K. Morris's Blog, page 776
August 20, 2014
Such Things As Dreams Are Made Of
Yesterday morning I awoke after having experienced a series of vivid dreams. I am registered blind with a small amount of residual vision which, in essence means that I can see outlines of objects but not details. Consequently if I pass a friend in the street and they fail to speak to me (no that doesn’t happen or not that I am admitting to anyway), I wouldn’t recognise them by their outline. When dreaming the situation is precisely the same – I see vague outlines but nothing of substance. My hearing and other senses remain fully functional as in what we term “the real world”.
On awaking it occurred to me how we all go to sleep in the belief that we will wake up either as a consequence of our natural body clock or due to some external reason, for example a loud sound having disturbed our slumber. However this is not, necessarily the case. Anyone of us may cease to occupy this earthly realm at any juncture, either while waking or passing (hopefully peacefully) while asleep. Like a computer being shut down, the brain will, at some indeterminate point cease to operate and silence pervade the great machine.
All this is rather sombre, however on my way home yesterday evening, feeling the wind in my face and smelling new mown hay I felt the joy of living. Yes we may “cease upon the midnight with no pain” but, hopefully the nightingale will sing for us while we live and we can relish his song.
August 19, 2014
Anyone For Bacon?
I fear for my safety should my guide dog, Trigger encounter this bike giving off delicious bacon smells. I would, I suspect end up in hot pursuit of said machine with Trigger’s teeth firmly clamped to the bike’s exhaust. The rider would, I think end up rather like the Pied Piper with a host of dogs of every conceivable variety following hard on Trigger’s paws (I would have said heels but, as dogs don’t possess them I will refrain from doing so)!
August 18, 2014
Ilana
“World War I was the underlying cause of the Bolshevik Revolution. Discuss”.
History has never been my strong point to put it mildly! I guess that its more complicated than the question suggests. Besides the war,the “great man” theory of history must have played a part. Surely old Vladimir Lenin’s powerful personality must have influenced the overthrow of the Tsarist regime. I mean it stands to reason, doesn’t it?
If it wasn’t for all my partying I’d probably be better able to answer that damn question. Any excuse for a party and you can bet your bottom dollar, I’ll be there.
“Hi Stan, mum and dad are away for the weekend, fancy coming over tonight?”
I was sitting on my bed, Ipad in hand willing myself to tackle that bloody history assignment when that text from Pete arrived. Sod Tsar Nicholas II and the Communists. It was nearly 100 years ago, what the hells it got to do with the here and now. I’ve only recently turned 18, for christ’s sake I’ve better things to do than bury myself in dusty old books, I’m off to Pete’s place.
—
She’s really something. That long black hair and long, toned bare legs reaching right up to her armpits.
“Hi I’m Stan, you’re gorgeous. Has anyone ever told you that?” Shit what a corney chat up line. If I where her I’d tell me to go and screw myself. What a prat you are Stan. You haven’t got a bloody clue how to chat to the ladies!
“Hi, I’m Ilana” she says in slightly accented English, fixing me with those dark eyes of her’s.
“Has anyone ever told you how sexy you sound Ilana?” If I didn’t blow it the first time I opened my big mouth then I’ve sure as hell made a prize idiot of myself this time. Any moment now she’ll adopt that look of withering contempt women’s faces take on whenever I’ve uttered a few sentences.
“Thanks, you’re a sweet guy. My family’s from Hungary. I came here as a little girl but I’ve still got a slight accent”.
“Really, didn’t the Soviets invade Hungary in the 1950’s?”
“Yes, in 1956. Its known as the Hungarian Uprising. My parents are from an ancient Magyar family, aristocrats in fact. When the Soviet tanks rolled in they managed to flee to the UK”.
Wow perhaps she can help me with my essay and, even if she can’t I just want to spend as much time as possible chatting to this gorgeous girl. “Do you know much about the Bolshevik Revolution?”
She throws back her head and laughs, her perfect white teeth glinting in the candlelight (Pete’s always had a thing for candles, he says it makes the atmosphere more intimate).
Stan” she says entwining her fingers in mine) history is my passion. Since the birth of civilisation my people have been persecuted and killed. The Hungarian puppitt government was just one manifestation of the suffering inflicted on my race. So, yes I know all about the Bolshevik Revolution and it’s effects on my people”.
“Do you think you could help me with an essay on the causes of the Revolution? I need to hand it in on Monday morning”.
“Sure”.
“How about tomorrow, at, say 1 pm?” I say knowing full well that my parents will be visiting friends on Saturday and won’t return until Sunday evening.
“I’m not a daytime girl. I party all night and sleep late into the day” she says squeezing my hand. Thrills of anticipation shoot through me. “I’ll be with you just as the moon rises which (she says consulting her mobile) will be a little after 9”.
—
“Hello Stan” she says, looking absolutely stunning in a very short red dress which leaves little to the imagination.
“Hi Ilana. Come in” I say trying not to blush.
“Thank you”. Her Hungarian accent, barely imperceptible yesterday, seems much more pronounced this evening. Perhaps it’s the lack of loud music which makes me notice such things.
We walk through into the lounge.
“Would you like a drink?”
“No, just sit next to me” she says patting the sofa.
I plop down next to her. “Stan you are a very handsome man” she says her blood red lips parting in a smile to reveal those amazingly white teeth. So perfect. Sharp little daggers of enamel glistening under the overhead light. I draw back involuntarily.
“Stan, I thought you liked me, is something wrong?” she says her delicate tongue moistening those ruby lips.
“No its just that” I trail off my eyes fixed on those needle sharp little teeth.
“It’s a privilege experienced by very few men to enjoy the intense pleasure of one such as I” she says her mouth inches away from mine. She leans in softly taking my face in her hands. Her lips so soft on my neck. Feather like kisses sending waves of delight through me. A sharp scratch like a needle when one gives blood. She laps greedily as a cat drinks milk. I am giddy with fear and desire.
August 17, 2014
Vampire
The owl’s mournful cry caused the young woman to gaze up into the night sky. Death glided gracefully overhead in search of his prey.
“I salute you my friend” the woman said raising her hand to signify her respect.
Her coal black hair blue in the rising wind. She licked her full red lips and smiled. Briliant white teeth reflected back the light of the moon. She, to was in search of her prey.
REM Night Swimming
Some 20 years ago my friend John gave me a tape of the REM album containing Losing My Religion. I still have the cassette somewhere although it ceased to play many moons since. Other than Losing My Religion, Night Swimming is probably my favourite REM track. The song talks of freedom, of lost youth and so much more, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NGbZFBcO9Dk
Windy Morning
Sitting at my desk, the wind gusting outside. Something indefinable, slippery as an eel escaping my grasp. What is it, a sense of beauty combined with loss. The loss of connection between humanity and nature. A sense of sadness, of something passing perhaps never to be regained. We wrap ourselves in the comforting blanket of technology shutting out nature’s wonders. People walking through beautiful places glued to their mobiles. Ipods turned up, humans unaware of their fellow man, and still the wind cries outside.
Autumn Born
Originally posted on ROXI ST. CLAIR:
Seasons change, Nature’s fair,
while this August loiters by.
September whispers in the air,
as Summer trembles in her sky.
Soon, the sunny dusk and dawn,
shall set and rise with scorn —
another Season’s waking yawn,
from the infant Autumn born.
© Roxi St. Clair
August 16, 2014
007771002981
There I was bevering away, working at home when my landline rang. Now the only person who regularly calls me on the house phone is my mum, my friends get in touch via my mobile or e-mail. I was, however logged into my office phone (the wonders of modern technology)! So concluded it was, in all probability one of my colleagues calling. I therefore answered the phone and engaged in a conversation which went something like this:
Me, “Hello”.
Indian sounding gentleman, “I am calling from the TPS (it may have been CPS), you have reported receiving nuisance calls, is that right?”
Me, “How did you get this number?” (I am x directory meaning that my number is unlisted).
Indian gentleman, “I asked the first question”.
Me struggling not to give vent to a string of expletives, “I didn’t ask you to call, good afternoon” and, with a flick of my finger I ended the call.
In the UK we have the Telephone Preference Service (TPS) with which people can register not to receive marketing and unsolicited calls, free of charge. However the TPS will never call people out of the blue so, quite obviously the caller was not from the TPS.
On checking the number of the so-called TPS 007771002981 was displayed. I Googled the number which brought up links to sites on which angry recipients of calls from the above number vented their spleen (see, for example the following link http://uk.whocalledme.com/PhoneNumber/07771002981). It appears from this and other examples that the company (which is not the legitimate TPS which performs an invaluable function in preventing nuisance calls) is misleading people into thinking that it is the TPS and attempting to get the recipients of their cold calls to part with money for a call blocking machine. Ironic that a company marketing a call blocker should, itself engage in cold calling! With a bit of luck Wednesday’s unsolicited call will be the last I hear from 007771002981. I am, however not holding my breath on that score.
August 14, 2014
Darkness
From the darkness we came and to the darkness we shall return.
The above words came to me when I woke up today, on a gloomy UK morning. Looking them up on the web there are variations on the quote but not the precise wording given above.
We come from the dark womb then, sooner or later we enter, as Hamlet so eloquently puts it “The undiscovered country from whose bourne no traveller returns”. Am I in a dark mood? Not particularly. The quote popped into my head this morning and seemed appropriate to share it.
August 13, 2014
Houseproud
Have you noticed how hypnotic washing machines can be. The swish, swish of the clothes going round, the movement of the drum and the gentle whirr of the motor can soothe the most savage of breasts.
As you can tell,I like doing the laundry. There’s an art to it. Its not just about throwing in the washing, willy nilly with any old soap powder. You need a good quality powder and a fabric conditioner. The conditioners vital as it not only softens the fabric it also destroys any lingering odours.
My wife, Emma jokes that I have OCD.
“You don’t need to clean every day darling, once or twice a week is fine!”
“But you work so hard sweetheart. I can’t just sit around while you work all the hours god sends”, I say kissing her on the lips.
The house needs to be perfect. Next time you visit one of your friend’s homes look under the sofa or the bed and you will see dust, pet hairs and heaven knows what else. Most people including my darling Emma are Lazy, they clean the visible places but work on the basis that what the eye doesn’t see the heart doesn’t grieve over, hence the filth under so many beds and sofas!
I always wipe all surfaces. You can’t be to careful about bacteria and other things. A damp cloth with just a trace of fairy liquid works wonders on the mattress.
Emma is so untidy. I’m forever picking up her shoes and storing them neatly on the shoe rack. You never see me throw my dirty underware on the floor but I’ve lost count of the amount of times I’ve found my darling Emma’s bra or knickers randomly lying under the bed or in the bathroom. I’m sure its true that women are generally more house proud than men. I guess I’m the exception that proves the rule.
Lots of Emma’s friends are jealous.
“I wish my Tom was like that” I heard Paula say only the other day. Emma just smiled and squeezed my hand under the restaurant table.
She’ll be home soon. One last tidy up before the lady of the house returns. The living room looks great. Its wonderful what effect Bees Wax has on the furniture.
Everything looks good in the bedroom. Freshly laundered sheets smelling of fabric conditioner and all the clothes neatly put away in the wardrobes, one wardrobe for me and another for Emma. Everything in it’s place, what a wonderful husband you are John!
How could I have missed them? A pair of Emma’s shoes underneath the righthand wardrobe, at the back by the wall. I vacuumed, I always do but the vacuum cleaner must have pushed them to the back without me noticing. Pick them up and take them through to the shoe rack in the hall.
Emma’s key in the door, I must go and greet my darling wife. What a funny sight I must be rushing to the door a pair of women’s shoes in my hand!
“Hello darling” I say putting the shoes on the little phone table just inside the front door and taking Emma into my arms.
“Hi sweetheart, its lovely to see you to” she says running her fingers through my hair. “Who’s are those? Hold on Jenny has a pair exactly like that, I was in John Lewis with her when she bought them” she says taking up the shoes. “Yes, I distinctly remember her buying these …”. She trails off her eyes boring into mine. I look away. Shit, to be caught out by a pair of bloody black stilettos when I’ve meticulously cleaned and tidied the house from top to bottom. Not stains on the bedsheets or lipstick on the wine glass but a damn pair of women’s shoes, oh shit!
Jenny fragrant with the scent of lavender, my beautiful Jenny kicking her shoes with gay abandon under the wardrobe and diving into bed. I love high heels. Jenny likes what she calls “sensible” shoes so she comes in stilettos to make me happy but leaves in flats. I remember her slipping on her “sensible” shoes before leaving. I didn’t think anything about the stilettos. Bang goes my marriage and all over a pair of fucking stilettos.
