“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
Be careful what you wish for, you may just get it!
Not another rejection! I was getting sick and tired of working my respective derriere off and for what? For nothing, thank you very much. No matter what I wrote, how I wrote or how many submissions I sent in, all my work got rejected.
“I would make a deal with the devil if I would finally get a chance!” I shouted out loud in the empty room.
The lights flickered and all got dark.
“Oh hell, not another power outage again!” I tried to feel my way in the darkness, but as I moved around, I realized I wasn’t bumping into any kind of obstacles, like the furniture or scattered stuff lying on the floor in my room.
Then I could see a bright spot in the distance. By instinct I started walking towards the light. When I reached the light, I noticed I had actually been transported to some place completely different. The surroundings reminded vaguely of some of the cardboard sets from many a sci-fi film I had seen. The place was surrounded by a heavy mist, like someone had gone wild with a smoke machine. Luckily I had taken my asthma medicine earlier.
I walked around and wondered whether I was dreaming or abducted by some funky disco loving aliens.
“Hello! Anyone home?” I shouted.
Then wooshing sound and flash of light and, there she was, standing before me in a catsuit like leathery outfit. She looked at me, clearly assessing who and what I was.
“So you would like to be famous?” She asked me.
“Who are you?” I was a not sure whether this was a dream or I had been set up by Candid Camera.
“Beelzebub.” She answered.
“Come again?” What the f..k? I was thinking this definitely had to be a set up.
She looked at me annoyed.
“You know as in Old Nick, Lucifer, the Tempter, Prince of Darkness? Ring a bell for you?”
I shook my head.
“Satan!” She shouted out loud her voice echoing in the setting.
“Ah!” I finally got it, “What’s with the decoy? Why not come right in front and introduce yourself like “Hi, I am Satan, nice to meet you!” I asked trying to lighten the mood.
She, Satan stared at me and I got a little worried then. My skin was burning a little. For what ever reason, I wasn’t sure.
“I heard you were ready to deal.” Satan stated matter of factually.
“Maybe,” I tried nonchalantly not believing my luck! “What kind of deal did you have in mind?”
“Well I can make you rich and famous and all that entails as.. What was it again you said you were, a writer?”
“Yeah!” So, not all knowing after all, I thought.
“Writer. Yes, well I have several of those, but if that is what you want to be then who am I to argue.” Satan responded, looking at me eyes flaming.
“What exactly would it entail? The deal I mean?” My curiosity was peaked, but this sounded too good of a deal to really be true.
“Well do you think you are any good as a writer now?” Satan asked me.
Motioning my hand in comme ci comme ça -manner. “Meh?”
“Well, despite your short comings, I can make sure what ever word fall from your pen or what is it you humans are using now, keyboard?”
I nodded.
“I can make sure it’s all gold and you will become a renowned writer.”
I was really hooked now.
“What do I have to do?”
Another woosh sounded.
“Simply put on them red slippers and click your heels three times!” Satan pointed at the newly appeared footwear.
I was hesitant, red wasn’t really my colour.
“I don’t know. Can I see that in an other colour?”
I could see Satan’s eyes widen and sure, there was smoke coming out of her ears.
“You dare to contradict me?” She was furious.
Oh, oh. I had angered the devil, not good. I was worried I might loose the deal. And red was fine. I could always accessorize and buy a red bag, maybe a matching hat…
“Fine! Don’t get your knickers in a bunch! I will put the red slippers on, no problem!” I slipped the shoes on one by one and pointed at them: “See! Chill out Satan!”
She grinned wickedly: “Excellent! Now click your heels three times.”
“Seriously?” I asked. I thought I heard that line in a movie some place.
“Do as I damn well say!” Satan clearly had anger management issues.
“OK, I will. Look, I am doing it.”
And with that said, I clicked my heels, one, two, three times. The lights flickered again. Everything went dark.
“Not this again! Been there done that, now bring on the light!” I shouted in despair.
Then the lights came on. I was back in my, room?
It wasn’t my room, not at least the way I left it. It was a huge room with nice furniture and all kinds of gorgeous glittery things around. I looked around in awe. Where was I?
I noticed a newspaper on the table. I went to look to find more clues as to where and why. My heart skipped a beat. The headline stated “Premier for ‘Dancing with the Devil in the pale moonlight’ written by the famous author, Gun Roswell”
I glanced at my feet. And, I was still wearing the red slippers on my feet!
“You have to be careful what you wish for. What you think you want, may be more than you can handle!”
Rantings Of A Third Kind 