100,000 Questions

July 29, 2009 at 6:44 pm | Posted in blogging | 23 Comments
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Pop! Fizz and champagne bubble, glug glug out of the bottle, Valentino Rossi style.
100,000 times some poor soul has ended up here, either lost or in search of some strange solace, comfort round the campfire, only to find themselves enmeshed in my wicked scheme, haha.

It does make me happy. I know it doesn’t mean I am a great poet, just that I have stayed in one place long enough. I know it doesn’t mean I am a good person, just that I am a clever pusher of buttons. I know what I am doing, believe it or not.

And so, for all 100,000 individual page views, each one of which was a genuine question and fascination to me, I say to you strangely wondrous and wonderful humans (and the occasional bot) I am having so much fun! Thankyou!

100,000 fallings down into bottomless wordwhole whirlpools pursued by irate platypi,
100,000 chasings round midsummer maypoles giggling redcheeked peasant girls
100,000 scratchings of bonces pondering hmm, whyfore that one this way comes
100,000 why hello, have you heard of redemption through hugging?

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gaily traipsing

July 26, 2008 at 7:55 pm | Posted in writing | 19 Comments
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round the tower of babbling brook
lest we mention maypoles and

“Sir!”

Huh, oh no, looking up wearily from the banquet before him, don’t tell me it’s the Mo…

“No, Sir, there are Christians on the starboard bow. Their ship is sinking and they are begging permission to board whilst waving bloody crosses and howling about last minute redemption from the apocalypse.”

Involving still more suffering for someone no doubt. What is the point of such redemption? He bends over to pull on his pants. I told him, I said Jesus, mate, listen, don’t do it for me. I know your dad’s an old testament psychopath of the worst kind. I still can’t get over what he did to Abraham, the bastard, but don’t go getting yourself nailed up on my behalf. There’s gotta be a better way. Have you looked into redemption through hugging? Or what about redemption through the power of your ridiculous moustachios. But no, he was a stubborn bastard,

“Yes sir, but what do you want us to do?”

Let’s see, get all the ladies topdeck, serve champagne, play some dancing music, oh and make it clothing optional, that’ll drive ’em away. Haha, wake up my darling, I have planned a party, he said, bending down and whipping the sheet away,

Ari remains undisciplined.

July 9, 2008 at 5:31 pm | Posted in writing | 14 Comments
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Sunonhead stands on one leg, one hand shielding his eyes from the morning sun and the other holding his spear. He is pretending to be in a old seafarer’s quick line drawing of an aborigine looking out over the desert. But it is wrong, sometimes he thinks for one man to pretend to be another. We are all manifestations of the one soul, the old man had said and he relaxed and looked back over his shoulder. She is asleep, curled up as though hugging the radiant warmth from the core of the planet.

He had to admit he was lost and he hoped that when she awoke she will have dreamt them somewhere new. Ari was off again, chasing horses the silly bugger. Sunonhead had resigned himself to the inexplicable madness of his son and the permanent impresence of his errant father. He was lucky though he thinks as he attempts to light the fire with damp flints again that he occasionally overheard her conversations with the old man and had managed to translate some of them into a language of simple symbols easiest remembered when rhymed. I am such a monobrained and hairy old Caliban he thinks.

Ari has heard the jingle of hips and is off, fleeing into mad pursuit of some wild maned creature who uses stars for camouflage and who has a secret spell, when she smiles it means other people are happy,

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