Melancholy Ill Suits My Cat

Melancholy ill suits my cat,
There's other things he is better at,
Eating, sleeping and catching mice,
Other things just as nice.

A talented feline,
Hansome too,
There are many things he is prone to do.

Yet enthusiasm he seems to lack,
As here he sighs on his back,
He should be doing this and that;
Melancholy ill suits my cat.

Hey fans of grassroots music !

If you are keen to hear and see some of the music that is being made right now in Brisbane Australia check out :


http://www.bandidoz.com

it is a brand new online radiostation with music and video clips. It has only been going for a few months. My favourite bands are on it !

Ritual

Here is another of my very short pieces of writing. This was written first thing in the morning on a weekend. I typed it out as it came to me in about 20 minutes. I then tinkered with a few lines but mostly it is as I thought of it. It seems that inspiration was very strong and the idea came to me almost complete.

It is very stylised so bear that in mind when you read it.


Ritual

I am walking in a dream…
Down a dirt road in the country I think…
And a pale flame haired woman, at once a stranger and yet familiar, stands waiting at the roads edge, soundlessly beckoning me near. On her shoulder a blindfolded owl sits silently. At her side a bull lies passively, its gaze directed at the far distant sunset and around its horns a garland of blood red flowers twines. At my approach the maid cries silent sorrowful tears and they fall with a metallic ring onto the bare blade held to her bosom.

When I am but mere paces away she acts. Her arm moving rapidly, her anguished face suggesting surrender to a fate as inevitable as it was regrettable. Beside her the bull moves also, raising its head to look directly upwards. It reveals an expanse of roan coloured fine fur now pulled taut over a veritable delta of veins pulsing with its life blood. I lunge forward to halt the act occurring before me, bearing all the signs of a ritual as timeless as the sun’s progress across the heavens. My lunge falters as somehow on this perfectly even, clear ground; I stumble and fall.

The lady’s hand arcs gracelessly downward with all of the strength that her slight frame can bring to bear. The blade passes the neck of the resigned beast without disturbing a solitary hair, only to return on a different path, and bite almost greedily into the unresisting flesh. Passing in a shallow arc the blade calls the beast’s life’s blood to fountain forth, pooling at the maid’s bare feet. Landing on all fours my head slumps forward and I unwittingly receive a scarlet baptism in the warm flow of the bull’s blood just as it utters its first mournful cry. The note of that bellow alters as I stare at the stained ground under me and the warmth spreads down my neck into my shirt. As the cry climbs in pitch it becomes an almost human like keening causing me to glance up and see before me a man lying in place of the bull, in a pool of too much blood, with a garland in his hair. In all of a moment or two his form collapsed before me, decaying at an incredible rate, muscle melting, skin shriveling, bones breaking down until not even ash remains. Then without a moments respite, I feel my limbs turn leaden, my skin grow tight, my bone strain and my sinew scream. The sound of my own heart deepens in my chest, pumping so much more powerfully. And two curling horns sprout from my temples.

Her crying now ceased, I glance up at the maid to see a temperate smile blooming on her pale face. Her knife is once again shining and clean, but from it dangles a garland of blood red flowers that she places with tender care on my fine sharp horns. So she turns facing the same way that I, the beast, now face. In front of us passes a road where there was only a field and I sigh with surrender.

It's been a long time coming but....

Here at long last is my Blog. After talking about it for so long and waiting to be sure that I had something to contribute to the blogging community, here is my blog.

Welcome one and all.

If you find yourself wondering what will appear in these pages in the future that makes two of us.

There will at the very least be some of my ramblings/ideas/opinions and I intend to use it as a means of letting my fledgling writing take flight (or alternatively crash land and wander around dazed wondering if anyone got the number of that bus) and to post anything that I find cool.

Stay tuned...

A story of ofno consequence

Here is a very short piece of writing that I did for a competition as part of the Writer's Festival in Brisbane last year. The point was to write 100 words exactly including the title. This is not easy. The more anal retentive of you will count the number and notice that I fell short by going over by a smidgeon. So I didn't end up entering. Still I am very pleased with it as it is both original and funny.

Let me know what you think.



A story of ofno consequence


My name is ofno consequence.
That’s right, ofno consequence.

My father’s name was Ofno Consequence and his father before him etc etc ....

He says that it is an ancient Norse name meaning “pivotal”.

People think it is ironic since he is the greatest overachiever that the town of Min Min has ever seen, a civic leader who started three international charities, built a free self-funding hospital, inspired a cripple boy to walk, completed his thirtieth triathlon and seventh double marathon, was intrinsic in freeing Nelson Mandela and recently designed a better mouse trap.

It is understood in our family that a Consequence was responsible for the printing press, sliced bread and the Internet but was too humble to take the credit.

It is a pity then, that I am the first Consequence to take after my mother. I have asthma, eczema, facial twitches and a lisp; I am hunch-backed and pigeon-toed with the bits in between none the better.

When I am seventeen I am changing my name to Oflesser, an ancient Norse name meaning “In the shadow of”.