Characters
Rubber, unsporting male, personalized cap: rubber
Razor, unsporting male, personalized cap: lucky
Peter, athletic male, personalized cap: perfect
Amanda, girlish female, personalized cap: manned
Kim, indolent male, personalized cap: big easy
Mark, furious male, personalized cap: ham
Julia, strong female, personalized cap: jewel
ACT ONE
A COMMUNITY CRICKET CLUB STUDIO.
MARK SITTING IN A SIMPLE CHAIR ON THE LEFT OF SCREEN; JULIA AT HIS SIDE. OPPOSITE IS RUBBER, WHO IS NEARER, AND RAZOR, WHO IS REMOTER; BOTH IN EQUALLY SIMPLE CHAIRS AND ON THE RIGHT. SOME DISTANCE SEPARATES THE TWO GROUPS.
PETER AND AMANDA STAND WITH KIM, AMANDA LOOKING AROUND AND OVER HER SHOULDER AT THE CREW, PETER WATCHING WHERE SHE WATCHES, KIM WATCHING JULIA AND MARK WITH ONE EYE.
MARK IS IN HIS CLUB TRACKSUIT, LEFT ANKLE AND FOOT IN A CAST AND CRUTCHES AT HIS FEET. RUBBER AND RAZOR ARE MORE FORMALLY ATTIRED, IF ONLY SLIGHTLY. ALL ARE WEARING AT LEAST ONE CLUB GARMENT.
THE MUSIC DIES AS JULIA WISHES MARK WELL AND DEPARTS, AMANDA MAKES AN EXIT FOLLOWED BY PETER AND KIM.
SILENCE.
MARK
Welcome to Week 1 of The Worms. My name is Mark Weirdlam and I’ll be your host tonight. I am the Captain of The Third Eleven of The Worms Cricket Club. We have in the studio members of the club. Our first guests are “Rubber” Horrid and “Razor” Duckrod. Welcome.
RUBBER
Thanks Mark, it’s great to be here.
RAZOR
Thank you.
MARK
Now Rubber, we know from our interview last season that you are the president. You’re also the captain of the fourths now too.
RUBBER
That’s right Mark. Thanks for that. We have a lot of green one’s down there. They need some guidance. Leadership. That’s what I provide.
MARK
How are they coming out?
RUBBER
I’m working on a mystery ball. That’s going well. That’s all about deception. Deception. That’s what it’s about.
MARK
Is this something you’ve been working on for a while?
RUBBER
I had the idea years ago. Now that I’m in the lowest grade I can get away with a lot more. The opposition is not the same. I can get away with a lot more. They don’t know how to pick my balls out of the hand.
MARK
Can you Razor?
RAZOR
Standing in the slips to Rubber you see a lot. I can pick his balls from the air. How his balls spin is the way I do it. Then I’ve stood in a slip for Rubber many times.
RUBBER
I like to have Razor in a slip.
MARK
Now Razor you’re a spinner too.
RAZOR
I’m Rubber’s spin-twin. We’re spin-twins. I keep an end tight. I keep my end tight. He gives his balls plenty of air. I keep it tight. I keep my end tight. I let Rubber do what he wants at the other end. I let him have all the fun. I just keep it tight. Tight for him. Usually he goes into the wind. He likes to push into whichever way it’s blowing. Sometimes we swing it around. I’ll have a go from his end. That’s rare.
RUBBER
It’s important for me to have someone up the other end who can keep it tight. Keep the runs down. Some blokes just leak runs. Not him. He does keep it tight. Very much so.
MARK
Now I have to tell the viewers that I have faced both these men. Both are masters of spin. Both have balls that drop and skiddy balls too. Masters of deception both. Now a great result for your One’s at the weekend but all other sides suffered losses.
RUBBER
Cot Point is our opponent next. We’ll just be focusing on them. Focussing on us focussing on them. We’ll just focus on ourselves. There will be changes this week. We have a policy. Focus.
RAZOR
What happened with Baxter was necessary. Believe me, we’ve copped barbs about that. I think the heat got to our players. That won’t happen again. We won’t have jumpers again. We won’t tolerate jumpers! Unless they’re white. We have white jumpers. We tolerate white jumpers! We’ve locked up the others. We’ll wear white jumpers. We won’t wear brown one’s. We won’t wear yellow one’s. The white ones come in via the air. The others come by boat.
RUBBER
That’s the policy. Yellowing is not inevitable. The integrity of our whites must remain. The whiteness of our members is vital. We have to work changes. Changes work. We have choices. We have to work choices. We have. Do you want to see my mystery ball?
MARK
You’ve made some changes.
RUBBER
Changes we’ve made. We’ve made changes. We deemed them changeworthy. Worthy of it. Change. We’ve informed those changes of the change. We think it’s profitable. If we’re to compete we need to change. We won’t change.
MARK
Now some of our viewers may not know that I have been, temporarily, replaced as captain of the Third Team. My replacement is Alexander Depressant. French. I think. That’s one change. Others have been forecast.
RAZOR
Alexander has assumed the position.
RUBBER
If we are to compete we need to make changes. I can’t guarantee anyone they will keep their position. I can guarantee Razor a position. I’d like to take this opportunity to guarantee him a position as my vice. It comes out the back of the hand. Out of the back. The grip differs ever so slightly. It’s the pinky and the ring. Pinky and ring. It comes out the back. It spins a lot. It’s a mystery ball. It’s a mystery!
RAZOR
He has assumed the position.
RUBBER
It hurries through. I hope it goes into the hands of the men in close. Their hands. The opposition can’t get stuck into it. It has to hurry through. It skids. It’s the ring and the pinky. It’s over the top.
MARK
I’m getting the wind up Gentlemen. We are out of time. Thank you Rubber and Razor for being with us tonight. Good luck for the future. We look forward to seeing you again. Coming up next we have Peter Rotcheese and his partner Amanda.
RAZOR
The position. Him.
RUN C31 ADS.
ACT TWO
AS BEFORE. MARK AS BEFORE. PETER IN RUBBER’S FORMER SEAT AND AMANDA IN RAZOR’S.
PETER IS IN THONGS AND SHORTS WITH A CLUB T-SHIRT. AMANDA IS OVERDRESSED.
MARK
Welcome back. Many years ago a young tearaway with long hair walked into our club and has not looked back. The first foot that landed in the club was a left one but ever since then he has been coming down hard with the right one. The hair has thinned and his work with the wood is better. Welcome Peter.
PETER
Thanks Ham.
MARK
It didn’t take him long before he had hooked up with his partner of thirteen years. She has made an enormous impact on the club. Welcome Amanda.
AMANDA
Pleasure Hammy.
MARK
Terrific result for you on Saturday Peter. Won the toss. You picked up another bag. Caught a hot one in the gully.
PETER
I picked up a bag. It fell into my lap. I kept it straight. They were a bit loose. A couple went through the gate. One was caught deep. I had another in close. A couple went in the slips. The slips were wide. I got a bag. One went down in the gully region. I like the gully myself. Many’s the lazy arvo I’ve spent in the gully region. Sometimes I’ll share the gully. Two in the gully. You often pick up a few that way. Many’s the arvo I’ve picked up a couple with a partner. Especially when it’s moving around a bit. I like it in close too. Closer than the gully. I don’t mind popping on the old helmet. Crouching down in close waiting. Slipping into a box with my helmet on. Sometimes they really fly off the pads. That’s when you take them. When they come off the pads they come quick. On the odd occasion they come straight off the face. That’s the time to keep the rim of the helmet low. You might wind up with a bloody face otherwise.
MARK
You made a pile of runs. Even though the pull has been the most productive you still have a glance. When you hit it past the rope what happens?
AMANDA
I retrieve the balls. I see the little red things rolling along and I scurry off. I’ve been taught to get right behind it. Cushion it’s momentum and wait. Sometimes it’s hard. I just get so anxious to handle the ball. I fumble it or the thing goes rolling between my legs. Then I pick it up and throw it back in. I do this until the sun goes down. Either way all the blokes seem to enjoy what I do. I like to lend a hand around the place. What with sandwiches and so on. Cheese is my favourite. I just have a thing for cheese. I don’t know what it is. The blokes like the soft white stuff that I have. I don’t care much for that. Just give me the cheese. Cheese and meat. Meat and cheese. I prefer the meat before the cheese. I always say Lettuce is OK. You need a good head. When the blokes say Lettuce Lettuce I just open up the crusty bits and they’re usually satisfied. Sweaty blokes need it nice and crisp. I’ve heard no complaints.
MARK
That’s really saying something. When you consider how many blokes you’ve served. There’s one incident I remember. Mandy, you had just come to the club. Pete, you had been caught on the fence. Mandy, you had a huge plate of chicken sandwiches ready for Pete.
AMANDA
Chicken sandwiches. I love chicken sangers. Cock. That’s what the French call it. I like it. I don’t know how anyone could call a Cock a Fowl.
MARK
We discussed earlier with Rubber and Razor about changes. Pete, you’re the One’s Captain, what’s your position?
PETER
There should be changes. I don’t care much for training. I think people should be picked on merit alone. If you have God-given ability that’s more important than attendance. Some people should stay in the nets. We need some people in the nets. I won’t be caught on the fence again.
MARK
No more runs for Peter.
PETER
It came out of the meat. I got a good piece of it. It was the aerial route. A slog. I’m not a slogger. It was a slog. Mandy you saw it. The man stuck a hand up. It stuck.
MARK
No more runs for Peter.
PETER
It was my brother. Him. Of all people. He put his hand up. It was the last ball. It was going to be a maiden. There weren’t many gaps. He wasn’t on the fence. He made up the ground. I was out. Christmas was uncomfortable. It was the festive season. It wasn’t festive. He made sure of that. Mandy saw it.
AMANDA
I stuck a leg out. He managed to avoid it. Not many can say that. When I stick a leg out there aren’t many blokes who can avoid winding up with a mouthful of worms. He stuck his hands up and voila. We had spaghetti for tea that night. Pete loves spag. I like ravioli. Chicken Ravioli. I love those little pockets. Cock in my little pockets. It’s hard to go past.
MARK
I think we all know your taste for poultry Amanda. Peter you also have a taste for the paltry.
PETER
How’s the foot Mark? It’s pretty hard going with an Achilles like yours.
MARK
My dodgy leg. It’s dodgy alright. It’s the bones. The vessels too. Bones and vessels. They can’t get along. My problems are structural. I need a cast. When it happened I wasn’t plastered. Now look at me. I am. I could be finished. I’ll never be finished. If I am it’ll be a first. I may have stroked my last ball.
AMANDA
That’s awful.
PETER
That is.
MARK
I’m getting the signal which means your time is up. Thanks again for joining us. Peter Rotcheese and Amanda.
PETER
Thanks Ham
AMANDA
Pleasure Hammy.
MARK
We’ll be right back with more.
RUN ADS FOR C31
Striking by comparison with many others of my area I was a mediocre student conversely. It was said that as a child I was especially bright and you could still see it, but it was now manifested in adolescent pursuits of alcohol and fighting. Speaking of which I can’t locate my single malt scotch, and the hour is late so I’m losing patience with the search.
Searching the room for a while, it’s clear the bottle isn’t here and I’ve turned the room upside down, looking every hour on the hour for over a quarter. The economic calendar is my calendar, none of this roman stuff for me or is it Greek. My classical education is far from complete and I’m a self-taught painter of some note, whatever that means.
Taxes are very important to me and lodging a return is my favourite duty as a citizen, despite my income being thin on the ground bringing in the New Year with a few transactions and a couple of statements of my balance at the ATM has become a ritual. Ever since my first paycheck I’ve had work, the kind of work that fills me with great pride and a sense of satisfaction. When at work its all I think of and the thoughts that run through my mind! Thoughts of work mostly is the resounding response. When the thoughts come is when the bells ring and the cobwebs have set in there.
But then along came the type of people you’d like to mention. They came in as they would in a three-legged race, often times they wouldn’t seem to know the other was there and lived independently doing things in a merry way. People come and go but the types remain the same, when they pass by I offer them crisps and cheddar and a glass of scotch which is water anyway. The idea of deceiving them like that has never sat well with me but I carry on regardless. Their concerns are no concern of mine, and philanthropy knows no bounds; as long as I receive a copy of the receipt I’m a happy little pig. All these transactions and so little reward, and it’s been said that the reward is the deed but some of us can’t get going.
But then along came the type of people you’d like to mention. They came in as they would in a three-legged race, often times they wouldn’t seem to know the other was there and lived independently doing things in a merry way. People come and go but the types remain the same, when they pass by I offer them crisps and cheddar and a glass of scotch which is water anyway. The idea of deceiving them like that has never sat well with me but I carry on regardless. Their concerns are no concern of mine, and philanthropy knows no bounds; as long as I receive a copy of the receipt I’m a happy little pig. All these transactions and so little reward, and it’s been said that the reward is the deed but some of us can’t get going.
When I make my offers of crisps and such they’re often undecided and the discussions that go on; all this in the middle of their three-legged race; how I envy them; them and their functioning lower limbs.
“Pass the dice,” said Einstein to himself as he sat there in his sack with the other fella, who scratched his fair hair. I saw all this from my window but I couldn’t be of any help and they knew more than I did about it. “You don’t play dice,” returned the young fella. Einstein blinked knowingly at the other fella attached to his leg as he was there wasn’t a point arguing.
They both looked so familiar and they were they were part of a set. Finite: yes. But large: yes. No larger than any other set. So what set this set apart from the rest? All the other sets in their sacks revered this sack of three-legged competitors. Some sacks didn’t like this adulation and tried to upset their apple cart but mostly their attempts were fruitless.
The events of their lives were as dominoes set in place before birth and set in motion with birth. Anything else has no leg to stand on. A thought does not constitute a domino and I lay claim to a lot of these non-items. In this respect I own a lot of bones.
I find it hard to walk these days so withered and weak are my legs, even getting out of bed is a real chore and the lavatory: forget about it. The crutches really are of no assistance, although it’s fair to say I have used them or at least one of them. Getting the best use out a crutch is an art form I’ve down pat. The rubber on the bottom wears out, quite naturally, but to wear it out evenly is to use the crutch for different ailments at different times of the day. What those times are I’ve no idea. What those ailments are; where to start. It seems I’ve always been ailing. My conditions have been no help. I’ve been no help. They itch too. My legs. The feeling comes and goes but the itching never stops. I’ve told myself an itch is only in my head but they still itch. Scratching is action I’ve taken but as a rule I’m not a man of action. Far from it. Well it’s a bit hard with these withered sticks.
Taking action against mosquitoes, Id rather not. They aren’t the cause of my itching, as I’ve said, my mind is. The external stimulus of a bite is an itch I can overcome. I suppose you’d say my room is a dark and dingy place, the fan is always on as no draught is too cold for me. The light is sort of a yellow but there is never enough to tell. The lack of light in my room has caused my legs to wither. It’s a vitamin deficiency. Lack of use hasn’t helped. The doctors said I should keep them active when they diagnosed me but I said I should stay off them for a while. Heated words followed and I won the day but now who’s laughing? I think they were a bit rude to do that; but I’m not a doctor. Actually I saw the doctors on the television and they were talking of a case, no names were mentioned, but I knew, I always know. Then they started laughing, it wasn’t overt but you could tell or at least I could. They said they didn’t know what I meant when I saw them again they were driving an ice cream truck at full speed at midnight with X-rays of my legs on sale in place of ice cream. I was naturally furious, I hate being woken. Particularly at night. That was the last night I saw my crutches.
That was one of the worst nights on record, rainfall was high and the humidity was through the roof. The mildew was pungent and powerful; there wasn’t a lot I could do. One way or another the rain fell and buckets didn’t help the carpet rot. The gaps between the walls gushed water and the paint ran. I used my left crutch to stop the gushing and for a while I thought I was on to the solution but the problem was greater than my mental machinery. Then I thought Poe is Kubin; but who is Kubin ? Poe I say. None of these sorts of distractions lead anywhere like crutches in the wall. How would I know anyway? It’s only a guess that Poe is Kubin and I don’t have the formula to prove the equation. The rain on the roof went rat-at-tat and the gutters swelled with leaves, possum poo and water.
Then it happened, if only I could remember what it was. Was it that I found out my real identity? I mean I already knew my name and still do but who was I in the greater scheme of things; who out there was me; who was I out there? That’s not to say who did I aspire to be because who I aspire to be and who I am are two different things. As soon as I started to do something it should become clear but then I could move on to something else in a bid to rid myself of these comparisons and the realisation that I was less than I hoped; for there was a time when not I cared. And if that is so, which it is, then I must be less than I wished.
I had no choice but to do what I did and in spite of my sheer frustration at my inability to run or hop but when I looked out the window and saw the people tied to one another I realised what had happened. Everyone had been assigned a life-partner who would stay at your side till death do you part. Was it possible I was the only one without such encumbrance or had I not noticed that there was someone on the other side of me? Well, actually I knew that I was no different and I did have someone but it’s a bit hard when you don’t know your own identity.
This incident that I seem to think is so pivotal has to do with decision and the nature therein of that factor, which sounds like maths…oh how I deride that field of human endeavour and then it dawns on me – inner thoughts, I should keep to myself. Committing to anything is an intent that puzzles many of us, me included. So I commit to this: pick up that which takes my fancy. I fancy scotch and the hour is nearly round so I prepare for the search. Oh what frenzied preparations are undertaken in anticipation of the desperate furnishing upturning of the hourly bottle search.
All manner of things have revealed themselves at these times, and things have been broken - my only timepiece included, making hour identification a time consuming enterprise, the tripleness of all fields showed itself but nobody must know. I keep time by boiling eggs; nine hard-boiled eggs equals one hour and my diet a rather monotonous staple of kedgeree. Water boils hotter with salt so I’ve heard and in action this learning is in practice with typical results. Fortunately for me I’m less than half way through my fall of dominoes hopefully and I’ve always thought of myself as ten years younger than my age which has made for an interesting autobiographical inner dialogue.
Helping myself out of bed and scraping myself up with all purpose spatula I make my way to the window, tripping and falling over board games scattered on the floor I make some water which by the powers vested in me I turn into scotch I start the eggs a cooking. Brains function as part of the body and when we die the brain ceases to be and that it is to be dead. I like to start the day on a high note; it sets the tone for productivity and positivity. The daytime is my time because I’m powered by bike it’s my only time of lightenment; if you follow – no legs no peddling. Hand peddling is one thing but debasing my self with being in the wheelbarrow situation is a debauchery I can’t permit by almighty god I swear it to be so. What if my steel capped jock strap became loose then all hell would be let loose and that’s a crime against the society I wish to uphold as a model for all nations to prosper behind such philosophies I will not tolerate.
So Pablo said to Leo, in the guise of Richard 111, “Wifey, wifey” to which Leo said, “I’m not on your team” knowing full well where they were in the race. It was a race of laps, around the block I’d say, and the finish line was not known. The rules were simple and god only knew. “Why did he put me here?” I was heard to say in cholic tones. I can’t race with any legs a functioning and god knows I’ve tried to but I can’t find a partner. “Maybe I’m deaf and Blind and cant see my other,” I shouted. What must my very real partner think of me?
The Old Dutch chair would sneer at me with that all knowing furniture look that was born of the endless suffering that accompanies being sat on. Beneath the appearance of the act lies the truth that all acts are essentially similar. That’s one good thing about having withered branches for legs: wash or change my trousers – I think not! My legs can’t send the filthy messages of dirt and such up the spine to the centralised government of the brain. ”Impeach!” my lower extremities might say if they could. While I’m on the subject I must remember to make it a rule and programme my brain to tell my hands to keep out of the underwear drawers before noon. My scabby legs, thou festering wound of scabs and flea bitten bipedal defining objects like so much refuse.
Crotchety old crutches they have become my crutch. Brain activity of lesser mortals like me. Needing some fresh air the window I opened and caught a glimpse of someone who I thought looked like me. I thought this could be me I may have found a fellow traveller. Naturally enough this individual was rather fetching and talented and hard working. All these qualities I had in abundance and looking at my trading card, and my attributes the memory of this fleeting image of this individual corresponded. I studied that memory again and again. If I did wish to pursue this I’d have to leave the place where I am housed.
There was a knock at he door and a loud noise of breathing emanating from the other side. I put it down to nerves, imagination because I fancied these aspects of life. Books too and I had many decorating the shelves of my room. Art, Literature and music were my favourite human pursuits and I classified all human activities into these categories. Funnily enough the contestants in the race complied with my world-view; very kind of my three-legged sack racing egg carrying type friends.
My world-view and me was there no end to the hours whittled away sorting through the contestants in this game show like race. It seems that to be active I’d have to be outside the game and so it became a disability to develop. My feet howled with pain when it became clear that I would use them no longer. It would be that a job as a fortune-teller would be my true calling; the painting would just have to be abandoned.
As fortune-tellers do little legwork; it’s mostly sitting, this occupation was ideal. Under the fig tree was where I would practice: my little fig tree. It became apparent that I would have to leave the house and leave the house I did. Not literally of course but I had heard about space travel and astral travel and bearing in mind there is much scepticism about the validity of these forms of travel I would take the latter. I would be an astralnaut.
“I would have to lead my life again,” I remarked remarking on the overall pattern of humanity which we all are part of. Whatever my place whatever my standing; I am valid; I am necessary. Necessary in so far as I function as an individual in society. This may only be my perspective bearing in mind the mind of a serial killer. The hard boiled nature of the egg struck twelve and my hard earned self-realisation had yielded nothing but gut-wrenching vacuum of self.
It had taken me years to clean myself up and realise that I was as hollow as the immigration minister’s words. Artists reverence for Rembrandt is as a politicians is for Hitler. This kind of thinking occupies my days as the light is clear and the coffee is particle free.
The room I occupy is small and cramped, unfinished board games litter the floor and the walls are caked in yellow from the exhaled smoke of so many pipes. The smell of burning pipe tobacco is a smell that registers in my brain and brings memories of my childhood. A childhood spent down pit. It was I who spent it there.
“So a retired painter of self-repute wishes to undertake the development in pioneering work in astralnautics.” Were the words of the centrelinky lady as she typed on her little keyboarded electonica. I scoffed and signed a few times and knowing I was somebody fairly special I expected to be renumerated for my endeavours in the field of welfare recipience. Oh my feats in this field were legendary but I wanted to race my own race. That race I’m always on about.
Still this sense of vacuum and it had been quite an exertion to make my welfare appointment what with the scabs festering, the crotch itching, the bum chaffing and no mention of the lower limb difficulties which humility forces me to omit. I had no crutch a disposition not to itch and no cream in the cabinet. She was rather kind to offer me assistance and I feel a little embarrassed at my prideful outburst on this occasion.
On returning to my room, that yellow dingy arena for gladiatorial dosing and fits of apathy, the walls closed in and the books started their chattering and the things they said, it made the spine shiver and the table dance with wooden joy the cups clapped and the curtains which were sheets nodded confidently as the devil hid his scrolls.
The devil how did he get in here. Anyway this is what was seen: the devil chatting with the lord in various guises and the messiah inventing his own language, what fun. All this from my window and yet more disappointment on the identification of the external self with an other external self as my abundance of christianess proves costly. Nothing to do with my nationality that is not a disadvantage but a sore on the main scab of the major scab zone on the left fibula.
Not only do I wish to vacate these cramped premises but perhaps this planet and onto a new millennia and a new type of civilization. Three new forms of representation must be found, fostered and picked at like so much chicken and chips.
When I did get out and about in metropolis public transport was my preferred mode and trains particularly tickled my imagination. Screams of consciousness echoed through the heads of the drug-induced stupored train passengers.” They can hear my thoughts…hear my thoughts...thoughts... oughts,” shouted ones inner voice.” Keep it to yourself “ came over the loud speaker in the mind of one, to which another gave nods of disapproval which resounded and bounced like a ball on a trampoline resulting in a Mexican wave of a nervous twitches across the face of one. “Lock it up, keep it to yourself, keep it down, control.” Was the communal mantra taken by one in the campfire setting of the mind “ We are now approaching...” ”Hell” interrupted the thoughts drowning the inner senses with terror. Of course the suited man saw things differently: he’d say to himself “Annual income, such and such, art, literature and music burn in hell” this is how it was read by the affected types. A blink here a fidget there a magisterial cross of the legs and a turn of the broadsheet sent the message loud and clear: this train: this train; this train is my train. In every corner of the earth, wherever a social group is, no matter how small, over what period of time, the eternal and unrelenting external pattern prevails. Take one such group out and examine by itself and hold it up against another and it’ll be a perfect fit through the correct lens, of course. A social group can stretch millennia or decades, across the earth or in a small puddle of humanity. All of this on a billboard as the outside rushed past the train window. Something far greater was at work than this miserable speck of human kind.
Yes there I go again, when I say god I really mean that great pattern you’ll often hear me prattle on about. Our pattern who art mysterious and the great originator of the great and wretched race that I see everywhere I go and I go nowhere. If I took my vitamins, exercised and took a little sun a cripple I surely would not be but this is only my mentality that could be shared.
On arriving at my destination my point of departure I had a nap but awoke after a couple of eggs to a voice “Turn on the Television” the voice said as I scraped myself out of bed, the life of a TV cowboy is not easy I said to him, I made myself to the viewing facility. I turned on the television and settled into my seating facility well prepared as always for some stimulating electronic messages in a box. “You belong here” came the voice from inside my head. Jackaroo style holding bullwhip and stubby I flung my chaps across the bed; it was time to sleep was the directive from above.
Freedom must be an illusion because it implies infinity was the thinking behind my outlandish antics. I’d read further into it except that my concentration is of the flightless Galapagos bird variety. Thank god for advertisements on television were the words of my pastor. He was a TV evangelist. So I set about some more geometrical tasks, as assigned to me by the teacher and I thought commas create tone.
The spurs of my boots required a thorough cleaning and I didn’t care for this side of life, cleanliness that is. On the morrow I would trade with the shoe repairer to repair my spurs and ride my horse: I could again. That poor old horse, lets call her my world view, how I used her and misused her. In a way she saved me from total despair and this sense, all though not a true sense, of self-righteousness.
And the futility of the lifestyle of my ambition fighting and kickscreaming against the guns and hammers of the pattern that I became caught in as a wasp in a web never dawns on a boxcowboy. The best I ever knew was the worst that ever happened and the future will be the same pattern as planets in the suns orbit. Really this is it. Really to believe this is to see life as long but I ask this pickles on my burgers: I better believe it.
Outhouse in total disrepair and the well-beaten track to that door overgrown in weeds as the train of thought of healthy thinking and useful activity the outhouse and the weeds the weeds splitting selves as splitting cells in the air carrying liquid and self-denial.
Of all the strife and suffering mine is the greatest. My day will come; of that there is no doubt. These prickly sticks of bone and muscle wasted away by inactivity. My gifts the land for the colonial slagheap of I. Tennis elbow and no matches played with moments of insight and plenty of backhanders delivered.
Norm
Mal
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