Part four - its my birthday, so be nice.

Walking up through the streets the odd group weaves in and out of the forest of immovable bodies. Some with limbs entwined at the elbow, or with fingers linked in their own untieable knot, bound together far more firmly than they could have imagined.
Passing a charity shop, the window display dances, the no longer needed, but once much loved wedding gown, it's beaded bodice shimmering with movement, small pearl beads twitching as the crafted designs, sewn into place with such care, flow along their threads, encased but unconstrained as the gown and suit waltz again behind the glass.
The metal men beckon the pair on as the one with stops to take pictures of the dance. Catching a glimpse of the one without's shoulder as she turns back to take another look, the tattoo there moving more than the motion of her turn would suggest.
"Wait!" calls the one with, stepping behind her friend and pulling at the material of her shirt, exposing more of the inked design on her skin.
"Look!" she cries, finding yet more amazement in this latest revelation. The inked crows and magpies caught in flight that adorned the back of the one without were now flapping their wings and staring back with bright eyes, full of life as they swooped and flew across the skin of their sky. Straining her neck she struggles to see the artwork so painfully gained now flowing so smoothly.
Their metal guides pause, looking for themselves at this new phenomenon, the discovery of the two. Clearly this was not something they had seen before, nor ever expected.
Moving on now with purpose, a low grinding noise pervades the air, subtle and rhythmic. Heading higher into the town, past shops crammed with the solid human forms, caught up in their shopping and in themselves. So busy, so silent, only the beat of metallic noise that was growing louder at each step.
Rounding the corner they come upon the road to the football ground. The statue in bronze of the best and most loved player of old, moved here to the obscurity of the access road after a home on the main street of the town led to the expense of replacing the ball almost weekly after visits from drunken souvenir hunters. The favoured man only met the crowds now on matchdays, and was left to the security of loneliness for the rest of the week.
The hero of so many matches grinned as he leapt down from the plinth, light on his bronze feet, catching up the heavy ball and headding it with a resounding clang. The old restrained movements of the veteran player doing keepy-ups, each contact with the ball a thud, a ring from an old bell, an addition to the ever louder grinding metallic crunch that was filling the air.
Catching the ball he grins, nodding in the direction of the football ground itself. The pair turn, following the direction of his gaze, looking over the heads of their guides to the huge looming structure. The stands, their metal ribcage dominating the skyline throughout the town. As the day shifted toward twilight, lights flared on for a match, illuminating the source of the constant noise. The metal beams that made the ground so recognisable were stretching, breathing, reaching up into the sky in celebration of existence, concertinaing in on themselves as the women watched, agape, the heartbeat of the city.

Part three.. told you Id get to it.

The statues lead the pair through the streets, winding their heavy footed way between the bodies of the living, frozen in place. Pausing, the metal men gawped at their fleshy counterparts. Aping their expressions and poses, in a manner so familiar to the two's own experience that the first wave of shock at their situation began to subside.
Reaching out, they touch the faces of the living, their skin still warm, though as much from the the sun now as as from their own heat. Their skin soft, but solid, no give. Now fleshtoned marble, granite, bronze. Looking around at their impossible hosts, their greenish faces showed no sign of surprise at the women's reactions, merely amusement.
The low griding voice rumbled into speech again as he elbowed his fellow with a dull thud. "Anyone would think they hadn't seen statues before."
A low chuckle fell from the mouths of the metal men as they start to move on again, beckoning to the only humans capable of following.
Follow they do, away from the station toward some of the stranger statues in town. The three larger than life men, one usually propped improbably on one elbow, his entire weight supported and held up on the joint. He was now sitting on his plinth, his two companions bent to console him as he nursed his swollen arm. Crying out in pain as he straightened the limb, a soft cloud of concrete dust carrying with the shout from his mouth to swirl away in the breeze.
Shaking their heads, the metal men gesture the women to follow. The one without pushing her camera deeper into her bag. Neither of them wanted to remember the agony on the created face, neither would have needed a photograph to help them. Some things become etched that quickly.
Seeing the faces of their guests fall the metal men reach out their hands and gently press them forward. As they walk, the carvings on the buildings ripple, carved waves flowing along pediments, casting up stretching starfish and scallops snapping in their living stone, tumbling back into the solid yet ever shifting sea. Gently but firmly their metallic guides led them on, up through the town. Past buildings with plaster busts arguing and chatting, and casting judgement on the appearance of those standing below.

still not it..

Nope, still not it. But I had to share this from the book I am reading, to make you thankful for modern medicine.

There is no mention of what this very real French remedy of the 1500's was for, but it states..

Take 2 new-born puppies, 1 pound of earthwortms, 2 pounds of lillies, 16 ounces of Venice turpentine, 1 ounce aqua vitae.
Boil the puppies (alive) in the oil. Add the worms which have been drowned in white wine. Boil and strain. Add the other ingredients.

I think we can all agree, mean and ew.

Oh, and I did wake up in time for work today. I woke up at least 6 times. Each time thinking I was late. I know I woke up from four separate dreams in which I was already doing the work I was waking up to be late for. I dislike early mornings. Although the sky was very pretty.

...

no next bit of the story yet... I will get to it... promise

Theres just a fair bit of dizziness around at the moment...
A certain building where I work decided to vibrate all day saturday, and that does me a lot more harm than good.
There is an 8am start tomorrow in what had been a day off... Im continually told to think of the money - and I'm trying.
I need my bloody left contact lens sorted as its buggering up, slightly blurry is no fun for me.
Theres a massive tidy needs done. Working, I dont have the luxury of having enough days after an epic to recover, and piecemeal I'm getting nowhere.. slowly. Perhaps after the opticians on thursday... then I have till Monday at least to recover.. although that time frame does include two birthdays.. one of which is my own.

I'll think on things tomorrow.. I'll see where things are going. Once I've woken up that is.. 8am.. ffs...

Part two

Leaning closer into her hug of the statue, the one without moves to press a kiss to it's cheek. As her lips brush the cold of the metal, reality shifts, and so does her statue seat, and metal lips, chapped with veridgris, press a kiss to her cheek in return.
The one with jumps as her statuesque seat also moves, stretching and uncrossing his legs. The pair look at each other, fighting back screams, seeing in each other's eyes that they are suffering from the same hallucination, or are falling down the same rabbit hole.
Looking from each other to their surroundings, by instinct they are stilled, despite the natural reaction to jump up and run away wailing when the thing you were sitting on comes to life. Besides.. where would they run to now? The world around them had changed beyond any normal recognition.
The few people who had been walking nearby were far from gone, they were rooted to the spot, their motion halted, some mid-step, legs now jutting, oddly bent in the air, as solid as oak, as still as statues... if the statues themselves were not now moving.
With a single touch, the two dumbstruck women were transformed into little girls by the terror and magic of the situation. Lifted from their seats on the statues' laps they were set down gently by hands much larger than any in life.
Reaching out to grasp onto each other, both friends' hands met with a touch colder than human flesh. In this world, it would seem that life as they knew it, was unheard of.
Lifting cold fingertips to press against the even colder spot on her cheek where the statue's lips had touched, the one without looks up into the now mobile and expressive face of the statue and stammers... "H..how?"
Gripping tightly to her friends hand, the one with's face clearly but silently echos the question.
A slow smile spreads acropss the lips of the two statues as they clamber down from their stone seats, their own eyes meeting with great amusement as they are joined by their fellows from the other corners of the monument.
A loud, earth shattering crash resounds as the largest figure atop the plinth jumps to earth. Straightening slowly he speaks in a low rumble of a voice, like pistons in heavy machinery, groaning into life after long neglect..
"You have seen glimpses of our world... we have observed this. Now, you shall see all we can show"
Turning, the statues beckon the pair to follow. Still gripping hands, the one with scoops up her bag and camera, the one without's gaze falling on the cracked and broken paving slab where the statue landed. Squeezing her friends hand she murmurs as they hurry after the statues "Do you suppose that's how they all get broken?"

Summat else...

"Damn..."
"Hello.?."
"Oh! Hello there... Look. I'm terribly sorry, I seem to have stepped in something here."
"Stepped in something?"
"Yes... Something.. sticky. Oh goodness, it's all over my foot!"
"All over your foot you say? Oh dear, that must be inconvenient."
"Oh inconvenient yes, not to mention embarrassing! You just wouldn't credit it, I come through here, its such a nice place, and something like this has to happen."
"I really wouldn't worry about it my dear fellow, such things happen all the time."
"All the time? In here? You amaze me."
"Oh yes, all the time. You have nothing to be embarrassed about I assure you."
"Well then, that's something at least. Do you work here?"
"Work here?"
"Do you?"
"My dear fellow, I designed this place."
*sighs*
"You see? I will embarrass myself one way or another. Did you really design this place? It is simply magnificent you know.. stickiness aside. I am terribly sorry, should I know your name? Are you famous?"
"Very kind of you to say so.. but if you will excuse me.. I'm running late for my lunch."
"Oh please? Just a few moments! The design is so incredible.. your use of form and structure.. it is surely unsurpassed, I have never seen it's equal! Can't you tell me where you find your inspiration?"
"Well... "
"Please?"
*sighs*
"It is all about the function my dear chap, the form follows the function. My work is always, always functional, and as you can see, it's form is pleasing, and it functions well."
"Oh! Yes! Yes... ah.. indeed. Unparalleled beauty in functional form... but... can you just tell me about th..."
*A muffled cry... a soft squeak... and the spider trusses the fly up in silk before crawling back to the centre of it's web.*

A story, inspired by a day with my B. Part 1.

The two friends had been out, walking, talking. One taking photographs, the other having left her camera at home. A shared passion, photographs. Both loving the unexpected beauty in the carved, the unlooked for, the unloved, the unintended.
Crossing the busy road from the shell of the building being eaten away by time and the march for progress, for more housing that would be hard for most to afford, for more shops few would visit, for offices while so many lay abandoned in the rest of the city, their concrete and glass no longer en-vogue. They walked towards the monument, adorned with statues of great men of the past. Perhaps once an awe inspiring roundabout, admired by those in horse and carriage on their way to and from the grandest railway station in the country. Celebrating the modern, the innovative, the new, now consigned to verdigris,traffic fumes and grafitti. Out of place, but immovable, a thing in the way, to be driven around with care as it blocked the view of oncoming traffic. An obstacle.
The two stop, dumping their bags on the lowest step, looking up at the statues, blinking against the rays of the sun shining past them.
"I've always wanted to climb up there and sit on the knee of one of them.." she pauses, grinning "Yanno, just sit there. see if anyone notices."
The other grins back and climbs the first step, the first hopping up after, the pair of them looking at the height of the next step.
"Second thoughts.. I'm not sure I can jump up there without falling off."
The girl with the camera, looks quizzically at the step, then around. The girl without does likewise, partners in some semi-imagined crime, already looking around for police who may not think the game so fun.
"Go on!" encouraged the girl without as the other rested her hands behind her on the ledge, nonchallantly, nothing to see here.. then she pulls herself up and gives the statue nearest her a hug, as the girl without reaches for her friends camera, fumbling with the flash to counter the low autumnal rays of brilliance from behind the monument..
Giggling, she wraps the camera back in its case and drops it into her friend's bag, looking around to check none of the few passers by had any hats or stabvests she scrambles up beside the statue on the other corner, turning to sit on the lap of the once shiny copper man, the friends grin and wave at each other. In itself, their enjoyment another degredation of the monument, of the great men's achievements. Did the statues mind? Did they care? Did they know?
It would seem not, that they did.. and oh, most certainly.

Terrifying discovery

When you tell someone something... theres a way you would want them to react.

Right?

Right.

Herein lies the terrible terrifying discovery...
My dad... tells jokes. Bad jokes. They may seem unfeeling. They arent - but to those not in the know, I know, they seem that way.
My mam... gets huggy. Overly huggy, in a mam's true form of I will hug you till it all goes away.

Neither of these ways sits right with me.

The jokes can seem hard - they mask feelings.
but...
I joke with my dad in the crematorium about whether it would be bad form to ask to have the heating turned up.

I shrug off my mam and tell her to leave me be...
but...
sometimes I dont want the hug to end.

Now.. to the revelation.

Neither way sits right... its the combination. The overly huggy with the overly self defensive and barriered. Its the combination thats wanted. Walking up the stairs tonight, with the jokes still echoing and the feel of the hug still warm... Is it me?

I joke, and I hug. So do they both... but more to extremes. Am I the middle way?
Am I what I need?

Fuck.

Thats bloody terrifying.