p   a   s   a   d   e   n   a

Just Tired, Denise.

I don't know. I'm just tired, Denise, you know? Tired like the ache in your bones seem to belong there and you just have to suffer through it, too long ago to remember different. There was a time I could run, I could throw, I could jump, and I can almost feel it in my head, but the rest no longer processes the reflexes necessary to carry out the acts, the actions. And isn't "action" itself at this stage, at this age, pointlessly, recklessly, attempted, and intended instead to be ruthlessly avoided? 

I believe we have no choice, really.

There are fit fellows out there!

Fit for what? Nothing?!

You'd be surprised if you saw them!

Make me feel like a school girl again? Ha! Now there's a bridge too far...trying to remember those days...those emotions...OH the emotions! Such a mad, wild child. 

I remember.

Oh, You! You calmed me down! I was older and ready to be settled, not that I knew it before I knew you... lucky you.

Don't I know it.

I doubt you would have dealt with the wild and stupidly wicked girl that inhabited this skin back then.

Oh, I've witnessed the wicked, I think I'd be aware...and I so love that skin...your flesh...lean in, let me smell your hair, your neck...yes, there...lost again.

No one ever knocked my knickers off like you, Johnny.

Don't stop with the flattery, but promise me that you won't be lonely without me. Go back and find that wild wicked child - she's still inside there.

Ha! No Johnny, she's not. She was only wild because she was lost, but you found her, cleaned her up, and set her on the right path.

I never intended to dictate...

You never did. I admired you so...still do...I loved you so...still do. You gave me someone to walk with. I could breath with you, keep pace with you, enjoy the view. I never did that before you, John. I never noticed anything but my own wretched reflection.

Wretched?!  How dare you speak of your beautiful self in such a way. Look at yourself!

That was the problem, John, that's all I looked at. You changed that. The narcissistic little flower withered away, but you tended the plant that remained, and look what we grew to be.

Vines entwined.

Yes, vines entwined over time. Go ahead, just try to separate us!

Denise, I am tired.

Shhh...

I'm afraid this vine is dying dear. But you are strong, you'll...

Stop, Johnny, please.

I am withering. Don't prop me up, Denise. Let me fold while ahold of you, and not some pumps, and tubes, all drugged and confused. If feeling the pain, means feeling your love, your touch, that's all I ask, is that too much?

You never asked too much, John. That was my job, and you gave freely. To a fault.

Never.....enough...

Just hold me, Johnny. Just hold me tight.

Goodnight, Denise...goodnight. I…

photo - late night

N i g h t s t a n d

W  a  t  e  r

THE POODLE ON THE ROOF

You know, Louis, it's not easy to sound profound.

Perhaps if you didn't try so hard...?

What?

I mean, well, what's the sense of it?

But that's the very point! What IS the sense of it? It's absurd! Tragic!

What is?

Life! Chaotic...tragic....illogical...no Matter how logical we claim to be as a species, we' re doomed by our own stupidity!

Oh, I doubt that.

Exactly. You, being an excellent 'Case-in-point'. You doubt that life is absurdly mad?

Reality is its own reality!

What?  Did you just say say that?  Pretty damn Profound yourself, Mister!

Shit happens...

Cliche. But true. Poodle on the roof....

‘Poodle on the roof...’?

I told you about that! Just last week...? No?

....I think I would remember.

I was riding in on the bus...

The bus? And the poodle was where?

Petrol and parking are killing me! You walk …stroll…just a few blocks to work each day, you have no idea of a commute, do you? The cost...the traffic...

Oh, I know, I know...and its a pretty penny I pay for the privilege to live in town. At least when you get home you can breath!…and see some greenery. You have deer!  Here? It can get damn bleak surrounded by all this concrete…the racket, the fumes....which brings us back to the bus… what's this to do with the poodle?

Lunacy! Absolute lunacy!

What is?

We're riding along, just coming into the city. Of course, we hit the gridlock, it's morning rush. Expected and despised on a daily basis. Everyone is bleary, some drink their coffee...tea...some trying to squeeze in another wink, I know I couldn't do it, but some can...I guess.

Sleep on the bus?

Exactly.

I could never...so, the poodle?

So we're riding along...trudging along and the next thing you know a lady at the back lets out a blood curdling scream.

Oh!

You can imagine what passengers are thinking! Everyone, startled! ...Coffee, spills, people howling from that, and the steaming hot tea!…they're screaming, total panic. The "slumbers" end abruptly, as, there it came, passing on the left, a car, rolling up alongside us, with a poodle on the roof!

No!

Yes! Little white thing just clinging to the roof for dear life!"

How could it possibly hold on? Oh, my god, poor thing!

Can you imagine? We...all of us on board...we rushed the windows, but they're all sealed, and we're pounding and screaming, people actually threw themselves against it! Helpless! Even the driver was honking his horn and swerving over a bit to get her attention, but as luck would have it, the next lane over opened up and the poodle went with it, and still the driver of the car...a woman, well dressed... had some coin...wore the bling...it I was a Rolls...she scoots over and just cruised on, absolutely clueless! 

With all that going on?

From above her sightline, it was hard to get her attention. The bus driver honked the horn repeatedly but she was oblivious. I don't know if she had her music cranked up or was in a heated conversation, but, regardless...oblivious!

How is that possible? To be so self involved....forgetting your dog on top of your car! Ignoring a busload of people! Ignoring a BUS!

Car horns blaring!

Car horns!! How is that even possible!? Oh, no. Tell me you didn't all see it d...demise !?

Like I said, She just drove on, she was gone. We never knew.... Some people looked for it as we rolled slowly along watching the road below, which I found touching, by some..and macabre, by others…,but, most, I think felt defeated, and justifiably… they did not want to know. A few sensitive ones, they cried and soothed one another. One lady needed comforting more than most. She was quite shaken…near hysteria. She had owned a similar dog, from what I gathered.

"Poor Pablo! Poor Pablo! Poor Pablo!"

"Pablo" was her poodle….?

I presume.

That's just shocking...

But do you see my point? We are helpless. You ride along, you observe the absurdity, the tragedy, the stupidity and are helpless to change it. Just a witness to the passing parade. A poodle on a Rolls. The homeless, the helpless, no where to go, huddled in doorways and benches, feeling the cold, and we're just riding along in the bus observing...

Bet the woman in the Rolls never notices…

Wealth has it's privileges.

Ignorance is the ability to ignore .

There you go!

What's that...?

You almost sounded profound. Congratulations.

No, thanks. Not at the expense of the dog…

Agreed. To the Poodle.

To Pablo.

SO, STOP...

No words.

Mind

Rummaged

Brain

Damaged

Defeated

Disappointed

Depressed

Courage,

     Scuttled...

Lay the lot

To rot

On some 

bleeding bog

Watch it steam

Like a corpse

Arrived 

a tad 

Tardy to

his funeral

 ...in shame

Bitter day 

To blame

Delayed 

Decay

and decay, 

  won't wait

Inflates

Then

'pops'

No words

Nor matter

Remain.

So stop.

TWISTED TALES 2014 - Interview

http://annieonwriting.wordpress.com/2014/10/07/g-g-nota-author-in-the-spotlight-for-twisted-tales-2014/

FISH SHACK

We were six willing, skinny, and broke blokes gone clear up coast to Harkum to salvage us a boat. An old trawler it was, sunk just off the coast, and the plan was to get her afloat, out of the lanes and back into port, where we, this scrappy crew, would proceed to dismantle her…being the wharf rats we were, and the men we were about to become.

Oh, she could have been towed out to deep water and sunk, but the owner had personal effects, trinkets and gear and was just plain, attached after some thirty year. It’s what we do, this ragamuffin crew…stripping and scrapping, in the ‘yards back home. Besides, you go find the work, the work don’t find you. This was our big chance. We shipped out in advance and were put up in a fish shack and sat cramped…eating scant from the icebox…pot pies, odd frozen ‘steaks’ textured and packed with little butter pats, some canned stew, beans, stale bread, beer and jerky… Just passing gas, and time, while making due. It was not at all plush, rather damn bleak, but it had a pooper, a hot plate and an old wood-burner stove for heat. She nested, this crate, moaning with the wind and tide while suspended amongst the pier pilings, like a fly in a web, or a crab in a pot. It was…oh, 10 meter, or so, over the waterline below, which is none too secure with heavy seas, but we were in port and you put your trust in the break wall, which is not too reassuring, come a Nor’easter.  But it was a good job with some last-minute cash, to help us get through a long winter. So we sit, and we wait, and then the trouble begins. The trawler, was finally drained, rigged, and buoyed for balance,  but as her towing commences, so too, does the bluster. As they approached the mouth of the harbor, the swells rose and the tow lines broke, sending the lame vessel aimlessly adrift, until she washed up, and broke up, out on the jetty. Now we had us some dilemma. Do we walk away or stay and see what we can do at sea? Heading back with no scrap…the last job of the season would be a crapper. It was clear the weather wasn’t going to cooperate, it was building into a cold snap, and if it persisted we ran the risk of being stranded inside an ice-packed port and there’d be no getting out until thaw, and meanwhile We being ‘the meat in the ice-box’ in that event.

So we gave it a go. We’d take daily soirees into the unrelenting seas in a leaky little skiff, or scrambled along the battered seawall, for four days straight we lay it on the line, but once Pete went in the water, and we almost lost him, we took a vote amongst us and decided to shut her down and wait her out. Then we faced the "locals", who was startin’ to rumble ‘bout us –  and, for what? We’re just the strangers come to take your scrap, livin' under the pier... 'wharf rats'...we didn’t cause this, didn’t sink the old girl, didn’t obstruct the lane, didn’t bring winter in a month early. Nothin'.  We did no harm to your economy or ruin your friggin’ Holidays! Hell, our personal economy was about to be absolute squat after this gig! So we haggled a bit with the towners, a few days at least, then the hammer came down as the final nor’easter comes in like a beast and smack…we’re all stuck. So we hunkered down in our bunks. Six bloody blokes stuck in this drafty box with waves this-close to lickin’ the friggin’ floorboards, groanin’ beneath our feet.

We passed the time playin’ cards for matchsticks, and swapping tales, but a few days of that and it all goes stale...all goes flat  – the air, the food, the attitude. When the front did break, for a short time there, we got out, got some sun, and just hung around. The locals had calmed, their frustration resigned by the weather, but not all that much resolved to us, as some surly pockets remained - fishermen mostly, so we knew, and continued to avoid trouble by being invisible as could be, in this tight little town.

Then the boy showed up…washed up, wrapped up in ropes, netting, and floats, entangled in the pilings, directly beneath our suspended shed. Poor lad. We all looked down as he floated face up, staring back at us. He was a cherubic little school-boy, pale and so very innocent, drifting gently now in calm waters, as if an angel floating overhead, but now just below, down in the drink, instead.

Well that caused a stir on the docks of this small port, as people poured out of their houses for the first time in days, only to find the dead child, a local boy, who’s mother wailed and father railed, and suspicious eyes stared at the six of us, strangers in their midst, huddled against the railing and now in a bit of a fix. Wasn’t us that brought this, but it was Us, now in their nets.