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The Art of Appreciation

For more years than I can count, I have occasionally been asked by random strangers to provide an in-depth interpretation of the pictures I use for my writing. It seems to me that the majority of people, members of the general public have an insatiable hunger to understand the exact psychology going on inside my head. Today, I am happy to reveal all for the benefit of those simply too shy to ask me directly.

The Coat and the Beard Bucket

Yes, this coat: a duffle coat, I’d had it a long time. Purchased on the high street of Camden Town in a basement-based, second-hand (sorry – vintage) clothes shop. This, long before you were born and only a short while after the Home Counties’ CB radio craze had died a sudden, faddish death.

Initially, despite access denied to a full length mirror, I liked it. Where the material made contact with the skin of my neck, creating a mild itchy sensation, this failed to dampen my ardour. My deficient colour vision could not identify the shade; was it blue, grey, or simply enigmatic?

Ever Present

“Karl, have you noticed lately, how The Author has become actually involved in his own stories?” Veronique’s finger-grip tightened, creating what-would-become a permanent crease in the tightly woven and durable synthetic fibre of Karl’s jacket.
“Well my darling, I can’t say I have been concentrating of late on no writer.” Karl trudged a hesitant foot forward, re-balancing himself to take into account the minute transfer of his lover’s weight spread out across the backs of his body and thighs. “The truth is,” he continued, “my first and foremost priority is to see us out of this immediate and perilous Borgesian landscape that we find ourselves caught up in.”
As if his statement had pulled the trigger of a large handheld megaphone, a chorus of creature noises volumed-up, perhaps startled and warning of an imminent, potential danger. Karl stood stock-still, while utilising his top two front teeth to bite down with moderate pressure onto his lower lip. Working independently, the two figures scanned the swaying canopy of branches, leaves and twigs, swooshing several metres above their heads.

The Truest Story of Romulus and Remus

“Old heads on young shoulders, that’s what Uncle Faustulus said – didn’t he Remus?” The brother’s minds melded, in the way twin’s minds appear to do.

“Often so, Romulus. It was like he somehow knew we were destined for high achievements.”

The Writer noted the impressive, mountainous back-drop for the conversation and thought it appropriate.

Duologue

The Pact
“Darling…”
“Yes?”
I’ve overworked my upper body, neck and limbs.”
“And now you look all out of proportion?”
“Yes, well it’s my legs…”
“Your chicken legs?”
“Chicken legs?”
“Your scrawny, white chicken legs.”
“I wish I’d never started with this body building fitness malarkey.”
“You could work on your legs.”
“I can barely walk without feeling dizzy and seeing little yellow stars flicker in front of my eyes.”
“You mean, it’s too late? Like, way too late?”
“Yup, I think so.”
“What do you want to do?”
“Well…”
“Please, don’t say what I think you’re about to say, Will.”
“Daphne…?”
“Will?”
“Daphne??”
“Will!”

Cwestiwn Dilys/A Valid Question

Ydych Chi’n Credu Mewn Hanes?
Rydych chi’n gweld, dydw i ddim yn siŵr am hanes.
Pwy sydd i ddweud beth yw un gair yn erbyn un arall?
Pwy sydd i ddweud bod y person hwnnw hyd yn oed yn bodoli?
Ni allai fod. Gallai arbed llawer o drafferth!

The Beginning of an Epic Poem

1. Next
The last remaining sapien, today passed on.
A bird, a squirrel, many insects observed.
A first, since so long ago way back in time,
Bird called, not sang, and no person heard.

The Greek Wasp

Fifty times more large and powerful
than the one’s we saw at home,
a hornet wasp, had entered our holiday chalet.

The clashing together of fear and marvel
dragged us individually by both hands,
down the path toward a mild sense of panic

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The New, New Normal.

“In case its passed anyone by,” Professor of Psychology Daniel Moccasin said, as he tapped the knuckles of his left hand against the wall-mounted presentation screen-still displayed in front of the small class, “things have changed. And by this, I mean things have changed again. We now face a new, new normal. One that no one could have predicted, not even if they’d had a crystal ball could they have done so, no…” He paused and looked around at the clueless expressions tied to the front of each student’s face. A hand went up, emerging confidently from the back row of the classroom. “Yes, Butterley, isn’t it? Stand up, what have you got to say for yourself?”