“Sometimes, it’s good to take a step outside of it all, to just be there and observe life” Gun Roswell
I was sitting in the coffee shop, my well-deserved latte in front of me. I was content in emerging into my daily readings on my tablet, but for some reason my eyes kept wandering to the hassle in the bar. Patrons were leaving and new ones were stepping into the shop.
‘Why not!’ I thought. I could play the part of the observer for a little while before continuing my own tasks. Who knows, maybe I would pick up an idea or two for my next writing project.
Sipping my coffee, I noticed the young couple in the corner booth. They were enjoying each others’ company, looking each other in the eye, no words were spoken. New love was in the air.
Feeling like a peeping Tom, I search for something else to gaze upon. My eyes were scanning the room and landed on a woman with three offspring. The mother was deep in thought, or so it seemed, reading the newspaper while her children were throwing napkins, straws and other small items at each other. I wondered how she managed to turn off the surroundings. The patrons at the next table however were not so lucky. Shaking their heads, they grabbed their orders and moved to another table at the farther end the coffee shop.
I laughed a little at the scene played out before me. Good thing I had been thinking ahead and chose the solitary spot close to the windows in the corner. I had a clear view of the whole establishment, but I was also able to concentrate on my reading if I wanted to.
I thought to seek out one more scene before tuning myself out. I noticed the waitresses behind the bar having a heated conversation. I was not able to hear what they were talking about, but clearly the other one was angry about something and kept on ranting, while the other one was just listening in. Wide eyed, nodding every now and again. The angry one was waving her arms in the air, while the quiet one remained stationary, her hands seemed almost glued to her sides. It seemed from an observer’s perspective, the ranter was in charge in that particular relationship, while the listener did just that and probably agreed to everything the ranter told her.
I lost my interest after a little while and noticed the coffee house getting emptier. Guess the rush was over and I could get back to my reading.
“It’s not much, but it’s ours, it’s homey and welcoming, our hood.” Gun Roswell
The neighbourhood had seen better days, but Mrs. Pauley had lived there since before anyone can remember. She raised a family of six boys, who were all grown up and moved away. Since Mr. Pauley had died three months ago, she’d had no income. She’s fallen behind in the rent. The landlord, accompanied by the police, had arrived to evict Mrs. Pauley from the house she’s lived in for forty years…
***
I was sitting on the curve, waiting for my best friends Lily and Bobby. We were going to play hops-scotch after school today and as usual, I was early. My homework was done already and mom had awarded me with chocolate muffins she had baked herself. I consider myself a nerdy girl and try to live up to my favourite TV characters, meaning not having too many creature comforts. It’s kinda hard since I like dressing up, the colour pink and I especially love chocolate. Anyways, my grams told me I was an old soul, and I looked that up on the internet, what it actually meant. I kind of understood the jest of it, what it means. And even though sometimes my friends go “What?” when I talk to them in long sentences, and sometimes take the side of the adults, I still feel like a little kid and I like to play.
I was getting bored, waiting for my friends to come. They were usually late, especially Lily, who it took forever to decide on what to wear after the school uniform got tossed waiting for the next day. Then I heard the sirens wailing. I wondered if there had been an accident and got up to catch a better glimpse of the nearing sound. It was two police cars coming to this street. They drove by me and parked in front of old lady Pauley’s house. I got scared thinking Mrs Pauley was hurt or even worse. So I ran closer, to find out what was going on. The landlord Mr Pruitt was also there. He and four policemen walked right to Mrs Pauley’s door and knocked on it.
I had inched myself closer to the house and was standing right behind two of the officers. I tapped on the other one’s back, to get their attention. He turned around and looked at me surprised.
“Hi little girl! What are you doing here?” He asked.
“I’m Emily. I live over there.” I was pointing at our house a block away.
“Nice to meet you Emily.” The officer told me. “Maybe you should go back to playing. We have some things we’d like to discuss with Mrs Pauley.”
“I’m OK. I am waiting for my friends.” I insisted.
By this time, my presence had caught the attention of the other ones too.
“Young lady, run along now. This is grown up business.” The lady officer told me.
“It’s OK. My grandma told me I am growing up really fast and know a lot of grown up stuff.” I tried.
The others were looking at each other, I think the landlord did not like me very much. All us neighbourhood kids knew he didn’t have any kids and therefore did not like them.
“Look, Emily was it?” The nicer lady officer said.
I nodded.
“You should run along now.”
I was going to answer her, but I saw my two friends arriving. They had headed straight to the house after they had seen the police cars in front.
“Hi Emily! What’s going on? Are there robbers here?” Bobby was making his usual assumptions.
The officers seemed to be getting a little annoyed and looking at us kids not sure on what to do.
“I dunno!” I shrugged my shoulders.
“No robbers young man.” The other officer responded.
“Too bad,” Bobby replied.
“Is old lady Pauley OK?” I asked
“She is fine.” The officer told me.
“So why are the police here then?” I was curious now.
“Oh, just some adult stuff, nothing for you to worry your pretty head about.” He started.
“It’s fine you can tell us.” I told him
“Yeah, tell us!” Lily joined the chorus.
By this time a few other kids had arrived to the house and more were on their way. It seemed all this action of police cars had drawn the attention of the kids around the hood. Finally I counted around twenty children who were checking out the yard, the police cars and asking the officers all kinds of questions.
“I think we’d better do this another day.” The lady officer told her partner, “It seems we have drawn too much attention and I don’t feel comfortable dragging an old lady out of the house in front of all these children.” She looked worried.
“What if we ask Mr Pruitt if he could come up with some sort of an arrangement.” The officer told the others.
“Sounds like a good plan.” The other ones agreed.
“Mr. Pruitt, can we have a word with you.” The lady officer waved for Mr Pruitt to step closer.
We tried to listen in on the conversation, but could not hear much. Apparently nothing much was going on in the end since they all left in a while. Us kids started our own separate ways. As I was leaving I looked back and saw Mrs Pauley in the window. She was smiling and waved at me. I waved back and ran after my friends thinking I was glad she was alright.
“There is something to be said about nature, as us humans are the feast to some of the species roaming free out there. It’s a good thing, the circle of life if you will, right?!?” Gun Roswell
Urban nature What a wild creature Concrete, asphalt Dog poop on the sidewalk Grass may look green But everyone has seen It was spray painted To keep it untainted And just as a feature
Nothing quite like The smell of petroleum In the early morning When riding that bike Or taking a hike Though fair warning Try to avoid stepping Onto the tossed wrapping Made of aluminium
Reaching the heavy trafficked streets Listening to the musical feats Of the car horn section on the right The jackhammers creating the beats People shouting in chorus Day feeling more bright Like your name was Doris Crossing the street at red light Just for fun not out of spite
Come late evening Walking through the darkened park The streetlights broken Someone a lurking Deep in the bushes Not at sea, so at least no sharks Your pace fastening Trying to be cunning Then almost running
Finally arriving To the safe haven Entering the doorway You realize you’re not in Norway From the lack of pine trees Rather the sweet smell of pee Greeting you, making you sneeze Not the perfume of choice But it could be worse?
You could be camping Out in the wilderness In a sleeping bag, damping Rain pouring on your sleepiness Bears lurking outside No where to hide Clutching onto the covers Hoping to survive Until the sun rises
“Waddaya mean I had too much coffee today? (Trips, stumbles, does not fall, while reaching for the next cup)” Gun Roswell
Since the dawn of time when humans first dropped down from the trees and started walking, their first trip must have been to the closest Starbucks for some coffee.
Remember the classic film “2001: A Space Odyssey” and first scene where the prehistoric man is bewildered when a big black block lands before him? What if instead of the monolith a giant cup of coffee would have landed? I think we would have evolved much faster and would be more advanced today if that would have been the case 😉
But let’s move forward in time and to present day.
I have dropped in a quite a few suggestions (read request) in our office “suggestion box“: Add to the list of necessary office supplies an IV drop filled with coffee. Each worker would then be hooked into the IV every morning and during the day; a dedicated person would circulate around the office and re-fill the empty ones.
But seriously, coffee is the one good drug that keeps this world up and running. Here is an example of an ordinary working day:
1st cup: 06.00 AM: Eyes barely open reaching for my glasses on the night stand sniffing for that precious aroma. Nothing yet! Half running downstairs praying the automated coffee maker has not suffered from any kind of electrical stroke during the night and my coffee would be there waiting for me.
It is! Hallelujah let the day begin!
2nd cup: 06.20 AM: Morning ablutions behind me, standing fully clothed ready to take off to work, gulping the second cup of coffee while reaching for the door.
3rd cup: 07.00 AM: In the office, turning on the coffee machine before even reaching for the lights in the darkened office. Impatiently waiting while the machine is making its morning sounds before I can insert my coffee capsule into the damned thing and get my coffee (Note: It’s a double shot just to make sure I don’t run out before I can tackle today’s pile of work).
4th to 6th cup: 08.00 to 11.00 AM: A steady flow of “double shots” for each cup to keep up the pace of the day and a smile on my face.
7th cup: 11.30 AM: A cup of coffee to complement a tasty lunch, of course 😉
8th to 9th cup: 12.00 PM to 02.00 PM: One for each scheduled meeting for the afternoon.
10th (to 11th) cup: 02.15 PM: It is finally time for the afternoon coffee break! (In reality this is a very large cup so guess it counts for two or more…).
12th cup: 03.00 PM: Last squeeze (and cup of coffee) before the day’s work is done!
13th cup: 04.00 PM: Time to leave for home, one more for the road…
14th to Umpteenth cup: 05.00 PM to Midnight: After a full day of work, I managed a full hour of exercise, went grocery shopping and vacuumed the whole house. Albeit I was so perked up from all the coffee I managed to get to bed early (around 2 AM) after cleaning a few closets and taking the dog out three times during the evening for a brisk walk and of course, having a cup of coffee here and there; P
The lesson learned: There is no such thing as too much coffee!
By the way, last time I had my yearly check up at the doctors, the conclusion was: there was far too much blood in my caffeine circulation!
‘Falling to ones death doesn’t mean it is the end of things.’
The Fallen Ice Vulture and the Ascended Angel
Falling fast.
Life death, all things that nature never really last. The only thing which matters is trying from those to move past.
The remorse, the regrets, the failures, all those to be left behind. Once done, shedding those feelings, letting oneself become, the undone, something of the other kind can begin, another kind of tune to which with sing.
But what if there is nothing there? What then? What of the scare? Only the consuming darkness into which enfold awaiting? Becoming no more, the one single state always hated?
All of that which came before, wasted? Like the sacrifice made for others, not being able to watch on as they thrive, being alive just because the choice was made to keep them safe?
Falling, ever deeper.
The sensations of the body becoming clearer, the mind following suit. There is nothing more to be done except to let it happen. The inevitable fate down below waiting. Getting nearer.
The end.
There will be pain, for sure. But hopefully only for a diminishing moment before the cold grasp of death so pure ends it all. Must stand proud, be tall. It is just a fall after all.
Almost there now.
The ground visible. The irony of the beauty there, the blues, the whites, the greens, all the colours so bright and vivid as far as he eyes can see. Something of a scenery to be committed to memory during any other time… but this.
As soon, there will be nothing left. No more memories, no other thoughts, no nothing any more. It’s the way, the death’s score. The being that once was, no more.
Yielding, to the inevitable now.
Even if there might have been so much doubt. The mind always working. Trying to figure out.The before time, before the fall. All of it. But during the all too brief moment, some of it becoming pure torment of the mind… the only kind of thoughts being those… of letting it all go. The forever sleep awaiting. No more hesitation.
The ground almost at level.
The last resting place visible ahead there. Eyes closed, no use in seeing it all up front, close and personal. The final hit to the ground as the body crashing, falling into pieces, somewhere where there where no one else sees it…
Thank the Force for small favours!
Letting go, letting go… the mantra playing in slow-mo.
A gust of wind all around suddenly. The soft sounds of… winds flapping?
Birds of prey? No, no, no! They cannot slay! Not so dead yet anyway!
Eyes, eyes, all over spy, trying to find the source of why.
Another flap of wings, the sound closer now, somehow even larger this time around.
Falling?
No, slowing down.
Being grabbed a hold of somehow.
The softness surrounds. A feathery light touch all around. A surprise!?
Am I, dead or alive?
The flapping of the wings continue, carrying away no more ground to be found. Higher ever upwards flying, another surprise! Perhaps even a soft smile? No more falling, that is nice. Feeling light. Ended has the fight, life, death, all things that nature. Is this something in between perhaps?
A soft gravely croak, somehow familiar sounds. As if talking, trying to understand the underlying meaning of the talk of it all. And then it hits. Like a ton of hard bricks! Inside of the head. A thought perhaps? A telepathic link into the mind sinks. The connection clearer now, as if a frequency opened? Or is this pure delusional hoping?
Dead or alive? The guess is as good as any of the mind.
Flying real high, far away from the ground and the fall. Perhaps surviving or then its just the remnant thought, of the body once brilliant having been. So many things seen, now leaving.
But the words inside get so much clearer. The voice so familiar that much is becoming surer.
Higher, ever more higher up. The clouds at reach now.
Could be so easy to touch them, but don’t dare. Not even daring to hope this is all real. Perhaps the one last dream before falling into the eternal sleep? Daring to hope perhaps not a good deal.
“I am here.”
“Who, are you?”
“I am here, for you.”
The voice too familiar. Having heard it so many times before. The soft hissing sounds, the gravely tone. Not of a bird, but someone, once known.
“I know you.”
“Yes you do. I came for you.”
“Why?”
“Because you needed me.”
“Simple as that?”
“Simple, as that.”
“But you were…”
“I know. But not any more.”
“Where are we going?”
“Wherever you want.”
“Am I alive?”
“That, is for you to decide.”
Flying over the lush green lands. Finally in good hands or rather, held by a wide wing’s span. The Vulture with the darkest of feathers so blue, taking the fallen towards the light.
“Sleeping in the park, on a hard bench? Yeah, well, it happens to people a lot more often than you might think, and it’s not even Halloween!” Gun Roswell
A Dreary Night on the Bench
Surrounded by dark and misty air Missed the very last fare Sitting on this, park bench Wishing I had worn a warm trench The eerie, dark and damp surroundings Leaving my heart pounding Not a single soul in sight On this mystical, scary night Wrapping my thin coat tighter My mood getting suddenly lighter I hear some noises A car in the distance, approaches Finally… do I have a ride!?!
“it’s shocking to learn of one’s heritage, especially, through some tv-documentary!” Gun Roswell
The Northern Barbarian I am
So it started as a joke, that little jibe, that one poke, from some supposed expert, reading for the playback, on some documentary from the past. That one line, which totally stuck, when the Romans made their way, up North and those bastard dwellers there, dared to revoke, whatever rules or laws they might just have tried to push onto them, and then simply calling them barbarian for standing against.
And now, the history long since placed into the past where it belongs, and no matter how civilised and woke the society has become, over the millennia or more, the core of the people still remain. The tiny barbarian, once a slur by some conquerer, raising its head. Wanting to revolt against the establishments, the very law, even if there just might not be a really good cause.
But, there is always some unruly brewing, deep inside the ranks, of a few. And if the sparkle inside is fed, and willingly out let, then a revolution will soon be at hand. The so called barbarian, taking their stance. Well, at lest in a modern way, meaning, taking their say, into the wideness of the web, hoping some similar minded person, will hear the pleads, and indeed, they did!
Long live the revolution! Long live the Northern Barbarians!
“The moon is always shining, up there in the high skies, even if it is not so bright” Gun Roswell
Up there in the high skies, the moon spies us
The day bright and full with sunshine, the skies blue as can be, but there is one thing so totally off and perhaps even wrong, as there is something up there too, mixing with the calmest and coolest of hues. Any that, is the dimly lit moon, hovering above us all, not afraid to fall, over the horizon, where it as supposed to be for at least the time of day, when the sun should be the one to dominate, but it seems today, that is not the case. As if being an opposite kind and of a day, with the nightly vision hanging there, as by someone’s decision to leave it up there, for whatever purpose it might serve, no one really knows, but as long as the winds blow and the earth keeps on rotating like it is supposed to, there really is no reason for panic, even if this is not going as planned, and perhaps this unusual event is not to prevent the sun from shining, rather enhancing the experience for us dwellers on the ground.
Rantings Of A Third Kind 