Fragments Estimated

You wouldn’t want to hear that I discovered a woman in the hedge today – unless she was still alive – which she was – and I hope you are not disappointed by that.

It strikes me as being somewhat silly that a fully grown woman would be hiding in the hedgerow to sneak her mid-afternoon fag.  (That’s about where it’s at in New Zealand now).  Good spot though, it was sheltered from the wind and I only discovered her because I wondered why I could smell cigarettes.

It reminded me of an incident in school when our teacher found some of the kids smoking in a hedge.  The kids insisted that they were playing rugby.  Teacher reckoned he could think of better places to play rugby than in the hedge, such as the paddock beside the hedge.

And the last of it today –  A friend informed me that the number of estimated insects was immense.  I suggested that the number – rather than the insects themselves – had been what was estimated.  That didn’t go down too well.

I’m off to count my un-estimated insects.

From an Office-Chair

I have no doubt that his bum is as fat as ever
but there is a lightness on Friday morning
As if he has shed 10kg during the night
which will be reclaimed over the weekend.

His fingers click on the keyboard
faster than usual, yet simultaneously un-hurried
A gaiety unheard throughout the week
now decorates his voice
Having graduated from grunts to whole sentences
he even offers to buy the sausage rolls

Mid-afternoon a tapping foot
beats out rhythms of anticipation

I feel a lightness of step through the floorboards
a lazy drifting grace in legs perambulating at intervals

He is lighter again, and lighter still
His absence only fully realised long after the fact
echoes of distant voices fade to nothing
the room is quiet now
and still.

I shall sleep for two days

Conduit

Staring intently
Her face is close to mine
she reads her friends in me;
what her friends think of her
while I read her soul
She will miss nothing
I tell her all I am told
she looks to me for answers
I only know as I am told

I become her eyes as she sees through me
Alerts, status-updates, mail, pizza,
nude-selfies, garbage, information.

Every smile, every frown, it comes through me
and is reflected back through me
encoded as emoticons.
I am indifferent
Merely a conduit for data.

She looks to me for everything
I tell all as I am told

Rehearsal

The saxophones had blown it, again. The notes were fine but they just weren’t nailing that rhythm. Two of the main stage-lights had blown and the guitarist had blown a valve in his beloved Marshall. Rumour was that Jodie had blown the bass player, and Rodger felt as if he would soon blow a fuse. Was this the life he had given up glass-blowing for? As he ran his hands back through his thinning grey hair, an electric fan in the wings picked loose sheets of music from his conductor’s stand and blew them across the stage. It was going to be a long tour.

Steak for Breakfast

I want a steak. I want a sizzling steak. A porterhouse steak. Thick and hot. Cooked on the outside. Moo in the middle. Yum!

No way will I settle for just steak. Whilst steak is indeed the centerpiece, ostentatious ornamentation is required for maximum satisfaction.

No longer quiescent, the onion quivers on the chopping board. The knife is coming. The onion is to be flayed, drawn, quartered and finally cast into a skillet of boiling tallow. Already the knife is hissing through the air. No escape for the onion. Off with the head! Off with the tail! The onion fights back, flooding the kitchen with a pungent scent, in a last-ditch attempt to remain whole. It is too little, too late. Layers of skin are now being peeled away from the core as the onion writhes in agony. Slice!, slice! Concentric rings hit the deck with a slap. Rotate. Slice. The knife is relentless. Onion pieces. Brutal and effective. Even the executioner cannot hold back the tears.

The crowd cheers for more! The mushrooms are next up on the block. Their crime? – Tasting bloody fantastic. The mushrooms are indignant, protesting they have done nothing wrong. The Mushrooms argue that they are grievously misunderstood, being neither plant nor animal. No, the mushrooms did not ask permission to pop up in the field, but they were providing a genuine service, tending to the quality of exhausted and depleted crop soil. The knife comes down, and the hapless fungi go to pieces.

The peppers have nothing to say but put up more of a fight, spewing poisonous seeds in all directions as they are guillotined. The seeds, no more than a momentary nuisance, are quickly swept away and the solemn butchering of capsicum flesh continues.

After watching this spectacle, the lettuce flops down, resigned to its fate, caring not to protest the inevitable. Nothing to see here. Move along, straight to the plate.

Now for the meat. Everybody knows the one best way to cook steak, yet there are almost as many one-best-ways as there are people. Growing up, I was told never to talk about sex, politics, or religion – unless trying to start a war. The cooking of meats could be added to that list. I have the perfect solution to that particular problem: The steak is cooked in the best way possible. (See beginning of post for hints)

Breakfast, yum!

Steak is not just a breakfast food, it’s truly a food for all occasions sans vegetarian conventions. It makes the perfect brunch, lunch, dinner, etc. When served for breakfast, complement with fine coffee, plunged or percolated.  A little sugar, milk, or cream to taste.
Keep the steak out of the coffee though: That’s taking it too far!

Hard-Drive Talking Blues

I imagine the rhythm of this poem in the form of a Dylan “talking blues”
Until I lose the plot and hit you with the CCR reference. You’ll have to find your own way from there.

Was using a fancy computer one day
Asked the hard-drive what it had to say
It said “I’ve been driving hard all week”
“Now I just want to sit and spin for a while”

And or course the cat was her usual self
Leering at me from the highest shelf
I said “cut that out”
But she kept on leering
Must be out of cat-food

Well, in the kitchen, washing dishes
After a meal so delicious
I let the water drain from the sink
Watched it spin for a while
Coriolis effect

Big hard-drive keep on turnin’
Good pussy, keep on purring

Data, Information, Formatting a hard-drive.

Grammar 101

I have read a lot about grammar recently. I thought I didn’t know that stuff. I’m talking about tenses, participles, modifiers, and all that other shit. Turns out I was right: I don’t know much about grammar in the academic sense. Although we had English classes, grammar wasn’t taught as a formal subject when I went to school, and most of us learned it the natural way – through osmosis. What I have discovered, however, is that I understand a lot of the rules implicitly. I suspect that I mangle verb-tenses left, right, and center, but I can put together a coherent sentence – most of the time.

Writing badly, deliberately, is much easier than writing well.
Here are some deliberate stinkers, concocted just for fun:

  • Steven crashed the car into the brick wall, causing considerable damage to happen to it.
  • Betty sat down on the chair. Whilst eating her pie, the bomb exploded.
  • After slyly concluding his undertaking , Mary appeared impatiently; he was concerned, irregardless, at the presently observed state of her flobulent canapés.