Let us contemplate
The EARTH we walk upon
For a day,
And a lifetime.
And hope that
That lifetime
Will be ours
And not the EARTH.
For the EARTH
After centuries,
And millennia,
And the speck
From which it sprang,,
Whether through Genesis,
Or the Big BANG,
(Both of which are
eerily similar)
Is
– let’s face it –
Getting pissed off!
From the molten lava
Heaving into the heavens,
To the storms at sea
And one on EARTH.
All giving us
Fair warning
Of
Just who
Is in charge.
DE
What are they going to do when I get into the finer details?
So – this happened.
I answered the phone yesterday. There was a five second delay which (really) lets you know you are in a queue. Suspicion created.
A garbled voice ( I honestly couldn’t tell if I was experiencing an accent different from mine, or if they were in a large room with lots of speakers – I suspect both at the same time) inquired about my book, using the correct title. Gotta admit, that did catch my attention.
Was I the author?
Yes?
Did I want to sell a lot of books?
Yes.
They could do it!
Then, what I assume was a company name, was mentioned. I never did hear the name distinctly enough to know what it was, though mentioned four or five times. It was never clear what its function would be.
But – you know – they mentioned the title -correctly- a number of times. And, in all truth, I figure I should be making more money.
So, I asked questions. Not very deep questions, but I should know something.
They seemed to know next-to-nothing about the publishing world. They did concentrate on “promotion”, which would, I readily admit, help.
World-wide promotion. Somehow.
So, knowing that they had a stellar product to sell, I just went to the end result. I would consider their proposals for the up-front price of $100,000. A nice round figure. Easy to remember. I could picture the cheque.
This seemed to confuse them.
A few more entreaties were made. An additional publishing term or two. Alas, it was still all garbled. I pointed out that I could still not fully understand them.
I noted they made no counter-offer (not that it would have done any good). $100,000 SVP.
So, I was told to wait until I could speak with a supervisor.
The supervisor did not seem to have an individual office. Same garble and/or background noise.
How could he help?
$!00.000 please. I was tempted to add (and I’m all yours). But I did not (though surely it was implied).
The call ended.
Since there seemed to be no knowledge of traditional publishing (which is how my book is published) I assume this con is directed to Indie authors. Beware, y’alls.
DE
The stage
Is as bare as my lady’s ass
In his lordship’s bedchamber.
Rough-hewn
In the most knockabout way,
Leaving splinters
In the palace lawns of the imagination.
There’s many a dip ‘twixt the trap and the lip.
It fares little better
Than hastily strewn boards
Covering parched ground,
With barely enough elevation
To keep the understanding masses at bay.
Were one fool enough
To come from out the wings,
And at centre front
Begin a soliloquy about the beauty
Of the wretched arena on which he stands,
To fight the resulting
And justified
Spontaneous combustion,
There would not be found one drop of piss
From any a Thespian’s hose.
For who,
Could allow
This sacrilege to be spoken?
Even the flag atop the pole knows
The magic is not yet arrived.
A stage without commercial trappings:
without solid doors and thick drapes;
uncluttered by pillars and arches,
tables and chairs,
windows and fireplaces;
sans orchestra,
sans balcony,
sans pit.
A stage revealing all its secrets.
Profound as emptiness.
A stage in wait.
For in this world writ small
– as in the globe around –
the audience has nothing to know,
nothing to learn,
until the actor makes an entrance,
prepares to fight past our eyes
to battle with those thoughts
and fears
which lurk in sheltered halls.
What’s Hecuba to him?
Why – nothing.
Merely a name in a script,
A cue at which to turn his profile thus.
It is what Hecuba becomes to we who wait,
that turns the key upon the heavy gate.
~DE BA. UE
Of course, it is the 21st of March.
To fuss about with the restrictions of time and space and equatorial crossings is as pointless (and heartless) as using AI whilst writing about the First Day of Spring.
Someone please break into a chorus of “TRADITION”!
DE
Paw, my cat/kitten,
Black as the Ides of March
With one white mitten,
Has a green ribbon
Tied around his neck,
As we stand on the dock
And welcome the arrival of Sister Darling,
Of The Rarefied Church of the World (reformed)
On this Saint Patrick’s Day,
She steps off the fishing boat,
And unceremoniously hands me
A hefty cauldron,
As she scoops up Paw
And holds him close, the way
(I trust)
She will eventually hold me.
“Irish stew,” says she.
But I didn’t even have to guess,
For I can recite, by smell,
The ingredients.
Lamb on the bone
Carrots/celery
onions/leeks/garlic
Bay leaf/sea salt/black pepper
Lots of potatoes
And two (I hope) pints of ale.
“You are right,” she says
As Paw snuggles into her hair,
“And you will get
A Reward.”
I’m The Lighthouse Poet Laureate of Partridge Island /1821 – 2026/ A lot of stuff have I seen / A lot of stuff to report}
DE BA. UEL
Paw, the cat/kitten,
Black as a sky night
With one white mitten,
Was up yesterday morning
And saw the waxing gibbous moon.
The moon – of course – affects Paw,
As it does all the animals
(Including us).
But Paw,
A persnickety little bugger
At the best of times,
Seems to take umbrage
With the moon,
Or
At the moon,
When it grows (and glows)
To its full height and size.
Paw,
Being a cat,
Does not howl at the moon,
But he spits,
And hisses,
And growls,
And goes “Itititititititit”,
And makes himself quite a nuisance.
He will get the crazies,
And dash back and forth
From window, to door,
To window.
I’d let him out (I swear, just to be quit of him),
But I have no guarantee
– None at all –
That he would come back,
And I’d miss the little bugger.
[That’s the truth]
I bundle him firmly
(So I won’t get lacerated),
And carry him up
To the lantern room
At the top of the lighthouse.
I let him loose.
I’ll find him in the morning,
Finally asleep,
But still, occasionally,
Muttering “Itititititititit” to himself,
While he dreams.
I’m The Lighthouse Poet Laureate of Partridge Island /1821 – 2026 / A lot of stuff have I seen / A lot of stuff to report}
In my novel, Kafka In The Castle, I fill in missing entries of his actual diaries. There are many days to fill, as he either did not write during these days, or he destroyed the record.
I do give him a brief recognition of Friday 13th. Kafka was not a superstitious person, and such things weighed on him lightly.
In reality, memories of the Swiss Girl he mentions (a teen he met and probably “embraced”) haunted him all his life. But pleasantly – oh, so pleasantly.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
13 April 1917
I almost wrote down the year as 1913. That was the year I met the Swiss girl. And I remember her joking about Friday the thirteenth, and how we had missed it by just a day. She was superstitious – Christians seem to be. I wonder what precautions she is taking today. It will be three years and seven months since I saw her. Yet some of the things we did could have happened last week. I think that memory must be made of rubber. You can sometimes pull it toward yourself – and sometimes it snaps away like a shot. Causing as much pain.
(image)https://www.playhugelottos.com/uploads/assets/news/PlayHuge/Fridaythe13th.jpg
Q: To be or not to be?
A: Who asketh the query?
Q: Bond – James Bond.
A: Sound and fury, it seems to me.
Q: They say you’re a talker – is that true?
A: More of a thinker.
Q: Then a doer?
A: I put many acts in play.
Q: The power behind the throne?
A: When the throne is rotten.
Q: So, do you dither?
A: Whilst thou hither.
Q: What is your wish?
A: To whisper in your ear.
Q: To tell me what?
A: Fear not, it won’t be poisonous.
Q: Will it be a secret?
A: More likely than not.
Q: In my line of work, secrets are Death.
A: You deal with Kings and Queens?
Q: I’m on Her Majesty’s Secret Service.
A: A double life is a double sword is a double bind.
Q: How do you know that?
A: I write plays.
Q: And tell the truth?
A: My word is my bond.
DE BA UEL
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