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Improvisation

December 24, 2010 in I

By David Stewart


No this is no good at all. This isn’t going to put us on the map. This country is full of cathedrals and museums and wonders all of which bring the tourists flocking. Rome has all that stuff from those old guys… can’t remember their name – Romans, that’s them. They’ve got Roman stuff. Florence has art work. The Venetians have even flooded their streets to bring tourists in. And what do we have? A tower. And not even a tall tower or an impressive one, just a bell tower next to a big church. Nobody is going to see this. Nobody is going to go out of their way to see a dull, white marble tower when they could go to Rome and watch a big building that lions used to eat Christians in. Are you sure the priests won’t let us carve pornography into it? People love it when artistic things are smutty – it makes them feel less inferior. Well then there aren’t really any options left are there? I mean religious frescos are all very well but everyone’s got one and when you’ve seen one image of Mary looking wistful you’ve pretty much seen them all. Hang on… is it my imagination or… if you stand here and look that way… does it look a bit off-centre to you? Not a lot, just a degree or two. Here’s a thought… get an engineer down there and bugger up the foundations a bit. Not too much, don’t knock it over. Just give it a bit of a list. Make that bastard lean. You watch, we’ll get tourists coming to Pisa by the end of the century, I guarantee it.

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Resource

December 22, 2010 in R

By David Stewart


Dear Sir,

I’m sorry to have to advise you that after extensive research into the circumstances of your son’s expulsion from St Swithberts Boarding School we do not feel you have legal recourse to take the matter to court. While I agreed after our first conversation that the three reasons presented for the disciplinary action (“Urinating in the shower, Minor Vandalism and Poor Marks”) didn’t constitute grounds for expulsion I have since had cause to alter my opinion thanks to further discussion with the school’s Headmaster.

The charge of “Urinating in the Shower” was not an isolated incident and occurred repeatedly. I assumed, as I’m sure did you, that your son was using the shower at the time of the offence but have since discovered that he was merely passing the facility and harboured a dislike of the student who was currently conducting his ablutions.

The counts of “Minor Vandalism” did not involve minor acts of vandalism on school property but quite extensive acts of vandalism perpetrated on minors. Seven members of the junior school, aged between 5 and 9 years, had the word “scum” permanently tattooed on their foreheads by your son who was sitting on their chest at the time.

Finally the “Poor Marks” were not a reference to his exam results but related to a large letter “P” which your son attempted to “brand” anyone he felt wasn’t wealthy enough to share the same room. As a result of this policy numerous students and several members of the teaching staff received second degree burns and permanent disfigurement despite repeated attempts to confiscate the branding iron.

In conclusion St Swithberts have acknowledged your donations to the school over the years but are insistent that the offences constitute a definite breach of their clearly stated student behavior policy and they are unwilling to discuss the issue further. In my professional opinion if the matter were to go to court the school would not only win but be awarded damages. Your family name would undoubtedly suffer undue adverse publicity. I would maintain the advisable course of action would be to purchase the school and replace the teaching and administration staff. A process that I believe would only be slightly more expensive than hiring  my firm to represent you in court.

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Analogy

December 21, 2010 in A

By David Stewart


They’re building a wheel in my town. A big wheel. Like a Ferris wheel but huge. Several stories high. The day they started building it I first struck up a conversation with Linda. I was laying the groundwork, establishing the foundation. As the weeks rolled by the wheel stared to take shape and our conversations became more relaxed. We shared stories about our weekends. I lent her DVD’s. She started telling me what colour tie she thought would suit my eyes. The day they opened the wheel I asked her on a date. We saw a movie, it wasn’t as good as I’d hoped it would be and the cinema was half empty but it was our first date.

I’d dreamt about making love to Linda for two years and finally we did on the wheel itself. In one of the pods. It was amazing. The fact that someone photographed us and we appeared in the paper didn’t worry us at all. You couldn’t see our faces and nobody knew who we were. I was thrilled – who else has a memento of their first time?

Not long after that we had a few days where our relationship became really hot. We were so passionate I thought we were going to catch fire. But then the cracks started to show. Things began to fall apart and eventually she closed our relationship down. The day they started dismantling the wheel I opened her letter and my heart broke.

For a while I was inconsolable. I would go for long walks that somehow always ended up at the construction site. It seemed they were always taking away a new piece just as I arrived. I cried a lot in those months. I’d like to say that life had it’s ups and downs but my memory of that time is just one big down.

They’re building the wheel again. The pods are back at the site and they’ve started putting the frames up. There are workmen everywhere. I shout at them to hurry up from the other side of the chain link fence. I yell at them if I see them slacking off. I’ve offered to work for free to speed the process up but they’ve refused my help. Linda made a comment about my tie last week. On Friday I lent her a DVD.

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Interruption

December 20, 2010 in I

By David Stewart


“Commander we’ve received reports of increased Z’targ activity in quadrant 19. Our sensors are picking up anomalies in the ethereal flux and all communication has been lost with outpost delta-B. We need someone to lead a Sigma team into the sector. I need hardly remind you that the vital peace treaty meeting between the Zurvian and Palaatu delegations are occurring nearby on the fourth moon of Zmbotang which – sorry. Sorry can I just take a minute? I just need a second. I think it was the moon of Zmbotang that pushed me over the edge. I mean I know a job is a job and it pays the rent but god knows this wasn’t how I pictured my life when I got accepted into drama school. I had dreams of doing Shakespeare, serious theatre. I imagined the lowest I’d stoop would be doing bit-parts in televised drama. And now I find myself reading about increased Z’targ activity in quadrant 19 and it’s all just overwhelmingly depressing. Are you sure your computer game needs all this narrative recorded? I played a bit of pacman in the university lounge and I don’t remember there being much in the way of a story arc in that. Is it really necessary for me to demean myself so that… no okay fine. No it’s not a problem I’ll do it. I just need to take a few seconds to myself so the sound of the last vestiges of my self-esteem shriveling up and dying doesn’t put me off and make me lose character. I wouldn’t want the people playing this game to have their enjoyment spoiled by the sound of Captain Acerus having a crisis of identity in the middle of a mission briefing. Just give us a second… my ego is nearly crushed completely… just a few more dreams and ambitions to kill off…. there. Now I’m ready to go again. Shall we take it from the top? Lovely.”

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Company

December 20, 2010 in C

By Jason Geary


It was midnight when she climbed into my bed.

“Dad’s leaving.”

“I know.”

“You do?”

“It’s hard not to hear. Paper Walls.”

“Paper walls.” I paused, “How long ago did I first say that to you?”

“Can’t remember. You say it to me every time Dad yells at you.”

“I’m sorry Beth.”

“Don’t be. As much as he tells you it’s your fault, it’s not”

“That’s not why I’m apologising to you.”

“I know.”

“Night baby girl.”

“Night Mum.”

Click.

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Explanation

December 18, 2010 in E

By David Stewart


As requested I present my explanation of the events of last week for which I am prepared to take full responsibility. Firstly I would say in my defence that it was a really well-made horse, a fantastic piece of Greek craftsmanship. Had you seen the horse in question you would agree it was the work of great artisans that any city would be proud to display as a trophy of a vanquished foe. The carvings really were very intricate.  Yes on reflection I’m prepared to admit that leaving a battle with only a large simulated animal behind you is an odd way for an army to behave but I’ve never pretended to understand Greek ways. I also blame my unfamiliarity with Hellenistic culture for my failure to hear the giggling noises others claimed were clearly audible from within the horse. I assumed Greek carvings made noises, on reflection I’m not sure why I thought this but as I’ve mentioned they were really very intricate.

I can assure you that nobody was more surprised when a lot of heavily armed and vengeful but amused Greeks emerged from inside the horse. I consider this to be most unsporting even in war time and I can assure you that in addition to this letter I’ve drafted a strongly worded letter to several of the Greek pantheon complaining in the strongest possible terms about the actions of their worshipers.

It’s my recommendation that if we ever rebuild Troy and manage to scrape together enough survivors to repopulate it we make sure that all sentries carefully examine any wooden gifts left by retreating armies. And they shouldn’t confine themselves to a simple examination of the exterior no matter how intricate the carvings. A concerted effort should be made to interrogate the animal in question. “Hey there! Are any combatants of any kind contained within!” would be a cry I recommend all guards learn and utilise whenever the situation arises. I’d also like to point out that perhaps not running off with Greek queens in the first place might save us further conflicts in the future.

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Private

December 17, 2010 in P

By Jason Geary


“You could have had me if you played your cards right.”

“If I had a penny for every coulda I’ve passed up I wouldn’t have to take jobs like this from people like you Mrs. Whiley.”

“Ms. Whiley from now on.”

“You’re keeping his name? That’s downright cold.”

“The name is his trademark. The name is…”

“What you had him killed for?”

She lit a cigarette, slow and calm. “You know?”

“I’m not the stooge you take me for Mrs. Whiley.”

She looked at me with a cold gaze. Then cocked an eyebrow. “I’ve come to realize that Joe. Why didn’t you turn me in? For the murder? For framing you?”

“You’re no good to me inside. I’ve got plans see. And you’re gonna finance them.”

“Am I now?” She laughed to herself. “You’re punching above your weight Joe, best you pick your fights more carefully.”

I walked to the door, pulled the envelope out from my inside jacket pocket and threw it onto the table by the entrance. I opened the door. “I got copies of these lined up to be mailed if I don’t check in regularly. Take your goons off my tail. I’ll arrange a drop off point for the money each week, two thousand, cash. No cash, I blow the whistle. Nice doing business with you.” A sudden look of concern swept across her face. It wasn’t the mention of the money that did it. I was the yellow envelope I’d just put down. I tipped my hat, “Evening.”

I closed the door behind me and walked out into the humid Los Angeles night. I heard her race to the envelope and open it. I lit a cigarette, I threw the match to the pavement, and stood on it, she cried out. She’d seen the pictures.

Punching above my weight huh? We’ll see.

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Revelation

December 16, 2010 in R

By David Stewart


“And the last item on the agenda is from the guys at the security desk who wanted me to read this out at this meeting: “Staff are advised that the car park is monitored at all times by security cameras which record activity in the car park -    …which record activity in the car park at all times. The cameras are designed to alert security to any suspicious persons or activity in the car park area and they are not – are not is in bold – of a high enough quality to identify faces and being black and white are ineffective at identifying people by their clothing. They want me to go on and point out that the identity of the couple who occupied themselves for twenty minutes in the car park after last week’s farewell drinks could not be determined and so assure them that they retain their anonymity… although I think Bob and Carol’s dual outburst of “Oh My God” when I mentioned the presence of the cameras has probably let the cat out of the bag somewhat. Anyway the point of the message is to be careful because you can be seen on camera even if you can’t be identified.”

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Insistent

December 15, 2010 in I

By David Stewart


I’m telling you Mayor you have to close the beaches. Shut them down. If you don’t there’s going to be more deaths just like the Clarkson girl. If we don’t close the beaches, tell everyone what’s going on and organize a full hunt we’re going to have a bloodbath on our hands.

I can’t close the beaches it’s tourist season for God’s sake.

If you don’t take action now this is the last tourist season we’ll ever have. This town won’t be a summer destination we’ll be a ghost town with a beach nobody will ever swim in again.

Let me get this straight. You want me to close the beaches-

Yes.

-in the middle of our busiest time of the year-

Yes.

-the few months that keep this town afloat during the other three seasons-

Yes!

-because you had a dream?

A really vivid dream. It wasn’t one of those ones you forget the details of when you wake up, I can still see the teeth now biting into the flesh.

Why am I even having this discussion?

It was all four of them and they were eating tourists and killing them, there was blood everywhere and bone and body parts and for some reason juggling balls, but that’s just dream logic for you.

Let me ask you this, and I honestly can’t believe I’m even forming these words in my mouth, express as a percentage the chance that all four of the Golden Girls lose control in a carnivorous feeding frenzy on our beaches. And before you answer take into consideration the fact that the cast is 75% deceased and I’m fairly sure the surviving one isn’t in possession of her real teeth.

Yes but are you willing to take the chance? Even if it’s unlikely the thought of cleaning up all those dead bodies and juggling balls is… I mean the Clarkson girl-

-is alive and well and currently busking outside my office with a piano accordion.  Now if you’ll excuse me.

I feel really strong about this. More strongly than anything I’ve ever felt in my life. If you’re not prepared to at least put this to a council meeting I’m afraid I’m resigning my job.

Well then we’ll just have to find ourselves another assistant librarian.

Well don’t say I didn’t warn you.

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Illustrate

December 14, 2010 in I

By Jason Geary


The day started like any other, except for the cock and balls she’d drawn on the pavement outside my front door.  I knew it was her, it had to be. Who else would do it?  It was so poorly drawn that it looked like an ancient hieroglyphic. I should have been surprised that she’d stoop to such measures. I wasn’t. Her refusal to deal with things in an adult manner was the impetus for the conversation we had last night. Predictably, she stormed out.  I finished her red wine and went to bed. Such is her dedication to being childish, she went home got some chalk, came back and drew this enormous post script to the evenings events.

The illustration was bold. It contained no words, no signature, although the message was clear.

It made me smile, she made me smile. Damn, this one childish act has set her firmly back into my mind, countering all of the work I’d done last night removing the thought of her.

Though I really don’t want to I know I’ll end up calling her today.

Damn.

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Look

December 13, 2010 in L

By David Stewart


I remember the first time I got the look. It was in year seven. I was trying to fit into a new school and not doing a very good job. I read a lot, mostly fiction, but other stuff as well. I especially liked joke books. My parents had given me a set of books for Christmas. Three volumes of hilarious graffiti. Each page packed with amusing sayings and bon mots presented as humourous scrawls on the sides of buildings and public wall spaces. Witty pieces of wisdom like “I used to be decisive but now I’m not so sure” and “If ignorance is bliss there should be a lot more happy people”. I used to follow my parents around reading them these witticisms out loud. Looking back it was their own fault for buying me the books in the first place.

There were people in my new school who called themselves Graffas. They used to practice their tags on pieces of paper and occasionally on the backs of chairs. They talked about how much they loved Graffing. Graffing was their life. I was delighted to finally find common ground. I didn’t understand their music, couldn’t skateboard and wasn’t allowed to watch the films they talked about but graffiti, that was something we clearly had in common. I approached the Graffers which was the first time I had willingly entered any space they occupied. They were graffing on paper. I said in a loud and clear voice (I had excellent diction as a child). “ have a piece of graffiti for you. It goes like this: I hate graffiti, actually I hate all Italian food.”

That’s when I first got “The Look”. In place of the laughter and hilarity and appreciation and acceptance that I had been expecting their faces had an expression that at the time I didn’t understand. In the years that followed I came to know it well having experienced it often. The Look said: you are confusing, you are strange, you are not one of us, you are shit. Never speak to us again.

While I didn’t comprehend it at the time I understood the basic thrust of The Look enough to realise that my other witty graffiti would not go down well, nor would my interesting fact that the singular of graffiti was graffito. I backed slowly away and retreated to the safety of a book.

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