Nerdbirds

One day I awoke and I was a nerdbird. And so I flew off to Nerdbidland where I hung out with all the other nerdbirds. We did nerdbird things. And we sang nerdbird songs. We had nerdbird fun under the nerdbird sun. And we made sweet nerdbird love under the bright nerdbird moon.When I slept I dreamt nerdbird dreams. And then one day, I was a nerdbird no more. I was an old man with the memories of Nerdbirdland in my heart.

A Six Word Story

Chihuahua barked all night. Owner dead.

I Lunched In Cabravale Park.

I lunched in Cabravale Park.I sat on a wall and observed the young, the old, the mad, the bold, the boorish, the snoring, the boring, the bored ,the runners, the basket-ballers, the dreamers, the schemers the homeless, the haters, the kiss-and cuddlers, the beauties, the beasts, the thinkers, the stinkers, the tai-chiers, the, the spirits, dragons, demons, angels, trees, grass, birds, ants, and worms.

The People You Meet In The Library

I'm at the library, there's a guy few PCs down, who looks like Bukowski (if Buke had lived to be in his late 70s/early 80's and if Buke had been a gamer) - this guy is playing Civilisation (I think -or something like it) and he's swearing louder and more fouler than a group of pre-teens playing at an internet cafe. He's abusing the game, he called over a librarian and is abusing the librarian because of a lack of upgrades,  and he's on his mobile abusing someone from a phone company - "You're all a bunch of f*cking idiots!" What a gruff, surly cantakerous cur ...I wonder if he writes any poetry.

Memories

I love reading memoirs and autobiographies and I’m always amused and a bit sceptical whenever I come across a passage that might go something like:

“I was six months old. I was sitting in my high-chair. Mother had prepared porridge for my breakfast. But I didn’t want to eat it. Mother became cranky. I learned that day that life is a continual battle of wills between Self and Other”

I think, is this bullshit, artistic license, or does this guy really remember what he had for breakfast when he was six months old, the events surrounding said breakfast, and the philosophical implications of it all. I can’t remember what I had for breakfast last week. (It was probably, nothing or the Breakfast of Champions: coffee and cigarettes.)

I am intrigued by people’s earliest memories. Jack Kerouac claimed that he could remember being born. A woman I used to work with once told me had absolutely no memories of her childhood. One image that I remember from an online discussion of ‘earliest childhood memories’ was that of a woman who remembered being 18 months old; finding herself standing on a fire-ant nest in her backyard, and her father lifting her up and rescuing her.

My earliest memory: I am three years old. I’m in Italy. It’s winter. Snow. I’m wandering about a farm. I come to a pig pen. The pigs are a lot bigger and meaner looking than the pigs I had seen in picture books. They are huge. They seem as big as hippos. I am fascinated and frightened,

A Conversation: At What Age Do You Want To Die?

Me: I don't know. About 90 I guess. But as long as I've got my mental and physical health -even if I've got a walking stick and a hearing aid -as long as I enjoy living and am not burden, I'll keep on going until I'm gone -90,100,110.
Friend1: 85 for me. I'm 43 now, I'd to think that I'm half way through my life. Yeah, another 42 years -that'll be enough for me. But I don't want to end up like my mum -in constant pain, in and out of hospitals, seeing doctors.
Me: Nobody wants that. May she rest in peace.

Friend2: Don't you guys have nothing better to talk about?

From Beyond?

I awoke with an urge to watch the sun rise. Why? I don't know. During the years I worked night shift in the city I would often take a break to see the sun rise. I saw many a strange, wonderous, and disturbing sight. Things that made me say "Wow!" "What was that?" "I wish I hadn't seen that".
One day I will write about them.


At this particular time, a few days ago, I made myself a cup of coffee. I went outside. It was still night, A still night. I lit up a cig. Took a drag. Had a sip of the cofffee. Something flew into the upper leafy branches of a neighbours tree. A fruit bat, I guessed. I was right. As the sun rose, it (the creature) flew out from the tree - a big beautiful beast - bastard or bitch, I knew not which- but it was twice, perhaps thrice, the size of a regular fruit bat. Not so long ago, two years at most, there were great clouds of fruit bats that flew around my area. Coming home from nightshift was akin to being in a Hammer House of Horror vampire movie. Now this beast flew alone.
It may have been lack of sleep, my imagination, madness or a mixture of the three. But I swear that this behemoth fruitt bat turned and looked at me. The meaningless gesture of a dumb animal or a profound message from a spiritual guide?