L’oiseau. Ngā pātai.

Bonjour. Ko wai tō ingoa?
Tēnā koe. Je m’appelle Manu. Comment tu t’appelle ?
Ko Bewilderbirdee taku ingoa. Kei te pēhea koe?
Très bien, engari kei te hiamimi ahau, et toi ?
Çe va. Merci.
E hara i te mea he aha. Je ne suis pas fort, engari J’aime manger les chattes, e wāhine mā.
Auē! E hika! Hei te wā titoki e hoa.
Oui, oui. À bientôt. I put my head on backwards to sleep. Kua kore he tangata inaianei. Kei hea tōku wai?


(C) Grumpy Axolotl

Advertisements

A Classic Tale of Six Words

It was reading Unbolt‘s story about tortoise that inspired me to try some six-word stories of my own. If you’ve never tried it, it’s hard! But it’s also a fun exercise when you don’t know what else to do, and rewarding when you get something good. A six-word sentence is dead easy, but packing in a story? That requires a little more effort. One of the coolest things about ‘tortoise’ is that so much of the story is left unstated, but the reader can easily infer the potential disaster.
Several of my own six-word stories to date have taken a poetic approach and rely on alliteration. I try to make them humorous as that is easier (for me) than telling a tale in such a short space. I hope it makes them worth reading. Also, I cheat a little by giving them titles, and making up words such as ‘twisticulating’.  I have some more ideas fermenting in the back room, so stay tuned (like a well-tempered clavier).

I was playing with some random-sentence generators and they produced a couple of gems that would have made great micro-fictions, if I had only written them myself. Unfortunately, I cannot take credit. The first is “The cowardly mind authorises the oil”. This had me in near hysterics. Maybe it could be improved by replacing ‘cowardly’ with another word. Maybe not. The runner-up was “The destruction modifys the thing”. I wholeheartedly agree.

Worse than Crabs

Sex sells. So does itching-powder. Sometimes sex alleviates the need for powder as the subsequent itching – after relieving the initial itch – is free.  Herpes must be awful. Hey, is there anything worse than crabs? Sure, just wait till you try the pubic-lobster!  Speaking of crabs, I was at the beach once and a young girl chanced to pick up a beautiful conical-shell from the water’s edge. Screaming ensued when the pincers of the hermit-crab inside emerged and snipped the air menacingly. I have never had crabs – I doubt they would make good pets – but our house used to suffer regular slater infestations, which made great pests. Slaters are crustaceans (as are crabs) and they look a bit like trilobites, but they live on land and they couldn’t bite if they tried. I used to play with them. I would construct little mazes from LEGO bricks and encourage them to navigate the labrynth, but the little bastards would just climb straight over the walls.  Unfortunately, my Mom called a moratorium on labrynths when she discovered the minotaur hidden under my bed, reading Playboy magazine. Oh yeh, slaters are more correctly called wood-lice. In North-America they are colloquially referred to as pill-bugs. They have 14 legs and feed on decaying organic detritus, wood being a favourite dish. If you want to find a slater, go look under a log. You’ll likely find a spider too. That’s OK though; most spiders are harmless and even the venomous ones will ignore you unless you dick with them. Case in point: A tourist in New Zealand went to sleep naked, face-down on a sand-dune (so the newspaper says) and a Katipo (our native poisonous spider that lives predominantly in sand-dunes) reportedly bit his joystick. He went to hospital when his poor sausage swelled to twice its normal size (There’s just no pleasing some people). I guess pubic-spiders are worse than crabs.


Image: http://www.public-domain-image.com

My point being?

I don’t mind if you swear. The occasional blast, drat, flip, heck or even damn – when you drop your favourite anvil on your toe for the third time this morning – doesn’t phase me in the least. Just don’t do it in every motherfucking cunt of a sentence. I went to a play last night. The play had the c-word in it. Cunt!  The actress spat the word from her lips as if … as if … Oh, I don’t know, she just spat it. Hissssss! Grrrrr. Apparently, this unspeakably filthy sequence of letters had been scrawled in 3-foot high red scribblings on the boards covering an empty window frame.  It wasn’t clear to me whether or not the word was intended to shock the audience. I had no idea what the fuck the play was about until afterwords (when I read the brochure), and I wasn’t alone in my bewilderment. It wasn’t worth the $40 I spent, but a friend had a small part in it, so my attendance was not optional. I know people who would have a problem with this word being used. It is, after all, considered to be among the strongest of the English language [citation please. get fucked] I know people that don’t mind the profanity in movies such as Good-Will-Hunting (which isn’t particular strong) because it’s an accurate portrayal of how the characters in the story would/do actually speak. So, why do they get offended when real people actually speak that way? Words have power, so they say. Bullshit, so I say. Words have no intrinsic power. Words do not even exist. Words are abstract concepts, just like numbers and mathematics. They are the disembodied embodiment  of ideas. This all made perfect sense in the early hours of the morning. It was a lead-up to a mind-blowing something-or-other regarding grammar and how you are able to read this sentence.  If I could only remember. It’s like when you have a dream within which the meaning of life is laid out before you in full clarity. But you’re too much of a dumb-fuck to wake up and write it down. In the morning there is only a fleeting remnant of something profound rapidly slipping from your grasp. Shit. Well, the All-Blacks annihilated the Wallabies. That’s good enough for me.


Fuck. The screwdriver slipped again gouging another cut across the back of Jason’s hand but the door was open and he dived into the back seat of the Falcon scrambling desperately for the cloth-wrapped package. Fucking mother-of-motherfuckers. It wasn’t there. That cunt Marie had set him up. Larry was going to have his balls on a barbecue, but not before Jason settled a score with Marie. He knew where she would be and he would fuck that whore’s ass to the end of the earth before stuffing her with Peruvian death-peppers and snapping her pretty little everbitching neck.  A cold rain was falling and Jason broke into a run down Herons-Bluff avenue.

So … What’s Next?

2016 !  Heck – I remember being concerned about the Y2K-bug, and the sense of relief when I woke up on 1st-Jan 2000 to find that my home still had electricity (I was into weird sex even back then).

I don’t do new-year’s resolutions. The resolution of this tablet’s display is high enough already, thank you very much. “Retina”, Apple calls it.

Grumpy Axolotl has been pseudo-grumping for 2 years now (I had a previous wordpress blog with a different name and very little on it which is now sleeping with the Automattic-fish). I say pseudo-grumping, as most of my rants are fairly tame really, or at least, tackle non-controversial subjects. I thought I would have a lot to say about political issues, but actually, I don’t. Or maybe I do, but … If I genuinely feel strongly about something, I’ve already read an opinion-piece that beats the pants off anything I could have written, and I have nothing to add. See, I’m actually fairly new to writing and get frustrated easily. I can string together a grammatically correct sentence, but paragraphs and form are a real struggle. Ooh, I’m feeling the grump today. And what if I say something factually incorrect? Wrong. Wrong – On the fucking Internet. Oh, for shame! I’ll lose all my followers and be forced to change my name and move to a land far-far-away that no-one’s ever heard of, such as New Zealand. Hey – Get your filthy hands off my ewe!

XKCD nails it:

duty_calls

I don’t want to be a part of that.

After a somewhat-hiatical 2015, I’ve been investing more effort lately, and poetry seems to be my strong-point (or at least something I can get away with). Fiction is something I still wish to dabble in. I’m not interested in writing novels. That’s not for lack of confidence; I’m simply not interested. Novels are for reading. I do wish to create short-stories though, and I’ve recently rediscovered micro-fiction. I think I can build on that. I really enjoyed my recent one-sentence post: Recipe for Disaster. I was in a cafe with my writing notebook and saw a glass-lidded cake-thingy-container with the words “Cheese-Scones” written on it. Hey presto! – story. That doesn’t happen often enough.

Maybe I should resolve to use fewer commas and exclamation-marks!

Oh, and you can ignore that weird-sex comment at the beginning.  I just threw that in because sex sells!, though I do genuinely enjoy ** BLOGGING ERROR 3.14159: TOO-MUCH-INFORMATION. POST TERMINATED. **

Landscape

landscape “When you gaze out your window — real or figurative — do you see the forest first, or the trees?”

Forest? Trees? Are you completely mad? Do you not think that the pterodactyl is a more pressing concern right now?  Wait, what’s it doing? … it seems to have found… no, wait  … it, I think it’s seen us. Shit!
Want more?

photo: http://www.public-domain-image.com

 

Cider, Eggs, Kidneys … Action!

A free-writing exercise for writing 101.  Unedited – mistakes and all.  Starts now:

 i hate free qriting. grrr muckle bubble pop.  I’ve been playing clash of clans and making sauerkraut and kombucha and washing the disheas and playing the saxophone.

Kopparberg.  It’s a cider. Keep it in the fridge.  Im trying it for the firrst time today.  Stawberry and apple.  Blergh. way too sweet.  Tastes like bubbly syrup.  I’m used to cider having a sour taste.  Now I’ve got another 3 bottles of the crap to get through.  Maybe the other lavours wont be as sweet.  They probably will be though.  4% alcohol .  I don’t drink a lot. ug. its making me sweat.  too hot. Had scrambled eggs for breakfast.  Very, very nice.  Aparently, they used butter instead of cream.  And I read that, in one heartbeat, the kidneys flter 25% of the blod-supply.  Now what the fuck is blood supply?  Is it the amount of blood in the body, or is it the amount of blood delivered to the kidneys during that time, or are they they same thing.  I also bought an Easter egg for a friend.  Easter was yesterday (NZ time) so chocolate eggs are cheaper today.  Nice how that works out.  I setup an easter-egg hunt formy significant cuddler and she was very happy.

Kidneys, cider and chocolate eggs.  Please dont make that at home.

Blogging 101: Dream Reader

Well … Joseph, my man, tell me, what does this crazy, crazy, crazy dream mean?

Oh, not that sort of dream reader?

The concept of “My dream reader” made me balk at first, but then I got to wondering: Who would my dream reader be?  What would they do?

So let’s see.  A dream reader would …

  • Read the post.  Seriously – posts are written to be read.
  • Enjoy the post.  I would hope
  • Like the post. Press the button; stroke my ego.
  • Comment on the post. Ditto
  • Look forward to the next installment.

They would also give me all the time i need to write, by cooking my favourite meal, washing the dishes, folding the laundry, taking out the garbage …

yeh, right! 🙂