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Mateuš Conrad Nov 2015
it’s not everyday you get to end a 7 year psychosis
when redecorating your room to it’s “original” crimson,
having had such a simple symptom as
brain cell membranes breaking and oozing blood out,
to be misdiagnosed as mentally insane,
and when in need of help from the haemorrhage
not driven to the hospital due to the lack of *******
of having proceeded with the deed but forgetting the onslaught of law
in favour of the hurt party... well...what can you do?
move on, as i’m trying, had it been naturally based
on genetic chronology / genealogy i would have suffered in vain...
but i’m brimming with a hate for islam, and there’s nothing
to do but calm the quasi-communist protestors
in the western lands... ******* calm down... you’ll get
your freedom of speech... once you stop trying to censor vocabulary...
there’s no point learning a language if it becomes
politicised and you tell me to block vowels or consonants
in a non-kabbalistic way (which i’ll come to):
so yeah, a 7 year psychosis over a needle in a haystack...
gives me the shivers...
the many times i thought about killing someone
and feeding the emotions with not doing the act...
so many times i was almost skeletally biased to churn the
marrow haemoglobin into tendon stressor action of taking
the knife and doing halal or kosher with someone...
many a times...as many a times i saw crucifixions in edinburgh
not knowing it was going to happen in syria,
and that night when a muslim tried to mug me
in brick lane breaking down in the street of revellers
kneeling in tears screaming a prayer with tears in my eyes
of only one word: allah.
so i started redecorating my room, crimson is back from
hospital white... my bookshelf is rearranged...
on the left on the top shelf fictional books i either read
or didn’t bother to read because of the movies...
to the right on the shelf psychiatric and philosophical books...
the next shelf is a poetry “corner,” well it elongates beyond the corner...
and it’s split by a dictionary with the right bit of the shelf filled
with english poetry and some literature that’s poetic, and french,
the dictionary is planted to segregate the poetry books,
to the left of the dictionary is a book of greek myths
(did you know all greek theology is derived from the new testament
and not from the testament of orpheus or hercules or Perseus?),
then a book on meditative kabblah... then polish books of poetry.
so i rearranged the room, but i also lodged
an essayist’s book on melancholia, a book on depression
a book on an intro. to jung and a book on
schizophrenia lodged between these massive collections:
to the left all the art books... to the right all the books concerning chemistry...
so the books in between can’t really be seen.
as of today i woke with a p.s. from dreams, or a p.s. in dreams,
i woke and imagined myself talking to my mother
about the identity of al-dajjal... the false messiah,
within the conscious realm i just said the words out of the window:
fool you fool me, when mecca / medina become west of paris / london,
i’ll accept riyadh to be east of tehran / new delhi...
then we'll marginalise plateau east with copernican east
via the stars, and wander aimlessly trying to copper-fill
the sun at sunset...
he (muhammad) said the man would be of his nation,
and he said so with a warning...
but ibn saud got away weighing in at 160kg, diabetic and a brawler
with the stomach, the decadent of all that choose either sugary decadence
or some other form of mental instability in the chosen trade of stolen organs.
me? i keep my sanity with the tetragrammaton, cipher this:
this numerology *******, and it is ******* will not do...
enter platonic forms:
y is so so much more than just 25...
what will you see through y with the number 25?
what? nothing, dry brute that i am...
Y represent 3 dimensional space...
the first h is not important given the second h... which is deja vu,
which is less than what malachi insisted with the fractioned god of
the fractioned “elijah” reincarnated...
deja vu can be explained with science as one of the brain’s tricks
to sense this familiarity of seeing an elephant and acknowledging
the five blind men touching it up for comparative jokes,
the W... well... at least it’s not M... given that the trigonometric cosine continuum
begins at 1.... god is one... ring a bell? well better that than
beginning with the trigonometric sine continuum, which begins with 0...
forget numerology... numbers and letters aren’t related...
forget the dogmatism of rabbis - it makes no sense to say a = 1, b = 2 etc.
and then take a word like ape, and say: ‘ah, a = 1, p = 16 and e = 5; by god!
that’s a kabbalistic synonymity of the word... pea!’
where’s the jolly green giant when you need him, eh?
just look at what a phonetic symbol represents...
like secondary darwinism of a primate hissing to alert the presence
of a snake... past darwinism... past drawing antelopes
in french caves... in the realm of abstract phoneticism that
gave us the cognitive genesis... and made as... dare i say... a bit myopic
in a solipsistic sense.
p.s. ah... what are the newspapers saying?
slapstick humour is one of the prime causes of dementia? huh?!
yes, prime minister... is satire comedy?
how the hell can yes, prime minister be categorised as satire
if it uses canned laughter?
see that bloke over there... doing the omnivore pelican dance?
he joked so readily and active that he created authentic laughter...
don’t know where your satire is going... but it certainly left me gagging
for a springroll.
now now... absurdist comedy is too oxbridge for me...
kings and gentlemen get educated in either st. andrew’s or edinburgh...
we laugh at ourselves.
alt. to canned laughter, given that "canned laughter"
is reserved for the authentic laughter of the crowd
at a live show? what's the antonym of canned laughter
in televised satire? picky laughter... i.e. only one person
in an schoolroom of 30 gets the joke, apart from the comedian...
that lonely everest ha ha... ooh chills, frozen prawns in gravy.
In the storm-tossed
Chilean
sea
lives the rosy conger,
giant eel
of snowy flesh.
And in Chilean
stewpots,
along the coast,
was born the chowder,
thick and succulent,
a boon to man.
You bring the conger, skinned,
to the kitchen
(its mottled skin slips off
like a glove,
leaving the
grape of the sea
exposed to the world),
naked,
the tender eel
glistens,
prepared
to serve our appetites.
Now
you take
garlic,
first, caress
that precious
ivory,
smell
its irate fragrance,
then
blend the minced garlic
with onion
and tomato
until the onion
is the color of gold.
Meanwhile steam
our regal
ocean prawns,
and when
they are
tender,
when the savor is
set in a sauce
combining the liquors
of the ocean
and the clear water
released from the light of the onion,
then
you add the eel
that it may be immersed in glory,
that it may steep in the oils
of the ***,
shrink and be saturated.
Now all that remains is to
drop a dollop of cream
into the concoction,
a heavy rose,
then slowly
deliver
the treasure to the flame,
until in the chowder
are warmed
the essences of Chile,
and to the table
come, newly wed,
the savors
of land and sea,
that in this dish
you may know heaven.
Mateuš Conrad Nov 2015
sample precursor: there are three binding directions of a chemical group (e.g. CH3) to the benzene ring - the ortho-, the meta- and the para-... but i'll ask a different question: what is copernican north what is copernican east a copernican west or a copernican west without a "flat-earth" / how else to read / navigate a 2D map going from point (a) via vector (c) to point (b) along the short-cut of the hypotenuse - which, isn't a short-cut, but the logical conclusion of walking neither the middle path nor the right path, but the logical path? we're no astronauts... we didn't see the proof... we can only entertain the "idea" of a 3D object we live on, but we're still strapped to a "flat earth" in order to navigate... endless stories of how GPS tech. fooled people off the edge of a cliff... "flat earth" is no reverse psychology ploy... i'm no ******* astronaut... i never stood left right or center on the moon to have the foggiest sense of admiration for that awe-balancing moment that leaves so many deluded in it being otherwise: first come first served, last come: what's there's to serve that last man if not merely the drudge-report of a commute? besides... trans- and cis-, why are people borrowing from chemistry and attaching gender to what is exlusive to chemical compounds? look at them... pop chemistry... cis-trans isomerism... fine, let these people have that... my new n.e.w.s. (north, east, west, south): orthography, something clearly missing in the anglophone world (no diacritical markers, i and j do not count)... ergo? orthography = east... paranormal = west... since the west is obsessed with either aliens or hush-hush military projects... now... both north and south are meta- coordinates... on the basis, on the basis of what? two words really work well to establish a foundation: from ars poetica? metaphor (borrowed from a change of mind - meta- and -phren - mind, a change of mind, all mental illnesses are changes of the mind, alternatives to alleviate the stranglehold of the commune of the greater picture known as society)... but... there's also metaphysics... which is in the interest of philosophy... how else not to explain the obvious, how else to treat both the reader / audience as the well informed genius(es) but mistreat them as would be grander genius(es) if the socratic endeavour of "pretense ignorance" was not to be established? it's a hard juggle... east is already well established in orthography, west in paranomal... literally: metaphor - a change of mind, literally metaphysics - a change of groundwork physicality of things... a rock remains a rock in either "heaven" or in "hell"... metaphysically there seems to be a direct translation... this is why i'm terrible at crosswords, this whole puzzle structure of either working from a direct definition to the word itself, some random geographical posists, some historical posits, some outdated out-of-vogue words related to specified period idiosyncracy, a tinge of the therausus... my current crossword is an interchange: meta-phor, meta-physics, meta-phot, meta-physics and on and on it goes: even with the isolated prefix of meta-, if i return to the words: as they are... would: denoting a change of thinking (state of mind) or... denoting a change of physics, i'm met with metaphysics, i.e.: a branch of philosophy that deals with the first principles... sounds like a priori physics, yet all i can fathom if i wrestle this word to its casual use: isn't it a posteriori physics?! the what comes after physics? i should think that most people understand metaphysics on an a posteriori basis rather than an a priori basis... hence the question: what happens when we die? last time i checked: death happens last... birth happens first... any question-worthiness (according to heidegger) should begin at: the beginning rather than begin at the end, in the same way that all questions should be sought in a medium of predating the dates of events, rather than with a spirit of hindsight, hindsight belongs to the "what if" of history in that dynamism of expressed time... on the canvas of an infinitely expanding space: we seem to be riddled by a very cul de sac concept / expression of time: our quill - given that ****** didn't learn from napoleon when it came to russia... perhaps finding out what copernicus found out: "we" figured: get me off this ******* celestial carousel where i can't even feel the dizzy immediate of a ferris wheel! again: i'm terrible at crosswords, sudoku? no problem... but words: if not gushing out of me, waiting like a lizard predator for a linear narrative spew? count me out... i don't play with words, i use words... i'm a wordsmith, hence the ethnic origin denote: słowianin: slav - i don't know where these west-saxon punks derived their etymology from: słowo = word... *****-liquor juice teens thought it was: oh fo' sho' smart... still: metaphor, metaphysics... metaphor... metaphysics... disgruntled with the immediate compound readied for pop use... meta-physics... the vector is the prefix... why do philosophers push metaphysics so much, but in turn rely on the crutch of metaphor? to change their mind, if metaphysics is an abstract theory with no basis in reality, then the schizoid / metaphorical mind is an abstract in an abstracted theory of the mind - which has "no" knowledge of reality, or rather: "reality" excludes such a mind from ever absorbing an expression in it... a schizophrenic can't explain the reality of a person who can solve crossword puzzles... just as someone who solves crossword puzzles with a fear of alzheimer's: who treats the fatty tissue that's the brain as a muscle... given that the cells of alzheimer's disease are killer proteins... proteins as the antithesis of white blood-cells that feed of fat tissue... after all: what else could the brain be if not fat and water? slow burner... first the sugars, then the more complex carbohydrates, then the fat: last? the proteins... the process of starvation... you want up? you want down? again: metaphysics / metaphor... ta meta ta phusika... the things after the physics... so what's with the inverted: prior things? hence people associated a life after death... hence how philosophers have to escape into the poetic realm to quickly change their minds on the definition... a change of mind is much easier than a change of what physicality entails... most spew metaphors but keep on course... after all: given the genesis of the metaphor, a metaphor is just a tool, a humble stop-off pause... born from humble poetics: it's only a literary tool, it's not some grand pillar of morality associated metaphysics, which nonetheless dictates: first principles come last and last principles come first... here's my crossword puzzle: metaphor, metaphysics, meta-alpha, meta-beta, metaphor and the meta-alpha, metaphysics and the meta-beta... etc. etc., i will not solve this crossword puzzle, even though it doesn't look like a crossword puzzle... it's a narrative crossword puzzle, i'm just looking for the sort of fixed point people associate with prime words: red, left, blue, right, up, fox, dog... words of readied vocabulary, readied vocabulary dissociated from puzzled vocabulary... i want to established a fixed permanence of the dissociated close proximity grounded in the meta- prefix of the words meta-phor and, meta-physics... i'm starting to find this impossible, given how the words have dissociated themselves from the grounding in the meta- prefix... phor alias phren (mind) and the whole gush of isolated metaphysics of beginnings: meta a priori vs. meta a posteriori - and of course: meta a- apriori... hell if i can't solve crossword puzzles: since i already have a crossword puzzle in my head... what am i to do? try writing pop?! a dog does what his master orders, a jester tells a joke his king would find amusing... i'll just treat this enclave of an audience as a bunch of people subscribed to ulterior forms of voyeurism (dissociated from pain / pleasure gratification, esp. that of a ****** nature).

.you know like in latin you had the interchangeable tongue twisters æ and œ? well... english resurrected one more... au... oh stralia... auntie; ******* hell i've been speaking this since aged ate and i still can't get my tongue into that phonetic plughole... or what's that onomatopoeia for: it really hurts? awe... nah... aw... aw... well no cute kitten about to say aww.

well it began with the usual... i wish i didn’t...
sitting in the autumnal garden
drinking coffee and eating a nicotine croissant,
watching the fog recede into nothing
while the earth showed its naked cleavage
after what seems like centuries of arcane dryness
befitting a story of an egyptian idol...
then the panic set in...
what to cook?! what to cook?!
my mother is away visiting her parents in poland,
who celebrate the feast of all saints with the usual
tackle formidable in poland:
forget the paris fashion week, forget the london fashion week...
forget the next gucci advert...
all the action happens in poland’s annual all saints’ fashion week...
through the cemetery (ahem) cat walks
(more like death on rollerblades donning a tutu
and looking fatter than size 0 models)...
because that’s when the fur coats are worn,
the make-up is heavier and everyone comes
to discuss the materialistic jealousy of a small town...
it is a small town after all...
death knocks with all the nine cat’s lives just to prove
the point...
anyway, so i’m the head chef, and in panic
i search for a recipe... i’ve only got pork on the ready
in the recognisable frozen state...
but i also have shrimps... tiger prawns...
so i look through the usual suspects... thai green curry...
ah ****! no coconut milk!
what’s it going to be? prawn korma curry
(better mild than hot i say, with all this maple syrup
and honey colours about... talk about decay),
active ingredients? chilli powder (1/2 tsp), cinnamon
(1/2 tsp), turmeric (1/2 tsp) and ground almonds (2 tbsp),
there ready... looking suntanned my gorgeous twirls of seabed manure...
enough to spare my father making himself sandwiches (i always
disguised my “dyslexia” by associations... sandy witches...
the t broke the barriers and the floods entered)...
with toasted nannies / au pairs... relatives of some sort...
then onto writing my father’s invoices:
project plaistow hospital and some housing development near
the city airport... beckton we call it... backwards and forwards
stink crowned with drinkers regurgitating on the pave...
now that is a *******... recycling centre or horse manure?
then to tesco... for the nightcap...
oddly enough tesco has become a friend of mine once more,
i divorced the turkish shop, they added 10 pence to the polish beers,
now i’m on the sedative medication of this bottle bavaria beer
and whiskey... 1 quid for the former... 10 quid for the latter -
i’ve sold my soul! never mind...
then to the beacon that’s home... it’s night... it’s spooky...
it’s essex: that non-touristy place in england people with passports
never dare to visit, shambles.
well one thing came out true... none of the above though:
you ever consider the theory of the aeroplane syndrome in writers?
you know, like with rock stars you get the full package,
you get the aeroplane and the retrieved delay of the engine mushroom,
but with poetry (which is competing with music,
philosophers just wait in that queue for the cheese, wink, whine and wrinkle)
you only get the sound... that delayed mushroom...
you see the poet but never hear him...
it’s a typical delusion i’d call parallel or even adjacent to narcissism,
you walk down the street and the closest you come
to someone recognising you is a stranger uttering out: ‘hey richard!’
‘name’s matt mate.’
‘oh... sorry.’
it’s this aeroplane syndrome theory... it’s perfectly acceptable...
you have the image but don’t have the delayed sound...
you have the delayed sound... but you only get a photograph...
you have the english national health service mental health unit crisis...
and then you have people shunning intellectualism
trying to cure people by burning / not reading philosophical books;
the day ends with drinking and reading
an article about keith richard’s antics in the sunday times’ supplement
and the thought: well i gave her a stabbing chance
at feminism... she thought the active ingredient in anti-contraception
pills was placebo... she phoned and gave birth to me...
i said abort... you’re no post-teen mum at university, you won’t be...
******* was great but i’m not that much of a match from a cosmopolitan magazine quiz
(as duly taken on my way from st. pestersburg to moscow to see
metallica play), plus there are no roofing jobs in scotland...
the scots have mountains already... there’s no point building
scratched sky skylines with mountain ranges nearby...
so even though i went to a catholic school...
i did my first redemptive act by reading about gnostic heretics...
and not getting confirmed being the second...
i would have not taken first communion... but playing the xylophone
at the nativity play was too much fun...
plus it is the only salvador dali bit of the story...
after that you have st. sebastian...
plus you see where this is going... the greeks translated
the tetragrammaton into the gospels
of st. matthew, luke, mark and john...
and the romans were duped into the legality of
things... first name, second name, confirmation name...
surname.
there may be positive thinking,
the day after the cleaning.

after all, one’s problems
aint so bad when we hear of others.

it was hoped the electricity
was off, seems they still
use it in bangor.

this is shocking.

is it really all about shopping?

i think it is more about friendship,
and carings.

it may be said now, that
they do supply prawns.

sbm.
Mark Jun 2020
COOL TENTS WITH HOT FOOD
From the 10th diary entry of Stewy Lemmon's childhood adventures.

Finally, the day Smoochy and I had been waiting for had arrived. It was Saturday the 7th of March. The day we were heading off to the, 89th Boy Scouts & Girl Guides, combined World Jamboree. The jamboree was held this year in the Nevada desert in Las Vegas, USA.

My dad Archie, was the local scout leader for the Shimmerleedimmerlee 1st scout group and my mum Flo, was second in charge of the Barefeet Mountain 3rd Girl Guide group. Mum's friend was the Barefeet girl guides leader and she was named, Miss Alice Springs. Dad was making the trip with other local scout leaders and 11 of us boys. Mum and Miss Alice Springs were taking 11 girls from the local Barefeet Mountain girl guide group, including my two much older identical twin sisters, Emma and Jemma. Also coming along was my much younger brother, Lemmy and of course my grouse pet mouse, Smoochy.

Dad has been in the local boy scout group since he was very young and his father, John Lemmon, my grandfather, was also in the same scout group when it first began, all of those years ago.

There were boy scout and girl guide groups from all over the world attending the big camping and adventure event. People from far away places like Norway, France, Egypt, Australia, Holland, England, Brazil, Thailand, Hong Kong, Italy and of course the host nation, the United States of America.

Every group, brought with them their home nations own colourful flags and individually designed tents, based on their countries culture or famous landmarks. It was like having all of the countries of the world, all in the one place at a time.

The boy scout and girl guide group from Thailand had a tent that looked like a Buddhist Temple and also had an outdoor kitchen where they would make, such great tasting, but ever so hot and spicy, food from.

The Egyptian guys and girls had a massive high tent, that resembled the world famous giant Pyramid of Giza. It must of taken them ages to make the angles so perfectly straight and with extreme precision.

Holland's tent was a large and fully operational, colourful windmill. It, even had it's very own water tank. The windmill tent was painted with colours and designs that even impressed my very artistic dad.

He said, 'He might even have to redecorate his unusually built, outrageously painted, outback, backyard shed and use some of the bright paint colours and fancy designs the boys and girls had done'.

The next tent was very big and long from the boy scout and girl guide groups of, Australia. It had been designed to look like the, Sydney harbour bridge. But it didn't have a roof to protect them from the weather, while they slept shoulder to shoulder, across the wooden bridge road. But, like most Aussies with relaxed and casual attitudes they said, 'She'll be right mate, Rain, Hail or Shine'.

The guys and gals from Italy, had a tent that was leaning over to the right, just like the, famous Leaning Tower of Pisa. They assured us all that it wouldn't fall over. 'Trust us, they said'.

Hong Kong had a very long tent that was based on the colourful, cultural inspired dragon. It had a lot of tent pegs on either side, to keep it's ever winding position in place. It was the most colourful and coolest tent of all. But at the same time, the most scariest tent of them all.

England's tent was based on the very historic, Tower of London. It even had two very serious looking guards on patrol out front, made out of paper mâché.

Norway's tent was in the shape of, a Vikings fighting helmet. It had, two large horns coming out from the left and right hand sides. It looked like a raging bull, in a bizarre sort of way.

Brazil came up with a giant yellow and green football, based on their national sport and colours of the country, for its design. All of us just hoped, 'It didn't get a sudden hole in it and start to knock over all of our tents, just like a giant pinball game'.

France went for a super, duper structure, that was wide at the bottom and became thinner towards the top. It was in the shape of the Eiffel Tower, of course. It was the tallest tent at the jamboree camping grounds and provided the best views from atop.

While the host nation the USA decided to honour the, Native American Indians. They, had a large tent resembling an original and colourful Indian Teepee, with a hole at the top. The scouts and girl guides from, the USA, sent out messages to everyone nearby, using the old, but still very effective, smoke signals way of communication. They said, 'Who needs the Internet, Facebook and Twitter, when you can send messages and cook a meal on a fire at the same time'?

After looking at all of the great tents made by all of the participating nations, we sat down to eat. Everybody had made a favourite dish from their home country. All the girl guides from Australia made the famous and delicious dessert cake called, Pavlova. But, it wasn't any ordinary Pavlova, for it was in the shape of the very large outback rock named Uluru. Which, by the way, is located in the middle of Australia, near a place called Alice Springs.

So my mum's friend has a very famous name indeed. The girl guides from Australia named this creation, 'The Alice Springs Rock'.

The Egyptians had made a dessert out of shortbread, that took them hours to make. Each piece of shortbread had to be skilfully cut, with exact precision or the creation just wouldn't stay in place. It was named, 'Pastry Plate of Pharaoh's Perfect Pyramid'.

The Italian Boy Scouts, prepared a series of huge leaning pizzas stacked on top of each other, on very acute angles, just like their tent. They named their creation, 'The Leaning Tower of Pizza'.

The host nation of the USA, made some yummy hotdogs with tomato ketchup, mustard and cheese. They made the hotdogs, pop up from each end of the roll and placed wooden sticks on either side to look like American Native Indians were rowing their canoes.

Norway had created a tasty snack made with salmon and biscuits which looked like little boats flowing down the Fjords. Also the impression of large rocks in the water that were in fact meatballs for all.

Thailand had served up several spicy dishes, including the famous Pad Thai dish with chicken and the hot soup named Hot and Sour with Prawns in Thai you pronounce it as Tom Yung Goong. It was so yummy in the tummy the dishes from Thailand.

In the Brazil kitchen they made us their nations famous Churrasco or BBQ. It uses a variety of meats like pork, beef and chicken which was cooked on large metal skewers stuck into the ground and roasted with the embers of the charcoal.

France baked up some crescent shaped flaky pastry named the Croissant. They added some great tasting almonds to a few, while some others had dried fruits such as sultanas, raisins and even apples.

Holland had an assortment of plates consisting of Gouda and Edam cheeses with mayonnaise and mustards and other plates had a rich variety of fruits, freshly cut meats and nuts placed upon them.

Hong Kong had very traditional Chinese meals prepared for all to enjoy. They had everything from fried rice, to Chinese noodles to my dads all time favourite Peking Duck, so when he saw the duck he said he was in luck. Also they had a plate full of Dim Sums and a Hong Kong favourite snack called egg tarts and another of my dads favourite drinks named milk tea.

Finally England had whipped up my Friday night special, which is Fish n Chips with tomato sauce. It was so good that a lot of the other nations said they would make it for their families, once they got home.

In the morning we had such great fun and adventure while trying every nations favourite sport or recreation. We started by having team races on the river in Native American Indian canoes, Norwegian Viking ships, Italian Gondolas, Egyptian river boats and Chinese dragon boat races in the nearby river. The winning order was Hong Kong 1st, Italy came in 2nd and third of all was Egypt.

We even had competitions to see who could do the best smoke signals and we even had fun rope climbing events to the top of the Eiffel Tower, the Leaning tower of Pisa, and walking and climbing events up the Pyramid of Giza and the Sydney Harbour Bridge tents.

Then some countries had a football game after lunch with teams from Brazil, England, Italy and France playing for the Boy Scouts and Girl Guides World Cup golden trophy. Brazil beat England in the final 3-1, to hold up the golden cup.

Some other nations had bike riding races, which Holland won with ease. Australia did really well in the boxing competition. Everybody laughed when Smoochy came out 1st, wearing a pair of boxing gloves, before they brought out a plastic blow up of their mascot wearing gloves "Big Red" the boxing kangaroo which was placed near the ring for good luck.

Thailand dominated the Judo and the USA couldn't be stopped in the 100m sprints and also the mixed basketball matches. So overall, everyone had such a great time and we all loved the tents, food and different sports to watch and perform in, from all of the world.

The week went so fast and it was sad to say goodbye to all of our new friends from all over the world, but we promised that we would stay in touch either by using smoke signals or the new generations way, which is either by Facebook or Twitter.
© Fetchitnow
20 October 2019.
This children’s fun adventure book series, is only for children from ages, 1-100. So please enjoy.
Note: Please read these in order, from diary entry 1-12, to get the vibe of all of the characters and the colourful sense of this crazy mess.
I

On the Coast of Coromandel
Where the early pumpkins blow,
In the middle of the woods
  Lived the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo.
Two old chairs, and half a candle,--
One old jug without a handle,--
    These were all his worldly goods:
    In the middle of the woods,
    These were all the worldly goods,
  Of the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo,
  Of the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo.

II

Once, among the ****-trees walking
  Where the early pumpkins blow,
    To a little heap of stones
  Came the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo.
There he heard a Lady talking,
To some milk-white Hens of Dorking,--
    ''Tis the lady Jingly Jones!
    'On that little heap of stones
    'Sits the Lady Jingly Jones!'
  Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo,
  Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo.

III

'Lady Jingly! Lady Jingly!
  'Sitting where the pumpkins blow,
    'Will you come and be my wife?'
  Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo.
'I am tired of living singly,--
'On this coast so wild and shingly,--
    'I'm a-weary of my life:
    'If you'll come and be my wife,
    'Quite serene would be my life!'--
  Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo,
  Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo.

IV

'On this Coast of Coromandel,
  'Shrimps and watercresses grow,
    'Prawns are plentiful and cheap,'
  Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo.
'You shall have my chairs and candle,
'And my jug without a handle!--
    'Gaze upon the rolling deep
    ('Fish is plentiful and cheap)
    'As the sea, my love is deep!'
  Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo,
  Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo.

V

Lady Jingly answered sadly,
  And her tears began to flow,--
    'Your proposal comes too late,
  'Mr. Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo!
'I would be your wife most gladly!'
(Here she twirled her fingers madly,)
    'But in England I've a mate!
    'Yes! you've asked me far too late,
    'For in England I've a mate,
  'Mr. Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo!
  'Mr. Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo!'

VI

'Mr. Jones--(his name is Handel,--
  'Handel Jones, Esquire, & Co.)
    'Dorking fowls delights to send,
  'Mr. Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo!
'Keep, oh! keep your chairs and candle,
'And your jug without a handle,--
    'I can merely be your friend!
    '--Should my Jones more Dorkings send,
    'I will give you three, my friend!
  'Mr. Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo!
  'Mr. Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo!'

VII

'Though you've such a tiny body,
  'And your head so large doth grow,--
    'Though your hat may blow away,
  'Mr. Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo!
'Though you're such a Hoddy Doddy--
'Yet a wish that I could modi-
    'fy the words I needs must say!
    'Will you please to go away?
    'That is all I have to say--
  'Mr. Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo!
  'Mr. Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo!'.

VIII

Down the slippery slopes of Myrtle,
  Where the early pumpkins blow,
    To the calm and silent sea
  Fled the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo.
There, beyond the Bay of Gurtle,
Lay a large and lively Turtle,--
    'You're the Cove,' he said, 'for me
    'On your back beyond the sea,
    'Turtle, you shall carry me!'
  Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo,
  Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo.

IX

Through the silent-roaring ocean
  Did the Turtle swiftly go;
    Holding fast upon his shell
  Rode the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo.
With a sad primaeval motion
Towards the sunset isles of Boshen
    Still the Turtle bore him well.
    Holding fast upon his shell,
    'Lady Jingly Jones, farewell!'
  Sang the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo,
  Sang the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo.

X

From the Coast of Coromandel,
  Did that Lady never go;
    On that heap of stones she mourns
  For the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo.
On that Coast of Coromandel,
In his jug without a handle
    Still she weeps, and daily moans;
    On that little hep of stones
    To her Dorking Hens she moans,
  For the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo,
  For the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo.
v V v Sep 2010
It all begins with pounding fists
against my door, and men with guns
and yellow tape, and me afraid,
I’m on the floor and crawling toward
the front room drapes to peak outside,
oh what in the world have I done?

A bit relieved, I find out why
a regiment is in my yard,
they say the man that lived next door
has turned up dead behind his shed,
they said he died an awful way,
with eyes ****** out by who knows
what, or why, but either way a
nasty death; poor guy.

The landscape man called 911,
but what he saw he wouldn’t say,
was so surprised to find him dead,
he swallowed his tongue, his face all red,
and there they lie both side by side
the one alive, the other dead.

The EMTs revived the one,
the older guy had long since died,
the guy who lived, they took away
to where? don’t know, they didn’t say,-
but rumor is a padded cell
where all he does both day and night
is moan and drool, he just ain’t right
from what he saw that spooked him.

Within a week I notice things
around the house (not his, but mine)
the porch out back, the wet wood stack,
the shifting earth, the sticking doors,
disgusting insects on the floor,
the pungent stench from underneath
the house, the vents that weep a
sickly brown and soupy ****,  I
must confess in ignorance,
I didn’t know a house could bleed.
I try some bleach, some cleaning spray,
but just can’t scrub the **** away,
it just gets worse, and just when I
can take no more a chasm cracks
behind the stack of sticky wood,
and from the hole a flying horde
of Satan’s pawns and slugs and prawns
and beasts of sorts I swear I’ve never
seen before come shrieking out and
flock about so loud the sound is
deafening.

And now I know what mute man saw,
he saw what’s left, the face of stone
when people die at home alone,
the rigor mortis, gouged out eyes
when killed by things that men despise,
those beasts that creep and crawl and fly
about as Satan’s pawns or slugs
or prawns or whatever else might
make them cry or swallow their tongue.

I really don’t know what the big
deal is -  good god
its only BUGS.

I guess I’ll call an exterminator.
Petal pie Mar 2014
Prancing prawns jive on
Rainbow trout salsa in streams
Salmon riverdance! :-)
judy smith Dec 2015
Did you know the East Indian Bottle Masala includes as many as 27 spices, or that an oil-free pickle served at their weddings is actually known as Wedding Pickle?

These and many such authentic East Indian masalas and pickles are available at East Indian Cozinha (Portuguese for kitchen), a food store started by Christina Kinny at Kolovery Village in Kalina, Santacruz. "I started East Indian Cozinha with an attempt to preserve and highlight our cuisine and culture," says the 24-year old, who has studied Masters in Social Work and currently, works with an enterprise that helps tribal farmers.

What’s in store?

Going back 500 years, the East Indian cuisine enjoys influences from Portuguese, British and Maharashtrian fare. The staples include rice, coconut, tamarind, fish and meats, with spices forming an integral part of the cuisine. For instance, Prawn Atola is a dry dish comprising prawns coated only with Vindaloo Masala featuring Kashmiri chilli, cumin and turmeric. "Most people from our community were farmers and would be out on field all day. So, the masalas and lemon would help preserve their food for a longer time," reasons Kinny.

At present, the store stocks six varieties of masala in 100g bottles (R150 onwards). These include Khuddi or Bottle Masala, Chinchoni (fish) Masala, Vindaloo Masala, Roast Rub, Kujit Masala and Tem Che Rose. She also offers Wedding Pickle, an oil-free variety prepared with raw papaya, carrots and dry dates. "All the recipes have been passed on from generations and are homemade," she informs.

However, making the masalas is no cakewalk. "It takes three days to dry spices under the sun. Then, we hand pound them and pack them tightly in bottles with wider openings," says Kinny. She recalls that in her grandmother’s time, the masalas were tightly stuffed in beer bottles. The bottles were darker, and hence, helped preserve the masala for at least a year, at room temperature.

Lugra love

East Indian Cozinha also stocks traditional 10-yard saris known as lugras. These are hand embroidered by Kinny’s mother, Carol. Previously made only from cotton with authentic gold borders, now, lugras are embroidered with sequins and threads. "She has been in the garment industry for the last 30 years. She also makes traditional accessories like kapotas (earrings), karis (hair pins), anklets, etc," informs Kinny.

read more:www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses

www.marieaustralia.com/short-formal-dresses
Seye Kuyinu May 2014
You pick every word I say
With rapt attention.
So I tell you about tangerine skies
In Vermont, how I shape them.
I tell you my dad invented Cuban cigars
In Argentina.

You heard about the prawns,
The ***** and the lilies. A story only I could tell.
I could tell it in fluent Yoruba.
You watch me sleep like I don't have a care in this world
Snorting away while chasing dragonflies and seahorses
In my oblivion.


You watch me walk in the shadows
My gait like gridless frames of a restless gate
blown open by the wind.
(If I was the night, I would be bright.)

Finally you see my hands well adapted to cutlasses and owes,
Irrespective experienced with oriental oils
and manicures.
'One day I will be king', I thought I said.
But you heard it from my mind.
You heard it alone.

Yesterday we owed this to ourselves.
Tomorrow we will be lovers
Today let's be friends.
Stanley Wilkin Jul 2016
Beneath the water lived a nymph, beautiful as
A flower, if you like woman with petals
Growing from out of their face
And lips adorned with myriad metals
Moving silently with infinite grace.

Fishermen who caught her, in alarm
Tossed her back with dismayed cries
Fearful that she would do them harm
When she exposed her fangs, darting from her eyes,
Forked tongues from each palm.

But apart from all that, she was a delightful creature
As proud as a catwalk model
Sexuality impressed into each feature
Death in each cuddle,
Poison injected from each freshly opening suture.

At the sea’s dark bottom lived the nymph
Devouring fish raw, terrifying sharks and barracuda,
Dining on shellfish and prawns for lunch;
Darting amongst Angel Fish and eels, a hungry aficionada,
Tearing into shreds what she could not crunch.

Gentle with her own kind until coition
Was complete, when if hungry she devoured
Her temporary mate without undue consideration,
No please or thank you. Feeling duly empowered
By her actions, as confirmed by her explosive, acrid indigestion.

No longer young, her children dead,
She glides through the water from China to France
A preposterous seaweed hat upon her head
And in several places, impaling her scaly flesh a serrated coral branch.
Her sartorial taste filling even the sharks with fin-quaking dread.

The last of the kind. The others are (literally) toast.
Protected by animal charities here and abroad
She gladly subsists on ambitious swimmers who venture far from the coast
All she can now catch or afford.
A capricious tyrant until the last, when, victim of a fisherman’s boast

She was hoist up like iniquitous cod
Out of the sea, paraded on the deck while she struggled for breath.
Shot at. Abused. Poked and speared with a steel tipped rod,
Dragged into the harbour, pummelled close to death.
Screaming out, as she in unexpected agony died: “I thought, I truly thought, I was god!”
betterdays Aug 2014
there are some things,
that just smell so good:
corn freshly shucked, potatoes roasted in campfire coals, carrots fresh from the ground, then washed   and stovetop roasted
basted with butter
and lavender honey.

the nape of my toddlers neck,
that clean fresh hopeful little boy smell.
coffee, straight up, freshly brewed
caramel warming,

passionfruit, strawberries, citrus any type, zested. freshly planed fennel curls, mint crushed for a mojito, roast lamb and rosemary gravy.

the smell of planed wood in the palms of my man's hands as i kiss them. frangipani, coconut tanning oil,
earth newly rained upon. popcorn popping, chocolate melting,
jasmine, orange blossoms,
a grove of pine trees.
warm gingerbread and mulled wine.

salt tang on the morning breeze.
the smell that lingers after the lovin.
garlic and ginger in a hot wok.
salt tang on the evening breeze.
prawns all sea salty and
a crisp cold beer.

sandlewood and citrus aftershave lotion on your smoothed cheek.

nectarines, apricots,
a yellow juicy peach,
freshly bitten.

apple scented shampoo daphne & lilac my nana's smell,
bay *** newspaper print and palmolive soap,
my pop's study.

rose petals crushed.
earl grey tea,
toast just before burning damper and cocky's joy
crisp fresh linen warm from the sun.

so many scents, so many smells...
these are my favourites please feel free to add your's, as long as it's clean
and above board.
damper=camp fire bread similar to soda bread
cocky's joy=goldensyrup.
Marinela Marie Dec 2012
My fingers raw from scrubbing pounds of clams, mussels, peeling prawns.
My back aches in preparation for a meal that I wish to share with you.
Christmas music in the background.
A cocktail in hand
Now I sit for a moment and wonder
Where are you?
I hope you smile
Know I think of you
Waiting for our time together
Sitting here. Lost in thought.
Lost in you.
Kiss my love
Going down to sizzlers,   (the sizzler song)



Come on mum and dad, don't be a tease
I do a lot of cooking, so why don't you grab the car keys
You see mum, there is no need to cook
And dad,,there is no need to book
Yeah we can have a lot of fun at sizzler, yeah
You see dad will have a steak
Mum will have a break, I prefer all you can eat
So I can eat myself stupid, man
So while dad is enjoying his steak, yes, he
Says it's so melt in the mouth
And I am fucken feeding my face, and looking like a loser, yeah
I first would have a plate of prawns, yeah I liked that,,yeah
And then I will have a savoury dip and special kind of crackers
And then I'll try a garlic bread and pasta, yeah
After that, when normal people give up
I will have ice cream and jelly and pancakes too
I will also try the nice chocolate mousse and healthy yoghurt
Oh yeah that's so nice, and listen mum, you shouldn't be a tease
Cause we can have a good meal at sizzler, please
And mum and dad enjoyed their meal, and they knew when to stop
But for about 20 minutes I was in the toilets spewing like crazy , oh yeah
My mum and dad were worried, and it got them all stressed
But the stupid vomiting won't actually stop
And when I felt a bit better I left the toilets
And mum and dad took me home because to them it was embarrassing
And on the way home I felt like vomiting again
And mum and dad stopped the car, so I can ***** it out
And I was there for about another 20 more minutes
And mum and dad said, come on, son, it's cold and we want to get home to the warm
And when I finished, I got back home, and it was a laugh a minute at sizzler yeah
You see dad enjoyed the steak, and mum enjoyed a break
And I think there should be a law against all you can eat places
Because all you can eat, is a bit of a tease
I was going down to sizzlers to ***** in the toilet, oh yeah
Howard Zagrebson Feb 2010
Hello i'm Howard,
and I like fish,
I love the prawns and the tuna,
that lay on my dish,

but I'm not to fond,
of them  sardines though,
they taste like crap,
my brother's named Moe

I love my food,
and so do you,
you eat it all up,
then it comes out in poo
when torn clouds bared blue holes
the river brimmed with ecstasy.

it had rained the whole day
and she was bursting in seams
to tell her side of the story
from the many
upon her shore's mangrove.

how the tiger guards her treasures,
prawns and ***** and honeys and woods,

pounces from the saline thickness of the mist
when dream of life is heavy on the gatherer
and smell of death far gone forgotten

rips the flesh cracks the skull open
flows the blood as silent night
carries the trophy for a bony rest
till devoured by her floodwater.

the river knows it too well

the tiger is her lover and loyal sentinel.
The Sunderban tigers prey upon the fishermen, crab catchers, woodcutters, and honey gatherers who venture into their territory, more often illegally, driven by the lure of the wealth in the river and on her shores.
Marius Surleac Apr 2010
  dedicated to Rene Magritte *

An image of my grandmother
her head appearing upside-down upon a cloud
the cloud transfixed on the steeple
of a deserted railway-station
far away

An image of an aqueduct
with a dead crow hanging from the first arch
a modern-style chair from the second
a fir-tree lodged in the third
and the whole scene sprinkled with snow

An image of a piano-tuner
with a basket of prawns on his shoulder
and a firescreen under his arm
his moustache made of clay-clotted twigs
and his cheeks daubed with wine

An image of an aeroplane
the propellor is rashers of bacon
the wings are of reinforced lard
the tail is made of paper-clips
the pilot is a wasp

An image of the painter
with his left hand in a bucket
and his right hand stroking a cat
as he lies in bed
with a stone beneath his head

And all these images
and many others
are arranged like waxworks
in model bird-cages
about six inches high.
Traveling around Queensland



You see in October in 2002, Brian Allan went on a trip to Queensland with pipeline, where
The bus came right to Brian's door and there was heaps of picnic food, and there was this lady
Named Janet, who was a bit of a larrikin, and Kelly, who was a very nice lady, and then there was Richard, who tried to steal my book, but, in theory, I never kept it due to my mental breakdown, but that was a fun trip, you see we travelled up to Hervey Bay where we went to a museum aquarium, yeah that was cool, and I took some great pictures of the group I went with
And I really participated in the objects of that museum, and then we went whale watching, and that was really really cool, I also remember, doing a bit of Dolphin watching, and also, I took a photo of myself in the captain's seat, and we had a banquet meal aboard that boat, boy it's like the boat at bateman's bay,, but more exotic, and, I moved all around the boat trying to get pictures of the whales and other things, and yes, this was cool, and, one of the older people on the tour I went on had a crush on me, and I thought, she is way to old for me, but, I wanted to be nice, ok, and then as the boat went over each whale, it went rumpita rumpita rumpita
And all the people on the boat, including myself were walking from deck to deck taking photos, as this was the only time we would see whales on this Queensland coast, and then, yes, the boat trip was finished, and we all went off and went home and then Richard was tired and wanted me to get the milk for breakfast, and I didn't and he stole my writing book, because I was ******* him off, but I wrote a Poem called I don't want to be a stalker, and despite me and Richard wanting the same thing, why can't he ask, why me, and then we all had tea, and went to bed, and the next day, we went to feed the seal, and matey oh this was great and I enjoyed as you hold the piece of fish out and the seal jumps up and grabs the fish, oh this was ever so much fun, and I had 3 Goes, I think, but it could've been more, maybe less, but it was fun, and
I can tell you, the seal was having a great time as well, and I took a few photos of the seal as well as we made a movie about it, but through years and years of my mental breakdown I might have wrecked that, but it was a video anyway, and I haven't got a VCR anymore, anyway, but
I don't think I threw out the photographs on the trip, which is great, and after we left Hervey Bay, we went to the Gold Coast, and all the dreams I had about the Gold Coast, first of all we went to Warner brothers movie world, and mate, I felt like I was in the USA and as I watched the police academy cars,yeah cool, and there were a lot of rides we went on, yeah, I just walked around the theme park, buying things in the movie playground, and buying souvenirs, and talking to some of the tourists, and I spoke to a lot of the people from our trip, as I walked around with Kelly and Steve ambrose, and then at the end of this day at the theme park, a bad
Thing happened in Bali, which was the Bali bombings and Tom and Steve who were my room mates were watching the whole boring news event the whole day, as this was a relax and chill day, me and Steve went for a walk, while Steve wanted to live down here, and said, hey, mate
Have ya got any jobs, going, in a real Australian way, and then the trip leader Joel took us on a walk down to surfers paradise, and I ****** in the water, because fish do it, why can't we, well
This was a real relaxing day, and then they bought our meals in, and if I can remember, it was
Fish and chips, with prawns and so on , well this was ever so tasty, I loved it, and then we went to bed, for the next day was interesting, you see, the next day, we will go to currimbin animal
Sanctuary, where we held snakes, and we looked as bold as the big bold eagle, and there were a lot of wildlife, there and I took a lot of photos there, it was radically awesome, and Queensland is the cleanest state in Australia, the seas are cleaner and green, while no, really disgusting seaweed ever existed and, mate, yeah really clean, after that we headed back to our motel, and we watched the football, Australia won, and Tom was showing is patriotism by standing up with his hand on his chest, to the national anthem, and me and Steve and Kelly
Went for a dip in the pool, and Richard who because I spoke up to him, he really liked the way I was ever so cool, and then we went back to our rooms and waited for our next meal, which was
Home made spaghetti  bolognaise and this was made ya know ever so tasty, and Jason  and Joel cooked it, one *** of it to every room, about 3 in total, and I don't know about other rooms, but my room really loved it, yeah, the best spag boll in the country cooked by Jason and Joel, and
Then after about 2 hours, we went to bed, and the next day, we went home and we stopped over at Coffs Harbour and at night, we bought pizzas, for each of us, and James and Kelly joel and myself were driven home by Joel, and we fell asleep after watching our last nights TV
And we went for a Sydney bypass which meant, in about 6 hours we were all home and that was the end of a great trip, and I went to my play rehearsal for urban dreaming that night, and
Despite my parents saying I will be too tired for that, it was just a watching the other theatre performance that was on, which was cool, man, and I really loved the holiday, for it brought me some happy memories, the end


Sent from my iPad
Mateuš Conrad Jan 2016
well d'uh, of course thinking can become more toxic
than the toxins "ruining" my kidneys liver and breath,
i'm not prone to automated cognition,
automated cognition is applicable to rudimentary tasks,
perfected in the lineage of manual labour,
and to be hanky panky frank, i sometimes wish my lived
revolved around a perfected manual labour,
than this scrap / dung-heap of writing.*

when i was making paella today
(kashmiri chilli powder is milder
than the usual ****!
paprika, turmeric, main ingredients:
mussels, prawns, chouriço -
match the c with the upper part of an s,
and the diacritic mark with the
lower part of the s, i.e. ɔ - chicken)
i had a thought, democracy, or current
democracy ought to be fed the f. d. Roosevelt
spirit of isolationism... this warring democratic
Zeitgeist can't go on forever...
there are no real city-state alliances
these days, e.g. manchester (osbourne's
northern powerhouse is competing
with the blond mop-head london of booritz)...
the countries being attacked are cities
in rubble... they can't couple city- and -state
together... they're given the option of
puppet nationalism... and cities can't function
under that... i think it's necessary to make
democracy less war-like, less warring,
it's exposing its weaknesses by warring
with its scientific strengths but its inherent
organic weaknesses, just today a heterosexual
couple couldn't tie the knot in a civil partnership...
because it appeared the church was pushing
subverters into secular ranks...
the secular ranks dismissed secularists for ****'s sake!
now they'll have to go back to the church
and tie the knot... it also appears secularism
is only reserved for homosexuals and confused
homosexuals (transgender peeps)...
i still think a warring democracy will not provide
an argument, a democracy practising f. d. Roosevelt's
isolationism would do itself justice,
after all we never hear of new york's grandfather:
york, england... do we? what's in york?
ah... no broadway... just a ****** cathedral and
an archbishop at war with the the archbishop of
****-and-berry.... nothing much... everyone
turns off their lights at 9pm for the early doze-off /
early rise... farmer folk... you know: baa'h baa'h
ol' mc'donald 'ad a farm.
i know that the grand city-states of our times
want Baghdad to join them...
i know... it's not really working out.
John F McCullagh Jun 2013
Christ and his apostles
had but bread and wine to share.
At that Last Supper many came
to a table nearly bare.

Gandolfini came by honestly,
his girth and double chin.
The mayonnaise he relished
May be what did him in.

He enjoyed a glass, or two, of beer
He liked his King Prawns fried.
He downed a pint of Morgan’s ***
with foie gras on the side.
Two Pina Coladas for dessert.
But surely that’s no sin.
Some speculate t’was the massive tab
That led to Tony’s end.
Coop Lee Sep 2015
horse aligned coil/roll of wave.
the bearded heat of sun unto birds, land **.
poseidon’s son was a bird,
out there/

                /there was a molten breach in the fissures deep.
it breathed an ooze of mother blood orange and hissing.
the coral lords photosynthesize cities from out of reef material.
where tree the family of fish, diverse and good people.
good dancers of the primordial dip.

tri-tipped dip of chips.
trident tugged zippers.
wetsuit squishy skin released.

the violent stories of men and ships.
the men and lumber treading dawn with prawns and lime.
island boys, as
big show trapeze lovers flung,
no,
as trapped monsters singing jingles
in jungles
in june.

           or july.

           the theory of hopeless elements is crushing/
           water: or currents unending.
           all above.
           all below.
betterdays May 2014
and the page turns,
memories sepia, brown
and frosted with time
come to light.
faint, murmuring words,
swim at the back of my mind.

summer days....spent in splendour.
balmy nights and mosquito nets.
rockpools little crab kingdoms, the smell of coconut oil and arms macadamia nut brown..

and again the page turns
the boys in rugby kit
me standing off to one side
head in a book...
one girl among too many older brothers
always a tagalong in handmedowns and enid blyton's famous five..

and again the page turns...
christmss hats and presents
cold chicken,salads and little baby prawns....sherry trifle
and poppajack snoring, beer still in hand...

and the page turns and turns
little windows into former lives......sometimes nostalgia
and sometimes.... just a peeping tom..
topaz oreilly Nov 2012
I watch her and know my friend's Cat has a soul
why greet me and chase away the strays ?
Go figure out the unity, it last
and you will realise
there's instinctual maturity,
the pride of her groom
the health regime of cat grass
prawns auto reckoning !
the decision that Rock N Roll
is a tacky tail, is gracious,
her class suitably ignores
associated man made discordance
Dishes served full are well laid on the table
prawns are glittering adornments
though only yesterday
their tentacles were tasting the river
not knowing they would be in another water
in the river of saliva
grinded and pulped for a tasty moksha.

The rain falls unabated from last night.

Who'll go out to feed?, asks a voice.

Does never being hungry feel the same stress
as being hungry most of the time?

The answer is in the clouded eyes
watching the eyes
joyful for one more chance.
Stanley Wilkin Jul 2017
THE NYMPH

Beneath the water lived a nymph, beautiful as
A flower- if you like women with petals
Growing from out of their face
And lips adorned with myriad metals
Moving silently with infinite grace.

Fishermen who caught her, in alarm
Tossed her back with dismayed cries
Fearful that she would do them harm
When she exposed her fangs, darting from her eyes,
Forked tongues from each palm.

But apart from all that, she was a delightful creature
As proud as a catwalk model
Sexuality impressed into each feature
Death in each cuddle,
Poison injected from each freshly opened suture.

At the sea’s dark bottom lived the nymph
Devouring fish raw, terrifying sharks and barracuda,
Dining on shellfish and prawns for lunch;
Darting amongst Angel Fish and eels, a hungry aficionada,
Tearing into shreds what she could not crunch.

Gentle with her own kind until coition
Was complete, when if hungry she devoured
Her temporary mate without undue consideration-
No please or thank you. Feeling duly empowered
By her actions, as confirmed by her thunderously satisfied indigestion.

No longer young, her children dead,
She glides through the water from China to France
A preposterous seaweed hat upon her head
And criss-crossing her piebald nose a serrated coral branch.
Her sartorial taste filling even the sharks with fin-quaking dread.

The last of her kind. The others are (literally) toast.
Protected by animal charities here and abroad
She gladly subsists on ambitious swimmers who venture far from the coast-
All she can now catch or afford.
A capricious tyrant until the last, when, victim of a fisherman’s boast

She was hoist up like iniquitous cod
Out of the sea, paraded on the deck while she struggled for breath.
Shot at. Abused. Poked and speared with a steel tipped rod,
Dragged into the harbour, pummelled close to death.
Screaming out, as in unexpected agony she died: “I thought, I thought, I was god!”
betterdays Mar 2014
gem scones
and ginger loaf bread,
slathered with farmfresh butter.

washed down with
oh so **** cold home made
lemonade ices.

little pots of salmon rillettes
and tiny potted prawns
eaten on crisp potato wafers.
crustless finger sandwiches
of cucumber and tomato,
grown twenty feet to the left
of where we sit.

in the shade of the radiata pine tree.
minted gingerale punch.
sunshine dappled light,
playing on fine glassware.

the aromas of ovenlove
mint, pine, ginger, citrus
and salt,
mingle with old spice and
lavender water, of the grands, dozing,
as they sit baking, basking,
in the afternoon heat.

high tea,
at the homestead farm.
on the windswept coastal
plain.

once every couple of months,
awaited with much, anticipation.
remembered with much
fondness
a feast of food, family
and  much love.
a memory of family gatherings
HTR Stevens Oct 2017
I have a silver castle in the sky
One day, we will visit it, you and I
We will sail down the river, gently row
Eyes affixed on my castle, from below.

My beautiful castle is shining bright
Surreal and surrounded by mist at night
We will keep rowing until morning dawns
We will haul in nets of shimmering prawns.

My castle in the sky is very far
We will never reach it by boat or car
But in my mind it will always hold true
All is possible at the time of Yule.

In dreams my castle can be anywhere
Wherever I wish it, it will be there
Between you and me, no one else should know
My dream castle is made of ice and snow.

In my dreams I should also let you know
Castle walls glisten with silver and gold
Dreams of castles in moonlight all aglow
Piled sky-high with treasure and wealth untold.

Can I tell you, while I am feeling bold
Sadly, comes dawn, there is nought to behold
All the same, dream I will and dream I must
Tho' at dawn, even castles turn to dust.
Paul Donnell May 2014
Crooked cops and sick men in high places.
Beating and ****** the sad mourning faces.
The people, the public; their prawns and their tools.
Abusing and using; their methods are cruel.
Our voice it means nothing, our fists do no good.
We will never be free, we are misunderstood.
For the fat cats with tall hats drink deep with the greed.
They say,
"Take from the people! They're helpless, They're meek."
And they're right we can't stop them, we'll always be beat.
They have tanks and battalions.
We have rocks and bare feet.
Sharina Saad May 2014
How many happy moments
In a life of a fisherman?
When I stood and saw
The small fishing boats
approaching the shore
The fishermen smiling
Coming toward the jetty
With fish and prawns
The catch of the day...
Enough to make ends meet
Just another day...

How many days of lonely hours at dawns,
at sunsets and sunrise
You need to endure
To make a living...
Putting bread and butter on the tables...
To feed the hungry kids at home
when i stood and saw your strength
I just knew how hard life is...
for a fisherman..
like you..

The beautiful clouds over the skyline..
oranges and purples and cobalt blues .
might fascinate a person like me
might bring no pleasures
to a fisherman's eyes...
I stood and saw the beautiful colors of the sky
spread along the wide sky above
A gift from our creator... the nature

All to soon the sunrise fades into day
bringing harsh light to a softening early
morning as the magic fades away
morning the fishing boats go off again
leaving hopeful wife and kids at the jetty

what is left is an image hidden away
to bring about dreams of a sunrise day
To come home safe with the catch of the day!!!
What does Christmas mean for me as a Buddhist

You see I think carols are so peaceful they could be known as a Buddhist thing
I think that people try to hard to not enjoy going to carols by candlelight each year because they are not a Christian but as o said carols are ever so peaceful
They can be a Buddhist belief
And with putting the Christmas tree up, you might add a little Buddha to put on or under the tree and I can tell you that will look ****** great and Buddhists can chsnge a few Christians way of thinking by saying as they eat a lot of food Such as sugar and roast dinners or prawns which could make you fat and as a Buddhist
I find it is much easier to think about not eating too much food over Christmas
By all means we must enjoy the carols by candlelight and enjoy the present exchange but when it comes to the food, try not to eat too much because there will always be someone giving you forbidden food as a present
And if you eat that you will be fat and I need to have s dip at the carols but really that is no good really because as you sing the carols you eat and your friend who you go with looks at you and you look awful doing 2 things at once
Sometimes I really look forward to the carols so much I watch the carols on YouTube like the cairns carols by candlelight where I can enjoy the carols with the wonders of technology
And I watch Christmas parades on YouTube like from Adelaide and Perth and mt gambier and I watch the Macy's thanksgiving day parade from New York and that is a great parade for the holiday season and I google the Christmas parades or concerts on YouTube so I could enjoy carols and the fun of Christmas all over the YouTube which turns out to be very cool
When I go out I play Christmas music to get me in the holiday mood, yeah, I am a Buddhist but I love life and I love the holiday season and I played santa at Vinnies for 10 years but I believed I was santa back in the time of religion when I was the 323 year old man and people claim life started with Jesus being born but that is a load of crap because if that was true why are there so many people with wonderful minds and amazing thoughts
You see their minds explains how people have been going on for time before dinosaurs where we all go together and said we will believe in anything
You see people might never have experienced something in any part of their life and they become very streetsmart about the whole thing that they are doing, for instance I never got kidnapped in any part of my life and I was obsessed with it
Or I was the Christmas man and I hear voices saying I ain't the Christmas man
Then I hear another voice saying they were the Christmas men I got sick of these voices
But I love Christmas and I love singing carols like on YouTube and on tv or in my city
And I love life in every way
We wish you s merry Christmas
We wish you a merry Christmas
We wish you a merry Christmas
From Christian Buddhist hindu Muslim catholic and Jew
Christmas means peace and love singing carols and enjoying the Christmas magic on YouTube
Sul-E May 2019
If the weather was just a little warmer that day,
I’m sure you wouldn’t have left me.
If the sun had come out
and scorched the tarmac.
If the leftover puddles had evaporated and condensed
Into fluffy white clouds.
If the birds had been singing atop the branches
of the old oak tree.
Yes,
I’m sure you wouldn’t have left me that day.

If we didn’t get stuck in traffic that day,
I’m sure you wouldn’t have left me.
If I had woken us up earlier
We would have been en-route before rush hour.
If we didn't almost crash into the old
couple in front of us.
If I had just  gone at the yellow light
And not wait for green.
Yes,
I’m sure you wouldn’t have left me that day

If I had remembered you were allergic to prawns that day,
I’m sure you wouldn't have left me.
If I hadn’t reserved us a place
At that new Chinese place.
If I had just asked you
where you wanted to go.
If I hadn’t ordered
Fried rice with king prawns.
Yes,
I’m sure you wouldn’t have left me that day.

If I was someone you loved,
I’m sure you wouldn’t have left me that day.
If I was someone you’d miss
when we’d been apart for hours.
If I was the only person you could look at
with hearts in your eyes.
If I wasn’t me,
and you weren’t you,
and it wasn't then.
Yes,
I’m sure you wouldn't have left me that day.
betterdays Mar 2017
and we would get up early
so early that the stars
would still sit high
in the dark night sky

we would drink milo
out of plastic cups
and eat oval arrowroot biscuits
spread thickly with butter

we would line up to go to the loo
one last time before piling into
the old car, sliding across bench seats
half our world packed into the boot

then we were off, on the old country roads
still sleepy for the first couple of towns
stopping at Jacaranda for a cup of tea
lukewarm, milky and sweet from the thermos
half a cheese sandwich each, and a fearful trip
to the draughty long drop toilet...looking for redbacks
the whole time, but only finding spinning daddy long legs

after that back into the car, for two hours of
winding our way down, the big hill,
listening for the clearnote  call of the bellbird,
watching for wallabies and wombats on the road fringe
and the bigger kangaroos, bouncing away
across the clearings...

at the bottom of the hill, Grafton a quick stop
to stretch our legs eat the cupcake,
used to bribe us into decent behavior up to that point
and another vist to the conveniences.
before the run down the coast,
past the big white resort
and into Brooms Head,
for a week of surf and sun
fish and chips, buckets of prawns,
frosty fruits and sunny boys
in tent and caravan,  
swimmers and towels,
we were tribal and free,
roaming the tideline
staying up at the campfire,
sleeping and waking
with the birds......
always such an adventure....
those idyllic days of summer
Milo....chocolate milk
Loo... toilet
Longdrop....hole dug deep into ground with bench seat with hole used as toilet, favoured for a while as regional (out of the way)public toolets becuase of low matainence
Frosty fruits/sunny boys ice based lollies
Mateuš Conrad Mar 2016
on today's menu? a leek and granny smith apple salad (crème fraîche instead of mayonnaise, a bit of lemon juice and a bit of sugar, salt and pepper of course; diced tomatoes with onion, white vinegar / an acetic acid concoction, salt and pepper; cucumbers and tomatoes with onions likewise as the diced tomatoes extras; mashed potatoes with a dash of milk and crème fraîche and dill; and of course, the pièce de résistance - a slowly fried schnitzel (dabbled in a sprinkle of plain flower, egg, and breadcrumbs); apropos, don't you find middle-class english people slightly paranoid about using white vinegar as if they've seen a martian? i've seen it, what a comedy, with one line the entire theatrical play played out, and nothing was said, just eye contact!*

actually the only fun i have from
certain bad palette recipes
is throwing raw meat to my cats,
beef is met with full approval,
pork too, chicken not so much,
prawns are approved, even a fish
eye; indeed if i'm working on a dish
from inexperience reciting each
ingredient into the cauldron i never
know what to expect, and if the dish
is written by a badly experienced palette,
throwing raw meat to my cats
is the most enjoyable part of cooking,
it almost feels like a scene from
a coliseum.
For the helluvit, the hollow wit of an Emcee/ I noticed my character questioned," what exactly is an etiquette story?"/ I could not answer the banter entailed to the name/ and so I word smith as though my cutting pen had pierced the name/...an Expression that beckoned a game played/ the mental stage an Arena Athena has still Graced/ Aphrodite the deity seeking only one form of Pay/ but the wages and all its royalties only gain me the Grave/ hey, for the Helluvit, He love it for no reason at all/ had a liking for shallow sentences like," all I know is to Ball"/ and so the Fall, would," leave" him 'miss pro ported'/ the Autumn of automation debatin if she's distorted,/ the vision He had held in Kind/ the mind remains a battle field/ rattle deals with the serpents heel/ what an expression to mention Medusa's gaze is real/ 6 inch High shoes to step on me to squeal/ my spleen splattered as Hades collects a second corpse to feal../ I mean fill, I was literally rhyming /a rhetoric for mythical geeks and nerds who feel time the Timing../ of the note came at a time when/ life just took a turn for the logical practice/ philosophical addict/ tell em get it straight , or lay gay with the treacherous habit/ of being lazy to account for all gimmicks that lasted/ a year or so when you coulda stopped em in they tracks then/ but they became Jamaicans at the olympics and they Past/..You, as indirect as a local commercial/ never care for the ones you hurt for they come back to hurt you/ inhumane you moving by instinct/ you love feeling the pain but know it is distinct/ from the joy that really comes in the Morning, a Dark "knight"/ Risen from the ashes of the carnage, and just might/ break in to the crack of dawn/ kick the bucket full of the prawns/ from fishin up for Men formally known as Pawns/ to the greatest chess game never played/ one is infinitely the victor the other eternally graved/its either you're a slave that Kills or a slave that here to help Save//.....Humanity.
  by my mentor D.E.S.T.R.O
betterdays Aug 2017
the small dog
attached to the long lead
has a tail that is blurred
with happiness
as he wanders through
the market village
tongue lolling
nose questing the air
for the myriad of  scents
he is happy curiosity
in a brindle coat

i watch amused at his vigour
as i drink from an enamel mug
holding a wonderful local bean coffee
eat warm coconut mango muffins
and ponder the purchase
of some artisan glass jewllery

my boys having scoffed their muffins
are off to see the woodworkers
the golden child hoping
to add to his collection
of wooden puzzles
his father to chat with
other lovers of woodgrains

we will meet later
after i have bought, applebox honey
collected by dave the beekeeper
portabella mushrooms the size of saucers,
to make stuffed fetta mushies for dinner
and all the other green and organic vege
i can find.  some prawns and a mud crab.
lunch tomorrow,  olive bread, olive tappenade
stuffed olives, some goodies for the biccie tin

and some of these coffee beans....

the dog raises it's leg against the canvas
of the tent down the pathway
before carrying on....
oblivious
K Balachandran Jan 2017
Well,well,well, I wonder
How quickly one gets
attracted to these shells
lie strewn around, colorfully
without any scheme or theme
but in no way  less attractive
yet making naked soft soles
of itinerant feet bleed
if gets closer than needed.

On a desolate beach
like this one here, we stand
there isn't much else
other than laden sand
one can expect to set eyes on
for a long, long time
unless one is counting
the waves,incessantly rolling out,
waves that won't let you do that job,
the way perfect,you want to accomplish.
What would a wave bring you other than
what you have expected always!

Then comes the time to let
eyes wander on to the naked shells,
spread as if each conceals a cryptic message!
You'd never want to know  what
strange happenings they predict.

Oh! Yes! so many waiting in disorder
with that onetime impatience,
inevitable death's thirst display,
now quenched forever and aye!
Now licked clean by sun and waves,
and time's invisible scaly tongue.
that adamantly kept mum,
when one was all ears to listen.

Shell white in an angry profusion
dominates the sea shore
making sand whiteness mean less,
Staring eyeless *****,just as shells
comes in to dreams as pirates
Shrimps, kills and prawns transform
in to ghostly shells cackling in salty winds.
Shells whispering the stories of pain from the past,
Did i hear someone in a frenzy yell
from a mid sea night darkness.
"**** that shell,with the evil memories
of a death,that drained all semblance
of life,that drained all spirit of life.
"Shells go back to your sleep!
From the dream of return,
Prepare for a life allover again".
SB Stokes Oct 2015
You are the pleasing smell of Chinese grease
I am the invisible motivation to frolic in the fountain

You are a stranger's giggle &
an invitation to dance

I am a Cabaret Voltaire 12"
& half a clove cigarette

You are the diaphanous nature
of auburn clouds at twilight

I am the woman who raised you
but never dared speak your name

You are that familiar left shoe
abandoned on the roadway
never finding its twin

I am an expectant evening
after an expectant morning
spent talking on the phone

You are the receiver
the near-silent listener
the breather of shared truths

I am the walker the watcher
the faint scent of prawns
near the dumpsters at work

You are a newborn angel
a pageant of colors & functions

I am a poet, no matter
where you find me
lost on a street corner
that I'll never own

You are a plane ticket, yes
only one way to answer

I am a handstamp still worn
but only as a reminder

You are the fairy lights
strung between broken
promises only barely remembered
after a night washed in ***

I am a cluster of strangers, drunk & excited
We are the gift of mystery, alone at the table

We are mutual, the future
the last to be opened

We are the mission completed
the present grown tall
How much fear would he come to stagnate his work ...?, The one that every suitable being knows how to develop and take care of. After he left the pulpit, he did not stop receiving more than the custom of the faithful not to see them changed, nor to see them migrate from his essence, like that of Ludwig and his involution of a well-structured animal.

Ludwig ...: Now I don't see my hands and my feet in good condition, and that this makes me never pretended, the non-biological, what is neither born nor dies. Of course, the changes are periodic and I will let the course continue normally, "Yesterday I was born and tomorrow I will be reborn ..."

My parents did not treasure the things that I needed, they only detracted from the possibility of providing the components and ingredients of the work they brought, "Myself". They were silent until the moment of his death, and I was frozen in the coldest winter that could be borne. Back at his house, he is led by the curiosity of the stone of that night with Antonieta. During the day everything was different, he did not take long to find her until he saw her up close. By having her close to her, he spared no efforts to make something of her, which he knew was not of common origin, but that she carried something magical.

Ludwig ...: Everything has been framed in a light or a halo, and behind these two things is the precursor fire of everything created. He has purified and burned in the atonement and inquisition, and he has created wonder in the eyes just as he did to me ...

... Everything attracts us, everything wants to convey to us what the neighboring elements of the hidden material orb have to experience. Every glimpse of the mountains or the hills, the question of our self is becoming present, that no matter how harmonious it may see in this case, the stone in balance is sought ..., and it will always be one step away from harmony, discord to find the real and accurate science of reason. I can already be proud of the activity that I have chosen, that if I have to meditate deeply and for the eyes of another it is idleness, without contributing anything to the world. It will be something as fleeting and unheard of as the same events over time, they end up ending up, sinking into the mud. For this time, he continued to see the stone, until the works have to have an author, the one that still remained anonymous, which would only change when the balance is favorable. Later, after having been on his property for a long time, he returns to his house and fixes his room somewhat. He orders pictures, books, in short, puts a general order. After ordering, he prepares his things to travel to the South of his Paradise; to the fields and coastal cliffs, to the mosses and the wild pastures with the icy gale blowing through. He alone would go for a few days since he would not miss his date with Antonieta. Near dusk, he left for his destination. The estate of an old friend of his father's awaited him. The trip was a bit hasty, but his anxieties were greater, due to that night that he wandered through the rain.

It has been a long time since I was going to see them, rather than at a Christmas party in 1954. Ludwig ...: Now I can see the horizon and the huge house with its windmills ... I hope they are ...?As he approached he saw Dn. Adolfo through the window, as well as other people who accompanied him, who he assumed, were from his family. Eight years had passed since the last time he was with them. After crossing the bridge, he makes up his mind to beat. Opening the owner of the house, recognizing him immediately.

Adoph ...: My dear Ludwig, what a joy to see you!
Ludwig ...: Thank you very much, me too.

He enters, he greets Adolfo's wife, Mrs. Isabel, then Martina, reminding him of that time they flew in a plane, and Ludwig almost died of vertigo. Isabel serves him some salmon. Adolfo questions him about the famous orchard that he inherited from her father. Ludwig answers him saying that he will die there.

Adolph ...: You have inherited valuable things from your family. Among them is the creative gift and simplicity, with the strength that you impress on everything.

I always remember them, your father from that time we enlisted in the R.A.F., to go to the War Front, since that time we became very close. I remember that in hostilities, Russia joined Germany, initiating fratricide. Your father and I passed the last checks and they commissioned us. On that day Russia defected from Germany.

Ludwig ...: Until his last days, he talked to me about those experiences. I think it turned out to be something of great relevance, especially the help from brother to brother, so as not to feel alone and exterminated. Adolfo tells him to put aside the past a bit, Martina and Aurora think the same. They keep covering until long after midnight. It was two in the morning and the conversation was still entertaining, the women were gone and they had gone to sleep. Ludwig tells Adolfo that they had been talking for two hours and also that they lived only four hours away, and they saw so little of each other --- Adolfo tells him that in the year 51 they had gone to Europe for a year. Also at the end of that year, my daughters finished their studies, coming to me alone with Isabel. After three years, they returned. For now, we will not move from this place, although I had been offered to work in the UN, to go to the conflict in Korea. But fortunately here in Chile I settled and everything came to nothing. Well, Ludwig Germano, I'll show you your room and I'll invite you tomorrow to fly to the Islet to look for some tourists. Now I'll show you your piece and don't forget to be ready at seven.

During the night, lying down, he thought that the changes that took him from place to place made him uneasy and exhausted. Where he was now was what he needed. Exclaim, how peaceful and appetizing ...! At bedtime one of his voices spoke to her ...: “Life is an instrument that must be cared for. If you abuse it, you will no longer have it. It is also mutable, if you give it constructive things, you will get the best and if you don't, the darkness will haunt you. At dawn, they had breakfast and went to the airfield, which was about six hundred meters from the house. When he arrived he saw that the hangar was very large, the plane was green, and it seemed to float in the air.
Adolfo ...: I'll check it and start the engine. Everything was going, the plane was ready, the day helped as it was sunny.

As they took off, they walked around the house, Ludwig was excited, he could barely respond to the greetings of Martina and Aurora. They passed something low for them to see. It was a quarter of an hour to the islet, they landed and proceeded to board the passengers. They were scientists who studied Habitat. In fact, on this islet that is populated, nobody lives on it. It was more difficult to take off since the materials were very complicated and delicate.

Adolph ...: I almost forgot, you have to change the batteries in the headlight. Bring them, they're in the back. They both went to install it, at the other end of a cliff, changed it, and left.

Ludwig ...: This is lonely, there are extraordinary things here, it looks like a huge plant raft. If she saw it Antoinette she would be impressed.

From here you can see the sky drawn, the storm clouds interspersed by the wind, and some timid flashes that try to cross the huge air masses, nearby to a day that could discharge the seas of waters, dropping them to the adjacent environment. Water on water, water on the wind, water on land, water on my hands ...- Also disturbing, the sea hits the cliffs of Adolfo's property. Some waves rush in with a harmonious ripple, hitting the edges until they rise several meters above the sea, only to fall slowly from where they were pushed. The fishing birds worked incessantly, carrying food to their young, and at the same time training them to become independent. This is how this wonderful medium is, that at the entrance of this scene, and the idylls with the immobile rocks give experiences to the Fauna. There is no day that fills us more with life-giving communion, our own imprints on all that is done, on what is reflective, on the immortality of what has just been blessed or cursed with parasite errors. Everything is for us who exist forever eternal and lonely ... "What embraces and governs us is very wise, it induces us to balance, to the same nascent endogenous attitude of infinite knowledge, the Empyrean or Nature. This Animal kingdom ruled by men is nothing more than all species in an unstoppable evolution, which forces us to submit in this twentieth century. A world that is increasingly removed from all-wise and humble spiritual vibrations, dominating at the same time with an insatiable appetite, which should give us governance, to be more dedicated to cultivating the barren being for the good. At that moment that he had just reflected, Adolfo called him surprised, it was time to leave the class. On the flight, silence reigned for minutes, until Adolfo spoke.

Adolph ...: It seems that you liked the islet, I saw you very thoughtful.
Ludwig ...: It is beautiful, and for anyone it is very stimulating.
Adolph ...: You're right, I've lived it.
Ludwig ...: I don't feel scared anymore, I think I'm going to get used to flying.

They landed and unloaded all the boxes they were carrying and this time they did not put the plane into the hangar. They leave walking after saying goodbye to the passengers until they reach the house and their daughters receive them.

Martina ...: Tell me, did you like the islet? It's nice, right ...!
Ludwig ...: Yes I loved it.
Aurora ...: Martina, Ludwig, let's go through.
Ludwig ...: What ...?
Adolfo ...: It's a surprise, see you.
Martina ...: Come ... join us!

Ludwig did not understand the invitation, but as he approached the aerodrome a hundred meters, on the edge of the cliff, there were some ropes hanging, and below a circular net about fifty meters more or less deep, each time the wind grew stronger and bigger. Martina takes a rope and begins to sway, it seemed that the wind was cooperating too much since everything pretended to be weightless in space. Martina was like this, and in a moment of incredible acrobatics, she fell off the hook, falling and circling the net several times. From where Ludwig was, she could see the plane as if it were confused with the jumping pasture, she saw that its wheels were jumping as if the wind wanted to carry it away. Everything belonged to the aeolian promontory, the branches and the trees, everything was beautifully dominated by it. Aurora and Martina looked like little girls, they played with the ropes with great skill. Martina wore her movements, her brown hair and white skin made her overcome all traits. Martina was the center of the acrobatic game, Aurora dominated the game, but not like her sister. There was a time when the risk they took with the inordinateness of time was too much. Ludwig could not contain her joy, he could not ignore the wonderful spectacle of them, the immense energy delivered by them, towards a liberation above all dimensions.

Martina ...: Come on Ludwig ..., try it, you'll like it!

She approached Ludwig and taught him something that she had never learned so fast, she took a rope which she did not stop staring into space until she swayed high and long on the swing.Her tightly clamped hands didn't want to let go or give up, but she grew fatigued. He had to look towards the network that would receive him, and beyond the network, the rocks could be seen. He finally could control the sway and let go, the highest fifty meters of his life, he never believed that such a sensation would bathe him in gushing adrenaline. Then between networks, he relaxed and listened to the advice of his guides. Martina congratulated him, marking him as a hero, told him to stay still and that she was going to move him with a string. Ludwig sighed deeply. Martina, aided by Aurora, pulled Ludwig down, quieting the echoes of him. After a while, he received a big hug from his guides.

Martina ...: I'm very happy, all this has been very exciting, even more so with you.
Ludwig ...: For me, it has been to rise to precious freedom, to an excellent game.
Aurora ...: You really did well, it was an act of great courage. You're the third person to do it, you actually ******* away.
Ludwig ...: Thanks to you that I did it, by motivating myself. But I confess that at one point I thought I was not able to do it, having to use all my strength.

Martina ...: It's time to eat, so let's see what mom made. Come on Aurora, and you Ludwig, if you're late, you'll wash the dishes. Wit and charm made them the happiest beings, they ran like hunted gazelles. Upon reaching the beloved place.

Mrs. Isabel receives them, and Adolfo was smoking a pipe. They are going to dinner, Ludwig says; The decadent rays inspire us with what is healthy, what is meant within me is manifested by the distributed sun. Martina says that was fine, that it was the most attractive when they think like that. To which Ludwig said that he was only meditating out loud. Doña Isabel found it super good for them to do those things. Ludwig expresses his gratitude to them by making them feel like his close relatives. They tell him it was the least they would do for him. And Aurora tells him that of course, there would be more entertainment waiting for him on the ropes. After they spoke, they ate prawns piecemeal with delicious well-seasoned watercress, then beans with sauce. To drink a lot of wine and dessert threads in syrup.

Adolph ...: The rope game seemed real daring. Note that we used it as training, in addition to measuring your audacity it fortifies you enormously. With your father we used to practice hours and hours, we even competed. Ludwig replied that it was just by looking at the trophies on the cabinet, and Adolfo told him that some he had won with Hans; his father.

Isabel ...: So Ludwig, is the exemplary model of his father, and in good honor.
Ludwig tells him not to praise him so much. As the night progresses, they decide to go to sleep. But Adolfo asks Martina to go and find the pantry early, which was well received by them.

Ludwig ...: Well then I'll reserve my ticket.
Martina ...: That you're leaving today!
Ludwig ...: No, tomorrow.
Martina ...: Ah ..., you mean ...? !

Isabel tells Aurora to pick up her silverware. Then Ludwig went to sit on the couch and from there he looked at the patch of desolate land. Every pause he made to digest the wine explored the even relief. Chaos still continues, the antithesis of the pestilential that is only what the rest laugh at. After a while, Martina comes over and tells him what is going on in that head, and he says ... Nothing! Then she thinks of accompanying me to town, to which he says anyway.Ludwig intimately thought about the wide spectrum of changes, he can now see the one who was long invisible. The one that takes you along elongated empirical routes, fraternalism, or perhaps what is linked to spontaneity.
Weirdly Emigrate Chapter  VII  Part I

— The End —