The Follower

Men sat around the kitchen table, a rough hewn surface littered with half glasses of rum and sturdy mugs of tea. The blue tinged air swirled on eddies of laughter and currents of disbelief.

Mick Devine was the next to speak. His story was that of a man dead this 6 months, a man who was always the first to lend a hand to a neighbour, pour a ‘drop’ for the unexpected visitor, and usually the first to laugh at himself if the opportunity arose.

The story begins.

Tom 'Fox' Hynes had gotten a ride as far as Riverhead after a long shift on the highroad, and sure it would only be a short hour jaunt 'round the harbour now. He pulled his jacket closer around his neck, it was a fine fall evening, but the wind had that bite to it. The houses were pockets of light where wood smoke unfurled over sturdy salt box houses. A full moon shone just out of reach, and leaf bare branches left gnarled shadow fingers reaching out for unwary passersby.

Fox drew a deep breath, cold aching in his throat, and thought about the best way to travel. Old Man Barnes's small bridge was out - not a consideration during the day but the sharp rocks and deep pool were not to be dared at that time of night. Going past Rogers' meant a slight chance of a wetting up to the ankles, but the tide was low, the way was flatter than a flounder, and he'd be home in jigs time by cutting straight across that way.

Fox scrambled down the bank. During the daylight this place was a fine sight, and with the moon so high it was nearly as bright, even with a slight orange cast now visible over her face. Fox wound his way through the estuary, sometimes leaping from rock to rock and occasionally walking through tough seaside grass that tugged at his boots. He was just past Turr Island when he heard faint footsteps behind him. He turned, a greeting tugging at his lips, but there was no one there.

Wisps of clouds began to gather in the sky, playing hide and seek with a red tinged moon. Fox looked at the way he had come. The sound could have been an echo from around the harbor, or perhaps his ears were playing tricks on him. Funny how the oh so familiar now had a sinister cast; creaking branches from the trees, an owl call, the whisper of dead leaves, all inviting a creeping dread.

Fox turned to his path home once more, he hadn't taken more than ten steps when he heard it again – the footsteps, now louder, now closer. He spun on his feet. The moonlight showed nothing but an empty, echoing path. Thoughts of stories, and long forgotten childhood fears began to arise. He needed to get home, he needed to get to safety. He took longer strides, more chances, and still there were the following footsteps, even faster, now even closer. So close.

Heart clenching, breath heaving, Fox jumped the last few feet of the beach path. His left boot stuck slightly, or was it something grabbing at his heels? Like the scalded cat Fox took off for home, fear driven, knowing that just one look behind him would be the last.

Was it the long dead Masterless Men, pressed into service by the British Navy, looking to add to their eternal crew? Or the ghostly shades of the three children, lost as they jumped the ice pans, wanting the comfort of a warm soul?

Beside the woodstove the men waited with anticipation. What had happened to Fox? Did he make it? Was he found in a cold junk in the morning, leaving behind nothing but questions as to his fate?

From the corner came Devine’s dry voice "Sure ya knows that it was just his own imagination that got to him in the end of it all. 'Twas nuttin but his own bootlaces slapping again’ his heels!”

Roars of laughter rang out and glasses raised. “To Fox! says Mick. “And his boots!” from the quick-witted young man sitting on the edge of the wood box.

All hands checked the state of their laces before heading home. Just in case.



Reposted from Brain Droppings

The Wilds

With my feet planted firmly I survey the panoramic view before me. Tall grasses bending in the wind, flashes of paths made by wildlife as the waves of verdant green surge and fall.

Wildflowers dot the vista, vibrant jewels glowing in the sun. The wild tangle of a vine winds, climbing the tree, reaching towards the sky.

I look down, the yellowgreen of roots turning to emerald about knee height, vibrant leaves that unfurl and bask.

I really need to mow my lawn.

From the Zombie Next Door

It's not easy being a dead guy.

I mean there I was minding my own business in Homes & Despots, picking out the HOA approved mailbox, when a shuffling orange vested minion drifts by and just chomps away at my arm!

I spoke to his manager, who only drooled and grunted. I guess minimum wage monkeys are worth exactly what you pay them. I started to feel like I was coming down with something (almost like that time when I ate that Kow Pow or Som Wow chicken at that hole in the wall restaurant) so I grabbed the damn regulation mailbox and went home. I noticed my neighbour was looking out his window. Idiot. Who the hell does he think he is, always looking like that? A wave of sickness rolled over me and I went into the house.

That was days ago. Now everything is a blur. My fever rises and rises, I hear my wife talking, talking always talking. She stops when I take a nip at her and screams something about going home to her mother.

The neighbour is watching me again.

I try and take out the garbage but stop when I realize I'm eating it.

I just want to go to where there is food. I know the shiny box outside can take me, but it won't do what I want. I pound on it in frustration.

The neighbour is watching.

I think I'll eat his fucking brain.


See the original post that inspired this one @

The Zombie Next Door

The Path

The next step is both a begining and an end, the future can unfold in front of me while the past gets lost in the mist.

Possibilites wind through the trees and drift on the air, if I'm brave enough I'll take the wisps and make them concrete.

Is it dawn's light or evening's glory that illuminates the air? Does it matter?

No. What matters is the step, if I'm brave enough to take it.




...this picture was amongst one that was in an email attachment so I can't credit it or say where it was taken...only you can decide where it takes you

Plan - Read / Write / Review

I have the best intentions I really do. I enjoy writing, I especially like it when an idea, the passing notion blooms into something that has meaning. I'm often baffled after the fact when I read back, questioning "I wrote that?" "where did that come from". A spur of the moment idea seems to work best for me, not much prep time (I blame those last minute English assignments in high school), the bare outline/brief to complete and I'll get something out, on paper, in the ether to be viewed.

I adore reading, I can be obsessive about the books/storylines I do enjoy the most. I think I could get some good solid practice by writing reviews of some of my most favourite books. I think I'll try that in the next few weeks and see what happens.

I've course I'm a procrastinator, so I may never get around to it. I'll get the reading in for sure, I do have my priorities.

~Me

The Bottom of My Glass - Wine as a Writing Prompt

To be frank it was quite full.
I know I started in moderation.
Turns out I really don't have that inclination.

The label spoke of hints and flavours.
I just want the plot to savour.

I devour, in reading the work of others.
Too bad it can be measured in hours.

I'll raise my glass one last time.
Wishing you well and stories galore.

I'll be in the aisles waiting for more.

...................................................................


Holy Carp and assorted other expletives Laurita! How the frack do you write co-hesive and coherent poetry. My little attempt is neither and I'm in a cold sweat here!

That being said I have to give a big shout out to all the writers who I love to read. Both novel, blog, internet posts, post it notes and email and IM messages.

Most recently (as in last week) I had the pleasure of reading Magic Bleeds by Ilona Andrews, this was the fourth installment of a series that I've been waiting rather impaitently for; with incessant checking of my online order status in the last weeks for about a year!

I just am enthralled with the art of writing, and it is an art. My hat is tipped to all who have that magic that runs in their veins that allows them to throw words together to paint entire worlds.

Ah well you need the consumer. I'm a great consumer....wine, books, food, books, wine, books about food, books about wine.

~Me

Tales from the step...

I moved in December, from a middle of it all, see everything centre city location to a still centre but way more residential area of the city.

I just want to make sure I never forget the years I spent with a view. I sent the below to my best friend after just one of the goings on. This happened late summer 2009 I think.



Soooo it's 410am this morning I was awakened by the dulcet tones of a group drunken guys either singing acapella as they made their ways to home and hearth (more likely couch and pass out) or perhaps they had gotten a collective boot to the crotch. Rather Screechy they were.

Speaking of screechy the draahma continued very shortly after, I heard the distinctive yowl of one of the neighborhood alley cats (human variety) I guess she had broken up with her girlfriend (Again) and she was kicking her out (Woman 1 & Woman 2)

W1 "If I ever sees you in my house again, if I ever sees you in my fing house by da F" "Get da F out"

The witty response to this opening sally near drove me from my bed...in laughter.

W2 "Lizzy!"
W1 "Gay!!"
W2 "Whore!!!"

I peeked out the window to see W2 trotting down Cookstown with several bags and if I'm not mistaken..no shoes on her feet. Makes me wish I could identify this people in the daytime but it does appear as if sunlight does repel certain groups...vampires...Bill searchers, Flaming Hula Hoop dancers...Feuding lesbians.

Compulsion (reposted)

I saw you counting today, over and over again the ritualized touching of each item as it was placed on the conveyer belt. Lips moving as you lightly brushed the metal of the cart and darting glance of your fingers over each of the things in front of you.

Hesitation your hand hovered as you reached for what must come next, what order must it go in, a deep breath, fingers clenching tightly no no you must count it’s important.

You watched as the cashier filled the bags, 5 in one 7 in another for the total of 12. A last minute grab at a pack of gum, a seemingly random selection to make the total 13 I wonder; perhaps the total has to add up to an even number 1 + 2 make 13 but 1 + 3 make 14.

You make your way out of the store, plaid jacket buttoned against the cold evening wind I wonder if you count the long steps home.

Red (rough draft)

I adore my new red dress, I can swirl and twirl it flutters and flies, the fabric giving notice of my passage. Red, Red, Red, a beacon in the light of day against the grey rocks and tumultous water of the North Atlantic.

Imagine mothers face, I am not allowed out by myself, red, red, red mother it looks so good on you. Father was so mad with me, his face as he saw....but I just wanted to feel the coming storm, red red red father it is a badge across your chest.

I danced around the house this morning in happiness and joy the freedom of movement and possiblities and so much to do. Red, Red, Red the colour of the flames that flicker and flow from the house in the harbour that was my castle, my prison, my fate.

I shall dance across the waves, away from the small figures that have turned from ruin and ash and have started towards me, I will not talk to them today. I will spin turning forever in my costume of crimson and scarlet. Red, red, red.

To Be Read

Not in the case of emergency or in the case of my death but rather the piles of books yet to be read, precariously randomly placed throughout my house. Leaning towers of fiction that are romantic, fantastical, paranormal, mysterious, eclectic mountains with no order rhyme or reason; let mood dictate what comes to hand next.

Non- fiction that anchors and cleanses the palate, how to and why guides that stretch the brain in different directions, planting the seeds for the next question, the next quest. Expeditions to large chains for new releases, treks to the library to place holds and get entire series at one time, second hand places that introduce new authors ,new addictions as they make it so easy ‘just to try’.

Don’t bring them to read during work hours, the break room noises fade away, immersed in that world the time passes and I am oblivious.

Breaking up my time, my year by publication date, a flurry of new releases in January and March, the long wait between the most favorite plots; a story line that captures, the thrill of the gift card that feeds my addiction.

Plastic Flowers

There is no life in what you bring as a tribute to our shared loss.

The cheap monuments piled so high, fading to gray by the rough, ever-changing weather in this cemetery by the sea.
They wither and cheapen my sharp grief, poking up from the ground where you planted them as a final defiance.

A quick gathering, the harvesting of seconds and 10 steps to the edge, lifting my hands, then a release, letting them wheel away on North Atlantic winds. A more fitting homage I leave instead, a fallen tear, a laughing memory and a small beach rock on the larger shaped granite.

A quick look back, a tranquil place that now says remembrance.

Random..could turn out to be something

fog banks
childhood summer day
winter day
sleepy morning
tbr pile
loneliness
red shoe
drinks
lipgloss

Editors Nightmare

Percival McMadeUp the III squinted at the crumpled manuscript in his hands. It had been consigned to the slush pile weeks ago and as per his twice a year promise to the PTB he would 'review' the slush pile to give some aspiring writer a boost, chances were beyond slight that this would happen. More likely, a final cup of bitter poison in the hopes that they would now concentrate on the reality of their situations and spend pennies on real life and not self publishing drivel suitable for the matted coverings of cages of small rodents.

But this..this was just plain weird, the accompaning cover letter was in the proper format, he read it again, raising his head to see if heads were being poked over cubicle walls, were those muffled giggles?

An English professor wrote this? Better things were left on the outake floor of daytime serials as too impossible, implausible and unbelievable.

The syntax was wrong, the characters beyond wooden, he referred back to the cover letter, published numerous times? Whhhhaa? Percival did what his grandchildren told him do in such information crisis moments, Percival went forth and googled.

So he googled and so he learned. In google veritas.

Layer upon layer of delusion, stilted diaglog, loops of fatal logic errors that could be easily explained by simply having say..2 working brain cells. He was astounded, he was floored he was humbled.

Percival gave the slush pile readers a sumptuous lunch that week with a bottle of wine each on him. He kept that manuscript and used it as the last nail in the coffin for 'unsolicited works'. The slush pile was no more, recycling was in.

random picture thought

I love this picture I took this past summer, on the beach of the outport community where I grew up, this tiny piece of crustacean home that was barely longer than my thumb. So interesting, what are those little round red things, seeds? eggs? How tiny are those little mussels yet so complete.

I took this photo, blew it up and the colours really pop now at least in my view.

It's just so interesting to me.

Where oh where has my little post gone...

Oh where oh where can it be.

I had about half a blog post typed I was typing away at it at work a sentence here a sentence there kind of thing...it's still in my drafts folder.

I think I'm coming down with another cold, which sucks because I just got over one, shouldn't you have at least a month between wanting mini sticks of dynamite to stick up your nose because if you just get it over with and blow up your head before it explodes from the pressure you're just being efficient right?

Right? *WHINES*

Bah!

I want to curl up on the couch, but it's currently occupied by a cat and my sister, on the bright side my sister will probably be going to bed soon and the cat cat be bribed with a fleece blanket.

Ummm fleece blankets for couch curling up on ... *glares at cat and sister*

I want chips.

I want chocolate.

I want hot chocolate with some sort of alcohol in it.

I want all the food and beverages above just to be given to me without me having to do anything like go get / make / purchase them.

I want to sleep in tomorrow but I can't because it's a work day.

I'm cranky, I'm sick and darn it I lost my blog entry through every fault my own even if techincally it's not lost but I'm in the middle of a RANT here people and I don't let facts get in the middle of what I want to say...hardly ever in fact.

*pouts*

PITY ME.

Pity will be accepted in the form of chips, chocolate, hot chocolate with alchohol, alcohol, books, Hugh Jackman, and Gerard Butler.

Any there theres, poor you and games of oneupmanship are strictly forbidden.

;-)

Tales from the Step: Part Eleventy Seven

It’s New Years Eve around 530/545 in the evening, night has arrived fireworks can be seen and heard already in sporadic explosions. Twinofmine is on the couch I am on the computer she hears something from outside and goes to investigate.

It turns out that someone has slipped/fallen on some ice on the sidewalk, perhaps due in part to the fact that he is completely and utterly inebriated. He has a companion though and he was ‘helped’ to his feet and a piece of pizza is passed back and forth. Although to call it a piece is somewhat generous, perhaps drool laden is now a specialty?

Yes it was even grosser to SEE that as you can imagine.

Anyway, nothing unusual there, a guy is loaded and he trips/falls/skips/tumbles/twirls/ cartwheels down to the ground and someone else helps him up, gross pizza sharing notwithstanding.

A few minutes later twinofmine looks out the window again no sign of anything unusual, pizza eating beer soaked denizens of downtown St. John’s must have moved along…yes one might indeed think that.

I decide to run to the store, fire on the proper footwear (it’s slippery out there you know) and tromp down the stairs and out the door, look to my right. DrunkGuy is rightthere on the business step, he’s ossified, nearly pickled in his alcoholic haze and he seems to have chosen his accessory for the night, it’s red, it’s liquid and it’s dripping from his head with alarming consistency.

I ask if he needs assistance he responds or I assume that was a response; he’s slurring his speech drunkenly (and possibly concussively! She said soberly). I run across to the store and return within 2 – 5 minutes I ask again if he needs me to call anyone. He shakes his head, still dripping. As I watch him fumble open the six pack of beer he has between his legs I decide that drunken bloody guys are not that responsible for their own welfare and that in fact someone should be called on his behalf. This realization is underlined as he takes a big swallow of his beer and goes to place the bottle on the step instead he drops it shattering and the look of bafflement is sad to observe. I go upstairs and twinofmine calls it in. An ambulance arrives as she is on the phone so obviously someone else called as well.

The crew takes about 10 mins to remove him from the step and as per usual any flashing lights in this neighbourhood draw a crowd, most move on within short order, what’s all that interesting about a bleeding from the head drunk guy after all. There are 4 local feral hoodies about though; kind of unusual I thought they were genetically predisposed to flee from all flashing lights. The true motive for them sticking around is shown soon though, as the attendants link DrunkGuy into the ambulance one of the Hoodies ghosts in and makes off with the remainder of the beer, it was smooth, it was quick and they are gone in seconds.

DrunkGuy was unfortunately not unfamiliar to me, I know him from the summer when he passed out on the steps two houses down, I know him from other slips and face plant falls on the sidewalk just outside. This is a guy with a problem, probably more than one problem if the truth be known. If the jackals of the neighbourhood feel safe preying on you then that says a lot. Insensible drunk or not, you had NO ONE looking out for you. + you have no beer.

Heights of Ridiculousness

I consider myself to be an easy going personality, downright lazy most of the time in fact. I mean what's the point of getting all bent out of shape over what other people do or say. There is NO POINT for the most part. There is nothing wrong with sticking up for yourself of course as easy going / lazy does not = doormat. I've come to a point though where my annoyance at an online personality is getting a little bizarre. I've joined an undergrown guerilla group that was created from another persons annoyance with the entire situation fer christsake.

History: A poster on a MB I am a member of (more lurker than anything) is prone to frequent flights of fantasy that she posts as real life happenings, pleas, demands, whines for attention abound on a regular basis as well. If called upon to explain the wide and varied inconsistencies she will either A. Ignore request or B. scream Bully and let her posse* tear said person apart. What I don't get is that there seems to be so few people willing to call her on her shit. On an MB dedicated to debunking ULs and shady stuff no less. I'm more than boggled by that. I'm getting MAD at those supporting and as a wise someone said enabling her. Those that support her in fact are becoming worthy of ridicule now as well in my mind. "Well we know you just lurve so-and-so and that means you are not the brightest bulb in the world now don't we". Their opinions are not worth very much anymore which is sad because I thought one or two of the vehement were you know..smart and stuff.

I mean sometimes aggravation is good, it brings things to a head, things that are needed to be said get said and all that. The air clears and the world spins once again. HOW in the name of the Great Googly Moogly though can things come to a head when Ms. Liar Fabricator gets told how frigging wonderful she is at every freaking turn. It's all kinds of F'd up. She's F'd up, it's F'd up and now the board is F'd up.

F.

I'm following the latest saga of her getting dumped by an online friend though, she complains incessantly about having NO friends and now she's getting dumped by one. Flowery verbal crap ensues on the board and she gets her props and I'm like..HEE HEE I know who you are talking about and I can't blame her. If you are THAT bad on a board I can't freaking imagine what you are like in a different venue/circumstance. Especially with your self involved ME ME ME all about ME ME ME MEMMEMMEMEMEMEMEMEMEMEMEMEMEM schitch.

Anyway I'm putting her on ignore it's stupid how crazy this makes me, I am too wrapped up in it and it's just nuts. She makes me want to be a bully and that is not me. Or I don't want it to be. She's not worth this aggravation and again the mean streak that she brings out it me makes me want to tell her that fact.

Last word on it is that she is a crackpot and therefore to be avoided. I shall practice my avoidance skills from this blog post forward.

~Me

Snow White...how could you!

Mardi Gras how could I have totally forgotten you? JM&J the street is crawling with dressed up drunken fools with lowered inhibitions and the inabiltity to use vocabularly larger that NFBSK in all it's variations.

Case in point: Snow White and the Pirate.

Snow White was either kicked out of a cab for gratuitous swearing, ran out of money and got kicked out or perhaps flagged down a cab with all of her companions then threw a hissy fit when all the dwarves fit in but she didn't make the cut and didn't call SHOTGUN in time.

Snow White (the slutty version) had quite the limited yet loud range of words to choose from, the poor freaking cab drivers needs to be commended for not running her a** over really. She was directing traffic at one point telling the drivers to " Go the NFBSK around you NFBSKing idiots, stop NFBSKing looking at me and drive you NFBSKed up NFBSKs.

The poor ol' Pirate just stood around looking mortified by the behaviour of his sweet (HA!) demure love bunny, I'm sure he would have walked the plank at any given moment or given himself up to the tick tock crocodile just to get away from his shrill, shrieking harpy of a girlfriend.

Snow White evenutally had her say or whatever the heck was on the go, the cab sped off and then she proceeded to toddle on down the road towards that mecca of excess that George St this weekend and I do believe I saw Mr. Meek Mild Milketoast Pirate moseying along as well.

No flaming hula hoops but it's only 12 AM so who knows what could happen yet.

~Me


PS. turn your clock back an hour

Wink the Drine, try The Ratbag in fact.

What a fabulous time at the wine show, I enjoyed myself immensely. I laughed very hard at several different things discovered the wonder of the decapatated houses of Fogo, (which I must see someday) the eyes have hills, if you ask someone if they've tried your Ratbag that they may in fact spit their wine out and that a Yellowbelly burger is quite good. Good company makes they day and I had some grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrreat company. Company is great. Company with clean ears is something too but I can't remember what.

Of course some things were arlready part of my wide range of knowlege like O'Reillys is awesome and strongbow is awesomer and live music is the best EVAR!

No hangover is good too, I think thats to be credited to the Yellowbelly burger and the approximatly 3 pounds of meat therein. That and two bottles of water, a cafe mocha and potato chips at like 1130pm.

Okay family is here must let mudder check to see if she has any $$ on the lottery. Back later to explore / expound on other stuff.

~Me

Watch This for Instant Happy

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V5BxymuiAxQ

So are you happy now? Was that not the most awesome thing you have ever seen / heard?

In other news I have become aware how often I put a space between the last letter of the end word of a sentence and the puncutation, it only seems to occur with ! or ? though which I suppose makes sense. After all. The period. Does. Not Really need extra. Space. Right ?

See the ? needs the room to move ! So does the ! ! By Gum ! It does.

:-)