Wednesday 30 April 2014

Stepping In The Salad (7)

STEPPING IN THE SALAD (7)



'I ran to the Downs ('til I reached Seven Sisters). My tendons were swollen, my soles worn to blisters. He followed me there, and he stood as I stared at the sea far below. . . .

'No, I wasn't that scared.'

'So dramatic, my dear. Do continue, I pray.'

'I stared at the sea, which was turquoise blue, but, I couldn't decide what was best I should do. I knew I could jump; I am ever so brave.  But, I couldn't commit to a watery grave.

'It was, after all, such a nice sunny day.'

The Priestess snorted.

'For his part he didn't much care for the edge, so he stayed on the path and held tight to a hedge. "Look here,'' he opined as he clung to the gorse. "If you were to jump I'd be full of remorse".'





Saturday 26 April 2014

Stepping In The Salad (6)

STEPPING IN THE SALAD (6)



'It was love at first sight beneath the full moon, but everyday life brought its gloom all too soon.'

The Priestess squatted and looked all agog; adjusted her bra and, then, swallowed some grog.

'The bounds of constraint wrap around domesticity. Too much for the feint, her name is Deep Misery. . .

'Deep Misery works in insidious ways. She anticipates plans and scuppers your days.  She appears quite benevolent, but works clandestine. She worked hard to unravel the love I deemed mine.'

'So, what did you do?'

'I decided to leg it.'


Thursday 24 April 2014

Stepping In The Salad (5)

STEPPING IN THE SALAD (5)


'Oh . . . .

'The man is a boy (and so not a girl). We met in a pub in a small place called Firle. We talked as we drank from a pitcher of wine. It was then - in an instant - I wanted him mine.'

'So, what happened, then?' enquired the Priestess as she hoisted her flesh-coloured knickers and smiled.

'Well . . .

'We slept out that night; affirmation of life. Watch the stars cross the sky, you forget all the strife. You forget about all that is petty and grim.

'I knew, for a fact, all I wanted was him.'

'Tell me more.'

Tuesday 22 April 2014

Stepping In The Salad (4)

STEPPING IN THE SALAD (4)


So.

We discussed REF for a brief little while; my forehead was sweating, my mouth full of bile.

Then, the Priestess opined (cracking open some wine) 'there are more better things you can do with your time. I see that you're sad but I don't know quite why. Speak out - sixty seconds - just what makes you cry?'

'I'm in love.'

The woman eased out a sigh.

'Well.

'Let the bells ring; what a wonderful thing. I presume those are tears of joy. . . Now, tell all from the start (and quit acting smart).

'Is your lover a girl or a boy?'


Saturday 5 April 2014

Stepping In The Salad (3)


STEPPING IN THE SALAD (3)



'Well . . .

'I can see why it is that you get so pissed off; I am sad to admit that this sham - this chaos - might be borne from an output of mine.'

'It's hardly divine, is it?' I interjected.

'But, when all's said and done, it is impact that counts. And, my dear, I've had impact despite it amounts to - well . . .  I must say what I see makes me sick.

'In defence, I did have to act quick.

'Seven days to create - from conception to birth (that doesn't leave time for reflection, research). Seven days to invent and to bring to fruition a half-baked idea fed from ruthless ambition . . .'

The Priestess paused to light her pipe.

'Can we talk about death?' I said, bored with her hype.

'Now, that's quite a request,' she puffed (out of breath). 'My intention, my sweet, was to talk REF.'

Tuesday 1 April 2014

Stepping In The Salad (2)


STEPPING IN THE SALAD (2)



'My God,' I repeated (still feeling defeated; depleted by HE's regime).

'Indeed,' she responded.

(And, believing we'd bonded, the Priestess bent forward and beamed.)

She continued:

'It's so quaint that you pray and, indeed, I must say that your faith has sure served me quite well. Since Darwin and Freud, I've been grossly ignored. (I've no takers for heaven nor hell).

'Acknowledged by one who was never baptised; who's life is beset by deception and lies; by one rarely fazed - that is, rarely surprised . . . 

'My dear, please, refrain from looking so bored.'

(The Priestess wiped a tear, or two, from her eyes.)

'Just tell me how to live,' I barked, sans finesse.

'Alas, that's advice I can't possibly give. . . 

'But, have you ever thought of waitressing?' said the worldly Priestess, as an after-thought.