Thursday, May 28, 2009

Chapter 6-- The Untended Carriage

were anyone to observe across the widely spaced avenue of Broadbridge street they
would have easily seen the tired man in overalls standing like a statue beside the old
carriage. obviously, he was still uncertain what to do, since the limousine had left in such a hurry.

then, with a decisive burst, he lumbered to the narrow club entrance between restaurant and
theatre, and up the darkened steps to the manager's office, (for nowhere else did it lead).

leaving the untended carriage, full of nothing more than dirt-covered vegetables, to list and
eventually veer away, in a more or less straight line, with its now-familiar, blind drawhorse.

it must have been urgent for the man to leave the pitiable beast in such a hurry.

at least, in a criminal interrogation, that would make a good story.

the man in the red shirt had a restless turn, at every other moment while standing,
more or less idly near the smooth stone bench.
he could study the bench seat and its minuscule pores , nearly abraded away by time and use.
listen to the paper lanterns, red as his shirt, writing curlicues in the wind from the bridge.

there was the huge unsightly billboard in the vacant field to the west.
or watching his shoes as they again slid the crushed bootblack lid further along south, down
the broad paving stones.

but, especially, then, and thereafter for the longest sets of moments, he could stare curiously at
the derelict buildings across the street, the carriage, and the near static man beside it.

he could take in at least three of the buildings on this end of the block, he had realized
over the course of this afternoon, without even moving his head. the dress shop, the
restaurant, and the theatre. wondering for a time, with each orbit of his restless motions,
if there were ever anything still of interest in the forlorn aspect of this defeated area.

or that is how he seems, to the man in overalls, standing in terrified paralysis, pretending
not to look at the man in the red shirt, (he should have worn one himself THAT day...), so
horribly unable to act. the blind horse nudges his leg, as if to bring him back to a reality he
has no hope of escaping.

Saturday, May 23, 2009

Chapter 5-- The Peripheral Mr. Jampers

up the steep, narrow stairs more quickly than usual, the angle turn to the left with more
steps, in diminishing light, and the last little added turn of yet two or three more steps.
into the light of the theatre manager's office.

the worn down carpet. the mahogany desk, almost too large for the room, on a diagonal to
the left on entering. the brass ashtray on its corner.

lantern style lamps, variously over-detailed. the black, button-padded chair with the one
hunk of cottony stuffing protruding from the seat back like the tongue of a drooling dog.

water carafes in overabundance, in all parts of the office, but apparently all ready for
and in at least occasional use, being partially filled.
the billboard across the Avenue, obstructing the view through the picture windows in
the west wall.

the bone of an ancient water buffalo, mounted on its curve onto a wooden pedestal with
plaque, setting atop the liquor cabinet. the latter doubtlessly concealing more water
carafes, and completely 'spiritless'.

facing the door: the ashtray more clearly visible, as always in exact equidistance from
both edges of the desk's, (now left), 'upper' corner.

the desk otherwise spotless and uncluttered. except, perhaps, yes, the manager's stamp album. from the right end of the desk it is clear now, despite the upper half
of Jampers's shoulders, as well as his head, bending forward, upon the desk top.

the afternoon light seems too bright for a nap. an implausible excuse, in any case.

And there is not a drop of blood...surprisingly.

Wednesday, May 20, 2009

Chapter 4--Y. Ganh Longh

in front of the large theatre, (badly in need of a retouch), a tall, thin, dapper man in a light
grey business suit emerges with alacrity and seats himself in a waiting limousine.

calm and collected, wearing(?) a catfish mustache, pointed goatee and long fingernails,
the car's new passenger immediately adjusts himself as the mechanical chauffeur winds out
with the ragged,"a--round--the--block--ik?"

"Rudimentary, my dear 235X12", the living one effuses. As the two pull away and proceed
up the Avenue, taking the peeling right turn at the bridge, and toward the ocean just in view.

That must have been Y. Ganh Longh, notorious criminal, (and crassly outfitted), mastermind!

Or, on second thought, that 'must' have been Creighton Q. Crampton, famous actor and man
of a hundred crudely outdated faces, still wearing one of his 'makeups'.

The blind horse nudged near the back of my calf, waking me from my obsessiveness.

I, the man in overalls, standing dumbfounded and caught in mid-action. About to
unhitch the pitiable creature from its burdens.

Until an impulse overtakes the man to see about the theatre manager's safety...

Chapter 3--The Frond Chewer

the large old theatre, its ornamentation inside in great need of retouch work;
and its stage empty except for a derelict piano with all but one key missing.
a nestful of hen eggs in the hollow of the wall.

outside, on Broadbridge Street, an idling limousine with mechanical chauffeur.
on a nearby lamppost, above the 'nothing' news notice with the nice picture of
someone's aunt, a red paper lantern writes curlicues in the polluted breeze.
the original purpose of any celebration a lost mystery.

although, unrelatedly, that someone's aunt could be all-too-vividly recalled,
by all those still living in the area, nibbling at the potted foliage near the
men's lavatory, and always quite ill-timed.

she also used to leave her green leather gloves in the restaurant owner's office.
no, nothing to do with the overly arcane Guild Society.

yellow afternoon light broke through the sickly colorless clouds.

the horse with the glass eyes was coming around into the Avenue again, pulling
its tattered carriage full of dirt covered vegetables. it moved all, at odd angles,
uncannily avoiding a crushed trash can lid, and , as often so, the street car's
rusted rail ruts.

it was a wonder no one had bothered to unhitch the creature.

past four, a salty mist from the ocean, well-in-sight, blew aside all rotten airs.

Monday, May 18, 2009

Chapter 2--That, Which, Who?

the gold painted ornamentation on the outside of the theatre, in need of a retouch.

gradual slope up to the bridge, from the end of the wide avenue, still decorated with
paper lanterns writing curlicues in the air with every breeze. the original purpose of their
celebration a mystery.

fresh air, today, without chemical odors.

wool-lined gloves left on a smoothe stone bench. a crushed can lid on the broadly paved
sidewalk---Jamper's bootblack.

the bow knot tie of a bald manikin head in the window of the clothing shop with the
off-hinge door.

yellow sign under streaked glass: "Light Afternoon Meals".
between this restaurant and the theatre, again, the narrow club entrance.

and not a soul in sight. not even the blind horse.

If the horse has glass eyes, how could it find the next street??

Sunday, May 17, 2009

Chapter 1 -- And Not A Soul in Sight ?

large old theatre, ornate, but in decline and empty. derelict piano, one key missing.
nestful of eggs in the hollow of the wall.

outside, on the street a waiting limousine with mechanical chauffeur.
on nearby lamppost, a nothing news notice.
but, a 'nice' picture of Aunt Crimble.

she used to nibble quail eggs near the women's lavatory, under cover of potted foliage.
always well-timed with pleasant weather.

in the theatre owner's abandoned office, the Green Guild Society Brotherhood's
chalkmarked globe. split at a certain significant(?) meridian.

outside again, a horse with glass eyes pulling a carriage without occupants;
instead full of vegetables. the wheels lurch at a nearly unfortunate angle, across
rail car ruts.

and boiling caps on the ocean, not at all near.

Saturday, May 16, 2009

The Proof Is In The Putting

[Some 'last' words before kicking off a run of imagistic text flow. The idea behind 'numbblog' is to
present, throo recitation and repetition, an alternative to the endless blog runs of photos of the
kids and new kittens for granma I've heard tell of and already mercifully encountered only very
little of, as a newbie to the magnificent world of 'puting.
Having already done several of these writing experiments on paper, (a few to completion), I felt it would be good to initially point out a few tips, only early on, for the two people out of billions that might actually give a rat's.
The little tips are here at the beginning postings, soon to be buried in the past for only the most
diehard who wants to try it for themselves.
My blessings and encouragement to both of you, whoever and wherever ye may be.
I am soon to be off into image land---most of these future blog postings will, to serve and appear
most like little chapters of a book, be bereft of most any explanation. But for the briefest of
notations along the way of just what the self-feeding text flow will be newly feeding on.
Again, for the interested as well as myself. (I might actually want to know what I'm doing
myself once in a while. I find that helps.)]

Friday, May 15, 2009

The Plop Sickens

[Today I'll gather all the words into an initial phrase list, almost as they are, but minus the two from the Blogger question. I always make every effort to drop any actual words from unoriginal
sources, unless it's some sort of trite, everyday expression or interstitial stuff. Other than the bracketted message here, the rest is ready made fodder...]:

theatre, piano key. mechanical chauffeur.

nibble-niche nestful of eggs.

themselves, yourself? Aunt ____ .

nothing news notice.

slowly, under the guise of a boiling cap.// frog under fern leaf.

tickle(d), time(d) weather.

Green Guild Society Brotherhood chalk. globe.

horse with glass eyes. carriage (full of ) vegetables. rail (car) rut.
(no) occupants.

(no) ocean (at all near).

[ In the last lines, the words were shifted around some, already. This could have occurred at
any point. It just happened to be the last ones this time.
Also, various other 'tweakings' have ensued-- I gotta have some kina fun with this 'crap'!].

Thursday, May 14, 2009

Easier Than It Sounds

[For principal words taken from yesterday's randoms, will apply a typical method of mine for
finding additional random words, (namely, contriving to place each of the given words
where they would occur in a different language dictionary's word flow, but, as i am much too
stupid to have learned another language, retaining their English spellings. Then, to get new random words, select, via the English meanings given, a 'next word' or 'near(ly) next word'...];

[Thus, using a Spanish/English dictionary this time, with two words from the Blogger question...]:

-team---(add possibilities) theatre; theatrical,... setting, putting on airs; piano key.

-meat---(add/replace with) mechanical, chauffeur.

[And using principal words from my answer to the Blogger question...]:

-nibble---(add/repl w) niche, hollow in a wall; nestful of eggs.

-themselves---yourself; aunt.

-nothing---news notice. ________ [ And so on, with some of the other words from yesterday.]:

-slowly---under the guise of.__ -boiling---cap.______ -frog---leaf, fern leaf, foliage.

-tickled---time, weather._______ -green---guild, society, brotherhood. chalk.

-horse---vegetables. __ -glass (eyes)---globe.__ -carriage---rail, rut.__ -occupants---ocean.

[Looks like enough starting fodder to me. You can either contrive to write a regular, commonly
styled piece, (however long or short is also up to you); or, if you're a malcontent like me, who is
bored by the prospect of writing all that trite & ordinary ' in between stuff ', take the unfortu-
nately less-travelled road and blow your own mind a bit with some oddball series strings that
seem to have no (obvious, yet) rhyme or 'reason', let alone a conclusion.

Wednesday, May 13, 2009

The Perfect Germ

[ Begin with the rather strange, and already surreal 'random question' unexpectedly provided by
Blogger itself ]:

"If there's no I in team, why is there meat?"

[As with a team of horses, and horsemeat, contrived the almost aurally parallel line]:

"If the horse has glass eye(s), how can it find the next street?"
[Presumably, there is thus also a carriage of some sort, with occupants.]

[Add to this the chance 'heard phrase']: "the slowly boiling frog" , [and my random email title of
last night, (5/12/09)] , "Tickled Green"

[Already a possible working/title]: ' The Case of /the Tickled Green Frog'