This Angle only

IMG_0294

The big time elephant with scales over its eyes tries to elevate itself to the fifth floor of the Empire State building with a winch from a window washer who reviles stalactites and pogo sticks. His name is Chris and he likes heat bouncing off bitumen. He comes from Brooklyn Bay and was trained in an academy for young children who snore too much.

Last summer he kissed a girl. She was enchanted but it was a good enchantment because it got mixed up in the post with someone else’s. She had a medium sized nose and Chris liked to pretend that it grew in a strawberry patch. He thinks about her all day when he is suspended between the sixth and sixtieth floors of the tallest building in New York that he’s aware of.

He wants to open up to her. He dreams of telling her the secrets of the window washer’s guild. But thinks better of it. He doesn’t want to be expelled because they get a 10% discount at Taco Bell. His favourite is the soft shelled taco because they don’t cut his tongue. The Taco Bell Chihuahua works the grill at the store near Central Park West. Chris goes there frequently to talk about his time in the jungle because he is doing an investigative report for This American Life. 

Mysteries of the Unknown I – The Minotaur

IMG_0481

‘The wife of King Minos of Crete gave birth to a horrible monster called the Minotaur. It was part bull, part man and was imprisoned in a maze called the Labyrinth. The maze was so cleverly made that no-one could find their way out of it.

The Minotaur ate only human flesh so King Minos had to provide living victims to be fed to the monster. Among the victims were fourteen young people that Athens had to pay in tribute to Crete yearly because the Athenians had been defeated in battle. Theseus, the son of the King of Athens, volunteered to go as one of the victims and to put an end to this cruel sacrifice by killing the monster.’

It’s Big and Scary – part one

IMG_0374

Every time she opens her mouth another reason not to be with her flies out. It flits around his ears on gossamer wings for a few seconds and then dies painfully of suffocation. Reasons not to be with her can only survive in the specially formulated atmosphere found in her abdomen.

If he had another chance, and he desperately wants one, he could drive her mad in a minute. He had finished reading Chekhov. All of Chekhov. He finally understood how he should have been around her during the time they were officially a couple. Three months after the fact, Lachlan realised that Millie thrived on frustration. If the troubles of wealthy Russian landowners in decline had taught him anything, it was that Millie wanted to be provoked each morning as she swallowed her green sludge probiotics*.

Probiotics. What a stupid word. Nutritionists should leave the invention of words to the professionals, he thinks.

The only waitress in the place eats her lunch of two poached eggs on toast at the table next to him. He considers choosing a tart that he doesn’t want from the display case just to disturb her. The scene following would interest him. How well he could feign nonchalance as he makes his way from the table. How skilfully he could keep her exasperations in his peripheral vision. No, don’t get up, I didn’t realise. Don’t be silly, please eat your lunch. Oh, all right, if you don’t mind. I’ll have a lemon meringue pie. Is that gluten free? No?

Can it be?

He has it out for the waitress population because his friends have dragged him to be near the beach. He can see the sandy grass through the window. Not content with their nay saying from an urban distance these friends sought validation of their urban sensibilities on the very doorstep of potential disaster. And besides, Lachlan needs to build a fucking bridge. All the while Lachlan sits in this café with its black leather arm chairs and enjoys these seats abject refusal to be carefree, sea breeze or nautical. So bulky and numerous are they that people must contort themselves around them to reach the window seats. They surround him, like the perverted dream of a Japanese television producer.

He pulls his fringe down and looks at the world outside. Little kids run along the jetty wearing dark green dinosaur hoods^. That is sick, he thinks. He doesn’t believe all these chicken bone philosophies but there are limits. What does it mean about human kind if we can miniaturise the possibility of our own destruction and give it to our kids to hit each other with? It’s either a very good thing, or a crying shame. Not for the first time today, he wishes he had a pen to write his thoughts down.

Here at the end of the world, Lachlan wonders if it would be better to be with someone who doesn’t love him anymore or with no one at all. Outside, on the jetty, a little boy in a green hood with teeth along the seam pretends to devour his mother.

——————————————-

* Which are necessary for the production of the special atmosphere in her abdomen.
^ Hundreds of years ago, Lachlan’s country was almost completely destroyed by a dinosaur like monster that emerged from the sea. Some sources claim that the Beast is due to reappear and wreak havoc again. Others are more sceptical about the beast’s existence.

Those things you know how to do, but don’t know why

IMG_0473

I don’t know much about Die Valkyrie. I know there is woman named Brunhilde and she wears horns and it’s part of the ring cycle and it’s all very grand. What I do know is that there are things called leitmotifs that are traced all though the opera that make a kind of cheat sheet or passcode when you’re supposed to be feeling a certain way or know when a certain character is due to fuck shit up. They’re not just for opera. You can use them just about everywhere.

For years I woke up to David Bowie’s Queen Bitch. The three city rail chimes are always pretty frustrating. The fanfare of the Fox title card at the start of a movie always makes me vaguely disappointed I’m not watching Star Wars. Little bars of music that repeat now and again to remind you that you’re a good person, or that you’re supremely powerful or you’re a good person who does bad things because you’re under the hammer. A god’s hammer most like. Or you’re about to miss your train.

My old housemate Harry gave me a signature dance. We were making  show and I was being very earnest about it and there was a dance scene and Harry gave me a dance. You stand very still, then at a key moment in the song, the peak, you jump up with your arms by your side and try to touch your feet with your head.

Acceptable points in songs to do ‘The Tim’;

Basement Jaxx – Red Alert 2:15

Art vs Science – Parlez Vous Francais 0:44

Beyonce – Countdown 0:37, 2:09 & 3:30

If you find other points, let me know and I’ll tell you if they’re acceptable.

 

 

Newer Entries »

Back to top