Many Greetings of the Season!

 Hi everyone, how are you all doing? I've decided to waive my bold-faced holiday greetings this year (not least because they're kind of a pain to center) and just let these two guys who'll be in my next 'Dolls' dialogue do the talking.

SF: Ach! Hallo, all! I'm Jay und this is Sig.
JC: Oh, ho, ho! Totes wrong-o, dudes! I'm really Jay, and this guy's Sig!
SF: "Totes wrong-o, dudes"? What the hell ist that scheisse?
JC: Never mind, let's just do our greetings.
SF: Suits me. Froeliche Weinachten, alle!
JC: Nice! But we can't evereverever ever forget what the real "Reason for the Season" is, right? Riiight?
SF: Oh nein, never.
JC: Well, then-Happy Winter Solstice, everyone!
SF: Beautiful.
JC: And the next time you see us we'll be awkwardly ensconced in these pieces of doll furniture. So think of this sofa here as a psychoanalyst's couch; I'll be the patient, of course. Should be insightful!
SF: Some nice pieces, these. I like them.
JC: As do I. So just to be clear, everybody, as if you didn't already figure it out, I'm Jay.
SF: Sig here.
BOTH: Happy holidays! Bye bye! Auf Wiedersehen!


 One more thing I should mention is that as far as posts go next year they'll sometimes be stretched months apart again so I have more time to create. I'll continue to work more on the 'Dolls' dialogues (see above), finish 'Domestique', begin the third Aggie story and hopefully add more poetry.
 I want to thank all of you who've read my stuff, not just here in North America but also in Europe and Russia too! I really appreciate your interest and hope I can still capture it into the New Year.
 So have a Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, Happy Kwanzaa, a Sexy Secular Saturnalia - basically just relax, reflect, have loads of fun and I'll see all you next year! Thanks again!


DB/12.2016
 

         Hey Aaron, how's about a Kefir toast in front of this fire! Cheers!

All That Glitters Is Not Byzantium

                                               Mohenjo-daro


all that glitters is not Byzantium,
all that gleams is not El Dorado
awaken, dead cities!
arise from your deserts,
your plains,
your jungles,
your steppes,
your marshes,
your mountains
and display the thin shadows
of your once-great superfluousness!
aye, not such as once
was Samarkand or Bukhara
or Khorsabad or Persepolis
or Khan-balik or Isfahan
but murmur greatness
e'en in their crumbling.

nameless, faceless, resurrected
cities,
return,
breathe now again for us
breathe and live,
live now and forever
until the very end
of Time.


DB/c1998.2016

The Holyest Boke

The Holiest Boke
Hath not yet been wrytten
And shalt never be wrytten
Because it is too holie


DB/c1992,2016

Aggie Dovecote and All Her Pals: Pt.2, Ch.5 ("The Beach Convos"))

 Not an actual photo of Aggie, Mary, Arch, Diana, Adora, Lidia, Tim, Poppy, Dickie, Sally, Bertie, Hortense, Dave Dee, Dozy, Beaky, Mick and Tich. 
 Wait...


                                                      V


 "I can't believe we're here right now."
  The two fringed navy blue and white striped beach umbrellas, planted as staunchly erect in the white sand as the Union Jack in the soil of many a subdued colony, casts a wide shadow over the eight clustered bathers lolling on beach towels or in chairs. Once eager to wade in the frothy surf of the Channel, most of them first inched in it up to their waists (with the exception of the still fully dressed Tim and Poppy, who simply stood within reach of the waves engulfing their feet), then as if of like mind, and seeing that the warm water seemed to them so much more densely peopled than the outer strand they miraculously attained a spot on, retreated under their umbrellas and soon broke up into small chatty groups.
 "Meaning?" says Tim to Poppy, who offered the above remark. He reclines with eyes closed in his chair, his jacket draped over the back and his sleeves and trouser legs rolled up below his knees. Poppy, sprawled catlike upon her towel, nibbles on a toffee square and often tosses back her auburn bell of bobbed tresses as they catch the mild sea breezes.
 "Meaning why are we here on this beach with them? What about meeting up with-"
 "Oh, no, I meant to tell you I phoned the office from the cafe and informed them on what's what," Tim interjects."Their hour's not quite up yet, but they're still going to the station afterwards so we'll take our leave here soon and then meet them there straightaway."
 "All right. Who did you talk to? Her? Him?"
 "Him," he replies as he playfully snatches her toffee and steals a bite before Poppy wrests it back. "And he sounded a bit nervous when I mentioned who was here, but mostly when I dropped Miss Dove-Aggie's name."
 "Christ, can you blame him?"
 "Shh, mind your language, poppet. The charade, remember?"
 "For what? It seemed quite fun in the beginning but my God, Society just really bores me now!"
 "Me, too, I'll admit."
 "And though I've quite enjoyed them in the past I'm actually glad I missed Mary's little, well, non-party I suppose is what it became today."
 "Again, same. But please do just keep playing along for now."
 "If I must. I don't even understand why I nearly had it out with Aggie today. Should've just kept quiet."
 "Out of curiosity you really don't dislike her, do you?"
 Poppy shakes her hair back and takes another bite. "No, not at all," she mumbles with her mouth full. "And not with any severe black hate in my heart, either. But I dislike what she did to him."
 "Well, I really don't think she meant to embarrass him like that."
 "Karma could have gotten her, in a way."
 "How so?"
 "Her nappy mess."
  Tim winces. "Poppet, I really don't think-"
 "I said 'could have', didn't I?" she interrupts hotly. "But no, she didn't deserve that. No one would've. You may not believe this,Tim, but I felt quite sorry for her when it did."
  Tim inclines his body slightly. "Really?"
 "Sorry, but still disgusted."
 "Of course."
 "But think of it, Tim - a lowly, pretty shop girl from Bethnal Green, not even a real flapper by the very definition, dares to bare nearly all in front her betters thrice in the same, um, costume, unintentionally makes a fool of herself in the end (no pun intended) and, well, survives! And there she is resting quietly in her chair. Rather admirable, I think. If she had gone full starkers and called herself 'Mother Eve' or something of that sort I'd still think the same. Points for originality. Damn it, I may even be a bit envious!" She laughs. "Only a wee bit though."
 "Very good, poppet. And yes, she's quite tough. But-would you ever tell her that?"
 "Oh, soon. But now, Tim, there's something else I need to discuss with you."
 "And that is?"
  She leans closer to him and with a wicked gleam in her eye pops the last small piece of her toffee square into her mouth. "The Seated Ball!" she declares while messily chewing.
  Tim grins with the dirty glee of a satyr.

       _________________________________________________


 "Don't."
  Adora lies prone on her towel alongside Diana reclining in her own beach chair. She leans on her elbows while poring over a small scarlet colored book she captures some of the waning western sunlight in. Diana sits quietly musing and puffing on another cigarette until she gazes down on Adora's bare shoulders and semicircle of unmottled white skin. With a slight smile she ever so slowly reaches down to touch the smooth nape of Adora's neck, but when her fingers alight there Adora shudders and protests. Diana ignores her and gently traces vertical lines on her back.
 "I said don't!" Adora exclaims, shaking her off. "My God, what are you even doing? Some sort of massage?"
"A caress."
"Stick with the shower-bath, that's where you do it best," snorts Adora.
 Hurt, Diana clumsily retracts her arm and sinks back into her chair. "Still cross, I see."
 Adora sighs. "No, no, not as much as I was before, Di, believe me. But I'm not-I'm not quite in a calmer mood yet."
"Ah." After a pause Diana asks, "What are you reading?"
 Adora holds her book up to Diana's eye level and she scans the title "My Blear Angels and Other Poems" set in gilt Coventry Garden font, with "By Emily Greene Slocombe" printed a few spaces beneath it. In between both, in the same color with just a tinge of white added, was a small graphic of a carnation.
"Remembrance," murmurs Diana, then asks sarcastically, "Is that the only copy left in the entire kingdom?"
 Adora shrugs. "This really is quite a rare find, though. I'd recently visited some other second-hand bookshops in the West End to oh-so discreetly as I could inquire of Miss Slocombe's infamous photography portfolios."
 Diana sits bolt upright. "And?"
"What do you think, Di? If I'd have gotten any you'd have seen them already. But for all I know they could have had some copies saved in their back rooms." She shudders slightly. "The looks I'd gotten..."
"Which poem are you on?"
"'Amor Vincit Nihil.'" She pauses. "I'm at the gate room part."
"Oh, my God," Diana whispers. "Could-could you read it aloud, Addie? Aloud yet not...aloud. You understand?"
 Adora nods solemnly, clears her throat and reads:

"At last! At last!
And truly it was if as they stood mere inches away
From the magnificent Gates of Paradise
But in the center of the massive and forbidding Mons Maximus.
So much struggle and privation had ensued this moment 
That the dirty, tattered and tired Drusilla and Flavia
With glad eyes could only stand agape at the threshold
And behold finally the eternal and awesome Cathedral,
Stand 'neath the sprawling marble arch
Where they felt a measure of security,
But were yet too daunted to enter this sacred ground.
They stretched their gaze up and up, ever aloft,
Mile after mile at the double doors
Smoothly crafted of fine unadorned alabaster,
The doors they thought they might never see -
The Gates of Marital Felicity!
At last! At last!
Taller and taller they rose
Until they disappeared in murky shadows
With only dim outer light seeping
From a tiny aperture in the Mons' zenith
Barely illuminating even the lintel.
No matter, for there was early evening sunshine enow
Streaming onto the Gates' lower portions
From thousands of honeycomb apertures
All high up in the rocky walls
And glowing brilliantly in woven colors of ochre and scarlet.
And between them and the Gates a wide and low arching bridge lay
Over a translucent lake, through the surface of which
The girls could see different...somethings,
Many vague somethings suspended far beneath.
But they very quickly became heedless of these
As they sprinted airily hand in hand, laughing ecstatically,
The Gates dizzily looming as they closed in.
Even as the girls' hearts were buoyant with hope,
The Gates, so swathed in light and abounding of promise,
May also, they knew, repulse their mutual desires.
But the attempt needed to be made, they believed.
They had heard oft of this mountain, these Gates,
But only in gauzy childhood fables,
With scant details of coupling successes
After performing what was necessary for ingress.
But now-even now!-they stand in breathless disbelief
In front of the necessary 'doorknobs' near their feet,
The shallow, oval yoni on the left hand side
And the polished, horizontal lingam on the right.
The girls giggled in their recognition of these symbols
But quickly decided the order of performance
With the high flip of a silver denarius.
The winner gentle Flavia writhed out of her chiton,
Her lissome nakedness thrilling Drusilla
Who watched as she knelt down
And reversed her body into the lingam
But ceased edging too far in.
Drusilla, though feeling a bit envious of Flavia,
Matched her actions with her beloved's
Whilst grasping at Flavia's damp fingers 
And nervously cupped her precious labia against the yoni.
At last! At last!
But as soon as they were so crouched
Jagged bolts of white lightning crisscrossed down
From the aperture and violently blasted the girls,
Hurled them into opposite sides of the lake
And incinerated their dresses entirely,
Following which there boomed an awful thunderclap
That seemed to shake the entire mountain.
As they writhed in their death throes,
Squinting through the scalding liquid
To glean one final glimpse of one another
They each to her horror could finally see
The 'many vague somethings'
They could not before discern - skeletons.
Hundreds of skeletons set horribly twisted
In the depths of the gelatinous water,
They the many dead and damned,
Of those who like them before tried and failed
To ever pry ope' the vast Gates,
Those who like them who verily believed
That Love's sweet blindness, even in marital bliss
Could ever be their boon and prize,
Could ever surmount their uniform sex.

And in the final drowning moments
Of Drusilla and Flavia's fragile, youthful existence
The echoing thunder faded
From the soaring chamber
And dusk's glad light succumbed
To the lowering weight of gloomy night.
Thus the girls passed, bare of everything,
Apart yet together, in good company,
Eternally damned, eternally in love.
At last! At last!
At last."

 Adora shuts the book and gently wipes her eyes, while Diana does the same and heaves a weary sigh. After a moment's silence between them Diana asks tentatively, "Addie, may I explain about earlier this afternoon?"
 Adora looks up at her. "What?"
"About my announcing giving up on 'Neo-Fauvism' in front of our friends."
"Oh. Well actually, Di, about that, I really do want to apologize for being so snippy about it all day."
"No, don't. I understand. But you ought to know that was the first I'd thought of it."
"Really?"
"I've been a bit unhappy with it lately. I realize it pays for our flat, food, clothes and paints and all that, and painting with you is always, always bliss."
"Thank you, darling. But?"
"But none of it will appear in the British Museum, will it? Or the Tate. Or even the V&A!"
Adora makes a face. "You want it to?"
"No, I suppose not. Our works are probably more suited for all the boho clubs anyway."
"Then why-"
"I'm bored, Addie. In a rut. There! I should've just begun with that."
"What! You are?"
"Aren't you?"
"I've actually been quite concerned with the rising water bills from all our lovely showers afterwards. But bored? No, I'm not there yet."
"All right, but it's not just boredom, Addie. I'm a bit tired of England too."
Adora slowly sits up. "Really?"
"I mean, I do love it. Love good ol' Blighty! Never doubt that. But lately I've felt a kind of wanderlust."
"Oh, so you want to leave?"
Diana considers her answer for a moment. "Yes, but perhaps just for a short time. Half a year at most. Then back to the pea soup fog and cricket and the class struggles and all those heavenly British things."
"I see." Adora lays down her book and smiles knowingly. "I know where this is going, don't I?"
"No. Going where?"
Adora pivots to her knees and folds her arms on Diana's unoccupied armrest. "Bend down closer and I'll whisper it, though I'll wager you already know what it is."
"Fine." She leans down though a bit awkwardly. "What?"
"Novus Naxos," Adora whispers eagerly. "In the Cyclades."
Diana pulls back in mild surprise. "Ah ha, so you've spoken to Lady Chatwin too, eh?"
"Yes! And it's her island! All absolutely private. Except for whoever she invites, of course."
"Her family's island. Didn't they almost disown her for her suffragette, for lack of a better word, 'works'?"
"Yes, but that was before she did her bit for the War effort, remember? Then it was debts forgiven, crimes paid and all that. But that was years ago, and so now she's set up an artist's colony for us-"
"'Us' meaning 'sisters of Sappho'?" Diana retorts snidely.
"Yes, mostly. There may be hetero women, too. Perhaps even some men, in time. But I'm sure the sum'll be many more than, say, Van Gogh and Gauguin at Arles. But just imagine being able to see that-" she points up to the sun "-every day, and feel the blessed warmth of it on your face and all over your body, instead of drizzly rain from ponderous grey clouds and peering through London streets for taxis in that dreadful pea soup fog you mentioned before."
"I feel it now, and it's rather hot. But quite true, Addie. Oh, and don't forget the autumn chill and heavy snows."
"Noted. So let's go there. Novus Naxos."
"Why's it called that anyway? Isn't Naxos that island in Greek mythology where that awful Theseus abandoned the woman who aided him - Ariadne, was it?"
"Yes, it is, but this is Novus Naxos - New Naxos - just off the northeast coast of Naxos proper, where women can absolutely abandon themselves to their own art, their bodies, souls and minds...even to other 'sisters of Sappho' if you get my-"
"Yes, yes. You do make it sound like a bloody brochure, don't you? Alright, when would we go?"
"Early autumn at the most."
"Hmm."
"Yes, yes! And the best part is we can do and create anything we want!"
"What, like piss Pointillism? Shit sculpture? A new sort of menstrual Fauvism?"
"Christ, Diana! So vulgar! Perhaps. But you also know about Lady Chatwin's plans to recreate the Greek Olympic Games, right?"
"Yes, she mentioned it."
"The original Greek Olympic Games?"
"Yes, Addie, I know. Athletic nudity and such. Truth be told I'd shy from it if I weren't so curious to know what customarily respectable and well-to-do women stink like in an odious mix of sweat and olive oil."
"So that's a 'yes' then?"
 Diana gazes thoughtfully in the distance. "We ought to ask Lidia."
"Lidia?"
"The woman who's been stealing coy, curious glances in our direction for at least the past half hour."
"Well, yes, but...could she even go, considering the season begins quite soon?"
"What, prima donnas can't take long holidays once in a while? Besides I'd like to see her do a bit of Greco-Roman wrestling, if you catch my drift, Ag."
"I do. She might like that. So...wave her over?"
"No, peck me first."
"Really! Di, you never were one for-"
"Go it! Quickly! On the cheek!" Adora brusquely kisses Diana on the proffered spot and returns it in kind.
"Lovely."
"Forgive me?"
"Forgiven. Again, wave her over?"
"Do." And Adora does.

        _______________________________________________


"Home, home on the range,"
 Aggie croons softly as she gazes up through her tinted sunglasses into the bright ethereal blue.
"Where's Lidia going?" Arch asks Mary, both of whom, with Aggie in between them, lie supine on one large blanket.
"Looks like Di and Addie wanted her to join them. Wonder why."
"I hope she didn't think we were ignoring her."
"No, we chatted some, remember? She seemed cheery enough."
"Who'll have her chair, then?" asks Aggie.
"Not me," says Arch. "I'm quite happy down here with you ladies."
"Aww, and we're very pleased to be here with you, gentleman!" Mary replies sweetly.
"Hah! Suckers! It's mine at last!" Aggie leaps up and makes a dash for Lidia's vacated chair, only to return laughing to her spot on the blanket. "Naw."
"Cute," says Mary flatly.
"No, no, she might want it back, so perhaps just let it be."
"Doubt it, but alright."
"I say, Aggie, would you ever want to go to America someday?" Arch asks her as she resettles.
"Oh, yes!" she exclaims cheerfully. "I think I'd first want to go tour some of the big eastern cities - New York, Boston, Philadelphia - then inland to Cleveland, Chicago, St. Louis - but then, then it's me for the wild, open western spaces!"
"Well, that sounds romantic."
"Of course, but romance won't really figure into what I want to do there at least once."
"Which is?"
"Have a man make mad love to me on horseback - bare and riding bareback, as it were - as we both gallop through that one really beautiful area in Arizona, the one with the canyons I'd seen once in a sort of panoramic picture book of America in the British Library. The place has got a funny-looking name, though. Mary, what was-"
"Canyon de Chelly," answers Mary instantly. "You could pronounce it like 'jelly' but it's really 'shay' as in horse cart or 'chez' as in 'at the home of,' au francais. Remember?"
"Ah, that's it! Thank you, Mary."
"Of course."
"That's a very, very excellent idea, by the way. Superbly erotic!"
"Thanks. I can be quite a dirty girl sometimes. Or at least imagine like one."
"Well...Aggie, um, I hope you find the right man for the, um, job. Someday," Arch says sheepishly.
 The women laugh. "So do I, Arch!" Aggie rejoins. "Perhaps you and Mary could join me."
"Yes, we could."
"As friends, though, and to share in the American Grand Tour," adds Mary. "But not for horse fucking."
"Mary!"
"Oh, hush, you know what I meant!"
"As friends," Arch echoes softly.
"Yes."
"Well, then-" Arch cranes his arm over Aggie's torso towards Mary "-it's a plan, isn't it?"
"Absolutely." As they vigorously shake hands and trade platonic smiles Aggie slaps one of hers on top of the fleshy compact. "Pals!" she vociferates giddily.
"Ow!" groan the other two.
"This calls for a song! 'Oh, give me a home where the buffalo roam!'"
"'Where the deer and the antelope play!'" Mary and Arch continue harmoniously.
"Whoa! Wait!" Aggie exclaims. "You two know this song?!"
Suddenly Tim, Poppy, Lidia, Diana and Adora all happily chime in with "'where seldom is heard a discouraging word, and the skies are not cloudy all day!'"
 "Well, then - all together!"

                    "Home, home on the range,
                     Where the deer and the antelope play,
                     Where seldom is heard a discouraging word
                     And the skies are not cloudy all day!"

"Oi, stuff it, Yanks!" a voice shouts from among the puzzled, spectating bathers, prompting the group to break into boisterous laughter.


DB/11.2016


I SAY IT'S MY BIRTHDAY!!!!!!
HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME!!!!!
I'M GONNA HAVE A GOOD TIME!!!!!
I'M GLAD IT'S MY BIRTHDAY!!!!!
HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME!!!!!
🎈🎆🎊🎉♏😊





 

                                               




 

 

 
 



 










 

 
    


 




 
 


                                                          

                                                             
                                                           

Graveyard

The following is transcribed from the final radio conversation between Professors Jonas Fielding and Dave Moriarty, lately of the Rhodes Oceanographic Institute of Portland, Maine, from the two-man submersible Wanderer piloted by Fielding and launched from the Institute ship Marryat along with the exploratory probe Triton, manned by Moriarty. The time is Sunday, April 24, 1988 just before five A.M., and nearly fifteen minutes after the men first reported to Sam Lewinsky, Marryat's radio operator, their sighting of the wreckage of the H.M.S. Lady Jane 13,000 feet below sea level.
 Any words further italicized (including proper nouns) or in all caps are mine. -DB 


Jonas Fielding: Come in, Marryat, come in. You still reading us way, way up there, Sam?
Sam Lewinsky: Affirmative, Wanderer, we always read you, just like when you asked five minutes ago. And it's much better than being way, way, way down there, I can tell ya that! But we're glad your still in one piece, Wanderer, and congratulations again on finding Her Majesty. And don't worry, we'll keep the bubbly on ice!
JF: Can't wait! We won't be too much longer down here anyway. Thanks, Sam!
SL: You got it, Prof!
Dave Moriarty: For Christ's sake, we are nearly done down here, aren't we, Jonas? It's been what, over an hour now? I mean, I know this is the find of the fucking century and all, bigger than the Titanic even, but all this-this deep ocean darkness around us is really creeping me out, even with all our lights on. And I'm not even afraid of the dark!
JF: Not even of the deep, deep dark of the abyss right below us?
DM: Fuck, don't even mention that!
JF: Sorry, Dave, but you knew this was to be a preliminary visit to the wreck on first discovery just so Triton can take some pictures outside from bow to stern, explore inside a bit, maybe through one of those open cabin doors...it might even take another hour...Dave, you wanted to do this, so I don't understand-
DM: I dunno, maybe it's just getting a bit too cramped in here for me.
SL: You guys still doin' okay?
JF: Doing just fine, Sam. So it's both that and the inky darkness?
DM: Maybe. Or what could be in the inky darkness, I guess. Look, Jonas, I'm sorry, I know I'm not exactly being professional here.
JF: I get it, Dave. The darkness, being "cramped," as you put it, so far down here is not exactly my cup of tea either, but this is what we've worked so fucking hard for all these months. Look! Right down there is the Lady Jane herself. The Lady goddamn Jane, Dave! See?
DM: Yeah, I see it. 
JF: Resplendent in all her hulking, rusting, barnacled, beauteous, royal glory! Hah! God save the Queen! You remember how she sank, don't you, Dave?
DM: Oh. Uh, no, I don't...actually.
JF: That's just it, Dave, no one knows! She just did. Just...sank!
DM: Okay.
JF: Quick history lesson. She was a burly, able ship like many steeled liners back then. Or so many believed. Set sail from the London docks on the 7th of March 1909 headed for New York. The voyage went smooth as glass until the night of the 15th when they were midway across the Atlantic, just a wee bit south of the Titanic's resting place, then the entire hull just....from stem to stern...just really took on water, fast...totally flooded.
DM: Why? How?
JF: No one knows. There were no icebergs in the vicinity to scrape up against, but the most popular theory going is that the steel used to make the Lady Jane was not of the best quality. Brittle. It may seem far-fetched but still...
DM: Damn. So everyone on board drowned?
JF: Mm-hmm. Their radio op barely had time to wire an SOS, but by then...can you imagine it, Dave? Thousands of men, women and children, highborn and low, in their cabins, deckchairs, the dining room, ballroom, wherever...and the ship just goes right under in minutes! Jesus, can you just imagine the utter fear and confusion they must've felt? No, would they even have had time to feel that?
DM: Yeah, maybe.
JF: But you know the thing that really creeps me most about it? Witnesses on a passing schooner said they could still see all the electric deck lights shining about a hundred feet straight down!
DM: God!
JF: Meaning, of course, they could also clearly see the bodies floating down.
DM: All right, stop it!
JF: Okay, okay, I'll just add one more thing, Dave...no, two. March 15th.
DM: Yeah, I know, it's the Ides. Coincidence.
JF: Okay, but it also sank nine days after embarking.
DM: So?
JF: So...Lady Jane Grey, the ship's namesake, was once the queen of England - for only nine days! How about that?
DM: Okay, that's a bit of a stretch.
JF: But it's true. Bit unlucky, no?
DM: No. Coincidence.
SL: Shit. Now I'm really glad I ain't down there.
JF: Hey, good to hear from you again, Sam!
SL: You guys almost done? No rush, just wonderin'.
JF: I think another half hour ought to do it.
SL: Got it.
JF: There is one lucky thing about where it landed, though, Dave.
DM: Can't talk anymore, Jonas. Maneuvering Triton.
JF: At least it didn't-
DM: Don't say it again.
JF: -sink further down into that deep, dark abyss right below us, beyond our reach!
DM: Asshole.
SL: Really glad!
JF: Picked the perfect parking spot, though. Inspiration point. All righty, I'm going to go over my notes for a bit.
DM: Fine. I think I'll check out one of those open cabins now, Jonas.
JF: Okay.
DM: Let's see. Okaay, here we g-...huh? What the hell?
JF: What?
DM: Something just...fluttered across the inside lower left corner of the doorway. It's gone now, but it flowed out then back in.
JF: What was it?
DM: It was something brown and...ornate. With a pattern. Like...I dunno, curtains or a dress or something.
JF: Could it have been like a fish swimming around there? Some of them can be pretty ornate. Nice vocab word choice, by the way.
DM: Thanks, and no, I don't think so.
JF: Then you're probably starting to hallucinate now, Dave, because I don't think there's any way curtains or clothing or any sort of fabric could still exist down here unless we find them really, really well sealed in watertight chests. They would've long since dissolved.
DM: I don't know, Jonas, I'm only telling you what I saw. Saw, by the way, not hallucinated. I still feel okay.
JF: All right, I won't argue with you.
DM: At least I hope-OH, FUCK!!!
JF: What?!! What is it?!!
SL: Hey, is-
JF: Just a minute, Sam! Dave, what happened?
DM: I-I-I-
JF: Take a deep breath.
DM: I-Jesus Christ, I saw a woman's face in the cabin's porthole, just-just...glaring at-me! No, at Triton! Didn't you see her on the monitor?
SL: What the hell?! A ghost?!
JF: Oh, for-no, no ghosts, Sam!
DM: Why the hell not?!
JF: All right, Dave...
DM: Oh, don't take that fucking sighing tone with me, Jonas!! I know what I saw! Look, it was a woman's face...but the look she gave was just...full of Cruella de-fuckin'-Vil malice! I swear! I can't explain it, Jonas, don't know if it was a ghost, but-I'm not hallucinating! Not yet!
JF: I'm sorry, Dave. Look, why don't you just move Triton inside the cabin to see what's, or...sure, who's there, and if nothing else just poke around, take a few pictures of the walls all covered in coral and anemones, etc., because that's what we'll see, all we'll see, and then just call it a day, okay? Then we can finally go up to the surface, watch the sunrise, get some real coffee...
DM: Condescension?
JF: NO, Dave, damn it! Well alright, maybe a little bit, but just go! Go! Move 'er in!
DM: I don't-
JF: DO IT!!
DM: All right!! Son-of-a-...okay, we're goin' in.
SL: Guys, I don't know about this.
JF: Sam, just stand by! Okay, yeah, see, just like I-SHIT!!!
DM: YOU SEE HIM, JONAS?!!! ON THE MONITOR?!! YOU SEE HIM?!!!
JF: YEAH, YEAH, I DO!!
SL: WHAT?! WHAT, WHO IS IT!!
JF: IT'S A BOY, A GODDAMNED...VICTORIA, I DUNNO...BOY!!! STANDING IN THE CORNER!!!
SL: A BOY?!
JF: DAVE, PICTURES!!
DM: WHAT?!!
JF: TAKE PICTURES, FOR CHRIST'S SAKE!!
DM: ON IT!!
JF: Ohhhh, Dave, you were right! My God, look at his face...malice, just like you said! Hate! But why?
DM: Probably 'cause we're trespassing or something!
JF: He-he seems so...real.
DM: Yeah, for a ghost, right?
JF: No, wait...this can't...am I halluci-
DM: SHITSHITSHIT, THERE SHE IS AGAIN!! IN FRONT OF THE CAMERA!!
JF: MY GOD, THAT FACE!! THE BOY'S RUNNING TOWARD-NO, GET TRITON OUT OF THERE NOW!!
DM: I CAN'T!! THEY'VE GOT A HOLD OF IT!!
JF: PULL IT BACK, DAVE!! PULL-

                      There follows nearly five minutes of static. 

SL: -WANDERER, DO YOU READ ME?! PROFESS-JONAS, DAVE, COME IN!! DO YOU READ-
DM(?): Ohhhhhhhhhhh....
SL: HELLO?! ANYBODY THERE?! COME IN, WANDERER!!
DM: Shitfuckshitfuckshitfuckshitfuck...
JF: Stop it, Dave! Yeah...yeah, we read you, Marryat...loud and clear...
SL: Oh, thank God! Jonas, what the hell happened?!
JF: Triton's... gone.
SL: What?!
JF: Gone. Um, we...lost control of it.
SL: What? Where is it now?
JF: My best guess? Sinking down the fucking abyss.
DM: Shitfuckshitfuckshitfuckshitfuck...
SL: WHAT?! Wait, did those, uh, people-
JF: NO!
SL: Ghosts?
JF: NO, SAM!!
SL: But I heard you say-
JF: NOOO, SAM, I DON'T-...I don't believe that.
SL: Prof?
JF: I...do..not. I don't know...what the hell happened.
DM: Shitfuckshitfuck-
JF: CAN IT, DAVE!!
DM: Ohh mannnn...
SL: So what's your situation now, Prof?
JF: Our situation...hum, what's our situation? Wellll, Dave's in total shock and I'm shocked a bit myself, though I'm not also a blubbering, babbling idiot at present. After Triton...disappeared...the sub's main power source somehow shut down ...
SL: What?!
JF: Thankfully I put us on auxiliary...that's why were still communicating, but...interior and exterior lights are weak...zero visibility...
SL: None?
JF: Zero. Zee-row. Pitch. Black.
SL: Damn!
DM: Ohh mannnn...
JF: And even if I could see well enough to move us we probably wouldn't get far on auxiliary, let alone all the way back up to the fucking surface.
SL: Okay. So why the hell do you sound so calm, then?
JF: Because, Sammy, m'boy, in a few blessed minutes I'm going to release Wanderer's cladding, then we'll hopefully rise like fallen angels back up to the very tippy-top of the ocean blue and back into God's wondrous graces.
SL: O-okay.
JF: Alert the captain and crew to be ready for us on deck. Give them my-our-deepest apologies, because...we've got nothing to bring back. No pictures, no samples. No-thing.
SL: I'll-I'll get right on it, Prof.
JF: Two years of hard work. Not a damn thing.
SL: Jonas, just release the cladding.
JF: NOT! A! GOD! DAMN! THING!
SL: LET IT GO, JONAS!! JUST GET THE FUCK OUTTA THERE NOW!!
JF: Right. Right right right. Now where is...dammit, I can't find the release lever...
DM: Ohhh, shit...Jonas...look!!
JF: What is-...oh no...no no no...
SL: What?! What do you guys see?!
JM: No no, this is a hallucination. It has to be.
SL: JONAS!
DM: The wreck!
JF: Sam, the Lady Mary just...lit up...uh, electrically, like a goddamn Christmas tree or something.
DM: How? Howhowhow...
SL: No, that's impossible.
JF: DON'T YOU THINK I KNOW THAT, SAM?!?
DM: Jonas, get us out of here!!
JF: Arrrggh, still looking for the fucking-
DM: SHIT!! LOOK AT IT NOW!!
JF: Oh, you can not be serious!
SL: Now what?!
DM: It's-it's the passengers...gathered around the wreck, glaring at us!
SL: What?! How many?
DM: All of them!
JF: Got the switch! We're outta here!
DM: NO!! J-JESUS, THEY'RE RUNNING OVER THE ABYSS!! THEY'RE COMING THIS WAY!!
JF: GODDAMMIT, WE'RE SURROUNDED!!
DM: NO!! NO!! THEY'RE PULLING US OVER!!
JF: THE HATCH!! DON'T LET THEM O-

                                                   Static.
 
 SL: Wanderer? Wanderer, do you read me?! Wanderer, come in!! Jonas! Dave! Hey, captain! CAPTAIN!!


INSERT GONG CRASH HERE (a la Arch Oboler's Lights Out Everybody)


No trace of the Professors Fielding or Moriarty, the Wanderer or Triton ever resurfaced.  

Nearly a year later another submersible team from ROI made an attempt to investigate the wreck, but returned after reporting being "forcibly compelled" to scrub the mission. 

In subsequent individual interviews the crew all agreed, uncannily using the same descriptive words, that before they even descended to ten thousand feet it felt like "hundreds of hands" were pushing their craft back up to the surface.

To date there has been no further exploration of the wreck of the H.M.S. Lady Jane.


Requiescat in pace.



DB/10.2016



Happy Halloween, kiddies! Sleep tight!



 



















 



 

Bit

                                  An early one from ancient Egypt


                                          it's rather a bit thick
                                          and a bit of all wrong,
                                          right?
                                          but a little bit of help
                                          is all i want from you,
                                          okay?
                                          just a little bit of your help
                                          to make it a little bit better,
                                          yes?
                                          so tho' it's rather a bit thick
                                          and a bit of all wrong
                                          (yeah?)
                                          let's make a little bit of love
                                         WITHOUT the damn johnnie!


                                          um...



DB/c1992,2016

Aggie Dovecote and All Her Pals: Pt.2, Ch.4

                                   
                               Not a 'Tootle-oo'. DO NOT SUCK!


                                                          IV

 Tim and Poppy's glad smiles shift into stunned 'oh's when they spot the trio gaping back at them. Poppy's gaze melts into disdain when she sees Aggie.
"Well, my goodness, hello, hello!" the stout, brusque Tim finally exclaims jovially. "It really is such a bloody small island after all, isn't it? Lady Mary, lovely as always to see you again!" He sets down his candy bags with a grunt and offers his hand, but balks as he first examines his doughy palm. "Ah, it's quite dry," he mumbles. 
"Hello, Tim," Mary politely replies upon taking it. "It's quite lovely to see you, too." She nods uncomfortably to Poppy, who barely reciprocates.
"And Miss Dovecote, how have you been?"
"Oh, it's just plain ol' Aggie, Tim. And except for this doggoned heat I'm the bees' knees!"
"Splendid, splendid! But if you don't mind my asking, plain ol' Aggie, right off the bat, what I must know is, how have you been doing since...that night back in April?"
"I don't follow."
"He means when you drunkenly soiled yourself at Mary's last party!" Poppy interjects snidely. "In that silly little nappy of yours!"
"Poppy, please don't," Tim gently chides.
"No, no, that's quite alright, Tim," Aggie replies with a small sigh and a dismissive wave. "It really feels much too hot for me to justify myself, so...no, I won't. To hell with it, I won't! Not to you or anyone, Poppy."
 Poppy rolls her eyes. "Is that right?"
"Yes, it is. But I did learn two things that night. One is that I now see why noblesse oblige always begins with 'no'."
 Mary, Arch and Tim chuckle.
"Droll," sighs Poppy languidly. "And the second thing, Miss Dovecote?"
 Aggie steps closer to Poppy and leans in so she's dangerously nose-to-nose with her. "Despite that horrid incidence wherein I unavoidably shat-" Poppy winces "-myself, Miss St. Cecile, I really have not taken as much delight in my life as being that naked in the public eye, let alone in front of my so-called, so-called betters. Now if you had not such a lengthy, excremental stick up your own arse-!"
 "Right, right, very good, Miss D-um, Aggie, I mean, thank you!" Tim hurriedly interjects. "Let's not have a row, ladies. Please. Please? Ah, thank you, ladies, thank you! Arch! Your hand, sir! Very pleased to see you again!"
"The pleasure is quite mine, old boy."
"Cock among the hens, eh?"
"Yes, quite so."
"He's been such a gentleman, bless him," adds Mary sweetly.
"Always is, Lady Mary. Are you two-?"
"No, we're just friends now," Arch quickly answers.
"But still quite close ones."
"I do hope so. If I may surmise the obvious you're here for some bathing, yes?" Tim jolts with a sudden realization. "Oh, Lady Mary, your party! We'd quite forgotten!"
Mary raises a halting hand. "Dissolved. Don't give it another thought."
"So London's just too bloody hot for you, then?"
Arch laughs and nods. "Same with you? Is that why you're here?"
"Oh, erm, yes. Poppy and I were...oh, erm..." He coughs and glances uncertainly at Poppy, who tsks and points to her bags. "The damned candy, of course," she declares dryly.
"Ah, yes, yes, the candy!" Tim chirps. "Cadbury chocs and Boney's Teeth, Allsorts and well, all sorts! But mostly Tootle-oos. Poppy and I buy 'em at Gumm's whenever we can. I always like to play a bit of Arne or Handel or even 'ta-ra-ra boom-de-ay' on 'em as I go a-lickin'!"
 Mary's eyes widen. "That's what I'm going to get! Are there any left?"
"Plenty, Lady Mary, plenty."
"Marvelous! Oh, before I forget I should mention that Diana, Adora and Lidia are here too," says Mary.
Arch wryly imitates a cock's crow.
"Oh-ho, very good, Arch!" Aggie happily applauds.
"They're having a cold quaff or two of whatever in that cafe behind us," Mary continues. "And then sometime in the next hour we're all going bathing. We've our suits in these valises."
"Splendid, splendid!" Tim chirps happily. "May we join you all later?"
 Poppy shoots an irate look at Tim, who catches it askance but remains unflappable.
"I don't see why not," Mary replies. "Ag, Arch, what say you?"
"Of course!" smiles Arch.
"Sure, but we still need to find a good beach spot," says Aggie.
"We shall, Ag. Oh, and we must also rent some chairs and parasols," Mary adds.
"I'll gladly add to that expense, if it please your Ladyship," offers Tim with a jaunty bow.
"Yes, if you'd like."
"So shall we all meet here again around three or thereabouts? Poppy and I will most likely ambulate around 'til then."
"Yes, but it'll be at the cafe. It's much too hot out here in the open."
"Splendid, splendid!" Tim exclaims again. "Poppy, have you any objection to that?"
"Yeah, you're not both a teetotaler and a joyless, horrid prude, are you, Poppy?" sneers Aggie.
 Poppy's cool visage flashes scarlet and she inhales deeply through her nose before declaring with a tight smile and slim restraint, "No, not at all, Aggie! I enjoy the occasional drink or two as much as anyone. In fact I may quite need them today."
"All right, poppet-I mean, Poppy," Tim says. "No more talk. Ladies, gentleman, let us part until then." And so they part.
"Did you notice that, Mary?" asks Aggie as they saunter over to the cafe.
"What's that?"
"The reason they're here in Brighton. I mean, candy? And she called it damned candy, too, a prig like her! So odd. But you saw Poppy prompting him to say that, didn't you?"
"Yes, I did, actually," says Mary.
"A bit rum, that," suggests Arch.
"And did you notice he called her 'poppet'?"
"Twee," Arch sniffs.
"Where are you going with this, Ag?" Mary asks a bit impatiently.
"I'm just-do either of you think they've a different motive for being here?"
"Like what?" asks Mary.
 Aggie throws up her hands. "That's just it, I don't know. It's just...it's..."
"Rum?" Arch finishes.
"No, I prefer 'Schmpf'," Aggie rejoins wryly. "Well, perhaps it's nothing."
"It's an extraordinary coincidence, though," offers Mary.
"Perhaps." Aggie gazes all around the hot, busy pier and asks with a sigh, "Mary, do you think it's possible to swim from here to the Isle of Wight? Or the Midi? Or California, even?"
"California?" Mary shrugs. "Maybe for Lord Byron."
"Oh, or Gertrude Ederle!" adds Arch. "I really quite admire that girl."
"So do I!" Aggie exclaims, then croons,"'Let me call you sweetheart, I'm in love with you.'"
"What's that?" asks Mary.
"One of her favorite songs. Another one is 'Yes, We Have No Bananas' but I don't know the words."
"Do you know the rest of the other one?" asks Arch.
 Aggie smiles and nods, slipping in between Mary and Arch and hooking her arms through theirs as they walk merrily on.

                  
                               "Let me call you sweetheart
                                I'm in love with you 
                                Let me hear you whisper
                                That you love me too

                                Keep the love light glowing
                                In your eyes so true
                                Let me call you sweetheart
                                I'm in love with you!"


                                     TO BE CONTINUED
                   IN CHAPTER 5 - 'THE BEACH CONVOS'



DB/7.2016



 
 








   

'Malko'*: A Haiku

           
                                    
                                         *=Basque, 'teardrop'

They spat "Guernica!"
Into dry careworn Kraut maps
When Dresden smoldered.


Music: 'Spanish Bombs' by The Clash


DB/5.2016

Objection!: A Haiku

                        


No! No! No! No! No!
No! No! No! No! No! No! No!
No! No! Oh HELL no!


DB/3.2016





                     

                              
                                      

If These 'Dolls'* Could Talk (No.1 of a Promising Series)

                                   IF THESE 'DOLLS'* COULD TALK
                                    Number 1 of a Promising Series

                               *=action figures (usu. inaction figures)


                                          

                                            
                                         
                                             Dramatis Personae

                        CHARLES DICKENS, renowned Victorian author
                      EDWARD 'BLACKBEARD' TEACH, infamous pirate

                                            Subject: MATRIMONY


BLACKBEARD: Matri-wot?

CHARLES DICKENS: It's another word for marriage, Teach.

BB: Oh! Why don't 'e just say that, then? Yeh, wull I've 'ad fourteen wives an' forty childern in me own sweet lifetime! How's 'bout that?

CD: Lord! Really?

BB: Yeh, b'lieve it or not, Bozzy. It's like I'm a limey Turkish pasha or summat!

CD: Ha! A tremendous family to provide for!

BB: Hey, ain't that a line from that one Christmas story ye wrote?

CD: A Christmas Carol, yes. You've heard of it?

BB: Wouldn't 'ave said it if I 'adn't.

CD: But it's only one out of my many famous works, you know.

BB (sotto voce): Bet it's th' only one folks 'as ever read.

CD: Hm? What was that, Teach?

BB: Matri-money, Bozzy! (sings) Aann' me mistress is th' wide blue Caribee! An' we're part o' one big 'appy family!

CD: My God!

BB: Naw, I'm th' Devil! An' it's yer go. Yer gal's a big'n, right?

CD: My gal-my wife, my dear, sweet and only wife, is Catherine. She-had gained some weight, yes.

BB: 'Ow much over, Bozzy? Fifty stone? A hunnert stone?

CD: No, no, not that much! You're being ridiculous, Teach!

BB: Oh so? How many childern ya get outta her?

CD (testily): I didn't just get-! Hrm! It's ten. Ten blessings from my beautiful, blessed wife and from God Almighty.

BB: Well, well. Jolly good! Praise God! Not as impressive as me own brood but still blessin' enough, I'm sure.

CD: Thank you, Teach.

BB: But Lor', birthin' all 'em childrens musta done quite a number on yer Cat's body, eh, Bozzy? A wooman after ten childrens sometimes ain't quite th' same lookin' after a while, wouldn't ya say?

CD: Well-

BB: 'Course it all d'pends on a man's notion o' beauty. To each 'is own, yeh? Me, I bet I'd 'ave no trouble a-pushin' on that cushion, if ye get me meanin'.

CD (stunned): Wait, what...what did you just say?!

BB: Yeh, I think ye 'eard me.

CD: You-you-you...do you realize you have just offended me, Teach?! And my wife!

BB: Ah! So I s'pose ye'll be wantin' some satisfaction now, yeh? Wull let's see, I got a brace o' pistols 'ere, really a lot less'n I usually carry, and o' course ye see this fine cutlass in me 'and. But yer clutchin' that quill like ye c'ld scribble yer way out o' a duel, mebbe pen a more fav'rable endin' fer yerself, eh? Sorry t' tell ye hare'll beat tortoise here, slay tortoise an' oh, mebbe make some loverly tortoise soup! (cackles) So that's out. But 'ow's this-I beg th' pardon of yer good wooman, good Catherine, big, beautiful Cat, bless 'er 'eart, tho' she ain't now present. Honestly. But as fer you, Bozzy, I, 'o course, care bugger all about.

CD: What? Why is that, Teach?

BB: Four words, Bozzy, me ol' mate. Li'l. Miss. Ellen. Ternan.

CD: What?!? Shh!!!! Shush!!! Shush!!! You scoundrel!! How did you-?

BB: Know? Hah! Ev'rybody knows!

CD: How-

BB: Truth'll always out, Bozzy.

CD:  But, but it isn't true, Teach! I was careful not to-no, no, you're trying to trick me, you devil! That is a slander and a falsehood, hear me? I cherish my wife too much to even consider-

BB: Bozzy...

CD: DAMN YOU, MY NAME IS MISTER CHARLES JOHN HUFFNAN DICKENS, BLACKBEARD! 'BOZ' IS MY NOM DE PLUME!! 'BOZ', NOT THAT SILLY 'BOZZY' ROT!! AND I AM ONE OF THE MOST RENOWNED, MOST RESPECTED AND MOST BELOVED ENGLISH WRITERS IN THE WORLD!! AND IN ALL OF HISTORY!! DO YOU UNDERSTAND?!

BB: Shak'spur's chopped liver, then?

CD: SHUT UP!! I AM AN ACTOR, LOYAL FRIEND, ADORING HUSBAND, DOTING FATHER AND A MOST ESTEEMED GENTLEMAN AMONGST MANY OTHER THINGS!!!

BB: Ye forgot pashernate lover.

CD: I SAID SHUT UP!! JUST!! SHUT!! UP!! (long pause)

BB: So are ye done now? Gotta catch yer breath?

CD: You, Teach...are a terrible, amoral pirate! Murderer! Thief! And a traitor to your country!

BB: Ah! Guess ye wasn't. But I b'lieve it's me turn now, Boz. (pause, chuckles) Zee. First o' all, callin' me Blackbeard ain't doin' me one whit o' dishonor, if that's what yer intention was. 'At's me own nickname and, wull..I'm historickle like you, so 'ow'd anybody know me else ways? Guess me sayin' 'Bozzy' 'stead o' 'Boz' is jest me way o' bein' a bit friendly. Nothin' wrong with 'at, is there? Oh, an' I do got a black beard anyways, don't I? (chuckles and fingers his beard) Ah, blessed be it! Such a beaut'ous sight to be'old! An' oh, so good also fer 'oldin' them li'l smoke makers! So good! (he lunges at CD with a loud roar as the latter retreats slightly) Ah, ain't th' same wi'out th' smoke. Tsk! But yeah, there's allat good shite ye ticked off - famed writer, friend, hus'ban', daddy, 'ats all very nice. Good fer ya. But ye know what, Bozzy?

CD (mumbling): What, you bastard?

BB: I know I'm-what did ye say?-a pirate, thief, murderer, traitor. Dunno 'bout bastard, tho'. Awrful. 'Orrible. A turrible man I am, an' yet I'm true to me own self.

CD: What are you saying?


BB: Sayin' there ain't no sham in me, Bozzy. I ain't no doctor, barrister, copper, priest, alms-giver, nothin' so 'igh an mighty an' respectable like 'at. It's jest Blackbeard th' bloody pirate fer ever an' ever an' ever! An' I couldn't be 'appier 'bout it neither! (chuckles) But you, yer jest the opposite o' me, Bozzy. Loved. Respected. Talented. World-famous. A gift ta English lit'rature, so ta speak. National treasure. (pause) An' yet ye got th' blot o' a whoremonger on yer soul.

CD (angrily dropping his quill and going for one of BBs pistols, which he levels at same): Oh! You-you shall not speak of Ellie or me like that! Scoundrel! Fucking...scoundrel!

BB (unfazed): Oof! Such unmannerly language from such a national treasure! (roars with laughter)

CD: Shut up!!

BB: Ye can't even hold 'at piece, Bozzy! Anyways it don't even work. Plastic.

CD: Oh my Lord, just one more word out of you, Teach, and I swear I'll-!!

BB: Cat knows.

CD: What?

BB: About ye an' yer...Ellie. Yer bootiful, bountiful, faithful an' lovin' wife knows 'bout yer canoodlin'.

CD (drops the pistol):No. No, it's not-no, I don't believe you.

BB: Like I said, truth'll always out.

CD: Wait, Teach, there's something's still amiss: how do you even know-what you say you do?

BB: Wull, Jesus tol' us back in th' Box a few days ago. Don' remember where ye was at th' time. He said not to bother askin' ye 'bout it 'cos ye'd only deny it.  An' He knows ev'rythin' anyways so it stands ta reason. But He ain't why th' world is savvy 'bout it though. That's all 'istory an' 'istorians and whatnot.

CD (harshly): Well, then he's as big a scoundrel as you! For that matter so are these nosy historians you mention!

BB: Hey, we ain't none o' us judgin' ye, Bozzy. Remember Giacomo even tried ta high five ye?

CD: Giacomo is a bloody ass, a puffed-up paramour! Nothing at all like me! And once again, why should I really believe-

BB (exploding): OH, B'LIEVE IT, YE FUCKIN' SOD!! IT'S TRUE!! GO 'HEAD, ASK ANY O' THEM BACK IN TH' BOX LATER!! ANY ONE!! THEY AIN'T A-GONNA LIE!! AN' YE KNOW JESUS WON'T LIE 'BOUT IT NEITHER!! (stops to take a deep breath before calmly continuing on, but is still seething) Ye know, Bozzy, I'm done. Truth's out, whether ye like it 'r not. Been out for awhile now. An' married wimmens are always gonna figure it out sooner or later. Th' really smart 'uns, anyway. (pause) An' yer Cat's a really smart 'un.

CD (realization finally dawning, sotto voce): No. Oh...no.

BB (sighs): Ye know, Bozzy, I think I'll jest take me pistol back now an' leave ye ta yer newfound sorrow, do a bit o' canoodlin' o' me own in th' Box with th' bonny Miss Anne Bonney. Don't got any o' me other wives wi' me fer that tho', but love th' one yer with, I allus say. I c'ld try an' have a go at Marie again but...ye know. Like unto like. (he looks at CD who now sits despondently on the floor) If it's any comfort to ye, Bozzy, th' world often does forgive an' forget. (pause, more to himself) Usually.

CD (almost inaudibly): Just go if you're going. Blackbeard.

BB (chuckles): O' course, o' course. (bends over CD) An' I'll take a bit o' comfort in knowin' I may not be 'alf the monster ye are. (saunters off singing and holding his cutlass aloft) Ohhh sail away wi' me, oh lassie do, we'll 'ave lots o' fun, jes' ye an' me on th' Caribee, God bless us ev'ry one! (guffaws)

CD (sobbing): C-Cat. Oh, my Pig!...Oh, my Pig!...I'm so sorry...

                                                

                                                        END



                                                 WHO'S NEXT?

 
            BB: Yahrr!! Arrr!! Now ye talk like a sexy pirate to me, Annie me gel! Arrgh!!
             
            CD: Please don't take a picture, it's been a bad day! Please!



 DB/3.2016

Music: 'Bad Day' by R.E.M.





























                    
                     

The Plan: A Haiku

Consider Bernie,
Settle for Hillary but
Want Elizabeth.


DB/4.2016

Zenobia's Revenge: A Haiku

"May men shun your bones
And Shaitan take your souls, for
Palmyra is MINE!!!"


DB/4.2016

V

Doo-ah-mont.
Doo-aw-mont.
Doo-aw-mont?
Eh!
C'ld never say
Them Frenchie names quite right. 

Y'know wot, tho',
From above it quite looks like a star.
Yeh, yeh, like a fallen, dead star, ain't it?
Right outta th' 'eavens.
Or like summat wot dropped down
Off a Chris'mas tree.
But I said "dead", din't I?
It ain't quite yet.

This'll be a bit much
Fer you to 'ear
But I don't 'ate th' Jerries, y'know.
Not like I'm s'posed ter.
Yeh, they're th' enemy an' allat,
An' we been fightin' 'em
Near two years.
Seems we ain't gainin'
more'n a few metres o' ground each day.
An' soon's we get it we fuckin' lose it again!
Bloody awrful!
Really vexin'.
But, but y'know, sometimes I think 'bout th' Truce
An'...well, I ain't got no personal-
Wotsit called, anermosity?-
Towards 'em.
Y'know, it's a bit silly,
But if that were like a real star,
Somethin' I could wish on
(An' yeh, I know it only works with fallin' stars, so what?)
Ain't like I really b'lieve in such rot),
I'd wish all o' us,
Tommies, Jerries,
Frenchies, Russians,
Even the bloody Turks
An' anyone else
Got dogs in this fight
Could jest drop our guns
Shake 'ands 'cross the lines,
Turn 'round an' march right back 'ome,
Back to our fam'lies, friends,
Sweeties, jobs,
Allat loverly stuff,
Treason an' th' brass  
An' all th' yeller nibs
All be fuckin' damned!
Else I 'ope this war'll
Be a lot shorter than it's felt
Fer two fuckin' years!
'Cos I'm real tired now.
Bet we all are.
But...anyways, that'd be me star wish.


Silly, ain't it?



DB/2.2016

Valentin

Bed,
under thin blankets.
10:00 a.m. Saturday
in April.
Our dim hotel room
by the Champ de Mars;
all over Paris
an attack of raindrops.
Wet windows,
and shutters of
fading, peeling emerald
ajar.
Slight chill,
heat blows weakly.
She stirs slightly
in the crook
of my arm,
sleeps,
murmurs,
smiles,
farts.
Oh!
Need (want) to prepare
the demitasse,
the eclairs
from 'La Leche de Venus'
patisserie,
and find that silver box
ribboned with a gold
satin bow
from 'Bijou'
that has the black marble
pearl drop earrings
she cooed over
last weekend.
But then she
pivots closer
to me,
taut nipples nestle
in my side
(frisson!)
and a bare arm alights
on my chest.
O,
then she sighs,
smiles,
farts, and
sleeps.
Okay.
10:30
or bust.



DB/2.2016