K. Morris's Blog, page 813

Ramblings

Something intangible is passing, perhaps it is long since gone. Walking among these trees, I feel sadness carried on the breeze. Something  great and profound has vanished, forever lost in the mists of time. Soon the leaves will fall to the ground, rich golden brown. Something is gone, impossible to express or define, that which is destroyed by time.

I can not express what I want to say, words fly erratically away. Trees representing permanence stand but something is lost, I only dimly understand.

The Girl Who Got Away Dido

I am a huge fan of Dido and own all her albums. I recently purchased Girl Who Got Away and there is, as always a lot on it which gives tremendous pleasure. I particularly like The Day Before We Went to War, http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4THzaCrMht4. The sound of the birds at the start and end of the music are evocative of peaceful times as is Dido’s singing but the song of the birds can be contrasted with the planes flying overhead.

On balance my next favourite track is Happy New Year which is sung in such a sad and beautiful manner, (for some reason I am unable to copy the link to this video. You can, however find it on Youtube by searching for “happy new year Dido”. As always a great album by a talented artist.

Taboo

“The only part of conduct of any one, for which he is amenable to society, is that which concerns others. In the part, which merely concerns himself, his

independence is, of right, absolute. Over himself, over his own body and mind, the individual is sovereign.” (J S Mill in his essay “On Liberty”).

 

—

 

I still can’t believe that my 2 oldest friends, John and Fiona are gone, there lives snuffed out in an instant. It made the local news on the BBC. The police are still questioning the lorry driver but it seems that he fell asleep at the wheel and hit my friend’s car. Only yesterday we where enjoying dinner in our favourite restaurant and now they are gone.

“You don’t need to start straight away. Why not leave it a few days before going through John and Fiona’s things darling” my wife said putting her arms around my neck.

“No sweetheart I need to feel that I’m doing something. I can’t just sit here. It will have to be done and I’d rather get it over with”.

I ought to explain that besides being their oldest friend I was appointed as one of John and Fiona’s executors along with Bob Marshal. I haven’t been able to get hold of Bob so I may as well get things moving.

Is this what we are reduced to in death? A myriad personal effects, two wardrobes bulging with clothes and one small filing cabinet which looks as though it was purchased from a catalogue shop. Oh god the bed sheets are all tangled up as though from love making. My old friends I hope your last night was spent in blissful passion. I must get out of the bedroom. I can’t deal with this right now. The living room I’ll start there.

I took that photograph, the one on the mantelpiece. Fiona pushing my daughter, Matilda on the swing while Matilda smiles that smile that could melt the coldest of hearts. John is looking on with a huge grin on his face. To think we’ll never be together again, no more laughter. I haven’t had the heart to call Matilda at university. Its almost exam time and the news will devastate her. She was so fond of Fiona and John, I’ll wait until the examinations are over and tell her then.

How alike John and Fiona seem in that picture. Brown hair, those hazel eyes, even the same delicate little nose. People always commented on their similarity. They must have got sick of all the comments but neither of them ever showed any outward sign of irritation with the nosy parkers who felt that they had the right to interfere in their lives.

“Its just one of life’s little coincidences” John and Fiona would reply smilingly in response to comments about how alike they looked.

Poor Matilda she will be heart broken when I tell her. John and Fiona treated her as though she was their own daughter. Fiona’s face is alight with joy as she pushes Matilda on that swing. I can’t understand why they never had children of their own. John and Fiona would have made wonderful parents, you can see how Matilda adores them, just look at her face in the photograph. I once asked Fiona whether she and John had considered having children.

“I love children Martin but bringing a life into the world is such a massive responsibility”.

“But Fiona there are lots of parents who don’t care about their children. You and John would make much better parents than many of the people who treat their children like possessions. You both have a real feeling for children. Matilda adores you both. She is always asking when she can go and visit uncle John and auntie Fiona”.

“There are genetic reasons Martin. I don’t want to talk about them. I don’t mean to be rude but as my oldest friend I’m sure that you will respect our reasons for not wishing to discuss having children”.

I was a little taken back by Fiona’s somewhat brusque response, however not wishing to sour a friendship which meant so much I agreed never to raise the subject again.

Looking back at our friendship Fiona and John adroitly changed the subject whenever the topic of their families was raised.

“We where both born under gooseberry bushes” they would say laughing uproariously whenever anyone asked about their parents.

“But seriously, Fiona/John I’ve known you both for 15 years but I know nothing about your families. I’ve never met any of your relations”.

“The stalk left us both under the gooseberry bush” they would both answer in unison their bodies convulsing with laughter.

Well looking at photographs won’t achieve anything. Lets take a look in that filing cabinet. Typical sloppy John and Fiona, the key is in the lock. Now what is the point of having a lockable filing cabinet if you leave the key in the lock?!

Not much here. A few bills, two passports and a photograph album. Martin you are here to go through papers not to look through old photos. But a quick flip through won’t take up much time will it? No of course it won’t, I’ll just have a brief look and then get on with sorting through that folder of papers that I found lying under the album.

That lady looks just like John. Hold on she looks like both of them. The same features, the self-same brown hair and hazel eyes. I don’t understand, who is she? Another sibling?

Looking at pictures isn’t getting me anywhere. Lets have a look at whats in this folder. Birth certificates for Fiona and John Hamilton. Christ no wonder they shyed away from discussing their families, they are/where brother and sister.

That’s disgusting, how could they do that. Its not natural, I feel sick to the stomach when I think about it. But Martin they weren’t harming anyone. They where just two adults in a loving relationship who happened to be brother and sister. But if they had brought children into the world the kids would have had a high probability of suffering from serious disabilities, quite possibly severe mental disability. The taboo against incest is there for a very good reason. Incestuous relationships are unnatural, even animal breeders avoid breeding brother with sister because it is neither healthy nor natural to do so. They didn’t have children though. Fiona and John hinted at the reason for not having children but you like a fool where to blind to comprehend. So does the fact that they took a decision not to have children make it all OK then? I don’t know. My gut reaction is one of revulsion, its not normal, they must have been sick to do what they did. But they where good to you and Matilda. They genuinely loved your daughter and Matilda loved them to bits. What will Matilda say when I tell her? I can’t tell her or anyone else, why drag the reputation of a sweet harmless couple through the dirt when they are dead? But they weren’t sweet and harmless, John and Fiona broke not only the law of the land, they breeched that most ancient of taboos, the prohibition against sleeping with your closest relatives. Would you have reported them if you had discovered their secret while John and Fiona where still both living? Yes. No. I don’t know. They where my dear, dear friends. John and Fiona never hurt anyone. What they did turns my stomach but they did no harm to anyone. Let sleeping dogs lie.

Ah that’s what I’m looking for, the electric shredder. In go the photographs and the birth certificates. That’s it all over now.

 

The end

Lady in Red

“It’s Friday evening and that means clubbing. Yeah I can’t wait to get out there on the dance floor. The thud of the beat and all those guys watching as I strut my stuff gives me such a buzz. They can’t keep their eyes off me and their paws too. I can wrap any bloke round my little finger. The power of sex, use and abuse it, get what you want and move on.

God I feel sexy. What will it be? The tight red dress and matching skirt? Yeah that looks great. Where are my stilettos? Got them, I must have thrown them under the bed when I had that bloke last weekend. Mum never says anything about the blokes. As soon as she gets her benefits she’s down the pub picking up her own guy. She tried telling me what to do once.

“You’re a fucking slapper. I’m not having you bring blokes back here. You’re a disgrace. I didn’t bring you up to behave like a little tramp. I’m not putting up with it any more Kylie!”

I told her to fuck off and stormed out of the house. What right has she got to tell me how to live my life. Fucking waste of space she is. When it was happening she did nothing. She says she didn’t know. She didn’t know, my arse! If she had no idea then she bloody well should have known. To fond of the drink to care about me.

Well here I am. Club’s heaving, it always is at the weekend. Look at that bloke he can’t keep his eyes off me. He’s actually drooling. Pathetic loser, I’ll chew him up and spit him out like a piece of chewing gum. His hands are all over me the dirty fucker. He wants it bad. OK mate you asked for it,

“Want to come back to mine” I say grinding against him. Of course he does, the dirty fucker.

Sometimes I let them finish before I say anything. Other times I tell them while they are screwing me. Stupid twats you should see their faces when I tell them the truth. I just say casual like

“I’m 15 wanna see my school uniform”.

It’s a great little earner. No bloke wants to be called a nonce. They beat the crap out of nonces in prison but you know that anyway don’t you? Course you do. Anyway I’ve got more cash than all my mates put together. Blokes are stupid, they deserve everything that comes to them.

Sometimes when I’m by myself I can’t stop crying. Just 10 I was when that bastard slipped into my bed while mum was asleep. The things he made me do. Just a little girl and mum says she didn’t no, bollocks mum, bollocks world!”

I’m confused

In the words of that rumpled detective, Columbo “I’m confused”! On Amazon, in the FAQ it states that all publishers are required to submit taxpayer information, however it is also stated that non-US publishers are not required to submit a US tax identifier number. The reason for my incoherent ramblings on this subject are that Amazon state that books will be removed by a specified date if publishers do not submit their tax information and as a self published author I don’t wish my books to vanish into a gaping void never to see the light of day again! Living in the UK I took Amazon’s statement as meaning that I, as a non-US tax payer am not obliged to submit tax information, however on querying this with Amazon I was informed that I am, indeed required to do so. It is all as clear as mud to a mere simpleton such as me! For information on the rules regarding author/publisher tax information submission please see the FAQ at https://kdp.amazon.com/self-publishing/help?topicId=200641090.

Sting in the tail by K Morris free on Amazon

My collection of short stories, Sting in the tail and other stories, will be free to download on Amazon from 2-6 September. For further details please visit http://www.amazon.com/Sting-tail-other-stories-ebook/dp/B00DFK6R54.

I’m Not Good In The Morning

“Hello” he said. Of course I don’t answer. Perhaps you will think me rude as a greeting should illicit a response. But look at things from my perspective. There I am relaxing in my bed, minding my own business and he breezes in and says “hello”! What you still think that I’m lacking in social graces do you? Well how would you like to be disturbed at a little after 6 am by a cheery fool saying “hello?” I thought not, you wouldn’t be thrilled either so you can, I think understand why I totally blanked my friend’s attempt to engage me in conversation.

Not content with disturbing my beauty sleep he will humiliate me later today by expecting me to wear a harness. Not just in private in our home. No that would be bad enough, he expects me to wear it in public. Surely there is a law against such things and, if there isn’t then I’d urge you to lobby your MPs to bring one in urgently! Does anyone know whether making a guide dog wear a harness breeches my human rights?”

Meanest Feedback for Writers--a Worst Ten List

Reblogged from michaelalexanderchaney:

 Writing criticism is a terribly, terribly hard thing to deal with. There are lots of rules. Never start a piece of writing with a cliché. Never end a sentence with a preposition. Avoid gratuitous adverbs. My first sentence just broke most of them. But while rules abound for the corralling, branding, and slaughtering of bad writing, shouldn’t there be more about what NOT to say to the fragile neophyte writer?

Read more… 1,420 more words

The Exam

“Exams are important don’t let anyone try to convince you otherwise. People will try telling you that they don’t matter in the great scheme of things

“There is more to life than exams Lisa. It isn’t the end of the world if you don’t obtain the grades to get into university” mum told me.

This is all bollocks. I’ve no intention of spending my life flipping burgers in some crummy burger bar. Do you know they have the cheek to call these places restaurants?! Problem is, strictly between you and I, you won’t let it go any further will you? Promise, cross your heart and hope to die? Well as you only have my first name and it would be impossible to trace me I’ll let you into a little secret. The truth is that I am not academically gifted. Don’t get me wrong I try. No one tries harder than me. I’ve spent weekends huddled over my books cramming for my exams, “Lisa no mates that’s me” but it goes in one ear and comes out the other. I just can’t remember things, head like a sieve thats me!

Well here I am now in my room at uni. You should have seen my mum’s face when I got the grades. There she stood her mouth gaping open like a stranded fish. Quite comical really. So did all my hard work pay off? Well it wasn’t that difficult for an 18-year-old bomb shell like me to seduce the head master and get my hands on the exam papers prior to the examination. Perhaps academic qualifications aren’t everything after all”.

Paying For It

Marcus Philipps MP shifted uncomfortably in his seat. It was hot in the BBC studio, he could feel the perspiration running down his neck. At only 34 he was tipped as the next Home Secretary. Marcus possessed all the attributes required by a politician in the media age to reach the heights of political power. His boyish good looks and winning smile made him a hit with the electorate and, in particular the ladies. Coming from a working class background (his mother worked as a dinner lady while Marcus’s father was employed as a caretaker in the same school) it was impossible for opponents to accuse him of being out of touch with the electorate. His children attended the local comprehensive and he could often be seen in the company of his photogenic wife, Jenny travelling on public transport. Dig as they might the tabloids had failed to unearth any skeletons in Marcus’s cupboard.

“Thank you for joining us to talk about your private members bill to make paying for sex a criminal offence in Britain. Is this proposal really necessary? Its already a criminal offence for a prostitute or client to solicit in a public place. The law criminalises paying for the services of a person who has been forced into prostitution irrespective of whether the purchaser is aware that the prostitute has been coerced. Shouldn’t the government concentrate on enforcing existing legislation rather than adding yet another law to the statute book?”

Marcus leaned forward a look of outrage on his face.

“It simply isn’t acceptable in the 21st century for men to buy women and children. Slavery was abolished in the 19th century and yet it still persists in 21st century Britain. My bill would impose a fine or imprisonment on anyone paying for the sexual services of another. We must put a stop to the buying and selling of human beings”.

“But, in the words of the song doesn’t it “take two to tango? Is it really any concern of the state if two consenting adults choose to enter into a financial arrangement for the purchase of sexual services provided that the service takes place in private and not in a public place?”

“No one chooses to become a prostitute. Those engaged in sex work do so out of desperation, to pay for their drug habit. Many of the prostitutes working in our cities entered prostitution at the age of 14. Obviously 14-year-olds can’t consent to prostituting themselves. The men (and a few women) who use prostitutes are perpetuating the misery which goes with the sex industry. They are responsible in part for fueling the drug trade and the other criminality which inevitably accompanies prostitution.

All the evidence from Sweden, the first country to prohibit paying for sexual services, indicates that the introduction of the law has seen a dramatic decline in the presence of street based prostitution. This is because clients know that they risk arrest which has lead to a substancial decrease in those paying for sex”.

“Surely adult men and women who voluntarily prostitute themselves have some responsibility for their own actions? Is it right to penalise the customer while leaving the sex worker free to continue to operate?”

“It is the prostitute who is being exploited by selfish individuals who’s only concern is their own sexual gratification. Prostitutes are, in the overwhelming majority of cases victims of circumstance who possess only minimal control over their own lives. My bill will help to put a stop to modern slavery”.

“Isn’t that a bit dramatic? What about the ladies who work as professional escorts and who can earn thousands of pounds in a month?”

“That is a red herring. Those who work as escorts are a tiny percentage of prostituted men and women. I wouldn’t want my 13-year-old daughter to enter prostitution and I’m sure that the vast majority of viewers will agree with me that any legislation which can protect our young people must be supported”.

“We are out of time I am afraid. Marcus Philipps many thanks for coming into the studio”.

“Thank you for inviting me”.

—

The girls shivered in unison as a cold blast of wintery air blew down the alley. Bare arms many of them scarred as a result of frequent injection of heroin where wrapped around their bodies in a vain attempt to keep warm. In the depths of winter their flimsy attire (short skirts and low cut tops) indicated to anyone other than the most obtuse observer that they where ladies of the night.

The man eyed each girl intently as he sauntered past. That familiar frisson of excitement coursed through his veins. He loved his wife but married life was tedious. Indeed his whole existence ran along deeply rutted tracks which would in time take him to the pinnacle of his profession. With a prostitute he could do things which his wife would never entertain. Above all the man was able to escape from the glare of publicity and, for a brief moment let go and be himself.

The girl stood apart from the rest. Unlike most of the ladies her bare arms where smooth and unblemished. She was obviously new to the game.

“How much?” he asked.

“What do you want?”

“A full personal”.

“Sex is £50”.

Reaching into his pocket the man extracted the money and handed it to the girl. Flash bulbs popped.

“Marcus would you care to tell our readers how you square paying for sex with your proposals to criminalise those who pay for sexual services?” The young reporter asked.