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White Lobsters in Jordan
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Dreams
- Hits: 1268
...and it was on the news that there were shipwrecks washing up on the coast of Jordan and there were all sorts of treasures there, gold, bullion, only the King of Jordan had said no scavenging and I thought to myself that the coast is big and the beaches are long and my chances of being found out are small and it's not so far away and so I took my metal detector and went...
...on the beach, only I seem to have forgotten my metal detector, I have my cameras though, my phone, my HD little video camera, my tablet, and as the sun is setting all along the wharfs and piers are these white lobsters, they've come out of the water, are walking along, and as I get close to take a picture they slip away into the water...I'm holding my tablet, approaching one, it seems to be clutching a piece of plastic or something in it's claw to shield itself from me, trying to sneak up on it, get a picture, only my tablet now, its all broken up, shattered screen, loosely held together, I have to be gentle with it the shattered glass is falling apart, held together only by the wires behind, it's still working though...
...there are people coming down through the forest, it's night, and I try and slip away unobserved, I'm wondering what I'll do without the tablet, somebody beside me is complaining about it being broken, a red neck of sorts, real ass-hole...in a dimly lit apartment building lobby now, filled with bad paperback books, there's a crowd waiting for the elevator, I'm going onto it, strange people, all going up ...
A Very Stormy Xmas
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Stormy
- Hits: 1520
From the scrolls he dropped off I get it. I mean, unpack all the garbage and there will be a few... ...scrolls like this... but in my delivery there's the departure from his usual subject, reading between the lines it appears he he took his work to a local Christmas Craft and Bake fair, maybe hoping to raise some Xmas funds and get his finger into the Christmas Pie, only things didn't go quite as he'd planned.
In case you forgot here's a few samples of his work:
I have a mental picture of him, walking through the rain down to the community hall, sack full of scrolls to show to the guardians,looking for all the world like old papa Christmas in his cigarette scarred red sweater and toque, only the establishment, the 30-60-90 (his rule of proportions, of cited in the scrolls, is 50-30-40, he likes his women top heavy...) "lead water drinking" blue haired old ladies, rejecting him... And then him walking back, bag of scrolls over his shoulder, the Charlie Brown Christmas music in the background, and I'm rooting for him, Jeeeesuz Christ, but I get it, oh man I get it, both sides, your stuff ain't showing at this Christmas Craft and Bake fair man...
Some details from the latest batch of scrolls:
Yeah, you read that right..."Head of Gals Art...Amy Shit-Face". I gotta interview her...
and:
It's like he's Borat, only sincere, and that makes him 1000 times better...
It's no big deal to loose out on an Xmas Christmas and Craft fair, it means your an artist, Jeesus fucking Christ, if they allowed you in you'd be as bad as they are, don't you get it? But at the same time I'm feeling his rejection, and realizing that I just missed a great documentary moment...I try and console him when he next comes in, he just brushes it off, he got it out of his system in these scrolls, more masterpieces for posterity...
Vulcan at his forge
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Dreams
- Hits: 1453
Vulcan, the blacksmith, in his forge, a sooty, greasy, black and white saturnine face I can almost recognize, wide, passed it on the highway to Nelson, now I've stopped, I want to grab my camera, he's hammering and twisting a piece of metal, and while he's huge he's using a small ordinary hammer, his arms aren't what I expect, and when I ask about the great hammers blacksmiths usually use he sighs, yes, but he doesn't any more, and he gets me to move the piece of twisted and flattened rod over to a large model of a plane, he wants it set on top, it will hold the windshield...
...Upstairs from the garage, a warm house, older, from an imagined childhood, a younger man, maybe 50, and his father, 70ish, and a child, running about, there's something wrong with the child, autistic, maybe, but he's taken to me, and they ask me if I speak English, well, I tell them, well enough, French? Not so Well, Italian? Only curses, and they confer among themselves, the little autistic kid is running around touching everything, looking for batteries, there are none, and I offer to drive him down to the local store, take him by his hand...
...wet, dark outside, leaving by the front door we walk over 2 big old doors set into the front stoop, root cellar, and I want to lift them, see what's downstairs, in the basement, the boy doesn't know, we carry on...drive down to Balfour, town, Balfour not Balfour, Balfour with a bunch of inviting cosy old restaurants on the top of a hill on this rainy Kootenay evening, people inside, we find the store-not-Balfour store, get him his battery, I want to go in to the restaurant, have a bite to eat, but I've got to get this kid home, I have a feeling they have a proposition for me, teach the kid English, better English, and maybe I can fill in the gaps in my finances...
Internet, again
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Miscellany
- Hits: 1833
I've got the internet, again, finally, it's been a while and I'm not to into hauling my computer into town and cybersquating cafe's, this should make my writing a little more regular...winter's settling in and it would be a long one without entertainment...
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