214- An Azealia Banks Parody

N. E. W. S. Conference

The four of them were sitting uneasily around the conference table, eyeing each other up. Two men and two women. It was obvious from the body language that none of them wanted to be there but were compelled out of duty...and also...a geomagnetic field was keeping them in place.  There was a heavy silence but a mumbling could be heard outside the door. One of the men piped up, "That Sun of a bitch. I have things to be doing. I just want this meeting over with." One of the women sighed.  A bookish fair haired man entered the room looking at a clipboard. His hair was bright gold and despite his well kept official appearance, it seemed to want to escape the pony tail it had clumsily been tied up in. It seemed that any second this man would go supernova and shed his accountant-like guise and go up in flames. He sat at the top of the table and was humming as he flicked sheets over on his board. "Hmmm...I see...Yes...Yes...." He warmly smiled as he looked up and in a jovial tone began "So...How are we all doing today?" The four figures looked at each other with a mixture of boredom and incredulity and said nothing. "Fine. We'll get straight to business. I'm happy to report that your yearly reports have been filed and totted up and you've all compassed with flying colours! You must be all very relieved and proud!" Another beat of heavy silence. "Of course it's only regulation that I'm here for a final look see. And to make sure you're all happy in your current positions and well directions...ha...in life." One of the men shifted uncomfortably in his seat. The blond haired official noticed this and said "Ok, East. Tell me what's wrong?" East began first addressing the fair haired man before generally looking at his three other colleagues. "Well Mr. Sun, I'm not happy for a number of reasons. As the direction the Earth rotates on it's axis...I feel I should have more...well...axis in general. Certain levels of clearance are being denied to me and I have to wonder why. I can't help but wonder do people have a problem with my...orientation?" North scoffed at this. East continued. "You know Mr. Sun, we do the morning shift together and I really enjoy our working relationship but as the day goes on I feel frozen out." North interrupted. "You don't know anything about being frozen.." "Mr. North," The Sun chimed in, "You'll get your chance. Go on East." "That was pretty much all I had to say." "Ok...How do the rest of you feel?" North was a cool customer and assumed a leadership role as soon as he began work. "Look, I say it like it is, I mean I'm not called "true north" for nothing and I think East is overreacting. We all get our jobs, and some are better than others. I'm sorry if you're not a morning person but that's just the way it's gone.I mean back me up here South..." South didn't know if she agreed with North but could understand his point of view. She had once been attracted to him but chalked that up to his magnetism. "Well..." she muttered, "I do think as positions go, East gets sort of the short shrift and it's only now...dawning...on him..Ha. Sorry, couldn't resist!" East looked generally unimpressed but was at least grateful South seemed to side with him a little.  She spoke on "Let's give him some latitude here to air his grievances." West grimaced. She picked up a glass as if to drink from it but instead used it to motion while she made her point. "To be honest, I'm with North and I usually don't like what he has to say but come on! We all studied our ass off for our 90 degrees and came to work here and we knew what we were getting into. Let's not deviate too far off course!" North took charge once more."I know I'm not that popular with the rest of you because of my fame. And for working on a fixed scale, "he smugly said, "Look I don't need to map it out for you. I'm the name here and I know it." "What is wrong with you?" East spluttered. "Do you not hear yourself?" South took the chance to comment "I think it's some times a case of 'the northern lights are on but nobody's home'." West groaned. South added. "I know conversations always go...South...when I get involved." She giggled.

"SHUT UP!" shouted the other three in unison, peeved at all the punning.

"That's another thing." East was angry now. "He not only gets all the fame, he gets perks like the Northern Lights and he's an aurora boring-ass as far as I can see." North was incensed."Hey! You get sunrises, you get majestic beauty on a daily basis. My perks are seasonal!" "I know I'm seen as the 'Wild' one, here" West announced "But may I make a suggestion. Maybe we should do something where we  all like I don't know...switch around jobs or something..."

Mr. Sun looked very worried at this. "I was just talking to Mr. Earth outside this room and I don't think he'd sign on for such a major overhaul like that. Things like that require polls...and well poles. It's very complicated." "So what can we do then?" North sneered as he sat back slovenly in his chair. The Sun looked back down at his clipboard. "I will take all of this under advisement and you all know just how fair I am." East still looked unhappy but after having made his point conceded that there was no immeadiate solution.  Mr. Sun stood up. "But now it's time to leave. We're way over time here. The Seven Days of the Week are eager to get in to this conference room and work on their various scheduling conflicts!" North sauntered out giving a mocking wink to East as he left. He and South soon filed out behind him leaving West and Mr. Sun in the room. "So.."Mr Sun whispered, looking around to ensure they were indeed alone, "Your place again tonight?"  West smiled, "Of course, no-one has ever gone down on me quite the way you do. Well...maybe South..." "Sssh...no-one can know about our relationship! They'd think it was awfully inappropriate!" Somehow she had made the Sun go even redder in his cheeks. West wrapped her arms around the bookish star "Actually boss, that reminds me. Can I get a rays?" "Sigh...Fine, I'll see what I can do." He leaned in for a sun-kiss before saying "Oh the things I do for some Wild West action..." (Authors note: This piece was inspired by the Song No Aurora by The David Nelligan Thing. Check it out here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FwwlSATDJUQ&list=PL898AB4410575448E&index=6 and their tumblr here: http://davidnelligan.tumblr.com/)

A Wilde Day from the Off or an Off Day from the Wilde

As the mid afternoon Sun took its ascendancy in an otherwise grey sky Oscar Wilde staggered into a tavern. The great writer was looking the worse for wear after having put the "deca" into decadence, with ten straight nights of drunken revelry behind him, he had finally crashed and the hangover which plagued his fertile brain seemed more important right at that moment, than anything particularly earnest.

The pub was sparsely populated, an old man was sleeping, his head near a low hanging lantern and two men were laughing amongst themselves in the corner. Slumping down on the counter Oscar Wilde barked a drink order startling the bartender. This tavern worker was more accustomed to an elegant Wilde requesting a drink with no less than his customary lingual guile. This flat shout would win the great orator no fans. "You feeling alright Mr. Wilde?" the barkeep inquired, a note of quiet worry in his voice. Wilde let out an unintelligible wheeze in reply before burying his head in his palms. "What is wrong?" the barman asked, all social niceties dropping away as his concern mounted. "Today...my good barkeep. I just wish to play the game of silence. I have no insights, no pithy observation, just the black oblivion of closing my eyes to ward off the aches in my head." Just then, two customers that were off in the corner of the bar perked up upon recognising WIlde. The first man loudly posed the question to his compatriot. "It's that fella aint it? The witty writer. Tell him your story Gus" "Ha, yes. I'd love to know what an innalectual like him would say about it." They bounded over to the bowed Wilde with great enthusiasm, Jack giving him a mighty slap on the back as he neared. "Ozcar Wilde aint ya? I know a face when I see it." Wilde raised his head slightly, a disinterested look greeting the pair. "Gentleman..." Jack interrupted. "My friend here Gus, he's got a good story about the local constabulary courting one of them actors dressed as a lady. He stole from the big nosed fella, you know the one in books. Leonardo De Bergerac is it...?"

"Cyrano, " the barkeep corrected, his gaze still downward on a glass he was wiping. "Tell him the story Gus!!" "Gentleman," Wilde cleared his throat. "Let me stop you right there. I do not wish to be made aware of the wandering eye of a Policeman nor the gender confusion he suffered upon his wooing. I do not wish to hear of a crooked Judge absconding with a grey squirrel or whatever fanciful tales you wish me to comment upon. All I crave is the calm of a quiet pub and the ceasing of the the loud music in my brain. This is but a modest request for solitude." The pair were silent for a moment. Gus began, "So you see, this local officer has a flair for the ladies, well most of the time he does. But see with this..."

Wilde let out a groan.

The barman took no notice of the story and directly addressed Oscar. "But the wall my good sir". He motioned to the back wall of the bar which had much writing upon it. "I know, barkeep," Wilde replied his voice a soft rumble. "My witticisms dot that wall and have kept me in much fine ale over the seasons but today will have to pass without a sip from that fount. I am bereft of the muse. She has left me." Jack chimed in. "The muse has gone, left him for someone who a-muses her!" He left out a great chuckle at this, happy with his half stab at a quip. "Put that on you wall." "The wall isn't for quotes adjacent to Oscar Wilde! It's for quotes from the great man!" Gus replied. "Well look at him. He's in no fit state to be wise. So we're going to fill in." "Oh Posterity, how she weeps." said Wilde, his face buried in his hands once again. Gus and Jack began to look around and were mumbling. "Something hum'erus, something funny..."  "Oh! Oh! The wife, the other day was complaining about a candlestick and I says to her, I says, sometimes love you really get on my wick." There was no response from the barkeep or the writer. "Yeah, yeah," Jack continued, "But still you carry a torch for her!" They stood began beaming at their impromptu double act. "This wit stuff is easy," Jack declared. "Somewhere my good gentleman, in some crotty attic, there hang portraits of you getting progressively more irritating."

"Well sorry Ossie," Gus retorted. "We're just trying to liven up an otherwise dull day." They slumped back to their corner seats, deflated at the poor response their antics had garnered.  The barkeep leaned in. "You're going to lose your streak though. You have never darkened the doors of this establishment without spinning some words to wisdom." Wilde spoke up. "Streaks are like...windows...I mean...Comets. Streaks are...Streaks are...arrrgh". The barkeep sighed. "Well I need to put something up there." Wilde was becoming incensed."Put nothing. Put silence." Disheartened, the barkeep looked around for some ink to add something to the quotes wall. Finding only a golden yellowy ink his son had used to colour in a picture of the Sun, he took it to the wall and flatly wrote:   On this, the 15th Day of the Month October, Silence- Oscar Wilde. The barman walked back behind the bar and began busying himself.  WIlde eyed up his handiwork and muttered "Hmm, Silence is golden". There came the faint sound of the cracking of a lantern followed by a loud shriek as the sleeping old man returned to consciousness with the top of his head ablaze! A badly corked champagne bottle behind the barman slipped falling at an angle and began soaking Oscar and the barkeep. The local constabulary, who had a big enough nose himself it must be said, fell in the door of the tavern, his arms around an obviously male person dolled up to pass as a woman. They both fell to the floor. Suddenly a noise came from a less that reputable boudoir upstairs and an entire bedding structure crashed through the roof of the tavern, landing square in the room with a mighty thud. It was a local politician in bed with what seemed like, four pigs. Gus, Jack and the barman all looked at Wilde to note this unusual set of circumstances which had occurred all around them. Wilde just stared with a mouth agape, his hair getting wetter and bubblier from the still spraying champagne. Gus nudged Jack looking to the new bed in the room. "I hate it when our politicians just farm things out like that." Writers note: Obviously this is not the etymology of the famous "Silence is Golden" phrase but I like to think that even when he said nothing at all Oscar Wilde still provided plenty of gold!

The Smoking Pun

Conversation was dead. His body was slumped over his chair when the the lights came back on. Silence was in his element, grinning but despite him enjoying the situation, it wasn't clear if he was the murderer. The last thing anyone remembered before the black out was a heated conversation about a burning issue, that of smoking. Cigar had piped in with his view while Pipe tried to get the last word. He was close but no Cigar. As master of ceremonies Conversation had been trying to be fair to all parties. He kept the language clean since Nico was still a tine-ager but when it came to the issue of Cigarettes all the relevant parties were lacking the proper social filters. "Smoking kills," Theory proclaimed,"And there lies the proof!" "Any idea who the murderer could be?" Query was concerned. She had been asking a lot of questions lately and nobody liked that very much. Theory flailed around the room while pontificating loudly. "What we need to do is find out the final quip before Conversation died. We track down that sense of humour and we find the culprit!" Everyone stayed quiet. The scene had been a mess of people shouting their views and trying to come across as more important than they were by blowing smoke.  "We never should have invited that man Tobacco and his 'Lobbyists' to this get together," Count Finite, the Lord of the Manor sighed, speaking to his trophy girlfriend, a model by the name of Tally Marks. "I believe Tobacco is involved in organised crime!" Tally was all set with her rich paramour but couldn't resist some idle gossip. "Well honey, I've spoken to Tobaccos wife InHayley and she seemed very passive in general, even the fact that she heard second hand about this party tells you something. I'm not so sure she knows what her husband is up to. Total smokescreen." Theory was concerned about his ability to solve this crime. He was just a layman, a working Theory, not a definite Explanation. He had failed those exams, because he could find any references or cite himself. "Everyone had a reason to kill Conversation, the guy never shut up," he wondered aloud. "Slip of the Tongue had tried to slip out earlier but that was just cause she was having an affair and was afraid she'd incriminate herself. Why she ever left Schtum is beyond me but I guess she didn't like being a kept woman." Suddenly the lights went out again and Theory was stabbed. "That's one theory eliminated," came a chilling voice from the darkness. His body dropped to the floor but this time the killer had been less careful. His first smoking pun that had killed the conversation had been said in a mysterious tone. The exact line was "That's just how Mr. Tobacco rolls..." followed by Conversations final gasp. No-one could figure out the identity or even the gender of the voice. But happy with his quip about Theory, the murderer had let a slightly grand accent come through and a tone which was distinctly snooty. As the lights came back up, the whole crowd turned to the same person. It was such a cliche, they were annoyed with themselves that they hadn't thought of it already. Who was always being picked on by Conversation when he was making jokes? Who had, due to his past been led ashtray and had definite loyalties to Tobacco and Smoking in general? It was so obvious, the evidence could match nobody else. The Butt-ler had done it.

Mountain Dew- An Invite Only Modern Fable

There once was a Mountain Dwelling Recluse whose close friend was a little wolf named Cole. At some point every day he turned on his old fashioned, stained gramophone and would listen to beautiful music. Reverberating around his hovel, he would think about the joy of music in its endless variations and styles. Despite being a Recluse he had not always lived his life this way and in his past he made many good friends and after so long tasting the sweetness of solitude he decided on a change. It was long past time he brought the beautiful music he had loved so much to a selected crowd of friends and well wishers. And people from the far off land of some area named “Google". His noble wolf however would not be able to stay, as his dalliance with a Bear named Claire had produced an offspring. The little wolf went to mind his little cub. A talking and walking series of Fishbones offered his services on sound, this bony aquatic anomaly seemed to float between joints providing music and aural expertise. Crafty Canty, a local from a nearby territory where people went to feel good lost also pitched in to get this eclectic event off the ground.  A fair Maire-den who is a SuperBlonde, was on hand for whatever else needed doing, while her father the legendary Jerry (whose Moustache was rarely stained with Latte) and her two other brothers, Ciaran and Shane, turned the location from family setting to festival ready. A Great Balloon Race was undertaken by various parties but the first to arrive got there far more quickly,Toby honest, by Karr. A Jollins Green (Cack-ie green) Giant also appeared, while a Chameleon came back to Life for the soiree. This was the power of the mighty mountain dew on the location. Ominous rain threatened on the day but spirits refused to be dampened as people travelled far and wide to the Mountain, led by an array of Grave Lanterns the Recluse had dug up to ensure no-one got lost in the silent musical darkness.  Despite the presence of actual relations, the Recluse also extended his family to include more distant Relatives who sang sweet folky harmonies to all and sundry. Some other Man dola-ed out more harmony driven delight to the audience and it was clear looking at everyone, both Hymn and Her were Shaking and dancing in this case. Signal(s) were lost on phones (no-one could Ring Ian) but could be found on stage and is it any Young Wonder no-one cared about being without coverage, sealed off in this strange place? Next up was a sleepy rubber-band and like Elastic, oh Snap, they were good. Their inspired cover of You Only Live Twice resonated with the Recluse. He had now lived two ways, a solitary life and now one blessed with many new friends. "(Stevie) Gee, "  he thought to himself, " Plenty of Mac-room in my life for many more of these events." The night was a huge success, a sort of watershed moment (when Water was still on that is) that united a disparate group in some rural excess.  One band many looked forward to, in the end, could not play, one of its driving forces still loomed large over proceedings, lending his diverse talents to a few of the other performers.  The band of his that didn’t play? Well I won’t make a Stink about it either way. It certainly didn't Alter any of the Hours the crowd had in a negative way. The final thought of the Recluse was that if he kept this sort of event going, year in and year out, well, he'd be on a pretty Sweet Jelly Roll. Authors Note: Congratulations again to Colm and his family on a great night. To many more!

M

the ghostly air between the cars

i checked the moon obsessively like a watch

legs like trees caught in a typhoon

my exhale hoped it would brush against your breath

my head never pounded, in fact it sang

something old, the thing that falls behind

cabinets

the letters that become too tangled

to ever write

the dreams that rise to be the debris

of the heavens

these things re-discovered through you 

I felt like the lonely soul embraced 

back into a fold

the most simple paradox

of returning but still arriving for 

that first time

you leaned back with your legs coiled

hair swirled, words tumbled,

it was as if my iris stretched to breaking point

by the light of a thousand houses

but instead it was just a lazy gaze

my direction

amongst some greying figures

tiny stones that are strewn around

I dreamt I knew what to say

I dreamt your heart purred in reply

Flirtation

It's been the same voice

circling the very same concerns,

the banks are spilling over with

slang and the great unlearned.

the waves wont let the good themes

flow or take hold

but the brave are frauds, amongst us,

made pretty like lanterns in the cold.

find yourself in the place of the unnurtured flame

the one that dances as if by accident

I wandered down, the paint of the sky drying

from the high roads of sentiment.

and there's a way, a better way to narrow

down desire

I say a young spark like you

could do with

a flirtation with fire

and silly angels dance in the near dark

always with something heavy and worthy

in mind

the agendas overheard of the great untamed

the rules they swear by are barely defined

If i'm to become a fighter of sorts

i must learn to replace the sharpness of a smile

with the blunt edge of swords

and there's a sadder fate for the straight man in the comedy

of the liar

there's nothing ill-fated,

over a flirtation with fire

failures to condemn, retreats to an apology

the smile that frames the forgiven face I say its better that the blessing words are uttered

with great respect at the resting place

but the silence that follows, the bird-less trees mooning over some paradise names

not knowing their mortality when stretched across the age

they foolishly fall in love with the rougish flames.

Blocking out a Scene

There once was a shape a square, geometric Who wanted to escape a dull life he wished was more hectic. He felt in his family, that he was the dumb dunce No social circle to speak of, not even a circumference

His Square parents, (in both meanings of the phrase) they were that shape and painfully un-hip, Decided that maybe he had to get aways and take some sort of learning trip It was the only way they could think to ease some of the tensions Father square to mother, "He's always been angle-ling to get away and discover his true dimensions!" Though as a block he was fairly sturdy his mother insisted he keep warm You know how maternal shapes do worry "Make sure you wear something to match your form!" The whole family saw him off on that Rhom-Bus "I wonder," said his rectangle sister,"will he even miss us?" Choosing some coordinates so far away but keeping the location discrete for certain The block looked back at his family, as if to say I will come back a far more rounded person And what came with this new sense of space Love triangles and some right angles in the wrong place Some errors were made, mostly directional Life can hit you with these types of surprises He realised that he was indeed bisection-al and loved things in all shapes and sizes and in his mind, the words of his family he could hear 'em "You still must prove yourself as a trusted theorum!" He lost his virginity to an acute triangle who smoked a lot of hypot, was real bad nuse the opposite of his next romantic entangle was an algebra-burning mathematical muse He didn't contact his family, he really didn't give a damn Only once every few months, would they receive a cursory parallelogram He had a few part time but big enough gigs Mostly in text books hanging out with some graphs You might have seen him as some numbered Figs He made some cash and had some laughs So for a few years this simple country rube Expanded his horizons and became a cube He wrote a letter to his family one night and hoped they wouldn't be too critical He decided to give paper up and have a bit more byte "Mom, dad, your block son has gone digital!" "I'll be working very closely with new people  you can really bet this, Tomorrow guys I'm trying out for some new game named Tetris!"

Emmet O'Brien takes on Superman.

Here is my review of Man of Steel. I've made it pretty much spoiler free but still approach with caution if you're trying to stay uninformed before the film is released!

For Seamus

Upon the eve of the darkening hue While the greens deepen and the deprived insects rustle, There is now a figure featureless set against a slanted sky. I noted a steady breeze as it was thread through the horizon-less cloud and the air transmuted to a single voice. Its nervous quality borne of surprise Knowing there is no silence rich enough. The shoreline rests upon an empty seabed We will fill the space with the right words, Before returning to the interrupted paths he knew well. the sweep of thorns, When daily toil brushed up against eternal question. A shifting landscape stands still in a soft dusky ardour over the wordsmith, gone on ahead. We peer in from outside immortality.

A Blood-splatter analysis of the Dexter finale

The confusions to be found at the base of this narrative seems to suggest a sadistic writing team who used whatever "blunt instruments" were at hand to overpower the audience. The angle they took, if you can follow the attempts at tying up of all the messy loose ends to the right of the victim tells us that this was not a Six Feet Under copycat killer as Michael C. Hall's work there was at least given a satisfying conclusion. The abrasions to this body of work could be described as heavy handed and seems to be the act of a showrunner in a rush, perhaps fleeing with a large amount of money before the true nature of his crime is discovered. Writers of this type seem to have an innate lack of subtlety probably stemming from a childhood need to insert unnecessary symbolism and a love of endings which require absolutely no investment. We're looking at an 8th season suspect who very often talks to himself in the guise of ponderous "voice overs". The suspect is syndicated and dangerous and currently at large on the re-run.