Reckless Riding

"You might think that but I couldn't possibly comment..." echoed through my mind as she raved, and raved, on and on and on about some idiot who had overtaken her on the left only to immediately turn right.It was a few days later when I heard that the police had arrested her and sent her down for 'reckless riding.' Apparently, the 'idiot' had crashed after the turn, and ended up in a private ward in the People's Hospital.

Seven Days

In seven days we'll be on he mountain, pristine alpine forests, fresh air, clear running streams and mineral springs! Fish, and birds, and small wild game! And Wood! Wood to burn! Only seven more days, what could possibly go wrong?

Prime Suspect

The Accountant was seated in a yellow pool of light. Rats nibbled on her ear lobes, there was no other movement. Motorbikes passed mindlessly by paying little or no attention - it was somebody else's problem. That somebody turned out to be me. She was the girlfriend reported missing a few days ago by her family and now, I was the Prime Suspect. I stepped sideways and took another photo.

The Crooked Letter

"Papi, Why is the sky blue?" Rachel asked. She was lying on her back in the shallow meadow, bits of grass and catkins clinging to her green and white checked frock and pinafore. Nearby sat her father on a fold up stool, under the weaping arms of an ancient willow tree, emptying the picnic hamper they'd packed earlier that morning. "Papi, Papi! Why is the sky blue?" Her father smiled and answered ryely, "Because 'Why' is a crooked letter that can't be straightened, Sweety. Come here and help me with the sandwiches and chicken."

The Retired Elite

The throaty, throbbing roar of a dozen panheads devoured the tinkling of bellbirds waging war over nesting territory, and spread through our township as the sun rose into the pale grey of early morning. I was walking briskly as four of, "The Great Hairy Unwashed" arrested me with a growl of implied threat, "Where do you think you're going, Old Man?" "Back to my camp," I replied, "You can follow if you like? I care not." They laughed with mirthless, cock-sure glee, and herded me forward with their bikes. They had no idea; and few knew of this, out of the way, high country, enclave. Or, that behind its painted facades, it's paintball, lasertag and mythbuster clubs, lived a retired elite; former members of a nation's once proud volunteer militias. The alarm had finally been sounded, and like the peel of the start of some boxers' bout, the game was on, now it was time for some fun.

The Water Carrier

"Hummel, Hummel!" yelled Dirk as he ran across the street to join me. "Morrs, Morrs!" I chorused in reply. "Who do you think will win the match today?" I asked, as we continued to jog the crowded path that flanked the edge of Hamburg's Binnenalster. "St. Pauli, of course!...?..." shreiked Dirk, as he stumbled and fell down, stone lined, stairs and into the water, disappearing under the bow of the docking 'Saselbek.'

Hot!

Hot! 53 degrees Celsius, in the shade, and a thunderous torrent, falling from the sky. Hot! Too hot, even to stand out in the rain! Hot! The sweat pools in every fold of my skin: I cannot move and my electricity supply has inexplicably stopped.

Emptiness

Blistering under  a sweltering heat, impaled on a vertical shaft, the pork bleeds beads of sizzling fat with every rotation. The Doner Kebab attendant is absent, and all 'round the streetcar there is an uncanny silence.

The Wait.

For the third time this week, I sit by a window at Cafe Goethe whilst a dark pedestal fan carries out sentry duty. Students of the Institute, occupy the pavement between classes but when the break is over, and the pavement empty, there is an suffocating quiet, a quiet, disturbed only by the propeller beat of this oscillating fan. I am waiting.

Harvest Time

A warm, brisk, breeze blows across dry, paddy fields carrying with it the smokey stench of dead rats and the smoldering ruination of shredded, rices stalks. Old men swing the sickle in timeless rhythm whilst the less experienced gather up sheaves to be hauled away, two by two, from the fields by foot, cart or boat, prior to being threshed at some designated collection point. It is late May and the Harvest has to come in.

Fisherman Paul

"Moin, Moin!" said Paul in a deep, gutteral growl through his beard and whiskers; his fisherman's cap leaning lopsided over one ear. I waved as he continued, "Na, wei geht's?" "I'm good," I replied, "so, Paul... what's got you dragging me out of bed at 3 am in the morning?" "The fish Bettina, they're glowing! You've got to see the fish!"

Two Minutes

"Two minutes is all it takes, to cross the bridge of welcome." droned our guest speaker from the dim lit podium at the front of the restaurant. It was another JCI event and I'd just dozed off. It was only two minutes, but it seemed like the passing of generations, one REM stutter after the other.

Like Name, Like Nature

It was the height of Summer and I was on the wrong side of a long line of drinks lying empty, on the bar of The Saxophone. Her name was "Sweaty Pouch." Names... they are beguiling things, names; rarely suiting the mantel of those who wear them, yet! Never has there been such a case as this... of... "like name, like nature."

Demise

They crawled over my office space like bugs and worms devouring every morsel of office document in their path. "Bloody Auditors" I thought, black bag men for the Tax Department. "Our hard earned tax dollars being put to good use" - exterminating small business startups - Corporate governance gone mad, intolerant of anything outside a multi-national framework for the future of our society. A society of drone laborers, fuelling the coporate machine, individual private enterprise a fabled myth, extinct, like free speech, self-determanism, individual liberty, and evenhanded justice. Alas, they have found my worn copy of deBono's "Handbook for the Positive Revolution." They look at me like some terrorist... The jackboots are coming.

Beginings and Endings

The maestro took the stand and with a soft voice filled the hushed silence that waited with anticipation. His words as clear as the tinkle of a crystal clear stream in some early morning mountain air, words spoken with a quiet but firm resolve, that held us in awe and stunned confusion, "There is a time for beginings and a time for endings, but who can say where one can be differentiated from the other, for all the time we have is... now!" The last word rang out like a shout as the first of a thousand micro-metorites ploughed through the sky and into the auditorium. Few, like me, survived. The apocalypse, foretold by a thousand generations, had finally come.

A guru's advice

"What you bring with you is what you will find!" swooned some wannabe guru as we trugged, huffing and puffing, struggling under the weight of our equipment, up the worn steps of another sacred hill so devoid of senic hutzpah as to leave us devestatingly passionless about the landscape. Another guru wannabe, lets fly from some semi-hidden alcove dug into the side of the rockface, "The outer journey is but illusion, a manefestation of the inner journey, the only true journey. Look inside!" "Bloody useless advice," I muttered, "You can't photograph what's within!"

Tiffany Twisted

"...'last thing I remember, I was running for the door. I couldn't find my whay out...there seemed to be no way out! Suddenly, there were voices down the corridor... it was too dark to see. The smell of earth, damp from the rain was strong. The next thing I remember was opening my eyes to an early morning, pale sunrise..." "So, what do you want from me?" asked the dusky coated private eye. "Mr. Jones, I want you to find her. Whereever she is, just find her."

The Baiting Game

"Grim days lie ahead." He said as he put his empty stein on the table. George couldn't resist, "Where ya from, Catweazle?" "Do you know me boy! Do ya think ya're being funny?" retorted that shaggy, white-haired man with handlebar moustache and goatee beard. The game was on, and George took to it with relish, he loved baiting old folk, "Keep ya shirt on, Nostradamus! I was just being friendly."

Success

It is Saturday, a day pretty much the same as every other Saturday before it. On this day, thie sun shines brightly in a clear blue sky. The gardens, a paradise to behold, are gently caressed by a cool, sea breeze. Fresh coffee in a clean cup rests on my outside table. I am immersed in all the trappings of success - environment, home, family, domestic staff, and pets... a living, breathing 'Hell on Earth!' there is no joy to be found in any of this, and nothing nourishes my soul.

The World of Bob

There is a place for everything and everything has it's place in the world of Bob. If you move something, put it back, exactly where it came from. Even a minor displacement can wreak havok elsewhere. The world of Bob is the engine of the universe. The butterfly effect has real meaning here, it's not just a theory.