Sunday, December 29, 2013

Agaetis Byrjun

And so it begins. He announces his arrival at dinner and makes his appearance after lunch the next day, about a week early. What a difference he makes.

At times it is as though Calvin has stepped out of the comic books into their lives. At other times it seems like a little wyrm is struggling in his arms. Still other times they almost expect to hear him go, "Quaid.. Start the reactor..".

Wednesday, October 30, 2013

Half Time

He sits down on a piece of rock and rests his weapon on the ground. He takes off his helmet and uses a towel to wipe the sweat from his head, face and nape. Behind him the sun sets into the woods. His compatriot sits on the ground next to him. They share bread and water, but don't speak. The two flag-bearers mend the embroidered sigils in silence. The archers sharpen the tips of their arrows. A swordsman drops his sword as he practices his swing. Some turn because they are close enough to hear the thud. Many do not because of the thick grass.

The general rolls his map open and places wooden figures on it. His lieutenants gather around him. They go over the plan time and time again, but none is bored. All are switched on, ready. The harsh lessons have not been in vain.

The soldier stands up and walks behind an elm tree. He looks north. He thinks of the night before them, and the day after it. He turns back and sees his dinner companion staring in the same direction. They smile with excitement. In the morning they will arrive. Tonight they march. Now they rest. Back in the small clearing, they sit and talk about their families.

The general rolls up his map and signals to his liege. The liege makes his bird-call. The darkness is almost complete. The lieutenants walk the camp, pulling each man up with a firm grip. Before they break hands, they pause and stare at each other,

"To victory." 

Tuesday, September 10, 2013


  1. I wish I could remember to never tense up my shoulders when working.
  2. I wish to never bore of eating the same food, or of walking the same route.
  3. I wish to be the gentle breeze on a hot muggy day.
  4. I wish to be the guitar at end of Thom Yorke's despairing wail.
  5. I wish to be ice, cool.
  6. I wish I knew how Eddie came up with so many!

Monday, September 2, 2013

Whatever Happened to Those Times?

He is standing at the traffic light, waiting to cross the road. He has headphones in his ears, a cigarette in one hand and a 4-D ticket in the other. He feels the ticket in his hand. He is angry that he never wins. He lets the ticket fall to the pavement. I tap him on the shoulder and tell him that he has dropped something.

He smiles briefly, sheepishly, but it disappears instantly. He looks down, away, and says, "It's ok". I suggest that he pick it up. He turns away and concentrates hard on the traffic signal. He strides across the road when the green man appears.

I pick up the ticket and throw it in the rubbish bin not 10 metres away.

Saturday, June 1, 2013


His heart beats fast. He stares at the ceiling in the dark; wide awake. He is worried about what might happen. What will they say? How will they react? He wakes before She does. He walks to the sink and bends over to vomit. Nothing comes out as his stomach is empty. Several times his throat lurches. He spits to clear the taste of bile from his throat and looks in the mirror.

He needs his fix. It will give him the strength to get through this. That powerful feeling that he can overcome anything. That calm, strengthening fury. Maybe if he takes a bigger dose this time the effect it will last longer. Today he embraces his addiction. Who cares if they know?

Sunday, March 24, 2013

The Bravest Man in the Universe

He is feeling the heart burn. Junior and the Wife think nothing of his comments that he has eaten too much.

Junior gets up and goes home. The Wife goes to bed.

He takes a shower in hot water to wash away the sweat. He wakes her up and informs her that he needs to go. Now.

"Should I call Jr.?"

"No, it's nothing. Don't... bother them. It's 2 a.m."

She supports him down the road. He is struggling. Taxis go by, red, red, Green! She flags but it does not stop. "Hey!" he grunts at the taxi. It's all he can articulate. Her fear continues to rise even though, finally, a cab stops.

As they alight, he tells her, "Please call them."

Monday, March 11, 2013

Glorified G

He had written to both of time several times. It does not make sense that he has had such easy access to a shotgun since he was 13. How could they discuss so much about the economy and mention nothing of this? How many innocents have died due to the economy? Is it many compared to Columbine or Colorado? How much has the NRA contributed to their campaigns?

He just doesn't get it. What does he have to do to get their attention? An idea strikes him. It is perverse and extreme but it might just work.

Has it worked?