The time was ten past five pm in the afternoon of a late Saturday. Subject A, with a Barkers gin & tonic moved about the kitchen. Perched on an end of the bench I looked over the recipe. “Venison Medallions with Caramelised Onions and salsa verde?” I questioned. “Damn right, and we’re gonna see how it goes.” Subject A replied sprite-fully. He worked a large pot from one of the cupboards into the sink with grace. “What’s inspired you most about cooking with Nadia?” I ask. Subject A laughed heartily and moved the pot from the sink to the heating…
Goodnight Kiwi
When you can’t sleep, write. When you can’t write, sleep. It’s not an easy thing to be told what to do. Never is the suggestion accepted and life moves on. Rather usually a fuss must be made and a muck-abouted. What’s all the fuss about anyway? You know deep down that it’ll be good for you. A rejuvenation not only for the soul, but the spirit! And all those damned biological functions that requrie replenishment. For if only I could wake forever and learn to wrangle the little concentration I’ve been blessed with. To live in the moment is to…
27J – The middle seat
Alvin’s grandfather was a pilot, now this meant he knew a great many things. Not of course, because he was a pilot himself, but enough ride-alongs at the front of the plane meant something, right? He even pulled one of the leavers when he was barely the height of a suitcase, once upon a trip. Alvin had now, in the prime of young-adulthood had flown on many planes, quite proudly in fact, but even he, having travelled to places that only cocktail stories could embellish correctly, had not been to New Zealand. When a pop-up presented itself to Alvin at…
funny bones
And at exactly 12am, like every other night since his death, the skeleton rose from his grave to meander the musings of the fellow residents in the graveyard. Feeling spritely this morning, the rise was swift, a good sign for the hour to come. He’d only ever pushed being out to an hour. He wasn’t sure if he’d be able to ever stay for longer but for the moment the time was managed to maximise. Spending the day underground thinking questions and keeping tabs on the fellow blocks; when they were occupied, not, stolen from – the works. He was,…
The Umbrella Factory
With a downpour that wouldn’t let up, the waterwheels didn’t need encouragement to keep the lights on in the town below. The side of the mountain was carved with natural streams making their way down the shingle peak. Tussocks of burnt umbra and yellow, spotted the steeper section of the hill forming the foundation of the research lab. As the only metal structure in the landscape, it was less of a sore thumb and more a prosthetic. The collection disc was a modified antenna tilted all the way up. From it’s lowest point of the lab, a network of pipes…
Clocks
I didn’t want the clock to tick,I tore it from the wall.Lost bolts, and screws, and marbles, cogs!I waited for your call. The ticks no longer tocked you see,and tocks no longer teased;no worries in my timeless home,no bell at half-past-three. But as the moments fleeted,as moments often do,I realised your clock still ticked,and I was overdue Rushed to reconstruct,reassemble, redefine;I left my heart out on my sleeve,your heart ran out of time.
Gees’e’s on the Golfcourse
Tralfador Flemmingstock And with laboured breath, Tralfador Flemmingstock rose from the green, lined his shot and swung. Luck, he thought, was on his side today. His mind, not so much. His thoughts betrayed him. Shifting his red and green tweed hat, his breast swelled and he let out a honk. He was but a goose after-all. “Tender as ever Tralfador” turning he saw the gaggle waddling over. Ralph Berkingeorge, fitted-in long patterned socks and hat, continued “Although it seems, my friend, you’ve lost your touch! Is there something on your mind?” His query loaded with inferrance and a cheeky grin…