The pigeon pecking imaginary seed on the outside ledge thought it strange that Alan should open the office window and join her – his long gangly, shaky, legs unfit for perching eleven floors up.
‘Don’t worry little bird, I won’t be here long,’ he said at last standing with his back to the glass, the palms of his sweaty hands acting as limpets attaching him securely to the building.
Continue reading “The Jump by SJ Butler”
Tomorrow is Mother’s Day in the U.S. of A. (In the UK and Ireland it was 15 March–a belated happy one to Diane and the rest of the Islanders), I am not a mother, but I had one and found her to be sufficient. She was the sort of Mother who would die for her children and often made this one wish she would do just that.
We are awfully unfair to our mothers. We either over praise them up to Mother Mary Poppins or we blame them for not just all the heinous shit we do but for all the heinous shit ever committed in history. Expecting mothers to maintain a higher standard than what we are willing to consider is one of humankind’s greatest failings. Still, objectivity is not something we associate with family members. But alack and alas, all in all, in the end, everything tabulated, I’m glad I got the mother I was stuck with (vice versa); I do not believe anyone else out there could have made me and–despite my plentiful laments on the subject of me–I am used to being the person I am, and I’ve never been one for wishing I was someone else.
Continue reading “Week 583: Mama Mama Please No More Step Dads”
(Sir Andy Hisster)
Due to his departure to the green fields of the PAWS’ center located about a half hour north of here, this is the first spring in which Andy Hisster (The Gray fella above this paragraph) does not rule (in person) the courtyard of my building in what feels like ten years. My uncertainty of the year is because I can not remember the moment I meet any Feral Cat, they just appear, magically, and it feels as though they have always been.
Continue reading “Week 579: Further Adventures in Urban Wildlife”
(Elliott the Header Pigeon is on vacation this week. PDQ Peety is filling in and is also filling himself with PDQ Pilsner.)
Introduction
I again found myself undertaking the idea of the End of Humankind. Which is not to be confused with the End of the World because that will happen a few billion years from now when the sun dies, at which time it will greatly expand and obliterate everything on out to Jupiter. Like the rabid cur shot dead by Atticus in To Kill a Mockingbird a dead sun is still a dangerous sun.
Continue reading “Week 577: Can’t Teach a Shark to Kill Tofu”
Sometime last year I became a recipient of “The Word of the Day.” I didn’t sign up for it, but I must have accidentally hit a link. Still, I’m glad to have it.
Continue reading “Week 575- Hey Man, are You Scripturient?”
“Did you see the Facebook postings I sent you?”
“Yes, she looks a handful! There are some wonderful pictures.”
“What about the Instagram pictures or all the memes?”
Continue reading “Chloe by Hugh Cron (Adult Content)”
Gregor hesitated at the door of ‘Till Dawn Night-Club’. He took a deep breath and walked in. Two rather large gentleman walked over to him.
“Don’t think you should be here pal! We’re fucking shut.”
One stood in front of him and the other guy moved slightly to his side.
He took a deep breath, “I know. I’m not here for any trouble, I was just wanting to speak to JoJo.”
“Is he expecting you?”
Gregor looked round at the other man.
“No…”
‘Well fuck off then!!’
Continue reading “Godfather JoJo By Hugh Cron (Adult Content)”
A friend from my youth died recently. His name was Kim. We were close through our twenties until he moved to Japan (due to marriage). The only contact we had for decades was the occasional Facebook “happy birthday like” (I fell out of using Facebook fairly quickly; too many ads and idiots, but the premise is a good one). I considered writing letters, which I (without modesty) am pretty good at writing. Maybe I should have–but to paraphrase James Taylor “I didn’t know where to send them to.”
Continue reading “Week 573: An Elegy For a Friend and the A to Z of Adjectival Slight”
I was pleased the butcher knew my face.
For months I’ve been coming here, wanting him to look at me, to really look at me, watching the sinews in his forearm tighten with each effortless chop of the cleaver as it neatly parts a chicken’s neck from its body, or a pink cutlet from half a ribcage. He carries himself with such grace, his every move unhurried, as if the world outside, with its fuss and hurly burly, is of no concern to a man who functions by his own imperatives, and in his own time.
Continue reading “Smile if you’re not wearing knickers by Peter Arscott”
Stuart died in prison.
That is wrong,
Stuart was killed in prison. He was stabbed with a blade between his ribs.
None of these sharpened toothbrushes or pieces of wood or shards of glass, an actual knife. The investigation is ongoing. Some poor dweeb will probably lose their pension over that.
Did Stuart deserve to be murdered? Opinions vary. Some would say he was a bad guy, others would say he did what he did to survive. I suppose it depends on their involvement with him.
Continue reading “Stuart by Hugh Cron – Adult Content.”
literally stories 