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Confusion now hath made his masterpiece
Funny day: I was accused of being a stalker -or was it a pervert? I had been waiting patiently at a bus stop for what seemed like an inordinate amount of time and decided to re-check the schedule posted on a nearby pole. Nobody else was waiting except a lady leaning against the sign, talking…
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The Mutable Rank-scented Many
Too much time by myself can be troublesome: I begin to wonder about things that I should have resolved years ago had I bothered to think more about them. Or, perhaps I did, and decided to shelve them while I got on with my life. Retired hands, though, are often bored; they open things the…
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Hold, enough!
All is supposed to be fair in love and war, I’ve heard, but I thought that was just a joke. Surely I wouldn’t be allowed to poison the people who actually managed to date the girls I was interested in when I was young enough to care; poisoning an entire football team would probably have…
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The antic disposition
I don’t know what it is about bats that unnerves me. I mean I suppose they’re cute and everything -or at least they would be if they sat in the trees in my garden and sang, or maybe visited flowers like butterflies in the afternoon. But I’ve never seen them engaged in everyday domestic chores…
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The Angry Bench
Some benches are more than places to rest, more than places with an impressive view; some seem to continually attract the same type of people. Perhaps some benches feel the mood of their occupants; perhaps some of them take on a sort of monochromal agency… I have to admit that my acquaintance with most park…
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The Colour of Questions
Do you remember being a teenager, and asking questions about reality: those late night discussions in the dorm at university, or the endless questions that kept throwing sparks around the campfire as you sat with your friends through the night by the lake in summer? Things like ‘What is the colour red?’ And, ‘How do…
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Time-travelling with my eyes closed
Okay, okay you’re right: I close my eyes a lot, especially when I don’t need them (sleep springs to mind). I think the practice started many years ago as a bet with my wife, though: she challenged me to sign up with her for a Transcendental Meditation (TM) seminar in Vancouver. TM was all the…
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Touring New Zealand on Airplane Mode
I sometimes have difficulty knowing whether describing the end of a journey should be classed as an epilogue, or a eulogy. Both signal an end of a sort: both are recapitulations, although of different significance, perhaps; and yet both are kind of schadenfreudish as well, don’t you think…? I mean we cannot repeat the past-…
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I am the Tumbleweed
I am the tumbleweed; I realized it I when I saw the lonely little thing blowing across the dawn sand in Gisborne. Its arms, for all the good they did, were extended like an inquisitive octopus feeling for its way; not lost, exactly, but indifferent about where it ended up. Anywhere is as good as…
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The Town I hate to love
Ever since my metaphoric disposal of a generic holiday town, I have to confess I have been beset with guilt. Did I succumb to the trap of judging without sufficient knowledge; judging without hearing the rebuttal; being trapped in a net of my own making? I suspect I may have been guilty of that not…
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