flash fiction friday – i have seen the light


“hello! it’s mr pontoon-spitoon calling


“well it’s about your light; it’s on, it’s too bright and i’m trying to get to sleep

“of course i have curtains, they’re just not made of lead

“enough about my soft furnishings, what have you got that thing blazing so brightly for?

“you have sheep that can read?

“do they know you talk about them like that?

“how long will they be reading for?

“that’s quite a long time, big book is it?

“what’s the point in reading that?

“i’ve got one they can read; the origin of……hello?…….HELLO?………bloody do-gooder”


i’ve not gone off gin

a way old while ago in a small town in the mountains of california i saw a bookshop; it had books on shelves on the outside of its walls, and a box with a sign that read please put the money in the box, or something along those lines, however when i passed it was still open so i was damned with having to pay a person – i hope one day to be able to pay for something through such blindly assumed honesty, as as yet i’ve not been blessed with the opportunity – perhaps i’m frequenting the wrong kind of establishments – ooze paranoia those crack-houses do – – – for my purchase, which eventually turned out to be vineland by thomas pynchon – for those of you who are at a loss as to why the great gatsby is viewed as the great american novel; may i direct you to mason and dixon – and with my book came a bookmark upon which were printed shop name, address, a picture of a cat, opening times – 7 days a week, 9.30-sunset – although i didn’t notice any at the time, i assume there must’ve been outside lighting as how else would one view the titles on show once the door was locked and the sun had gone down – – and a quote from mark twain, ‘the man who does not read good books has no advantage over the man who can’t read them,’ and so this bookmark has followed me – led maybe – nope, followed; it’s a bookmark……… – round the world and nestled in the pages of some of the greatest literature to grace the planet – quite the privileged bookmark – and been privy to a transatlantic phone call that had me metaphorically jumping out the bedroom window as the husband came home…….the buzzing stopped, and the phone went dead…………….this was during the first afternoon of our relationship – mine and the bookmark’s of course – and i think that that went some way to cementing it, and subsequently allowing itself to be used as a canvas for something experimental that i’ve never been able to pull off again since: a perfect drawing; set as a challenge to be that of a swimmer – i forget the challenger, the reason, the company, the country, and the year – i said no to begin with, claiming as my argument the utter pointlessness of such an activity, why on earth would i want to draw a swimmer, i’m not talented enough to just scribble something down and have it look good, they all moved on, i drew a picture of a swimming swimmer, in biro, on the back of my bookmark; it was perfect, every line was perfectly placed and there was absolutely no need for changes, additions or subtractions……but i think it looks better turned 90 degrees anticlockwise………….and as for gin……and ice cubes…………and that woman on the end of the phone…………………..i haven’t the motor skills at present

friday flash – i used to hear the avalanches

i used to hear the avalanches, i used to hear the screams of the dead wood; i used to listen for the distant rumbling of a mind that refused, i used to quiver at the prospect of hearing the sound made by the world when it stopped turning; i used to hear the rip, i used to hear the glacier tear through that which was deemed impassable, i used to hear the wake; i used to hear the dull dead silence ravaged; that which I heard is no more, for all i hear now is drip drip drip drip drip