Crowds wait for their Communion, a sample of Rose wine.
Lines of people wait to shake hands with the Chip and Pin device.
Songs that once had meaning are now background noise.
God Bless the inventors of the Internet. For saving me from murdering swathes of shoppers with eyes blinkered. Seeing only what they might buy that they don't need, cutting out all surrounding humanity, etiquette and common sense. Christmas shouldn't make me as bloodthirsty as this!
Just imagine a silent night. Away from the crowds. With all you want to give your nearest and dearest dropping onto the mat in the morning. Courtesy of the champion postman. The new Santa Claus.
Friday, 19 November 2010
Thursday, 18 November 2010
it's late
Yup.. it's late.
For the first ish time in a while I'm writing on here stuff I haven't written out vaguely in my notebook in advance. Straight from the brain folks, straight from the brain.. through the fingers.
I'm tired. Overnights and days, day off today, most of which i have been helping other people through their situations, and messing about making xmas presents. When I should have been recuperating for work. ah well.. hopefully it will all be fine. Im tired. Not tired enough for bed. Too much to do to go to bed. Need to clear stuff off it for a start. then go boil the kettle for the hot waterbottle so I can sleep because its not TOO cold anymore. Brushy Teeths. Needs to do that. Have been eating toblerone. Naughty. Need to replace things on the Ipod.. will do that now. Listening to two harry potter CDs, the same two, as I fall asleep for the last few months from sheer laziness did not help us win the harry potter quiz yesterday. The SHAME. First Harry Potter quiz Ive ever done that I havent won. To be fair.. Im not great at anagrams, and that was one round. Potions... well. Who wouldnt want to be in detention with Snape for not doing so well? grr.. still grates. I wanted to WIN.
There you go. Some whatever its called writing... precognative? The one where you just blurt thoughts without thinking.. that one. Missing my story now arentcha?
For the first ish time in a while I'm writing on here stuff I haven't written out vaguely in my notebook in advance. Straight from the brain folks, straight from the brain.. through the fingers.
I'm tired. Overnights and days, day off today, most of which i have been helping other people through their situations, and messing about making xmas presents. When I should have been recuperating for work. ah well.. hopefully it will all be fine. Im tired. Not tired enough for bed. Too much to do to go to bed. Need to clear stuff off it for a start. then go boil the kettle for the hot waterbottle so I can sleep because its not TOO cold anymore. Brushy Teeths. Needs to do that. Have been eating toblerone. Naughty. Need to replace things on the Ipod.. will do that now. Listening to two harry potter CDs, the same two, as I fall asleep for the last few months from sheer laziness did not help us win the harry potter quiz yesterday. The SHAME. First Harry Potter quiz Ive ever done that I havent won. To be fair.. Im not great at anagrams, and that was one round. Potions... well. Who wouldnt want to be in detention with Snape for not doing so well? grr.. still grates. I wanted to WIN.
There you go. Some whatever its called writing... precognative? The one where you just blurt thoughts without thinking.. that one. Missing my story now arentcha?
Friday, 12 November 2010
Part Five.. the end
Beckoning the pair on, the group of metal men, added to by the footballer, walk on. Heading away from the rhythmic beat of the stadium they return to the crowded streets, filled with people so fixed they seemed to have become their own gravestones. Walking through the maze of humans they pass by a coffee shop, the women pausing, both addicts. The apparent leader of the metal men looks over to them.
"Why are you stopping?"
The women look longingly through the darkened glass of the door, then back to their statue.
"Could we stop here a moment? Just to grab a drink?" Asks the one with, a soft note of pleading in her voice.
"We would just be a minute.. hopefully" adds the one without.
"Drink?" The statue's face worked into a vaguely puzzled expression.
Simultaneously the pair do the same mime of drinking, and their companions roar with laughter.
"Ahh.." The first statue looks up at the sky, as if gauging the time by the light remaining in it. "Very well, but be swift."
The two push the door open, and head inside before the realisation hits them, their eyes falling on those behind the counter... who was going to make the coffee?
"We could have filter.." murmurs the one without as a series of low clunks behind them signalled each of their guides pressing their faces against the glass of the window, peering in at them.
Moving forward, mindful of the statue's request for them to hurry, they step around the static queue, and around the counter. Looking around and maneuvering between the barristas they look at the coffee machine in a whole new light. The gurgle of the peculator continued as they searched to find what they needed to make their drinks.
"No soy latte today then." Joked the one with, just as a burst of steam issued from the large and complex machine on the counter, making them jump. It's copper surface gleaming in the artificial light, the human tendency to search for faces in all things showed the pair nothing, but this machine was none-the-less currently alive.
Reaching tentatively they fill jugs with milk and soy, pushing them toward the machine, it's tubes and pipes stretch and grasp the jugs, it's lights flashing in sequence, dials turn, switches flip and buttons pop in and out as the machine sputters and gurgles. Filling the takeaway cups with their perfectly heated drinks they reach over the outstretched hand of the barrista and drop money into the open draw of the till. Making their way out of the shop they sip from cups adorned with mermaids using their tails to flap and fan themselves in the heat.
Continuing on down the main street with more purpose than ever after this delay, the metal guides lead them faster, the noise of their heavy feet echoing off walls and stony shoppers. Turning a corner they face the cathedral, the living bells clanging in the tower calling a new congregation to service as their unusual group, in surroundings both familiar and surreal, join the crowd before the doors. The ironwork on the heavy ancient wood twisted and unfurled new scrolls, curling and melding together before growing again apart as the doors swing open, candlelight flooding the waiting faces of stone, metal and skin.
Entering from the twilight the crowd spills forward, filling the cathedral with bodies of such different sizes, colours and materials. Some sit carefully in the pews while others, too large to fit, remain standing. All waiting with palpable anticipation, though they had no breath to hold.
Softly at first, a low hum builds into music, growing louder, a tune swelling from the organ with no organist, joined by a choir of voices, not from the congregation, but from the cathedral itself. Voices from all around, baritones and tenors, the notes pouring from mouths of stony saints, castraltos from the wooden carved cherubim of the choir screen. The beautiful cacophony of the refrain was joined by altos and sopranos from the stained glass, as the congregation themselves began to sing. They sang of their creation, of forms emerging from ore, from stone, from wood. The emotion from each artist having flowed into their works through each chisel, mallet and brush. The one with and the one without watch and listen in awe as the singing continues, carved plants and fruit on the pews growing and blooming in delight as the eagle of the lectern stretches it's wings, the gold flashing dazzlingly in the candlelight...
The small group from the monument by the station led the pair back the way they had come, back to their own homes on the plinth. Carefully each shook each hand, flesh and bone clasped in living metal. They climb back to their places without a word, just a knowing glance as they resume their old positions. The last rays of light sliding from the face of the winking smiling sun atop the insurance building take all it's radiance and life. As the last strains of music from the cathedral are drowned by traffic noise the pair are jostled by a passerby in a hurry. Looking to each other and up to the statues they link arms and smile at their erstwhile guides and turn to walk away, the one without muttering..
"Next time, I'm bringing my damn camera.."
"Why are you stopping?"
The women look longingly through the darkened glass of the door, then back to their statue.
"Could we stop here a moment? Just to grab a drink?" Asks the one with, a soft note of pleading in her voice.
"We would just be a minute.. hopefully" adds the one without.
"Drink?" The statue's face worked into a vaguely puzzled expression.
Simultaneously the pair do the same mime of drinking, and their companions roar with laughter.
"Ahh.." The first statue looks up at the sky, as if gauging the time by the light remaining in it. "Very well, but be swift."
The two push the door open, and head inside before the realisation hits them, their eyes falling on those behind the counter... who was going to make the coffee?
"We could have filter.." murmurs the one without as a series of low clunks behind them signalled each of their guides pressing their faces against the glass of the window, peering in at them.
Moving forward, mindful of the statue's request for them to hurry, they step around the static queue, and around the counter. Looking around and maneuvering between the barristas they look at the coffee machine in a whole new light. The gurgle of the peculator continued as they searched to find what they needed to make their drinks.
"No soy latte today then." Joked the one with, just as a burst of steam issued from the large and complex machine on the counter, making them jump. It's copper surface gleaming in the artificial light, the human tendency to search for faces in all things showed the pair nothing, but this machine was none-the-less currently alive.
Reaching tentatively they fill jugs with milk and soy, pushing them toward the machine, it's tubes and pipes stretch and grasp the jugs, it's lights flashing in sequence, dials turn, switches flip and buttons pop in and out as the machine sputters and gurgles. Filling the takeaway cups with their perfectly heated drinks they reach over the outstretched hand of the barrista and drop money into the open draw of the till. Making their way out of the shop they sip from cups adorned with mermaids using their tails to flap and fan themselves in the heat.
Continuing on down the main street with more purpose than ever after this delay, the metal guides lead them faster, the noise of their heavy feet echoing off walls and stony shoppers. Turning a corner they face the cathedral, the living bells clanging in the tower calling a new congregation to service as their unusual group, in surroundings both familiar and surreal, join the crowd before the doors. The ironwork on the heavy ancient wood twisted and unfurled new scrolls, curling and melding together before growing again apart as the doors swing open, candlelight flooding the waiting faces of stone, metal and skin.
Entering from the twilight the crowd spills forward, filling the cathedral with bodies of such different sizes, colours and materials. Some sit carefully in the pews while others, too large to fit, remain standing. All waiting with palpable anticipation, though they had no breath to hold.
Softly at first, a low hum builds into music, growing louder, a tune swelling from the organ with no organist, joined by a choir of voices, not from the congregation, but from the cathedral itself. Voices from all around, baritones and tenors, the notes pouring from mouths of stony saints, castraltos from the wooden carved cherubim of the choir screen. The beautiful cacophony of the refrain was joined by altos and sopranos from the stained glass, as the congregation themselves began to sing. They sang of their creation, of forms emerging from ore, from stone, from wood. The emotion from each artist having flowed into their works through each chisel, mallet and brush. The one with and the one without watch and listen in awe as the singing continues, carved plants and fruit on the pews growing and blooming in delight as the eagle of the lectern stretches it's wings, the gold flashing dazzlingly in the candlelight...
The small group from the monument by the station led the pair back the way they had come, back to their own homes on the plinth. Carefully each shook each hand, flesh and bone clasped in living metal. They climb back to their places without a word, just a knowing glance as they resume their old positions. The last rays of light sliding from the face of the winking smiling sun atop the insurance building take all it's radiance and life. As the last strains of music from the cathedral are drowned by traffic noise the pair are jostled by a passerby in a hurry. Looking to each other and up to the statues they link arms and smile at their erstwhile guides and turn to walk away, the one without muttering..
"Next time, I'm bringing my damn camera.."
Sunday, 31 October 2010
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.
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.
Monday, 25 October 2010
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.
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.
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.
Sunday, 24 October 2010
...
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...
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...
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