Melvin Mudlicker sipped his coffee slowly as he worked the numbers on a napkin at his fifth favorite diner.
Circumstances once a week brought him to this part of town and he had grown fond of one of the attractive young waitresses who always asked how he was doing, how his business was doing and if he wanted his coffee refilled or if he wanted his usual, a turkey burger deluxe with fries, hold the pickle and tomato.
They had developed a nice rapport, rhythm and flow together.
He was a tall sheepish gentleman in his late fifties. His eyes were gentle, his chin was weak, his shoulders were starting to stoop. His legs were thin and wobbly, his hair was thinning and gray. And he walked with the hesitant stride of a crane, his head bobbing forward with every step. Watching him amble along the street, one would never guess him to be an artist. A servant, perhaps, a beggar more likely, but not an artist: a soul unencumbered by earthly snares and committed to only the Muse. But an artist he was, and no mere artist at that. He was an artist in the most gallant of mediums: the daring realm of street performance.
Everyone of us has a favourite book and no-one else might agree and that is perfectly fine.
For pure perception on growing up, Stephen King’s ‘It’ was the only book I have read as an adult and it reminded me of being a child with a child’s logic. If memory serves me right, the book is around 1300 pages. All those words are a story around one simple idea:
‘For every adult who thinks up the legend of the vampire, there is a child who imagines the stake that can kill the vampire.’
Hi folks, well here we are again. Week 93, who would have thought? Well, probably everyone who read week 92. So no surprise to a dozen or so!
This week I noticed a cracking piece of story telling. Mrs Clinton and Mr Trump were both exceptional. They tell stories, expect you to believe, you vote on those beliefs, they ignore their previous stories and continually tell you others. Then after two terms you hear more stories from someone different. It is a wonderful time of the year.
Continue reading “Week 93 – Winners, Losers And All Story Tellers”
Billy was upset that no-one spoke to him.
“Hi Billy, how’s your mum?”
“She’s fine, fine, she’s fine.”
“And how about you? Are you behaving yourself?”
“Yes. I’m doing fine, I’m fine, fine, I’m fine.”
“Tell your mum I was asking for her.”
“Yes, yes, yes. I’ll tell her, yes.”
Jack Posner, licensed clinical psychologist, PhD. from Berkeley, serviced corporate lawyers and stock and bond traders from his private plant-filled smoke-free office on the fourth floor of the Paulsen Building downtown. He consoled guilty consciences with a phrase he muttered under his breath for his own benefit as well as his clientele’s: EVERYTHING’S O.K., GO BACK TO WORK, over and over, like a Vedic hymn, until even he was fooled by it.
The benches in the New York City Clerk’s office were hard and uncomfortable. The wood was worn and shiny from nervous and impatient squirmings. The room was dim and shabby, wearied from processions of the city poor, eager to pay the few dollars for the privilege of marriage, or not eager, but complying with demanding families, resenting the notices of do’s and dont’s, murmuring to the indifferent walls. And behind barred windows, clerks in funereal voices, never calling names fast enough to spare the nervous couples the glances of others. The eyes that have seen it all before; waiting, birth, death, the history of in-betweens, waiting.
Here we are folks at the end of another seven days and the usual Saturday round-up for Week 91.
Before I begin, I need to thank Adam Kluger for giving me my inspiration for this week. I was commenting on one of his many excellent stories and ‘Team building’ was mentioned. I felt a cringe, a growing anger and a prayer that this abomination / humiliation / waste-of time, pile of nonsense, will one day, cease to exist.
Continue reading “Week 91 – Team Building, Genitalia And A Plea.”
“You nearly beat me that time William.”
“You’re very good Sir.”
“Sir…I like that…Tell me why you’re here?”
“I’m not sure Sir. I love this place. It’s just that, after you came to my house that night, I knew that I wanted to be with you. And I thought that you felt the same way.”
I have been using all my writing skills this weeks folks. I have been creative, sparse with the truth, fantasised and down-right lied. Nope I have not been writing a novel or a new short, I have applied for a job.
It is always a difficult balance to get right. You do need to write yourself up but you don’t want to come across as an opera singer twat. (ME, ME, ME!!) However I think being the twat actually works when I look at some of the folks I have worked with over the years!
Continue reading “Week 90 – Interviews, Scripts And Unrelated Diplomas”
literally stories 