Total Crop Out

N. E. W. S. Conference

The four of them were sitting uneasily around the conference table, eyeing each other up. Two men and two women. It was obvious from the body language that none of them wanted to be there but were compelled out of duty...and also...a geomagnetic field was keeping them in place.  There was a heavy silence but a mumbling could be heard outside the door. One of the men piped up, "That Sun of a bitch. I have things to be doing. I just want this meeting over with." One of the women sighed.  A bookish fair haired man entered the room looking at a clipboard. His hair was bright gold and despite his well kept official appearance, it seemed to want to escape the pony tail it had clumsily been tied up in. It seemed that any second this man would go supernova and shed his accountant-like guise and go up in flames. He sat at the top of the table and was humming as he flicked sheets over on his board. "Hmmm...I see...Yes...Yes...." He warmly smiled as he looked up and in a jovial tone began "So...How are we all doing today?" The four figures looked at each other with a mixture of boredom and incredulity and said nothing. "Fine. We'll get straight to business. I'm happy to report that your yearly reports have been filed and totted up and you've all compassed with flying colours! You must be all very relieved and proud!" Another beat of heavy silence. "Of course it's only regulation that I'm here for a final look see. And to make sure you're all happy in your current positions and well directions...ha...in life." One of the men shifted uncomfortably in his seat. The blond haired official noticed this and said "Ok, East. Tell me what's wrong?" East began first addressing the fair haired man before generally looking at his three other colleagues. "Well Mr. Sun, I'm not happy for a number of reasons. As the direction the Earth rotates on it's axis...I feel I should have more...well...axis in general. Certain levels of clearance are being denied to me and I have to wonder why. I can't help but wonder do people have a problem with my...orientation?" North scoffed at this. East continued. "You know Mr. Sun, we do the morning shift together and I really enjoy our working relationship but as the day goes on I feel frozen out." North interrupted. "You don't know anything about being frozen.." "Mr. North," The Sun chimed in, "You'll get your chance. Go on East." "That was pretty much all I had to say." "Ok...How do the rest of you feel?" North was a cool customer and assumed a leadership role as soon as he began work. "Look, I say it like it is, I mean I'm not called "true north" for nothing and I think East is overreacting. We all get our jobs, and some are better than others. I'm sorry if you're not a morning person but that's just the way it's gone.I mean back me up here South..." South didn't know if she agreed with North but could understand his point of view. She had once been attracted to him but chalked that up to his magnetism. "Well..." she muttered, "I do think as positions go, East gets sort of the short shrift and it's only now...dawning...on him..Ha. Sorry, couldn't resist!" East looked generally unimpressed but was at least grateful South seemed to side with him a little.  She spoke on "Let's give him some latitude here to air his grievances." West grimaced. She picked up a glass as if to drink from it but instead used it to motion while she made her point. "To be honest, I'm with North and I usually don't like what he has to say but come on! We all studied our ass off for our 90 degrees and came to work here and we knew what we were getting into. Let's not deviate too far off course!" North took charge once more."I know I'm not that popular with the rest of you because of my fame. And for working on a fixed scale, "he smugly said, "Look I don't need to map it out for you. I'm the name here and I know it." "What is wrong with you?" East spluttered. "Do you not hear yourself?" South took the chance to comment "I think it's some times a case of 'the northern lights are on but nobody's home'." West groaned. South added. "I know conversations always go...South...when I get involved." She giggled.

"SHUT UP!" shouted the other three in unison, peeved at all the punning.

"That's another thing." East was angry now. "He not only gets all the fame, he gets perks like the Northern Lights and he's an aurora boring-ass as far as I can see." North was incensed."Hey! You get sunrises, you get majestic beauty on a daily basis. My perks are seasonal!" "I know I'm seen as the 'Wild' one, here" West announced "But may I make a suggestion. Maybe we should do something where we  all like I don't know...switch around jobs or something..."

Mr. Sun looked very worried at this. "I was just talking to Mr. Earth outside this room and I don't think he'd sign on for such a major overhaul like that. Things like that require polls...and well poles. It's very complicated." "So what can we do then?" North sneered as he sat back slovenly in his chair. The Sun looked back down at his clipboard. "I will take all of this under advisement and you all know just how fair I am." East still looked unhappy but after having made his point conceded that there was no immeadiate solution.  Mr. Sun stood up. "But now it's time to leave. We're way over time here. The Seven Days of the Week are eager to get in to this conference room and work on their various scheduling conflicts!" North sauntered out giving a mocking wink to East as he left. He and South soon filed out behind him leaving West and Mr. Sun in the room. "So.."Mr Sun whispered, looking around to ensure they were indeed alone, "Your place again tonight?"  West smiled, "Of course, no-one has ever gone down on me quite the way you do. Well...maybe South..." "Sssh...no-one can know about our relationship! They'd think it was awfully inappropriate!" Somehow she had made the Sun go even redder in his cheeks. West wrapped her arms around the bookish star "Actually boss, that reminds me. Can I get a rays?" "Sigh...Fine, I'll see what I can do." He leaned in for a sun-kiss before saying "Oh the things I do for some Wild West action..." (Authors note: This piece was inspired by the Song No Aurora by The David Nelligan Thing. Check it out here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FwwlSATDJUQ&list=PL898AB4410575448E&index=6 and their tumblr here: http://davidnelligan.tumblr.com/)

Noteworthy

The character was in searing pain. Thin skinned and only half formed he lay in a foetal position at the bottom of the writers imagination. He needed fleshing out. The oblivious creator was waiting for his next coffee before he'd continue to muse on the brand new being he was willing into existence.  In his local cafe, notepad and pen at the ready, the writer was also hungry. He walked over to the menu and considered the specials of the day. Half jumbled thoughts of a fractured back-story danced around the characters head. It was agony being barely a form but this was the forge all characters had to pass through on their way to either notoriety or obscurity.  He scrambled around in the dark, trying to find a story hook to hold onto but this must have been the beginning. He was being born before the world he had to fit into had been created. He then found himself on an empty white plain. "Hmmm, Should I have soup, or something a bit more tasty...?" The woman behind the counter stood ready but the writer was proving frustratingly slow with his order. Linda, a girl the creator fancied sidled up to him at the counter. "Hey, how is your day going?" The writer smiled, looking down, losing his train of creative thought. The character could see his creator and this woman talk but it was as if they were on the other side of a tunnel, the picture of them getting further and further away... Running one hand down his body he could feel his underdeveloped aspects. His guts were spilling, literally, "out of character". Where were his motivations? His distinguishing features? He kept thinking this was the cruelest way to be. The long wait towards narrative... It was then, he felt a hand grip his own. Looking up through blinkered, squinting eyes, he saw a half familiar face. It looked like the woman his creator had been speaking to, but slightly different. Somehow the figure was more beautiful, like an idealized painting, an unrealistic impression of that person. Linda sat with the writer and they made awkward small talk. He pushed the pen and pad across the table a bit, wanting to give his companion his full attention. The beautiful figure pulled the unfinished character up on to his still unsteady feet. He felt like a deformed creature unsure of what to do in the face of such conventional beauty. He looked away sullenly. The figure put her hands to his face and said in a comforting tone. "I'm the Muse based on that Linda creature out there. I'm here to help you in this strange new world." The character allowed himself a smile as he stared into his rescuers eyes. "Where did you come from?" he asked, his voice feeble, undefined. "From the margin," the Muse explained. "My...I mean her name..was written there and from that I grew. I guess coming from the template of a person has given me a far more solid form than you as an original creation." She beamed a nice benevolent smile at him . She leaned in for a kiss "This is just the beginnin..." Suddenly the two characters found themselves submerged under water. They couldn't breathe and began to thrash around. The Muse frantically looked around trying to find a dry scrap of paper to cling to. 

"Shit!I'm so sorry!" Linda said as she was trying to dry the piece of paper. She had spilled her bottle of water all over it. "I've ruined your work!" "Don't worry about it," the writer said. "It was nothing really, just some random thoughts and notes. Actually my phone battery has died but here...if I could take your number..."

A strange black object with an ink stained nib began to scribble something near the bottom of the page. Cradling the barely formed character, the Muse tried reaching out for what had been written. It seemed to be a collection of numbers but the "0" or the "8" would have been the ideal life preservers for the drowning couple.  "Urgh..." Her hand pushed closer and closer until she could feel the tip of the ink. It was just out of reach. No matter how hard she tried she couldn't close the distance.  Reality itself seemed to fold over as the top of their world began to crumple up. A drop became a wave and bombarded them. The character and the Muse looked back to where their possible salvation had been. The island of numbers was gone. It had been torn away.

It Goes Without Saying

The debate was getting lively and from inside the mind Mr. Quote was ready to leave his house. He was fully prepared for the flight. He had been training for it all his life. His wife Chatty was waiting for him at the door. As he kissed her good bye,she was talking incessantly while he remained his stoic self. Noticing his nerves, she softly said "Oscar, don't worry. You'll be well received. We all know you're popular. Weren't you named after Oscar Wilde?" The walk from the Mind to the Mouth was a short enough one. However he wanted to take a steady stride and not rush out. So many thoughts and words stream out too soon. This business was all about the timing. He looked upon a nice neighbourhood in the Larynx. Chatty and he had once thought about getting a rent controlled Statement in that area but he wasn't sure about the area. He was quite vocal about the place failing to strike a chord with him. Stopping to freshen up in a recites-room he took a look at his own inflection and felt good. Confident. He was Wildean and people love Oscar Wilde quotes. He was lucky he was born into such a well respected family.  A piece of food, an obvious out-of-frowner, which had been staying in Lodges, (lodged inside a tooth actually) stopped him asking for directions to the Esophagus. Some people in the Mind and Mouth mistreated such foreign substances in their area but nothing bothered Oscar more than facial tensions so he was only too happy to help. "Follow the path you were on and keep to the cleft, past that Orifice building there and you should be fine!" Oscar then found himself staring at the tooth fields he'd have to navigate across. Lucky for him a breath stop was nearby. Waiting for the next strong Breath he amused himself by reading a newspaper, Tonsil Today which was a publication that was floundering after one of the founding partners had been removed. An editorial touched on the subject. It read: While we will of course miss one of our esteemed editors and wish him well in these troubled times all is still speechy keen here at the paper. We needed to collectively clear our throat as it were, and this was felt to have been the path(ogen) of least resistance. Don't reach for any lymphoid tissues as of yet however, the palate cleanser that we have planned in this issue will not only be a mouthful but shall be quite cheeky in places!

It was obvious this was them paying mere Lip-Service to a disgraced colleague. Oscar sneaked a quick peek at his favourite comic strip Jawbone as the 214 Breath arrived. It was lucky for him too as a saliva shower was just starting. The Breath drove next to Timbre fences and vocal tracts could be seen out in the fields. He heard a Lisp behind him remark, "I'd get the breath more often if the frequency of them improved." They reached the tongue and Oscar prepared himself for his flight. If successful, his Quote would soar in the debate and punctuate some fundamental point that could win the day. He'd hang in the air, having made his mark and would eventually seep back into the mind and be back home before his absence was noted by the Mention family down the street. The tongue launched Oscar and some other Phrases into the air but as they were just getting shy of the mouth, the engine and the speaker stuttered. Oscar felt his body being mangled and distorted as only half of his being was uttered. He was mumbled beyond recognition and as he fell from the argument into the seas of obscurity he thought about Chatty and how she should have married her talkative ex-boyfriend Luke-Quacious. Wildean quips couldn't save him now and due to his now misspoken nature he was wit-out hope as he plummeted to his fate. It was then his panic subsided for a moment and his training kicked in. He quickly looked under his phonetic seating and discovered something that would save him. Placing an item on his back he let his body relax like a slurred sentence. He pulled the string on his Para-phrase and it slowed his descent into the forgotten remarks below.

The Clock Doctor

I want to hide in an old house

want to lie curled on that kitchen bench

I need to taste the rain, collecting on your hair

I need your voice to wish away the lookalike ghosts

the last few years is the reflection of a laugh

we shared in cruel haste and curtailed sunshine

kept for you, if not by design,

than at least by my own shaky hand

and when we sat together,  how intimate was the arc

that we drew

how the crowd would leave us be How even the most ill informed person

just knew

go back to the wilderness seat

return to that most unsure state of grace

I will not season any of the blunt sentiments the thud of every decision, good and bad have equal weight.

at least give me her in the brief encounter and the poor

resolution of a dream

Let me frame her in that uncertain geography.

Jeffrey Lewis and The Rain || The Crane Lane Wednesday 17th July 2013 - Noise

A review I did for Jeffrey Lewis and The Rain. To say I enjoyed it would be an understatement.

Having your Phil of a Bad Day

  One day when I was out at my job, trying to bring home the Francis Bacon, I realised I forgot the key to my existence and was John Locked out of my house. Needless to say I was Episted.

Trying to ponder my way out of this situation I decided to sit in my Kierkegaarden until a solution presented itself. I should have as-humed something like this would happen. I had checked my horoscope earlier in the day, I’m an Aqunias and it didn’t bode well. However when it comes to that sort of stuff I’m a total doubting Thomas.

Thing is, I had remembered every thing else, my shopping nihi-lists were all present, though truth be told I had Bentham a little in my pocket. They were just a list of Utilities needed but it was when I didn’t hear the usual Bertrand Russell-ing of my keys in my pocket did I realise I was up shit creek in a Camus without a paddle.

My friend Plato, who was out getting some tonics, would be home soon and he always had a spare insight into my woes and would surely be able to help. Not that he didn’t love to Socrates me over my personal views. The Imman Kant let anything go.

The Sun Tzu was shining brightly over head as I sat there trying to see if there was another way into my house. There was a window into my soul up high but to squeeze in there would be against the laws of metaphysics and I couldn't stop thinking how I wished I had left the doors of perception unlocked that day. Not to hit on a Søren spot it's the only way to keep certain bad elements out. When dealing with philosophical quandaries so many people have their own Hobbes stories and Buddha, I mean Buddy, I don’t need that.

 It was then I realised that Plato had a cave he was always going on about. Maybe I could stay there til I find the key to my life. As I walked off leaving the area I thought my life is what I make it, I have Descartes Blanche to do with it as I please. I think I am Happy, Therefore I am. So everything was looking up but little did I know, fate had other plans and I was none the Schweitzer.

It Sartred to rain. 

All-Seeing

An evening mask or a pretty

pattern drawn

on the sky of your back

ready for nights waiting hand

the skeletal bottles collect

on the porch

ready for the warm house invite

and the patter of the confident booms strong

I can not wait til the calm

when all the violence is gone

but the walls as thin as whispers

and it reaches the sleeping mind

the inquisitive part

the seas are receding

faster than the beaches are formed.

We are still all the way put together

the slip of years warming the bones of youth

the body is a temple, on a Holy River

and no one descends from the mountains

to hear my truth

when the figures brush against me

and the naked boast they are all seeing

I can not remember for my life, anything

past the point of my own body, that the

light is now catching.

Self Pithy

Self felt Less, at a loose end a collection of "what to do" and hazy "what he did" He admired the zest of his friend who had just gotten a tattoo oh that crazy guy, Id! He had gotten an apostrophe When Self saw that tiny mark it sank in and he cried Self was so lost y'see He didn't have that shiny spark that would brand him as an "I'd..."

Left

the first time we hold

on this earth

was to the most perfect

flirty dirge

and blessed are the mixed

signals

because it's where false hope

does flourish

in dreams to the left

and in the most solid gray

the amber eyes of the past

with flies out my mouth when i

should have something to say

I can not speak for too many of

this times so called men

but I echo the thwarted

when I say

get me something sharp that I can wield

again

For Seamus

Upon the eve of the darkening hue While the greens deepen and the deprived insects rustle, There is now a figure featureless set against a slanted sky. I noted a steady breeze as it was thread through the horizon-less cloud and the air transmuted to a single voice. Its nervous quality borne of surprise Knowing there is no silence rich enough. The shoreline rests upon an empty seabed We will fill the space with the right words, Before returning to the interrupted paths he knew well. the sweep of thorns, When daily toil brushed up against eternal question. A shifting landscape stands still in a soft dusky ardour over the wordsmith, gone on ahead. We peer in from outside immortality.