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Visits

September 25, 2010 in V

By Jason Geary


The solid cell door sounded surprisingly hollow as the guard opened the small viewing portal. A shard of hallway light split the cell in two, causing Duncan Hills to squint until his eyes adjusted. A silhouetted head appeared in the portal, Duncan could tell it wasn’t a guard because it wasn’t wearing at hat.

“A word please Mr. Hills.” Shit. It was the Warden.  Duncan sat still as ever. The Warden took his silence as consent and continued, “Mr. Hills, I’ve come to inform you the your wife and child are here. Again. They request you see them.”

“Like I told you before. No.”

The Warden leaned closer to the portal, his voice softened a little. “Duncan, it’s your sons 5th birthday.”

“I know that. I told her not to come.”

“Duncan, your kid wants to meet you.”

“Not like this.”

“Duncan…”

“Not like this. Tell her I’ll write and to stop coming back here. It can’t be good for the boy.”

“She leaves here crying you know. Every time.”

“Tell her not to come. For the boy.”

“Duncan, please.”

“I’m done talking.”

“I can see where your coming from, but the kids needs a…”

“I said I’m dome talking.”

The Warden sighed and slid the portal shut.  In the dim cell it took some time for Duncan’s eyes to adjust. He picked up his pen and continued his letter to the boy. Three more years and he could meet his son as a free man. Not long now.

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Churrigueresque

September 24, 2010 in C

By Vicki Kyriakakis


I whirled against the tides of decency when I swallowed that pill. It was too full of it’s own fancies, holding a touch of nutmeg and the spice of something else unspeakable. They looked at me afterwards – of a piece – and judged me too full of juice and the anvil of incoherent imagination. They declared it all fickle and drenched in an unwielding compulsion. They shrugged it off and made to scoff and were made of scoffing. So by the time they forgave and sat to behold it, they could not help but squirm. Their nature never let them settle, made them forever uncomfortable. For me though the world sang through a spectacular prism from the first swallow. For me, it’s petals were warm as the earth’s milky breast. It pulled me home, back to the womb, where ebbs and waves of colour sent me flapping into soft baroque folds.

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Parallel

September 23, 2010 in P

By Dave Bloustein


“No, no. Getting caught is not the issue” countered Edgar, leaning forward in his seat and tapping his pipe on the ashtray. “The perfect crime is one where nobody is hurt, and there is no victim, where no one is any the wiser, for the crime in question never happened”.

I threw up my hands, exasperated. “Well, then it’s hardly a crime, dear boy. Talk sense.”

Edgar nodded. “You see that door at the back of the room? Imagine it leads to another smoking room identical to this one. And attached to that smoking room is another corridor, and another house, owned by another Edgar Graves.”

He folded his hands into a little tee-pee, resting his forehead on the tips, and exhaled softly. “Only that other Edgar Graves isn’t employed or married, or running for political office. He’s a rake, a free spirit, unencumbered by responsibility or expectation”.

Edgar stood, stretched, and gingerly picked up his hat and scarf. Tossing the latter over his shoulders, my oldest friend seemed suddenly so much older.

“A delightful folly”, I replied, “but if that were true, where is the crime?”

With a resigned air, Edgar wound his way through the clutter, towards the doorway at the back of the room. Pausing halfway through the portal, he turned and threw me the saddest smile I have ever seen. “As I said, Bobby: there isn’t one. There isn’t one”.

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Nap

September 22, 2010 in N

By Jason Geary

Tommy opened the trunk of the car.  It was a mammoth space, big enough for two bodies. Today it would only hold one. Tommy watched Frank turn into the dusty forest cal de sac and pull up next to his car. Frank got out, leaving Jimmy Cuts blubbering loudly in the backseat.

“This fuckin’ guy.” Frank said lighting a cigarette.

“You get him clean?” asked Tommy.

“Nah. He shot Lucky in the foot.”

“Jesus. Really? In the foot?”

“Yeah, Lucky saw Jimmy Cuts reaching for his piece and ran straight at him.” Frank reached his hand to his knee, “Jimmy didn’t get it much higher than here before he shot. Fuckin’ bone everywhere.”

“Bone?”

“Yeah! Ain’t nothing else in your foot. Just bones. Thousands of them.”

“I think there’s only like 20 or something bones in your foot.”

“The fuck do I know?”

“I’m just sayin’.”

Frank leveled a cold stare at Tommy. Tommy stopped his joking. Frank didn’t take well to people making fun of his intelligence. He’d killed people for less. The fact was he was muscle, so as long as he had the smarts to listen he was useful, the moment he thought he could think for himself Tommy had orders to take care of him.

“Get Jimmy Cuts out.” Tommy said pointing at the backseat of Franks car. Frank walked over and opened the door. The babbling was incessant, Jimmy Cuts knew what was coming.

“P-P-P-Pluh-eeese Tommy I didn’t mean nothing by it, I got a new kid Tommy, a new kid. Give me a chance, I won’t say nothing else.”

“Shut the fuck up Jimmy, you had your chance. You blew it.”

“But my family…”

“The feds will see that your wife and kids is looked after. Now get in the trunk.”

Jimmy started to cry. “No Tommy, please we go way back huh? Don’t do this.”

“Get in the fucking trunk Jimmy or I’ll get Frank to put you there.”

“Frankie, Tommy. Let me go huh? I’ll leave town you’ll never see me again. The boss I’ll never know. Let’s make a deal.”

“Like you did with the feds you fucking mook.” Tommy spat out the words, pulled his pistol and gut shot Jimmy. Jimmy folded fell to the ground screaming.

“Fuck me, Tommy” Frank said in shock, eloquent as ever.

“Put him in the car.” Tommy ordered.

“You want me to kill him all the way first?”

“Nah. He don’t deserve it.”

Frank picked up the screaming Jimmy Cuts and dumped him into the trunk.

Tommy looked in. “Time for a nap Jimmy. I’m sorry.” He slammed the trunk and the car rocked violently. Frank lit a Molotov cocktail and threw it hard into the backseat. In seconds the car was ablaze.

They walked to Frank’s car, got in and drove to the end of the cal de sac. As they turned right onto the highway a booming explosion rocked forest.

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Eyesore

September 15, 2010 in E

By Jason Geary


His mother went on and on about it, “Your father would be turning in his grave. It was the worst decision he ever made selling off that back paddock. The worst decision he ever made.”

“Yes Mum.” Said Dean. He didn’t have the strength or the resolve to argue with her. He took his cup of tea out to the back porch and looked to the south, towards the paddock his mother was speaking of.  The local council had bought it six years ago and turned it into a wind farm. 5 giant lumbering windmills stood proud against the horizon. Each windmill had three blades, rotating gently. Though it looked effortless the forces at play were staggering to Dean. He closed his eyes; he could hear the windmills turning. Not the groan of metal supporting metal, the mechanism itself was silent; he could hear the dull thump of the blades chopping folds into the air. It sounded like a heartbeat. Steady and reliable, like his father.

His Mother joined him sipping her tea. Her dissatisfaction apparent, her sneer had only deepened in the years since the wind farm had been built. Now it was her mask.

“You know Mum. I kinda like them. They make me feel like dad’s still here.”

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous Dean. Your father’s gone and no bloody windmill is going to make up for that. Bloody eyesore is what they are. I’ve not had a moment of peace in six years.” There was a surprising bitterness in her voice. Dean looked at the windmills then too his mother who was doing her best to ignore them.  He walked to her and put his arm around her, she sank her head into his shoulder.

Dean sipped his tea and as his drifting thoughts ran aground, his stomach sank.  He came to the sudden realisation that the windmills were also a constant reminder for his mother. He gave her a squeeze. She sighed. Now he understood why she hated them so much. He cursed himself for not seeing it sooner.

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Balcony

September 14, 2010 in B

By Jason Geary


I’m on my 12th floor balcony, Darling Harbor looking west. I’m watching the sun set behind the Blue Mountains. Music plays from inside, making its way out the door then getting carried off on the wind, it sounds like a memory I can’t grasp.  I lean against the banister and look the five floors down to the rooftop garden of the next building. It is a lovingly crafted mirage in the heart of the urban jungle. Stone gardens, water features, a boardwalk weaving through Australian native plants. A garden so perfect it seems like higher powers have ripped up the pristine earth and placed it here, in a divine game of hide and seek. I hear a dump truck in the alley 12 floors below, it strains it hydraulic muscles, as it drops a heavy bin. From here it looks like a beetle, its orange work like rotates like an alien eye.  Collecting data and ignoring all else. People wander around below from point to point. I wonder what it is they are looking for.

Then I look up. I have this stolen Garden of Eden at my feet and the radiant red sunset above the mountains and I realise, this is what they are looking for though few will ever have the station to see it. The music continues to float away, it picks me up and takes me with it.

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Recollection

September 8, 2010 in R

By David Stewart


“Ha! Yeah man I can totally clear that up for you. It was Joni’s house. Put all argument to bed I was there and I remember like it was yesterday. Stills and Crosby had been singing together for a while but they knew there was something missing. They needed a guy who could do the high harmonies. Everyone knew Nash was the guy but he was still committed to The Hollies. But they got together at Joni Mitchell’s place. They sang together for the first time in her living room and it was just beautiful. Joni was there and so was Mama Cass and Grace Slick came by later on. They sang You Don’t Have to Cry and Paul Kanter played guitar on Wooden Ships. And then they did a really early run of Judy Blue Eyes and Where the Streets Have No Name, which was later a big hit for U2. They just floored us man. Garcia was like, totally blown away and he knew the Stones were recording Exile just down the road so he comes back with Mick and Keith and they just flipped. It was an awesome scene. Nash was in a neck brace at the time and Stills was in a wheelchair and I think Crosby had a metal leg and maybe an arm. The Beatles came by and John brought Mark David Chapman, the guy who murdered him, and we were like “Woah man, that cat completely killed you man!” and he said: “no it’s cool he’s totally sorry,” so we were groovy with it. He was nude too, shit we all were except Clapton who wore a kilt. But we didn’t care because of the music man, the music was just out of sight. They did those three-part harmonies and then six-part harmonies and eventually it went to like sixteen parts. Just the three of them. With Stills playing two guitars, bass, drums and some stringed thing he picked up in India. I remember Joni had a pope. In a box. Not the current pope but one of the older ones, like a medieval pope. He was just blown away. She let him out of the box and all he could say was “Fuck” but he said it real slow like “Fuuuuuuuck”. He was one impressed pontiff let me tell you. So yeah. Joni’s house. Happy to have cleared that up.”

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Personals

September 7, 2010 in P

By David Myers


“Hi… is this thing on?  Ok. Good work guys. So umm… Hi. My name is Timothy, but you can call me Tim.  I’m… um 22 years old and I am the King of the Zombies.  I sort of inherited the title from my Father, after he died.  Say ‘Hi’ to the camera Dad.”

“Uhhh”

“Sorry that’s the best he can do these days.

It is a fairly recent change in my life, becoming royalty.  A lot of responsibility ruling the walking dead and to be honest , I sometimes don’t know what to do with them all. But, on the bright side there is always someone around to make a cup of tea or do the dishes.

So, I’m looking for someone special. I am most interested in someone who is 20 to 25 years old, is fun, down to earth and a little bit cheeky. Someone who has a nice laugh, likes animals, going to the movies and dancing.  Oh and probably it would help if you know a little self defence or are handy with an axe. You know, just in case.

What else?  Oh yes and alive, very important that one.  Please don’t write to me if you’re dead, because you know, that would be weird and awkward, and no one wants that.

So, yes if you ever want to be treated like a princess, or wanted to marry into Royalty. Give me a call.  Put the brain down Dad.  *Sigh*”

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Pose

September 6, 2010 in P

By David Stewart


Okay class the first pose we’re going to adopt is called The Supplicant Goat, it’s a pose that not many of you might have heard of because it’s one of the New Wave Yoga poses that take into account ancient Indian techniques but also includes modern western thinking. If you could all lie on your mats and face the front of the room. Everyone facing this way, face the front of the room. Actually who’s bag is this? Sorry do you mind moving that to the back of the room with the others. We can wait. Okay now I need you all to face the front of the room and kneel down. Now slowly bring your head to the floor in front of you. Slowly and easily. Now touch your forehead to the mat and hold that pose. Keep your eyes closed and feel the stretch in your… back and thighs. And also feel the negative energy flowing out of your forehead into the floor. But keep your eyes closed at all times. Because this is such a new pose we’re going to hold it for a while and as we’re doing that some of you might enter a state called… Barry. And when you enter Barry it’s not uncommon for you to imagine hearing things in your mind. For example it might sound like my voice is now coming from the back of the room when in fact I’m still over there – I mean here, I’m still over here in front of you. It just sounds like I’m over here behind you. And if you hear a sound like someone going through your bags then that’s just a heightened state of Barry. The sound of zips undoing is an indication that you’re really releasing negative energy from your forehead it’s just zipping away into the – ooh rolex, cool – sorry zipping away into the floor. And if you’ve achieved Barry you have to make sure you keep your eyes closed especially tightly and press that forehead to the floor so you don’t get distracted by anything that sounds like someone emptying a wallet. Okay now we’re going to be quiet for about ten minutes. Keep staying in the Supplicant Deer position even if you hear what sounds like someone leaving the building. Just keep experiencing Barry…

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Dirty

September 3, 2010 in D

By David Myers


I all but kick the bath room door open.  With frantic speed I am inside and just as quickly I close the door behind me.  Safe at last.  It is done and no one need ever know.  I close my eyes and lean my head on the closed door.  I want nothing more than to have a smoke and crawl into bed. Every muscle aches and if I ever see a shovel again it will be too soon.

One weary foot follows the other until I collapse onto the toilet.  I do not take off my pants but rather just sit there listening to the dripping of the tap into the sink, slow and rhythmic above the sound of my own breathing. I can see the top of my face in the mirror above that sink.  It is dirty. My forehead and hair heavily crusted with mud and something else that I dare not think about for too long. My own blue eyes stare back at me, a stark contrast from a face that even I do not recognise.

I couldn’t tell you how long I sit there for.  Maybe it was only a moment maybe it was an hour. All that time just staring into the man in the mirror. Wondering how I would ever be able to wash away all that dirt and filth. It felt like I had been dirty for so long.

Eventually I rise and my filthy clothes fall from my body one by one. I don’t hurry as I step into the shower and shiver as the cold water hits my body.  The phone starts to ring, but I don’t rush.  The flecks of mud, dirt and reddened water wash from my body, disappearing down the drain and taking my terrible sin with them.  Eventually there is just water. The insistent chirp, relentless in its need for attention continues as I turn the tap off. Naked and wet I step into the hall.

“Hello.” I say.  “Sarah? No she is not home at the moment.  No sorry I don’t know where she is. Yes, I’ll tell her you called.” I hang up.  I can see my reflection in the mirror.  I’m finally clean.

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Nickname

September 2, 2010 in N

By David Stewart


Gday, My name’s Ray. Actually it’s not really it’s a nickname. The guys call me Ray because  my real name’s Peter. Don’t worry everyone misses the connection it’s not really all that direct. People started calling me Pete and then Repeat and then for a while they called me Repeat Offender but that got shortened to Fender which stuck for a while but became Fender Stratocaster then just Strat then Stratty. It got complicated then because some people started calling me Fatty Stratty because I’ve got a bit of a spare tyre but others called me Batty Stratty because once at a party I took some acid by mistake and spent a night in the bath convinced I was a penguin. I had two names for a bit as the first group changed to calling me Chew the Fat and then just Chew and then Chewbacca but the second group started calling me Batman and then The Dark Night. The Chewbacca group went though a bunch of Star wars names really quickly so for a while I was Chewbacca, then Han Solo, then Yoda which lasted a whole week and Princes Leia which only lasted one staff meeting. Meanwhile the Dark Night guys got stuck on Dark for a while but they changed that to Darth just as the Star Wars guys got to Darth Vader so both started calling me Vader at the same time. Vader became Vades which became Shades which became Sunnies which became Ray Bans which became Ray. Actually all this happened in the space of a week so it’s possible that it’s changed again by now. I keep responding whenever anyone calls out pretty much anything. Well it’s nice to have met you but if you’ll excuse me I have to go and ask someone what I’m called now.

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Drive

September 1, 2010 in D

By Jason Geary


She tunes the radio to a classical station. I think about wrestling with the dial but kill the thought before I give it wings. Really… What do I care? It’s a long drive, it doesn’t bother me if it’s the Rolling Stones or Rachmaninov keeping me awake, though my guess is the Stones would do a better job of it.

She looks out her side window resting her head in her open hands, as field after field glides past,  I wonder what it is she’s looking at.  Her feet are up on the dash and her knees support her elbows. The sun is setting behind her, highlighting her silhouette with soft golden light.

In this light she could be anyone, any siren from history. Any true beauty that has ever been muse to an artistic soul, from cave painting to the silver screen. She is that timeless woman. She draws a long sigh and I see a smile appear at the side of her mouth, her aimless thinking has hit something satisfying. She exhales as I turn my eyes back toward the road. I hold my hands on the wheel at 12 and 3. I look at my wedding ring as it catches the last rays of sunlight and I can’t believe she put it there. I lift my foot off the accelerator slightly; I do all I can to make this last just a little bit longer.

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