the Forest and village behind.
But there was something different about Wolf now. Ever since he had tasted Hunter's blood. He was now quite rougher than he used to be. When he was walking his tongue over her, there was a strange urgency about him, with an odd glint in his eye. She began to feel afraid of him.
Chapter 13. Mistress of her fate.
Mary walked into the pet shop with a purposeful stride. The pet shop owner greeted her with distaste, as this customer was wearing a grey fur waistcoat and shorts.
-"Good morning, I was looking for a dog to be a guard in a yacht. I need a large one, loyal and obedient, and a strong swimmer. What would you recommend?"
-"That would depend on the size of the yacht, of course, and the type of travel in hot or cold climates. Is it the first time you have one?"
-"No, it would not be my first animal... companion. What happened to my last one was a very tragic accident. It was a bit too... independent and ended up drowning. I need a more docile... companion."
-"It seems to be your lucky day, we just received a litter of two-month old Great Danes."
-"That sounds just perfect. I'll take the largest male of the litter."
High Wycombe, 02/08/2013.
Mrs. Red Riding Hood, THIS TIME, IT'S PERSONAL! Part 4.
THE WOLF ALWAYS KNOCKS TWICE...
Chapter 9. Deliverance!?
Mr. Hunter entered the cottage at that precise moment, fumbling with his rifle. This was the first time he was going to use it outside the target range.
Wolf, to avoid a confrontation, jumped out of the window, as Mary urged him to do.
-"Well, well, well.." Hunter said. "Things seem to be going my way today, my lovely bride."
-"You must have eaten some of your special mushrooms if you think I'll go for that".
Producing a wolf's skull and jaw from his bag, Hunter started to toy with them...
CLACK!
-"I don't see that you have much choice. Grandma is still hiding from the Beast. The pantry, possibly? She could very well come out to see her only granddaughter's throat ripped open by wolf's teeth. Very sad, wouldn't it be?"
-"You wouldn't."
-"Oh, but I must (CLACK!). I'm just so tired of you (CLACK!) and your airs, of thinking the Forest belongs to you (CLACK!). People are losing their fear of going in (CLACK!). Maybe it's the only thing to do. You have five seconds (CLACK!) to make your decision. Live... (CLACK!) ... or (CLACK!) die..."
Chapter 10. Mrs Hunter.
After a week of being a married woman, Mary knew she would surely die. She physically ached for her friend and lover. To make matters worse, Hunter took to using his fists upon her.
Gazing at his bear-paw slippers poking from behind the curtains, a dawning light of realisation ilummined the whole room. She now knew.
Chapter 11. Garbage disposal.
Hunter arrived home after another day in the Forest.
-"Wife! Give me my slippers, if you don't want me to clip you one!"
-"They're by the curtains, as usual. If I leave the stove now, your dinner will be burned. Sorry, darling."
With a grim expression on his face, Hunter went to the bedroom for his slippers. He'd give her "darling" tonight, right after dinner. The thought of her face contorted by pain was arousing him. Maybe the dinner would keep for five minutes. He slid the curtains...
... only to find Wolf standing in his slippers. A menacing growl and:
"Hello, darling, I've been waiting for you... eagerly. Did you miss me?", were the last words he ever heard, spoken in a deep, guttural, throaty voice.
Mrs. Red Riding Hood, THIS TIME, IT'S PERSONAL! Part 3.
RAW ANIMAL LUST.
Chapter 7. Winter.
As the days shortened to an intolerable level, the village retreated into itself. Mary had no reason she could give to venture out. She heard Wolf's howl calling her every day and night.
One cold, crisp morning, she was asked to carry some supplies to her grandma, who was snowed in in the Forest, like every year.
Mary was delighted. She already had a plan.
Chapter 8. The true story.
Mary asked Wolf to go on ahead to grandma's house and prepare it. Her loins were quivering in anticipation. This would be fun. She was never that fond of the old lady, anyway.
She arrived at the cottage to find Wolf lying in the bed, dressed as grandma. The old lady was stashed away in the pantry. 'Let her listen', she thought.
-"Grandma, what big eyes you have."
-"The better to undress you with my mind, dear."
-"Grandma, what a long nose you have."
-"The better to know which are the safe days of your cycle. Like today, dear."
-"Grandma, what big teeth you have."
-"The better to eat you, while you're eating me, dear."
With that, Wolf mounted her, Wolfie-style.
Saturday, 24 August 2013
Mrs. Red Riding Hood, THIS TIME, IT'S PERSONAL! Part 2.
PUPPY LOVE
Chapter 4. Friends.
They spent the evening enjoying the fruit, and sharing their personal stories.
He learnt that she had been afraid of the Forest since she was little. Mr. Hunter, the village trapper, that pompous fool had made himself look important by telling terrifying stories of fantastic creatures of the Forest. Only need drove her into the Forest, as her family was poor.
She learnt that Wolf was vegetarian, a disaffected poet that had left the city to get in touch with his roots and find the peace and inspiration to write again. He was a pacifist and endured the harsh months of winter with sun-dried fruit and mushrooms, as well as nuts gathered in autumn.
After he said his goodbyes to her that day, he thought to himself, 'this could be the beginning of a wonderful friendship'.
Chapter 5. Riding in the Forest.
The summer days had started to shorten. Mary has had Wolf's keen nose to help her find the best gooseberries, raspberries and blackberries. As Autumn approached, Wolf started to seek truffles out, which he shared with his newfound friend.
There had been a downpour the previous night. Mary decided to have an early start with the mushroom hunt. Dressed in the new cape she had bought, she headed down the now-familiar deer trails.
As she stooped to pick a mushroom, she found herself toppled by a heavy weight thrown at her. It was Wolf.
-"What's wrong with you? I thought you promised not to hurt me!"
-"Promise me not to get mushrooms without me. That one REEKS of poison. I thought I'd loose you and it was just too much for me."
Mary grabbed Wolf by the ruff and kissed him gently on his chops. Her hands slid along his fur, as his tongue explored her.
Chapter 6. Lovers.
The Autumn was the season of their trysts. As the stags proclaimed their prowess with bellows and rattling their antlers, Mary and Wolf explored all the avenues of their pleasure.
She found him a generous lover. So much so, that her screams of climax were starting to attract the wrong kind of attention.
The first snow found them in the throes of their passion, with their tongues wrapped around each other's...
Mrs. Red Riding Hood, THIS TIME, IT'S PERSONAL! Part 1.
Beauty meets Beast
Chapter 1. Fiancee.
Little Red Riding Hood sat in her room, mulling over her closing prospects. From tomorrow morning, she would become Mrs. Hunter, a respectable lady of good standing in the community.
Her thoughts trailed back to the previous summer...
Chapter 2. A basket of strawberries.
... Mary Redhood walked along the paths that crisscrossed the Forest, in search of strawberries. It was early in the season, and the first ripe ones were sure to fetch a good price at the market.
A rustle of branches preceded the appearance of a hairy Beast. Mary drew breath to scream, when the Beast said:
-"Top of the morning to you, fair maiden. What, pray tell, brings you to this cosy corner of my home?"
-"I'm in search of strawberries, but I cannot find any", said Mary. She was still unnerved by the appearance of this creature.
-"Kindly wait here just a minute, and I'll bring you of the bounty of the Forest", said the Beast.
To her astonishment, the Beast reappeared carrying a strawberry big as an apple, red as blood, tender as a lover's first kiss. She still had some misgivings about this unknown creature. She said:
-"It's not proper for a decent lady to accept a present from a stranger, I'm afraid."
-"Well, that poses a riddle with an easy solution, I'm Mr. Ferocious Wolf. Since my school days, all friends call me by my surname, and now I count you among that number."
-"Well, my name is Mary Redhood", said she with a confident smile.
Chapter 3. The market.
Mary returned with a full basket of ripe strawberries, to the astonishment of her parents. She sold them in the market the following day for a princely sum, and quite early in the day, too. That left her free to seek more.
Once she was back in the Forest, she headed for the patch that Wolf had shown her the previous day. She filled her basket, and was in time to sell it in the market before it closed. She was still able to return a third time.
And found Wolf, enjoying the fruit. His massive jaws dripping with the red juice made him look slightly menacing to an stranger, but she had become accustomed to see that he was of a kind disposition.
Friday, 23 August 2013
Just another day in the desert.
Once upon a time, there was a goatherd. We will call him... Moses (for convenience). He was hale and hearty, and was extremely attentive to his goats...
One day, as he was about taking his goats to pasture, he came upon the fabled FLAMING BUSH, who decided to speak to him that day, for reasons unbeknownst to him.
-"Who be thou?" Asked Moses, overcome by awe at its naked, terrible beauty.
-"I AM WHO I AM". Replied THE FLAMING BUSH. "Prostrate thyself on thy knees, and worship me with thy thoughts, thy tongue and thy actions the rest of thy life".
And so did Moses. Every day of his life, he got on his knees in front of THE FLAMING BUSH, and spoke to it in many tongues for the rest of his life, which was prolonged beyond its natural span.
I wished I could say the story ended happily, but...
The goats, increasingly jealous of all the attention THE FLAMING BUSH was getting, escaped the pen one night, and ate it through to the roots while it was asleep.
Impossibly distraught, Moses joined a lemming cult. He was last seen with his newfound brethren at the top of mount Sinai.
High Wycombe, 26/07/2013.
Frozen Lust, part two.
Simon was back in the freezer, mulling over last night's dream. He felt a tap on his shoulder.
-"I thought you could use a hot coffee in this cold. It's just too much at times, isn't it?"
As he took the coffee to his lips, he felt his zipper pulled down. As the warmth of her mouth enveloped him, he lost all awareness of his surroundings...
Chapter 5. The freezer.
Simon was increasingly baffled. He had his own appeal, but this was bordering on the grotesque.
Not only had Soraya become a regular visitor. Bonnie from Accounts, Giselle from Customer Services and Anne, Mr. Brown's PA had also become a regular fixture. And they didn't seem to mind if they came across one another in the chamber, either...
What was starting to concern him were all those bottom-shaped indentations on the ice that marked many of his amatory sessions.
Chapter 6. The letter.
"Dear employee,
A recent sudden drop in output, due to the current economic climate means that The Company will have to stop operating.
We have already provided for a generous compensation, as well as suitable references to assist you to regain employment.
Please do attend our central office on 05/08/2013, at 11:30, for a final interview.
Yours sincerely,
Mr. J.D. Brown Owner/CEO."
Chapter 7. Severance.
Simon entered the sterile-looking room. Mr. Brown sat at a huge mahogany desk that was too big and tacky not to be the real thing.
-"Please, Mr. ... Dandridge, be seated. Our records show that you have been with us for erm... three months. This is your documentation for tax, and your severance letter. Is everything in order?"
Simon was stunned to see that a severance pay of £5000 was to be attached, in cash.
-"I'm afraid I have to ask you to sit very still while I take the money out of the safe for you. It'll only be a minute."
With dawning realisation, Simon felt the garotte tightening around his neck...
Frozen Lust indeed...
Thursday, 22 August 2013
Frozen Lust. Part one.
Chapter 1. Unemployed.
At 28, Simon was not exactly a hard man. Well, almost. His gaze noted street smarts with a certain amount of unsmashed dreams.
He resolutely entered the room, interested and nonchalant at once. Amid the art deco and various potted plants sat a young woman. She had an attitude of such utter indifference, that he was sure she had taken special courses just to master it.
-"Good morning, I do have a 12:30 appointment for the position of meat packer."
- "Please be seated. Mr. Brown will see you presently."
Chapter 2. Employed.
Simon lay exhausted in his bed, taking stock of his day. Who in their right minds would peddle or eat the merchandise he was handling?
Today he had signed , prepared and assisted to load three tonnes of Sperm Whale penis.
The Company (that was its name) specialized in rare meats, advertising as "foods to enhance your erotic liaisons".
He seemed to be getting as jaded as The Company's customers. He had handled Sow's vulvae (eaten since the Roman Empire), Ostrich anuses, Buffalo fetuses...
Looking back, there was that first day in the chamber, where he loaded a whole ton of "Frozen Lust". He had recently asked what was in it, to no avail. All staff in The Company seemed to have started out a week earlier or later than him.
'You worry too much, only Friday to go and you can rest for a bit,' Simon told himself.
Chapter 3. So cold.
He found himself in the industrial house-sized freezer chamber at The Company. His testicles had painfully retreated into his body. He was naked.
He tried to use the door, but it was locked from outside. As he started to pound on it, Soraya (the indifferent receptionist) opened the door. She was also in her birth suit, a Brazilian line like an exclamation mark.
-"Oh, you poor thing! Your poor things! Let me take care of you before the cold kills you".
She led him to the copy room, sat him on the copy machine, which was taking 500 copies of his bare bottom. Heat radiated from the machine into him.
The images in the copy changed to those of their bodies meeting...
RRRRRRRRIIIIIIIINNNNNGGGG! The alarm clock blared.
End of part 1
High Wycombe, 30/08/2013.Snapshot.
I AM WHO I AM
By excess, a sinner
with a lack of occasion.
Unrepentantly impious
and saint without religion.
Renouncing to impose desires
which, in their life, must live.
Cured of divers impostures.
Prisoner betwixt my given word
and my passions.
In my exceptionality,
just another man.
Nail file.
Soaking up the sun that breaks the cloud,
on temporary parole.
My hands, ready for that loyal,
unbent friend with strings.
My nails, ready to make her cry,
to make her scream,
to make her sing.
Unriffing.
It's been a long ducking fay,
unhappenings worth a year in it.
The system, frazzled, begs for a rest
and denies it.
I'll have my GP to thank
for the following 180 minutes,
and back to the board.
Trust?
What's the meaning of that?
The river turns to glacier,
in the blink of an eye.
Perplexed, I seek a way,
when I know there's none.
The odes I carry, will be taken
for artifice.
The pain, as histrionics,
the music as affectation,
my past and future loyalty,
a stratagem.
Brief interlude.
Hope roared at the brink of the abyss
... and the abyss stared back.
In fury it lashed, maiming,
hounding,
seeking to spare.
Mutilated, forsaken,
still defiant.
STILL ROARING.
Wednesday, 21 August 2013
Welcome, one and all. On feeling and sharing.
I must commence by stating the obvious.This is an article of what I like to think of as my modest opinion. Then again, some might not think me very modest, nor do I care a jot.
Having that safely out of the way, I would like to discuss about the importance of sharing and creating art.
We (or, at least, I) do make things for others, hoping for a reaction. It does not matter what, how or when. What matters is that the other is in mind and guides our steps.
One common example. A three-year-old spends a whole fifteen minutes scribbling on paper, in a mess of glitter, glue and paper cuttings. The unrecognizable product is: an elephant!.
It might not look much like anything, but... the quiet look of adoration in the child's eyes tell you the true story. Not an elephant, but a whole heart in that messed up paper. That's why we hang them on our walls, with pride. The papers, I mean, not the children.
Recently, I came in contact with another budding writer, quite diffident. Diffident, that is, until he started to write about "her" in the chat room.
His writing was filled with a sudden light. He did not know he was writing in verse until I pointed it out to him. Again, sharing.
It is so hard to describe in words, yet those of us who had the chance to give the perfect present, keeping it a surprise, know what I'm talking about. It's not just about giving an item.
We are that three-year-old again, destroying a piece of paper with the glee of pouring our heart on it. We do not just give. We give ourselves..
There are many other feelings that would underpin a work of art, but I will leave you with that version, for now.
I do hope you enjoy the pieces of screen that I will tear up, trying to paint my elephants.
Until then, very pleased to meet you all (well, almost all).
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