The Coffee Monster

“The monster in me, before coffee, believe you me, you really do not, want to see” Gun Roswell

The Coffee Monster

In the early morning hours, the alarm went off, waking up, with a large yawn
It was that time of the day, too early to be frank, when it’s still not quite dawn
The darkness, lying heavy and so, are all the eye lids
At this point, when nothing yet works, all you want to do is quit
And then, the monster within, rearing it’s true and ugly nature
Everyone and everything, even the mirror image filled with hatred
Better steer clear of it, or else, some heavy duty shit
Will be thrown upon you, with words, carefully not chosen nor chewed

“Do not speak, do not question
Do not even try to give one single silent suggestion
For this, is the way of the coffee monster
And, as the feelings of evil getting stronger
Until the time of the daily doze
Please, do not, try, to oppose!”

Because, only when the calming liquid has done it’s job
And the changes are so visible, like the turning of a knob
The beast within finally sedated, only smiley faces remaining
You may approach, even join in the early morning session
Of having a cup (or few) of the now, sanctified blessing
But do not think for a moment, that the monster is gone
Because if, heaven for bid, the coffee would be lost, or somehow gone
The monster will return, and this time rest assure
That no one, not a single coffee less person, will be safe!

Age

“With age comes wisdom… Yeah, right! So not true! I am as stupid as I have ever been.” Gun Roswell


Age

“Years just keep passing by… twenty-nine, twenty-nine, twenty-nine…
Oh, wait, what year is this?
Holy shit, I am over fifty… one, two… Oh, never mind!”

Age is just a number and all the rest of the cliches, which all those nice quotes in cards keep telling me. Feeding me, with false sense of hope, that getting older, and even each dammed year (unfortunately, like Mondays, which pop up every week, birthdays too creep around the corner each year, no matter how hard you try to deny them, or push them away) will somehow make me wiser, more comfortable, more mature, more of everything really. But, all I feel, still, is the same insecure little toddler I was all those years ago (no, still not counting).
But, here I still am, waiting, patiently (read impatiently) for the promises of age to come true. Should I maybe someone sue?

“Act your age!”

Another thing I do hear a lot too. So, when I ask the person who just scolded me.

“How old do you think I am?”

They just stare at me and don’t really know the answer to that. Well, imagine the shock when I reply.

“I am nineteen.”

After some consideration, the response might be something like.

“Oh, well, looks like you really had a rough life then.” or “A tad of the weary side, or rundown maybe.”

So, what,
If I am feeling like a youngster in my wanna be teenage fashionable clothes and, then, making jokes, suited for a person, of a middle school level, when I should be dressed in business casual, retorting funny anecdotes from some adult reading proved magazine.
So what,
If I laugh out loud after reading some not so funny thing, while on a bus, when everyone else is so quiet and sulking, because the weather is bad or life just sucks (especially Finns, they never really socialize. I should know for I am one of them).
So what,
If I like to do some hopscotch or the level of my conversation is better understood by some five year old at the yard than the up stuck colleagues from work.
So what,
If I don’t feel my age, act stupid sometimes (read: a lot of times), sulk and pout like a two year old if I don’t get my way.
So what,
If I am fifty-four (yes, i did the math), like the latest gadgets, dress in colourful clothing and go out dancing, beating even the younger people at their game of staying up all night

OK, so some days, I feel like nineteen, others like one hundred and ten, but all and all, pretty good, for any age. Talk to me about age again, when I turn one hundred and fifty-four, then we really have something compare, but for now, it’s just guess work really, because I, am just, fifty four 😉

Black Cat for Caturday

“The black cat crossed the road, at the traffic light” Gun Roswell

Black Cat

The familial of any self respecting witch
Witch, a female, with a black feline
Feline so agile, with a fur so sleek
Sleek as her movements you can hardly see
See when she turns up from simply out of nowhere
Nowhere like a dark flash of light
Light so dark, she’s almost invisible
Invisible against the black night
Night, as the time when the feline hunts
Hunts for pray, which better be aware
Aware if you are a rodent or other type of pest
Pest, vermin, which are eating all the crops
Crops which are important for the survival
Survival for us all, both human and animal
Animals such as cats the familial of the witches
Witches who take care of their pets
Pets, a cat, the black cat, may just be
Be, but sometimes, it can be something else
Else, other, something completely different
Different from the other, you will never see
See you just might, if you concentrate really hard
Hard and let your imagination run wild
Wile as the black cat does
Does when she wildly runs
Runs over the land and then comes
Comes back to her master the witch
Witch, where the familial only exists

Tuesdays keep on coming

“It’s another day of the week, naturally!” Gun Roswell

Tuesdays keep on coming

The days come along one by one (usually the way they do)
It’s almost like singing a song (verse by verse moving along)
Today it’s Tuesday, when only yesterday it was Sunday (that’s how I recall it)
And now, it’s getting late, no matter how I hesitate, tomorrow will be here, I can feel it near (What do you know: It’s Wednesday and midweek, what a geek!)

Guess I need to stop worrying about Mondays anyway (Oh, did you worry before? Did not know that…)
Since the days keep on changing without my aid (Yeah, need a time machine for that!)
Why worry about some day, when there is always the next day (True, do like the Spanish do, manana!)
So, on this day of …ahem, Tuesday, I swear, not to worry about another damned day!!! (Liar! You know this promise or what ever is as good as the up and down going fever! You will never keep it, trust me, I know shit!)

Bring it on Tuesday, Wednesday and even Friday (Don’t forget Monday and something else!)
Every day, from this day on is my day (note to writer, how many times can you get away with the word “day”?)
I will start appreciating the here and now (Yeah, really! Like to see that)
And then, if not, nobody have a cow! (We already did! It’s there in the backyard!)

A Christmas Tale

“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times” Charles Dickens

pudding-1

A Christmas Tale or Can I have some Figgy Puddin’, please

The year was 1845. I was about ten years of age and working as a stable girl. Our family lived and worked in Lord Hamilton’s manor house. It was Christmas time and as a gift for the servants, the Lord arranged a feast for the staff and their families.

Mommy had the children dressed in their Sunday best. My two brothers were complaining about the stiffness of the shirts. Starch was itchy and could cause rash, especially if one scratched the itch.
I had my favourite dress on and my younger sister was a bit jealous of the red and green colouring. She was wearing a plain blue coloured hand me down.

After all the fuzz and hassle with the wardrobe, the whole family was finally set to go to the main house and start with the Christmas dinner. Us servants would be dining in the large kitchen. Several long tables were brought in with extra seats as well. This wasn’t a large household. With around fifteen servants and their families, well not all had children and spouses, all in all around sixty people in total crammed around the tables. The two cooks had had their hands full with the preparations and naturally every one that could had chipped in.

But now it was time for celebration. Everyone was finally sitting down and getting quiet. After grace the noise level rose again. Food containers were passed around and everyone was filling their respective plates. After all, it wasn’t often we got to eat in this manner and variety.

After a while, everyone had cleared their plates and it was time for dessert. My favourite was the Figgy Pudding. If possible I opted for seconds. As I got my plate of the delicious substance before me, I licked my lips and dug into it with gusto. It did not take too long for the food to disappear from my plate.

My mom looked at me with a smirk. I looked back at her and passing my bowl I asked: “Is there any Figgy Puddin’ left?”

I was smiling widely, feeling exhilarated, when the bowl was passed back to me with an other helping.

When the final bits were eaten, it was time for the traditional sing along. The farmhand brought out his accordion and after the first few tunes, we all joined in. The evening was spent singing, chatting and finally picking up the tables. We all went back to our dwellings, thanking the Lord for the special meal.

Merry Pudding and God bless us everyone!

pudding-3

Bitch Perfect on a Freaky Friday

Posted in Freaky Friday

“I am not trying to give an image of a fairytale,
perfect, everything else,
I am just being myself”
Rebecca Loos

Bitch Perfect

Call me the perfect bitch
Or just the worst one you can find
I may be a broom-less witch
But still the best of my kind

You may find me..

Taking flight
In the darkest of night
Or just taking a bus
In the early morning rush

You may see me…

Dancing naked in the pouring rain
Celebrating life to the fullest
Or just having a beer in a dive bar stained
Being one of the people dullest

You may catch me…

Casting the mightiest of spells
Cursing and not giving a damn
Or just talking to my mom on the cell
Just because, I can

Now you may see me…

In a new aspect
As a bitch perfect
Because that is who I am
Just because, I can

On a Slow Road to Hell on a Freaky Friday

Posted in Freaky Friday

“Going to hell, in a handbasket”

hell-1

On a Slow Road to Hell

Loosing all sense of colour
No use in a loud holler
All shades of grey are fading
The perfect picture slowly degrading
Turning to black and white
Really, there was no fight

Life passing by in slow motion
Reminiscent of an old silent film
But with less commotion

Standing here
Where the line used to be
Then, drawn in sand
Facing what I feared
A wall of concrete
Now complete
Wondering,
Who’s got the upper hand

A note of some kind
Almost rendered me blind
In proud bold letters,
A big ass sign

“TRESPASSERS WILL BE SHOT!”

It’s Friday, the 13th!

Posted in Celebration/Tales of the Odd

“Happy Friday the 13th. Satan just texted me, saying, to watch my back…With a winky face.”

friday 13th 3

It’s Friday, the 13th

The tale told below
Was it based on a true story?
Or just pure fiction?

That, my dear reader
Is for the writer to know
And for you to enjoy!
As I arrived in the office, the place seemed more quiet than usual. At least this early in the morning. Sitting in my seat, pondering, where everyone else were.

No emails, no calls
No contacts at all
Had I mistaken?
Or too early awoken?
Was this a wrong day?
A Saturday, a Sunday?

Thinking about it, the traffic had been oddly light.
Even though it had been early morning time.

After a few hours of waiting in solitude, people I had never seen, entered the room.
Talking in strange languages, sounding like a record been played back the wrong way.
I was observing them. They did not seem to notice me.

Passing me by
Wondering why
Seemed like a dream
So unreal did it seem

I tried to greet one of them. I kept repeating
Hello, hello, HELLO!

But unnoticed
Even by the closest
Visitor did I go

Getting irritated, I did no longer hesitate.
Jumped in front of the nearest stranger.
I did not feel I was in any danger.
Waved my arms and shouted.
Like a mad person undoubted

But nothing, no nothing stirred the strangers.
As if I wasn’t even there…

Maybe, just maybe
I had turned invisible
Or maybe,
It was all, just a dream

After all
It was Friday the 13th!

The Truth Is Out There for TBT

Posted in Throwback Thursday

“Look up at the stars and not down at your feet. Try to make sense of what you see, and wonder about what makes the universe exist. Be curious.” Stephen Hawking

believe

The Truth Is Out There

In
My Mind

Science Fiction
Science Fact
Utopia

The Earth
The Planets
The Stars

In
My Mind

A Galaxy
The Milky Way
The Cosmos

The Universe
The Intergalactic Space
A Void

In
My Mind

A Wormhole
A Black hole
A Singularity

Pi
A mathematical constant
The number 47
A mystery

In
My Mind

Spiraling
With random thoughts
With coherent thoughts

Universes and Worlds
Conjured up and destroyed

In
My Mind

Aliens and
Their spaceships

Humans with
Their flying machines

In the Here
And Now

I am
Peddling
On my Bicycle
The long dark road
A head of Me

Back in Time for TBT

Posted in Throwback Thursday

“When I was kid, my social network was called ‘outside’ “

4067-76665

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Back in Time

This is the work one of pure fiction. Neither polar bears nor reindeer were harmed in the creation of this literary process!
The year was 1924.

Longitude and latitude: Somewhere up north, thataway! The Finnish Lapland would probably be the most accurate location for this tale.

How old was I?

I guess I was somewhere between ten and twelve years of age. In those days, people were born and they died. No one really bothered with the record keeping. Lord knows there were plenty of us to go around.

Despite the fact it was close to midsummer, there was still snow on the ground. The reindeer and polar bears were roaming the streets while us kids were running around, having snowball fights. That is, during the minimum spare time we had between school, chores and work. Sleeping in those days was a luxury. Sometimes we had a full night’s sleep, sometimes the watch duty fell on my plate and I needed to stay up all night. Luckily, coffee had been invented ten years prior and we were all pretty much hooked on the sweet dark liquid.

Our housing for the winter months was an igloo, which the whole family constructed out of ice. Snow was used as plaster to fill in any holes between the blocks of ice. During the summer time, we had a tent like structure made out of bear and deer skin. Unfortunately all of us favoured the winter dwelling for one simple fact: The summer house stunk like a skunk. The choice of material was not a good one, but then, it was depression and all commodities were scarce.

The trip to school, either winter or summer time was made on skis and it was part to the exercise curriculum for all of us still eligible for the classes. A twenty kilometer trip back and forth was not a big deal and was building the strength and endurance nicely. This also came in handy for our after school activities. Some of us went to work in the coal mines, while others were herding rein deer or taking care of their younger siblings.

Each Saturday the Sauna was heated and all the family gathered into the cramped little room, heated up to eighty degrees. We were sitting all butt cheek to butt cheek in the nude on a wooden construct in the small dark room. Only the burning fire in the stove gave some lighting. As a luffa, a loosely tied bunch of birch tree branches with leaves on them was used. Out mother pummeled us with the concoction and me thinks she enjoyed it a little too much. Granted we children gave her grieve sometimes, so I will give her that.

Bathing for us then meant taking dips in the icy, below freezing waters. This, after we had first heated our body temperatures close to baking. Then we ran naked to the lake, where a large hole had been dug into the ice and plunged in.

All in all life was pretty ordinary and uneventful in my childhood, apart from the minor quirks.

Do I miss it? My childhood?

I would rather spend my next holiday on a labour camp!