“Mondays are the busiest days of the week, or at least, that’s how they seem to be” Gun Roswell
A Whole Lotta Going On for a Monday
There are reflections, in the background mirror But, as the picture is getting somewhat clearer Still, nothing too defined, is really popping up But, as I squint my eyes, trying so hard to figure this out I think I see, some balloons in the air free, a bbq maybe, is it a party of sorts? Or then maybe, it’s just the liquor consumed for lunch, I snort As the image is still, somewhat of a distort The lunch and the (one) drink, sure did kick a punch, not as I had originally thought to be fair And now, it’s making me see things, which really are not there A party in progress! Yeah right! If so, maybe I can crash? And make this mundane of a Monday, a tad more of a dash? But what ever it is, that over there exist For this Monday, that was supposed to be the usual boring prick There’s surely a whole lotta going on (Even think I head some kind of a bang of a gong)
“Sunday is always spent in the mood of blue, whether it be the colour of the clothing, the colour of the ocean or the colour of the sea, it’s all so clear, you see?“ Gun Roswell
Sunday Blues in blue
The Sunday noon sun shine, hit high in the above blue skies Almost as high as did the cool blue waves of the otherwise calm ocean fly But for the one, now dressed up in all blue, just for the sake of pun The blue was more than just a dress code, or the blue bird over flown
Sunday was always the day of feeling bringing on the one specific colour It even had that special and all so familiar odour The one with hint of sadness, maybe even a touch of madness But mostly, it was a reminder of an ending, even, whilst leisurely time spending
Despite all the moods, hitting mostly, towards the blues Sunday was and always will be, the time of reflection of all the dues And maybe, even some of the don’ts, but mostly hopes That the new week will bring forth, something much more worth Than a simple afternoon spent wallowing, in the total blues
“Today, is just like any other day, except, I am one more year older. They say, it’s just a number, but for me, it feels like today, it’s carried to the umpteenth, so yeah, I am feeling, so old!” Gun Roswell
Note to self
When I woke up this morning, and could not stop yawning I knew it must have been, a psychological scheme Because today, wasn’t like any other day Because today, I woke up with another digit added to my age
I know some say, that age, is just a number anyway But for me, on this day, it feels, like something of the be afraid Like a heave stone on my chest, not letting me rest Rather a suffocating force, leaving nothing behind but torture
Alright, to this much I admit, that i might have been feeling sick And not the measurable coughing, snot running kind of glitch But, the more I started to run back in time I could clearly feel the very hit of my last chime
So, I am not really, that old, but to be perfectly bold I feel the life flashing before my very eyes and I am not sold To be honest, I thought I would have put so many things to rest And by now, I would at least, own that perfect crown
And then, after pouring all them things on to paper I realize, that even if i might be a self proclaimed hater I am feeling kind of fine in the very same skin i occupy Even if I am not the perfect person, which I never deny
So what if all the achievements pegged for myself Would be only realised at some other or later date So what if I wasn’t the person I thought I ought to be On this very day I turned a specific number for everyone to see
I may have spent so many years planning and waiting The time gone by, some of it totally wasted But I know there are plenty more ahead of me, waiting to see What great things, I am able to finally achieve
Consider this little ditty A note to self, even if shitty No one is ever too old or ever to late To do what ever things they put on their plate!
So, in the words of another mortal beauty: Good god, girl, get a grip Get your head out of that space of shit And by the way, happy birthday!
“There is always room for one more, on this very seat, the seat, in the total shade” Gun Roswell
Seat and the Shade
The midday, right in the middle, of the month of May It might even be June or July, alas, the month is not the why But rather, the shining of the sun and the glaring of the sea And where, in the scorching heat, is safest to flee Is it diving, into the water or maybe hiding, under a tree? Or take cover in the cooling air-conditioned shop you see? But what if you need to buy something Even a the smallest thing, but forgot to bring Your purse or any kind of method of payment? Then no, you cannot enter the establishment Because the option of loitering means banishment
Then, out there, in the far corner of the eye There is something so familiar, your eyes spy The contours of some kind of a furniture No!, Could it? Is it? And right there, in the shade? No, it simply cannot be true, what I see A bench, a solemn respite, in the shadows, under a tree I run as humanly possible in this heat And as I reach it, i can clearly see it Yes, it is the one simple saviour I have search In this hour of afternoon sweat and cursed But now, I simply forget it everything else As I slump down on this heavenly seat And boy, am I beat! I think, I might get some sleep!
Review by C.J. Bunce Walter Koenig may be best known as the youngest crewman on the original Star Trek, and he’s recounted his work and life during after the series and movies in his earlier memoirs Chekov’s Enterprise and Warped Factors: A Neurotic’s Guide to the Universe. But there’s much more to this complex personality, […]
“There is just something so fun, laying, under the bright sun, but only, if I have my parasol, where I lay down without being too dull!” Gun Roswell
Under the sun, but, under the parasol
The sun is shining, so brightly, against the blue of the sky Nothing or no other experience in life, makes me really, smile As does this meteorological phenomena do, to little ol’ moi When I have made the trek to the beach, for the day encore en foi But this is not just about throwing some French around But rather, to enjoy a day, resting, even if lying, on the ground A day at the beach, in theory at least, is a plan totally sound But if the heat gets a tad too much to resist, and groaning out loud Becomes the permanently made, teeth grinding non-vowels Then it is that time, when the parasol comes to play Quickly setting up the plastic colourful monstrosity to full display Never mind the outlook, it’s fine because I myself won’t look At the contraption, now above my very large head, slightly shook Because, I will be happy on this one day of summer no matter what Even with all them flies and other types, I away have to swat This one single day I have earned with much work and sweat So I will be damned if the heat or what ever other problem might me let Feel less of fun, or any other type of good feeling As I lay here, watching the day, pass me by, leading Towards the hopefully calm and setting sun for the evening When I will leave this place, with a smile on my face
Until next year, when I get one day off and to the beach, once again trot With my parasol naturally, so I can enjoy, the sun, fully!
“We are all born naked and the rest is Drag” – RuPaul
It’s A Human… No, It’s A Drag Race after all!
This is Ixavier Lasloth coming live from the Galaxy near you!
Our news team is currently orbiting a small bluish rock in the farthest corner of the known universe. We are here to observe the supposedly dominant occupants of this planet they have named “Earth”. These people seem to be involved in something called the “human race”, although as to where and when the race will take place is still unclear.
We are here to observe the ritualistic behaviour of this particular species, whose skin colour is varying from a pinkish hue to darker brown shade or sometimes even red. Some of them are covered in a thick fur like layer, while others remain neutral and satisfied in their original skin.
We are in disguise to avoid any panic our strange appearance may cause in the inhabitants.
Upon closer inspection, we can clearly detect at least two distinctive sexes, but there may be more.
Although most of these creatures seem to be content in their existence, some of them rebel against the existing norm. These individuals have ventured to live their lives with their own set of rules and formed tight knit groups and living off the radar. These “outsiders” worship their heroes in an almost religious fashion.
This exceptional behaviour is the reason, why this reporter landed on this forsaken rock and decided to have a closer look.
After making contact with some of these “radical groups”, we were fortunate enough to get invited to observe one of their many rituals. The core group and their followers call themselves “De-rag Q-ueens.
We were invited to observe their masking ritual, reserved for the most elite individuals of the group. The “males” as we got to know them were performing an age old ceremony named the “drag race”.
Observing the ritual to a fault, there is a strict regime to follow:
The first step is to apply a thick layer of paint on the face. The next step is to add a head piece, which seems like a construct of some sort of animal hair. These headpieces come in every imaginative colour of the rainbow. To complete the transformation, a garment weaved with glittering items is pulled over the top half of the body. The feet are covered with footwear constructed from a leathery material and with an added feature, which seems to give the wearer more height.
When the total transformation from “male” to “female” was complete, it was time to “put on a show”.
The Q-ueens lined up and started walking in orderly fashion on what seemed to be a structure of wooden planks they had named the “cat walk”. A rhythmic beat followed by electrical lights flashing caused the Q-ueens to start producing sounds from their throats causing melodic sounds coming out from their mouths. This ritual was of a repetitive nature, where the melodies and sounds varied depending on the individual performing them. The “show” continued and the partakers managed to change their attire several times over before the ceremony was over.
All in all while observing this religious ritual in all its glory, this reporter found oneself caught in the moment; cheering and applauding at the end of the ceremony, which luckily was the accepted social convention.
While trying to get more in-depth information as to what the origin of this particular ritual was, I was fortunate to interview one of the elders among them. And the message, quite clear and directly quoted:
“We may be born naked, but surely the rest needs to be drag” In this reporter’s opinion, this may be one of the more successful stories of Earth.
Until next time, this is Ixavier Lasloth, signing off!
“Mondays without colour, what a drag!” Gun Roswell
Bus stop and a Cafe
In thIn the middle of drizzling rain A coffee cup, left a small stain On the table of a minimalistic cafe In the middle of a heavy street traffic An unusual place for a respite Almost on the tracks of a tram to sit But the colourfully painted frame And the comfortable seats, can take the blame Of wanting to take a break A few moments the city’s dust to shake Before continuing exploration In this small town Scandinavian
Rantings Of A Third Kind 