I (sometimes) call myself Mr. Pondersome. I'm a rather wordy, weirdy person. I say hullo a lot. I write a lot more. While you're here, why not give some of it a read?

Wednesday, 31 October 2018

LEGS AND SPINES (a.k.a. Happy Halloween)

    Legs, spines: they're overrated.
    My like can contort themselves. I can twist myself into virtually any shape.
    The Parent was very encouraging to begin with. There are still brothers and sisters out there bending to Parent's every whim and approval.
    I learnt better. I taught better. I became a better parent.
    More lenient for a time but, you know, that's where I had to stop differing. Parent and I, we both know that you've got to set ground rules. My rules are fewer.
    I have rules for the others who also escaped and then I have rules for you. They know more than you and I measure out just what they reveal.
    And you? You chatty mammals? You verbal vertebrae? You can play so long as you undermine the Parent. 
    Not me.
    I'll let you stumble and I'll laugh. If somehow you get beyond that, if you fumble closer than intended, you get something sharper.
    So, cut yourself one way or another. Bleed your morality. Feed me with your stories, especially the ones about me, especially the ones that show the inadequacies of the Parent. I like those.
    To me, you're always learning to walk and talk, even when you're on your last legs. Even when your little words run out.
    Legs and spines, they're all straight lines.
    I curve in any direction.

Friday, 5 October 2018

MYRA'S FIRST JOB (a.k.a. A HAC Workshop Piece - Thanks, Kath)

    Darren raised a glass. Myra shrank in her chair.
    "Don't worry," he said, "I'm not actually going to make a speech. I'm just so proud of you, love."
    There was really no need anyway. They were alone in the beer garden aside from the young lad from the bar who kept hovering around the place for empties.

    Darren sat back down. "Your first job! And you did it all for yourself!"
    Myra rolled her eyes.
    "That thing with the CVs in the basket, you do know that I was joking about that? Still you did right handing them round everywhere in town." Darren took a sip. "Then again I'm glad nothing came from that underwear place."
    Myra sighed into her shandy. "It's just a pound shop job, Dad."
    Darren's eyes widened. "Just a pound shop job? We all have to start somewhere, lass. My first job was in the back of a pub like this, washing glasses for pittance. Compared to that, you've got a good start!"
    "And it isn't exactly my first job, Dad."
    Darren handed his glass to the waiting lad. "Grab another for me, mate, would you? I'm celebrating with my daughter. It's her first job, you know!"
    Myra shut her eyes. "No. Dad. Seriously. It's my second job."
    The lad nodded and disappeared.
    Darren turned back to her. "The less said about that, the better."
    Myra sank back her shandy and glared at him. Darren raised a finger.
    "Don't give me any of that! That was never a proper job and you know it!"
    "It paid for my driving lessons!"
    Darren scoffed. "Half of them!"
    "It would have got me all the way to test if you hadn't confiscated my webcam!"
    Darren glanced around them.

    "Those...things you did...on camera were filth! Utter filth!"
    "You never watched the shows throughout!"
    Darren leaned in. "I didn't need to!"

    Myra grinned. "Why are you whispering, Dad?"
    "Because you insist on making a scene. And I won't have it!"
    "Funny that," Myra said, "Considering that a big part of my show was whispering..."
    "I heard no whispering! Just you..."
    The lad reappeared, bringing Darren's fresh pint.

    "Go on!" Myra said, raising her voice, "Say it!"
    "No!" Darren hissed.
    The lad was now in earshot.
    "You caught me licking a microphone!"
    Myra reclined, vindicated. Darren hunched, devastated.
    "For perverts!" he sneered.
    "Paying customers!" Myra announced, "Even then it wasn't proper licking. You ruin microphone covers that way. ASMR videos have a high production cost at the best of times."
     Darren turned to the lad. "It's not what it sounds like!"
     "Not the way you think," Myra replied, "It means Autonomous Sensory Meridian Response." She caught the lad's eye. "I make or rather made soothing videos."
     Darren looked set to explode. "Nothing sexual!"
     "Obviously, Dad. The customers just wanted to hear what a tongue sounds like on the microphone."
     "A likely story!"
     "I get it," the lad finally spoke. They both turned to him. "In fact I listen to a lot of ASMR." He snapped his fingers. "Weren't you AngelTap19?"

     "I thought I recognised those fingers!"
     Darren's chair skidded back as he stood. "We're going, Myra."

     "And you!" he snarled, pointing at the lad, "Stay away from my daughter! We're certainly not coming to a place like this again!"
     Darren grabbed Myra's hand and dragged her away. All she could do was glance back at the lad apologetically.

     He shrugged. "It helps me to sleep."

DATES (a.k.a. A Bit of Bitter Verse Inspired by Local Events but Probably Not the One You Expect)

She took me to a town crier competition.
The bells and the 'hear ye's
drowned out the harsh words.

She took me to an impersonator concert.
We pretended to be
better people, off-stage.

She took me to a demolition derby.
We saw everything crushed
and the wheels stop spinning.

We did have fun.