Gimme a time machine!

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“Time is not a machine” Gun Roswell

Gimme a time machine!

“I need more time!” She said in an urgent tone
“Please, or else, gimme a time machine!” She pleaded, most desperately

Time is always of the essence
Time is never on our sides
Time is the beast that consumes us
Time is the one who’ll save us

What a contradiction is time
You can hear it moving by each turn of the chime
Oh how I wish I could make it mine
Stop it, for a few moments, to feel fine

Time is not the enemy some say
Time is just about relativity
Time is a friend in need
Time is something you really need

When it’s running out, there is a deep doubt
Will I eve get there and get my fare share
 Always battling against it, when I should be embracing it
But as I lay my head to rest, I wish time to give me it’s best

“I will need to turn back the clock, as I missed so much and still so much to do” she told the time master
“Please grant me at least one use of this machine, and I’ll be the best person ever seen” she promised

“Sorry, little girl.” The master replied, “There is really no consideration to your request.” Adding “Humans cannot fathom the consequences of time travel and I won’t dare you to do so either.”

She looked dumbstruck at the time master. “What a piece of ..” She thought. But knowing when to fold her cards, she left hand bent, kicking some small stones, as along the long and narrow road, she once again started, her battle against, time.

I write, all the time

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“There is something odd about a person, who just sits by the computer all day long, sometimes, even the night and types in words to an empty page, yup, definitely very odd indeed, and that person, is me” Gun Roswell

I write, all the time

I write I write I write I write and I totally write
Just, because, I really don’t have any life
Therefore, it seems,I have all, of the time
In the world reserved for me, simply, to write

My day job, that once I loved, does not much count
These days, I simply do, the needed amount
My family, yeah, I have it, at least some kind of bunch
But they never really cared for me, that much

So I keep on writing, slowly and surely emerging
Deep, in to the many worlds, I am now creating
They seem so much better for me, better for all
At least, inside my own head, I am having a ball

But when, I sometimes come out, to the real world
I look around and see, that time surely has turned
And I am now, an outsider, standing there, observing
Never really participating, and inevitably, learning

That I, was left behind, so to the others, to be kind
I return, to my darkened room, stand, beside my desk
For me, there is no time, to stop and take a simple rest
Rather, I keep on writing, as it’s really the only thing

I am capable of doing anymore, because I can’t think:
I open a new page, a blank one, and start the one
Thing I am friends with, and the words are pouring
Now, like never before, because I am, always writing

Sleep, is so overrated

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“I am so damned tired, but I am trying, to stay awake despite of it“ Gun Roswell

Sleep, is so overrated

I wish, oh how I so truly wish, I could sleep, like some of the more exotic fish
In perpetual motion, never, ever giving up, on the good kind of commotion
Or then at least, like the famous Nikola Tesla, with only two hours, of daily sleep
And then I could be, totally inventive and oh so creative, the rest of the time
Because, or despite of being tired or even sick or simply surviving, off the grind
But, then again, it still seems, that even, if I could less time on rest spend
I would have difficulties, for all the great things I would want to do, to lend
Even if all the precious time in the world, onto my waiting lap would be hurled

So, why, oh why, I am complaining again, you may me ask?
Can’t I just simply, strip down some or more, off the planned tasks?
The simple answer to that question, or then again, it is really not
Could just be, that, I am, in all honesty, afraid, that if, I would ever stop
I would never be able, to start over, again
And then, on what, would I my time then spend?

Scary Monsters and Super Freaks

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“Scary monsters, super creeps, Keep me running, running scared” David Bowie

Scary Monsters and Super Freaks

Darkness surrounds me
In every corner do I see
Scary monsters lurking
Soon enough, freaking

Footfalls getting closer
I look over my shoulder
Fight or flight?
Did not even bring a knife

Picking up the pace
Looking for a hiding place
Nothing can be found
I turn around

Standing paralyzed
Totally petrified
Watching helplessly
Facing the enemy

Feeling hopeless
When a dark figure approaches
Huffing and puffing
Its legs scuffing

It stops in front of me
Looking at me, curiosly
Its mouth opening suddenly

“Got a light deary?”

It’s A Human… No, It’s A Drag Race after all!

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“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!

dame-edna-everage-barry-humphries-taking-over-adelaide-music-festival

The White Cat in a Hat (Shortest of Tales Collection)

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Shortest of Tales Collection presents:

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“A short story is something that you can hold in your mind. You can really analyze how the entire thing works, like a machine” Chuck Palahniuk

The White Cat in a Hat

The little white cat
With a black hat
Was taking a nap
On the kitchen mat

Her tail all curled
As she softly purred
Oblivious to the world
As it around her whirled

Something made her stir
Looking up with a stare
Straight up stood her fur
As she took off in a blur

The hat off tore
Landed on the floor
The cat was out the door
Heard was a loud roar

cats-hd-photo-wallpapers-5750_thumb

Once there was a Man (Shortest of Tales Collection)

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Shortest of Tales Collection presents:

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“A short story is something that you can hold in your mind. You can really analyze how the entire thing works, like a machine” Chuck Palahniuk

Once there was a Man

Once there was a man
Who did not understand
That the greatest of plans
Was already in his hands

So he went around town
Looking for his crown
His face in a big frown
Feelings of letting down

But when he saw a beggar
With the biggest smile ever
He suddenly turned around
And his smile finally found

ZXglizq

Tales of the Unexpected (or what ever floats in my mind): Part One

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Posted in Tales of the Unexpected

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“Every writer I know has trouble writing” Joseph Heller

Tales of the Unexpected (or what ever floats in my mind): Part One

“This written tale is based on the prompt:”Four-hundred words. One at a time. Go.”

I woke up, when I was born, no sooner, no later. That was as stupid an opening line as “Once upon a time” or “It was a cold and rainy night”, but I thought I was being clever in starting the tale with a joke. You who follow my writing may have noticed the humouristic twist in most tales, at least at some point. For the life of me, I cannot write serious, not matter how I try. Maybe I would have a career in joke writing or scetches for “Saturday Night Live” or similar shows.

OK, so the agreed process for this tale is: Absolutely no censorship in this tale, my mind freely flowing as my fingers do the typing. I am no longer in command of this vessel. What ever is written on these pages is purely fictional as produced by the army of voices living in my head. I was thinking of cheating of course, thinking before writing, plotting my way into this tale.

After emerging from the deep state I was in, I decided to finally let go, to leave it alone, to not think too much and see what will develop. Apart from the typos caused by my fingers not being able to keep up, this is all just a flow of the mind. I know it is crowded in there, despite the fact the sign implies there is “room for rent”. My occupants like to play tricks on me and those who might take a glimpse to my brain.

Funny things those renters of mine. I prefer to use that word rather than thinking this is a permanent situation. I do hope, that, at some point the other voices will take their leave and I can finally make decisions on my own. Whether that be writing or something else. Mostly it is writing though. When I do decide to let go, the writing is usually good, so I really shouldn’t be taking any credit. But someone once said, A good writer borrows, a great writer steals.

Oh, oh, I am stuck now, either the others went on a break or then they are all napping. I am actually wondering how familiar and TV-oriented this sounds. I do sound like a Borg drone from Star Trek, don’t I. “I can’t hear the others, I need the others to survive!” must be the most quoted line in the franchise when the Borg characters are in play.

But I digest, I mean digress ;P

Flow of mind or the lack there of. A while back I wrote a funny note on my mind having too many tabs open. Oddly enough, that was not fiction but fact. I do like to dabble more on the fiction than the fact side, never getting too personal, but I have a warm feeling inside of me. Guess I am safe as long as it doesn’t run down my legs! But so far so good.

So, back to fact or fiction, was that what I was talking about? No, it was the thing of too many things occupying the brain at one point, hence the tabs and open thing. OK, back on track. So yes. That actually has a link to the ever so talked about writer’s block. The only blockage I have or have had for the past fifty odd years is or was the fact that I do censor myself, a lot. I have so many ideas, causing my mind to overflow.

Currently, as I started my writing life for the third and hopefully charmed time, I will let myself write what ever I want, who ever I want and where ever I want. Sans all the self doubt, drama and excuses. Oh my! Now I am finally getting serious! I actually got a little serious there a day or so back when I poured my heart and thoughts to a few darker poems. I admit I use humour as a cover and rather than dwelling on real life issues, I crack a joke.

I freely admit to the following personality traits: I am sarcastic, pessimistic, I have a warped sense of humour, I am spontaneous yet conscious, I am lazy, but also industrious, at least when work is concerned, personal life not so much. So now you know. I like to hide but remain right in the open. I talk a lot, but say nothing.

Back to the topic again, (I seem to be loosing the track now constantly), what ever that was, I actually forgot at this point. Oh yes, free flow of the mind. So not a jogy, not a Vulcan, not logical, just your average everyday humanoid being. So that is my life story or sort of story. At least what I came up with today. I guess this is more than four hundred words. I don’t know how much of myself I have revealed in this little mind tale, but read between the lines or over the lines. Somewhere there, between, lies the truth.

something

More Tales of the Unexpected…

Shortest of Tales Collection, Tale Three: Could it be?

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Writing 101: Day Thirteen: Play with word count
Shortest of Tales Collection presents: Around 50-Word Stories or So

could

“A short story is something that you can hold in your mind. You can really analyze how the entire thing works, like a machine” Chuck Palahniuk

Shortest of Tales Collection, Tale Three: Could it be?

Could it be?
Can you see?
Is it true?
Who knew!

So what if it is
This wasn’t a quiz
It’s no one’s biz
If we go to the Ritz

Never mind
I’ll be fine
I got a dime
Let it chime

Out on the street
Dancing to the beat
Life oh so sweet
Oh what a treat

The lesson learnt
Don’t get burnt
Even if you weren’t
Dance ’till you aren’t

dance

Shortest of Tales Collection, Tale Two: The White Cat in a Hat

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Writing 101: Day Thirteen: Play with word count
Shortest of Tales Collection presents: Around 50-Word Stories or So

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“A short story is something that you can hold in your mind. You can really analyze how the entire thing works, like a machine” Chuck Palahniuk

Shortest of Tales Collection, Tale Two: The White Cat in a Hat

The little white cat
With a black hat
Was taking a nap
On the kitchen mat

Her tail all curled
As she softly purred
Oblivious to the world
As it around her whirled

Something made her stir
Looking up with a stare
Straight up stood her fur
As she took off in a blur

The hat off tore
Landed on the floor
The cat was out the door
Heard was a loud roar

cats-hd-photo-wallpapers-5750_thumb