http://catalog.etherbooks.com/authors/711 

Noirish meant with dark intent.

n o t a h o m e

FH 1

F O G   H A T C H E R Y  1

From The Bowels

Skunk amuck:

So...Hello? I think I have experienced a whole new dimension. How do I know? Because it is I. As I know me…that’s what I’m talking about. The reverse lens, held in reserve, but now actively rendering an Inverted image....From my personal perspective...
I know it sounds like claptrap but I can’t deny it, I can only rephrase it or paraphrase, but its not a phase that’s going to faze out anytime soon, nor go, I doubt, awry or away.

You are quite full of yourself.

‘Full of shit’ you mean?

Fair enough. Might as well get it all out then. Empty those bowels.

Which is what you sense I’m up to?

Up to here.

Do you ever get constipated? Backed up? Can’t write...can't crap?

You welcome the release, if not pleasant, certainly necessary.

...or just write crap...So this could be a passing phase after all?

Passing gasses are part of the processes, let it stew then release...

We can only hope these too shall pass. And I can see normalcy.

Until the cycle starts all over anew. But you never want to be ‘regular’, really, do you?

It’s not reality. Reality is not regular, not routine…it’s random. Chaotic, catastrophic, Claustrophobic. Constiphonic.

Hard to stay regular in that climate…

Scares the shit out of me.

Don’t hold back.

I sha(n)t.

REPENT

The Orotund Orator, the rotund Pastor Casper Fullbright , took to the podium and pontificated as it is his penchant and presumed privilege, to pointlessly postulate from his perch. He pounded and spewed, down from his pinnacled pulpit, resounding them with his fury, his eyes bloody viper slits, his arms flailing…clawing…seemingly ripping off his own head, as another, like Hydra, grew in it’s place, Love distorting to Hatred, within each new face.  The congregation bore witness, his Possession, on display for all to see and gasp aloud at ­­­it’s fervor and ferment. He cursed them, accused them, blamed them and excused them, but in the end they were his sheep and he’d lead any lamb to sodomy or slaughter if he so chooses.

Failing to drive home his point, he did masterfully succeed in driving home the congregation in it’s entirety. In his mind he saw himself casting out the snakes from Emerald Isles, but leaving them not so much convinced, or converted, as relieved to be fleeing the premises, in full stampede and with such newfound serious conviction and intent. Those stragglers, last to leave, most due to their own limited mobility, bore the brunt of his persistent parsimonial rant, and therefore were deemed and damned to soon be patrons of purgatory, as they wheeled and hobbled down the aisle to exit to the best of their ability before he could bar the doors and risk becoming captives to Casper’s further fertile depravities. 

Picketers lined the parish in protest as Fullbright preened before his full length mirror, pleased at his performance…in fact, damn-right Proud, of his performance. He posed, he paced, he postured, he hissed at their baleful reprise. They wailed as he waited, confident a sign soon-to-come would mean a reprieve in the eyes of his god, be he lord of darkness or light. But fires now sparked in the gloaming and he knew he’d not sleep the night.
Still, Grateful to be gone by morning's light.

alz

FEWER INTERRUPTIONS

It would appear, sir, that your goose is cooked.

But I did not order goose!

Well goose is what you get. It’s our only fowl of the evening.

No…not your only foul. Your Temperament leans hard in that direction, as well.

Oh?

That’s right.

So I would be wise to lighten up?

Enlightenment dawns.

Please continue....

My wife, Mrs. Neal, is having affairs with young boys…lads half her age and last night I was awakened by a man talking…a rather Germanic…Austrian…young...  A boy, with cellular phone tight to his ear. I did not recognize the voice, or the words spoken, but there was a rhythm – distinctly Germanic. He laughed. The mood in the middle of the night, a man pacing on the wet street below my window was decidedly light. Something was astir. He laughed. He spoke loud and was eager as he picked up the pace of his stroll, executing a clipped, tight, one-footed pivot at each extreme. His foot falls and voice ricocheting off building walls, surely waking others, but he seemed oblivious and uncaring. Twenty feet up, spin, twenty feet back, spin, and so on. "Stop laughing aloud, ha-ha, and just continue walking," I begged, but I suspect he had arrived at his destination and was biding his time. I watched him, a stranger, and I knew he was speaking to her. Flirtatious. Then I wandered the entire flat before realizing she had not come home that evening. Oh, I often go to bed before her. She closes down, I open up. It’s just the nature of the business and the beast I thought I knew, but perhaps her nature is more carnal than I ever considered. She says she feels she gets the most done after-hours  when there are fewer interruptions and ten o’clock is not untypical. Now I’m starting to suspect that it might be true. Fewer interruptions. Somebody needs to run the business. I trust her to do that. What about the stranger? Do I trust him? Do I trust them? I pulled back the blind to see and he looked straight up. I think he saw me watching, but it did not faze him and he laughed into his cell phone. I suspect she was laughing with him.

In that case, may I recommend the Goose?

I think so.

Driving

“I could just sit here and listen to the frogs…”

"You need a jacket?"

"That might be good. Getting damp."

She was right, the mist was just rising from the pond and a light breeze was drifting it our way.

"I’ll get one from the car."

A few minutes later I was back. I kept a softball jacket in the trunk in case I got cold or had to do mechanical work on the old clunk in an emergency, and on the odd chance I was dressed nice. Ruined a good suit jacket one night, on one such odd occurrence, just jumping a dead battery. One hundred forty dollars is a big loss nowadays and I learned a lesson: Cover the nice threads.  

She was curled up staring into the pitch black water.

“Here you go,” I held it up, not much more than a rag in her eyes, I could tell.

“Oh great.” She said, grateful despite the soils.

“Watch out for the grease. It ‘s a work jacket…all I got.”

“It’s warm. That’s all that counts. Smells good…”

“Ha,” I wasn’t ready for that one. “Must be the grease.”

“Yes. The grease and the sweat. It’s a man’s jacket. A bit of aftershave, maybe… no cheap cologne ever smelled this good, and that’s pretty much the type I seem to get – Overwhelming and Assaulting.”

“Fishing in the wrong ponds?”

“Fishing where there are big fish…wearing cologne.”

“Then you can’t complain. Your choice.”

"Got no choice."

"You know…Sometimes you snag a nice prize up some of these back hill creeks…ponds like this here...and they can put up a real good fight…”

“Oh I am sure. But that takes time, luck, and patience and those are things I don’t have.”

“Why. What’s the rush?”

“Man chasing me.”

“Cologne man?”

“He was before prison. I suspect he’s one again.”

“He’s out?”

“Uh-hmm”

“Is this a chase? He chasing you down?”

“I suppose.”

“You the rabbit?”

“You can’t tell?”

“Oh yeah. The ears.”

“ The tail.”

“I DID notice the ears…”

“He angry at you?”

"Very."

"Should he be?"

"Very."

"Very very?"

"Is 'Kill me'…very, very…enough?"

"Very much so."

"That’s what he’s thinking."

"And you’re saying he’s somehow justified?"

"Not in the eyes of the law, but perhaps in the eyes of the lord."

"A mortal sin?"

"Were it only one…"

"So you were both sinners."

"At one time that would be fair to say."

"But murder?"

"Justifiable homicide."

"Is there such a thing? And are you worthy of his justification? His Justice? I mean...I doubt the Lord would approve."

"Ha! I doubt the Lord, period. And he hates him..."

"Does he?"

"He’d spit in his face."

"And risk eternity in hell?"

"He’s already done that... been bit and hit before... Hell is where he lives. In his head are mean squirming demons screaming to get out. Screaming to get ME..."

"And he’s capable..."

"Oh yes. He is capable at a passing fancy, and even more so when driven."

"And he’s…?"

"Driving."