"My name is Isaac. This is my first time here. Uhh, some friends ... they told me to come here. They said I needed help. So, I'm here."
"Thank you, Isaac. Why don't you tell us a little more about yourself? What do you do? What is it that has brought you to us?"
"I'm a technical systems co-ordinator in one of the nearby car factories. In english, that equates to ... nothing, really. It's a bit of a futile job. You see, they have these machines that pretty much do everything. Industrial Robots ... defined as automatically controlled ... well, I'm sure you know. And they're ... well, automatically controlled, as I said. That means that there's no real need for humans, only these companies - they have to have a set number of them, some real titles, but there's not enough of them. So they make up some - like mine. I'm supposed to make sure they run fine, but they usually do. And if they don't, I call someone else who is there to call someone who does know what to do to fix them. So, to bring me back to my original point, I'm paid to be useless.
"It's a bit depressing, so I try not to think about it too much. I spend most of my days sitting in a really comfy chair - it spins around. I've got it to go around 9 times without stopping once ... I wish that I'd filmed it - I haven't been able to do it since and no one really believes me when I mention it. So I watch a lot of TV. Daytime talk shows. They ... the boss people - they know what I'm doing. They don't care.
"So I go to Nightclubs and Bars a lot. It helps me ... keep in touch with the world. And I drink. When I feel cultured, I drink Bloody Mary's. Otherwise, just a bottle of Jack Daniels would do. And I dance. Or ... move. It ... never mind about that. My friends say I go to these places too much and consume too much alcohol. I haven't gotten into any trouble with any of it yet, I suppose.
"There was a girl, as there always is, this one night. Pretty, in a short green dress that glittered like a sea of emeralds. She had clearly had too much to drink and must have seen me out of the corner of her eyes. I usually ... dance in a 'quiet' spot, but she moved my way and ... did her thing.
"Now understand that, normally, I would have moved, but she held me in place - as she swayed in that hypnotic green against the backdrop the red strobe lights and an alcohol induced haze, I was transfixed. And as the night went on, I was in love with this woman who loved me enough to give me her soul. At first, it was just a light grip on her left hip as I nudged closer to her. Then it was a tighter grip on her right hip. Then we moved closer ... and kissed.
"And ... I'm sure you can gather what followed in the parking lot in the back of her car, without being too crude. And that was that.
"But I guess it wasn't. I heard from her ... her lawyers, I suppose, a few days later. She accused me of rape. Or ... not just rape, but a fancier term for it - I call it destroying my life. The case, it was thrown out, but ... life's different. They talk about firing me from my Nothing job. Because apparently an accused, but acquitted, rapist is not someone they want on their employee lists.
"My friends spoke of this place as a refuge. To share ideas and pains. To get back in touch with the world. I'm not so sure of how it could work as my landlord wants me out as well. I thought life was pretty good - it's amazing how ... uncertain it all is. All the time."


Picture provided by Moin Uddin - http://moinuddin.blogspot.com

Action without Consequence

So there was this duck. A female duck ... "Duckette" - that's a good name. Duckette had three children. Ducky, Duckbill and Duckbutt. For short, she used to call them One, Bill and Butt. Cause the first duckling would have been just Y ... or Ee. And that wouldn't really make much sense now, would it?

She was a single duck-mom - their dad killed by a hunting rifle - but she raised them with all the love and care that could be afforded by a single duck-mom. She awoke even before the sun had time to brush its teeth to find that early worm. Only the best regurgitated worms and fish would do for her precious trio. And she loved each of them infinitely and equally.

It was with this extreme care and love that the three Ducklings grew up to be proud and cheerful duck- ... men. One, being the eldest, lay down the law for his duck siblings and often led the flock on their long, biannual journeys. He was, undoubtedly, the most headstrong of the three.

Bill, being the middle duckling, was always in a mood of complete satisfaction. With the immediate protection offered by One and the "occasional" slave status of Butt, there was no pleasure in ducklife that he missed out on. Rumors flew around the flock that several ducklings every year were his offspring, though he refused to admit it, usually neck-deep in flirting with the latest duckwoman to join the herd.

Butt, perhaps the most loved in the equally adored trio, was also the most turbulent. Being the "butt" of every one of Bill's jokes over time embittered him. It may seem simple and childish, but ... Butt was still a duckling at heart - always the cutest and youngest duckling around. Childhood was what Butt knew and did best.

To be continued



This may seem like an awfully long tome merely to delineate the ... unique features of each brother, but it shall serve its purpose in time. And, yes, I am full aware that a Male duck is a Drake and a Female duck is a Hen.

66 Zombies on a Highway

- Never have I seen so many unhappy people in one place.
- What about the airport?
- Well, that doesn't really count ... ok, I suppose it does, but not for this context. An airport is a place of great stress, you know? People leaving other people behind, returning perhaps when they're not wanted. Or even anxiety in anticipation of their arrival - it's all a tricky business. Smart are the few that pick up their ... arrivals from a gate at the edge of the airport.
- Right, so go on, about this place then.
- I'm seeing all these beautiful happy people everywhere - printed up on the posters. The rest of the shoppers here are miserable. Apart from that baby in the bloody pushchair, I can't see a single person with a smile on their face.
- Empty wallets make for sad faces?
- Sure they do, but everyone here - I mean, take a look around you - how many of these people are truly ... okay, forget about the whole materialism and if we can really be happy in that regard side of it. Can you see any ... fuck, just any mildly pleasant faces?
- As much as I'd love to contradict you ... no, I can't.
- Exactly! Therein, with little subtlety, lies my point. Maybe it's this country - this shit little island cut off from the rest of the world, swearing allegiance to an old hag who would care little if they all died, as long as she got her money from the taxes. But maybe, just maybe, it's people in this kind of a society and world.
- But there are people ... that do visit malls like this one - and that are happy.
- Perhaps they are - still, they are few in number and shall perhaps eternally remain so.
- Though, when you think about it, people don't come to malls to be happy - that's what parties are for. Where's the endless stream of alcohol, bizarre conversations or, better yet, people looking to be happy? Like at a stand-up comedian's show - the folks there are waiting to laugh - eagerly, like dogs - they're waiting for the punch line to come home and BAM! They're splitting their sides over a knock, knock joke.
- True ... I still don't get it. I don't like it. I don't like ... well, for one, I don't care much for parties. They're an exercise in self-destruction. In de-evolution, driven by sheer desperation, at whatever level, and by an uncompromising fear of lonliness. People that are simply unable to accept that they may very well be alone - without the wallowing in pain and sadness. Just to know and acknowledge that to be alone is not a sin and it is not evil or wrong. It just happens when you choose to ignore the one voice that has screamed your name for so fucking long that perhaps they're just too tired to speak in the face of such blatant Fucking ignorance!
- Uhhh ... Hmm. Okay, so you're ... not talking about malls anymore, are you?
- It's like that Romero film - I mix them up ... Dawn of the Dead, was it? The Zombies going to the mall - the in-your-face commentary on the consumer masses. This is what they are. Picture 66 of them on the Motorway doddling down the bridge and through the toll gate. All to get to this place ... this ... safe haven.
- Until it closes.
- Well, a Zombie wouldn't really care if it was closed or not.
- What about the security guards?
- Well, the Zombie would just eat his ... or, rarely enough, her brains out.
- Rarely enough?
- I'm being determinedly sexist.
- Ah ... that's ok, then.

Of Pipe Cleaning

Children are quite fond of bending pipe cleaners into various shapes and for this reason, one may find pipe cleaners at craft stores. However, these are usually made with nylon bristles or some other non-absorbent material and are frequently longer, thicker, and available in many different colors. Their popularity in arts and crafts, and the comparative rarity of pipe-smoking, occasionally leads people to express genuine surprise (in spite of the name) that they have anything to do with smoking pipes. Nonetheless in some jurisdiction their sale is restricted, along with lighters and cigarette papers, as "tobacco paraphernalia."

This entry is from Wikipedia, the leading user-contributed encyclopedia. It may not have been reviewed by professional editors (see full disclaimer)


Explains why you see these bright pink pipe cleaners on children's shows - unless your friendly Gay Grand-Uncle has taken to smoking a pipe every now and again.

Untitled - Chapter 3

- I don’t think I shall ever be able to … faithfully limn the events that followed.

She screamed with the most painful sob and before I could turn my head to see what had happened, she was gone from sight. Stumbling back to where she was, a giant hole now remained. I shouted after her but, after that instant, momentary sob that shall be branded on my soul forever and a day, no sound from her lips could be heard. The sound of rocks and gravel striking the walls as they fell into the black abyss was all that made its way back up.

Yet I screamed. And shrieked. And cried her name as tears streamed down my face. I tried to turn and lower myself into the darkness – to climb the walls, only to discover that no walls existed below the ground of the cave. And the longer I remained by the edge of the pit, the ground beneath my own feet began to crack and give way, leaving me absolutely lost and confused. However, it seemed that if I was not about to make a decision, the fates would.

Suddenly, a thick, blood-stained spear emerged from above, mere inches from my face, eliciting a fearful shriek, one that I didn’t even know I had in me. Instantly, I became aware of the thumps above me again and, more specifically, that the ones directly above me had stopped. While the world around raged on ever noisily, unsettling the dust within the cave, my little bubble was one filled with apprehension and a disquieting silence.

Before I could even shriek this time, a giant hand reached through the ceiling, grabbed my hair and yanked me out. The muffled sounds turned into a thunderous cacophony that stunned the senses, while I squirmed blindly in the secure grip of the hand. All I had was a vague sense of smell that was filled with the scents of blood and sweat and smoke from a million fires.

- What are ye doing here? Ye do not belong at a place like this!

The voice, presumably belonging to the hand bellowed in my ears, opening the floodgates for the rest of the world to rumble in like a tsunami of sensation. All at once, the sights and sounds became clear as I found myself in the middle of a giant battlefield, surrounded by perceivably millions of dead, living and disgustingly mutilated bodies all locked in mortal combat. A cursory glance to the distance revealed a vast fortress that ran the length of the horizon, smoke and fire rising from its grey, stone towers.

The hand that held me shook me once more till my attention was brought upon the long red beard that extended from a face so full of scars that it was hard to tell where an eye began and a scar ended. His thick red eyebrows were crossed under a furrowed brow – his eyes concentrating on my being, darting occasionally at sounds of a nearby twang of rope or clank of metal.

- SHIELDS UP! BLACK VOLLEY!!

A wild shout roared through the fields. I looked up to see the skies turn to black with countless dots that turned into lines and streaked towards me till everything turned to darkness again.

Marmalade Dreams

I have not eaten Marmalade in over 10 years (that's the number of choice at the moment, though I'm sure it's longer than that). When I first heard of Marmite, I naively believed that it was an odd way to refer to the orangey spread in question. Obviously not, so I learned.

Now, I'm alright with Marmite. It's a spread that pleasing enough when not spread on thick enough to hide the visible grain of a perfect slice of toast (which is another dream and associated quest to be saved for another day), yet its savory tang leaves something to be desired when all you really want is a light caress rather than a fucking pinch (Yeast Extract) or Make-out session (I'm putting Crunchy Peanut Butter or any Chocolate Spread in this category) with your toast for breakfast.

And, yes, I realize that Marmalade doesn't exact have a smooth, tang-less flavor, but it's one that I have idly yearned for ... for a while. Since I first heard of Marmite, probably. And in those 6 years, that idle yearning has grown till now it is possibly on the verge of nearly potentially getting to the point where it could consume me. Almost.

And, yes, I realize that in the various hotels that I have taken temporary residence in over the years since this yearning emerged, marmalade has probably been on offer as a spread at the free or subsidised breakfasts on offer. But that isn't a fair example to cite seeing as there's usually so much laid out that the mind is often sent into a state of dicombobulation and perplexity that all that you can do is go for the beans on toast and the randomly pleasing children's cereal.

Untitled - Chapter 2

Take one step back – no, not to the beginning just yet. Hold on for a tick – this part is interesting. It was frightening as hell at the time. But interesting all the same. First this, then the beginning, then the nemesis and then I can get to the meat of seeing (and recanting in due course) my life flash before my eyes before a painful demise … or almost-demise.

This was a month before psycho bitch with the crystal ball. A month before she warned us of a horrible fate and a painful past. If she really wanted to be helpful she could have told us a real way of averting it rather than staying away from Jen. It’s like telling someone that the only way they can live is to stop breathing. Perhaps I’m being a bit melodramatic, but … though you may not entirely understand how I feel, know that there are those (however few there may be) who do. And they’re nodding right now with a knowing little grin.

I imagine that she is crafting her own story of her life at this moment. Sorta like mine. But … no, anything I say now won’t reflect upon her in the best light. Not just now. It’s best to backtrack to the backtracking – to a month before crystal nightmares. Catchy, ain’t it?

Jen’s family – yes, she actually has one – lives by the ocean. No, not the lame beach kind. I’m talking about real ocean-front property, high atop a cliff that overlooks waves crashing with violent force against an insurmountable and jagged rock-face that can withstand any natural earthly challenge, barring the earthquake … I suppose that would be below the belt … get it?

At this time, a month before the last noted event, Jen and I were visiting her family. And the next thing to know about this section of the rock-face at least, is that it is home to an unbelievable number of caves that seem to go on for miles inland. And based on a recommendation of one of her step-sisters, we thought a bit of spelunking would be a grand notion. So equipped with head-lamps, timberland sandals, cotton clothing and some knee- and elbow-pads, we traversed a thin and precipitous path to once such cave that was referred to with a series of giggles.

We found the dark entrance with little problems – I led, as always … there was something in the air and I didn’t want to miss it. Jen was a bit scared, and normally I would have comforted her, but an unfamiliar urgency gripped me. I felt the coarse and uncompromising hands of fate upon me, guiding me onwards; To fight back would have been futile, I tell myself now. Easy consolation.

I don’t know how long we had been in the cave, but after a while, the ground began to thump. As if millions of feet were walking above us. There was the smell of smoke and blood in the damp and musty air. Jen coughed once. Twice. Repeatedly. Yet, I kept on, there was light ahead and we were closing in on the source.

As we neared, the thumps grew louder, now muffled by the sounds of shouts and screams. Metal clashing against metal, slashing bone and cutting through flesh. Each sound translated to a perfect image that seemed perfectly familiar all at once. I could hear Jen begin to cry. She sniffed. And snuffled. I spoke the only words between us in that tunnel.

- Shut the hell up, Jen. We’re almost there.

Regret’s a funny thing, but not when it flows through you like a million volts of electricity. And not when the woman you love suddenly falls through the floor and disappears from existence.

Untitled - Chapter 1

– I imagine things would be a little different without these walls here.
– We’d keep running until we were locked in by walls again.
– So you think that this … moment was inevitable?
– As much as I’d hate to admit it, yeah. You can only run for so long. And we’ve been doing it for a while.
– So what now?
– We stand and face that which we fear the most.

So this needs some context. In my head, I can recite an epic as the light from the entrance begins to be blotted out. My heart stops beating. My lungs collapse as I gasp for breath in a moment that lasts forever. My greatest fear is about to blot the two of us in what I can only hope will be an instant.

Taking time back, not to the ever so clichéd beginning, no. To another point. A midway point – cause it’s a long journey to the beginning. We need a pit-stop along the way. This is that pause. Stop me if I’m going too fast. If my thoughts and words are running a mile a minute. Cause I’m about to die here. Or, worse yet, be crippled and left alive to experience an existence afterwards.

The two of us in this corner, Jen and I have known each other forever. And I mean forever. This lady, a real psychotic bitch, she told us so. Armed with an old and chipped crystal ball that she held in a thick red shawl. She said she was connected to the supernatural. To the forces around us that held us in check and ensured that what would be, would still and always be so.

She cornered us. No, not like this time, but more of imposing her presence upon us on a busy sidewalk. We huddled together against the wall of an old shop filled with antiquities and fossils that had not yet been granted names. We drowned in the depths of her shadow as she pulled out the crystal ball and told us that we were living in an unforgivable state of nescience and that she would be our saviour. In a mixture of heavily accented English and an assortment of alien tongues, she spoke of wars and sieges, betrayal and treachery … basically a whole lot of shit happenings through history. And me and Jen – we had been together through them all, she said. And then she said we always died together. At the hands of an insurmountable force. Our nemesis.

But so you see, forgetting the nemesis bit, this moment was half meant to be. Jen and I together, as we had been throughout history. Yes, so the woman was crazy. Incensed – driven mad by something in the water. But it made sense. It felt like it was right. We may be young and crazy, but … you know the feeling. Instinct spoke to us as one.

And then she warned us as we struggled to escape from the blackness of her silhouette – if we chose to remain together, then our nemesis would hunt and find us. We could avert that fate if we parted. Even at the end, we could do so and escape intact with our lives and all would be “forgiven” – her words.

We ran from her like we ran into this corner now. Though, a mile from her, we broke out in gasps and giggles before making out on a park bench wet with dew. Her white skirt and perfectly parted hair a total mess by the time that we were done. Perhaps we shocked a few old ladies in the process. Just so you know, that’s one of her turn-ons, offending people while engaging in some passionate act of love. Jen’s words. I’d just do whatever it would take to make her happy.