Thursday, 30 October 2008

boss mortician verses the amateur pallbearer

Boss Mortician and The Amateur Pallbearer are two characters which have been floating in my head for some time. I want to write stories and plays and sitcoms about them.

Here's part 1 of an introduction, it is primarily about Boss Mortician...
Boss Mortician rose to success post-WWII, offering mid-quality funeral services at mostly affordable prices. His speciality was a range of caskets built to resemble the fallen trunks of grand oaks, complete with knots and broken branches, these caskets would be lowered into the ground by a small crane owned and operated by Boss Mortician. The tree casket range was discontinued in 1963, due in part to the flammability of the materials used.

Wednesday, 29 October 2008

lesley joseph facelift

the platform is looking at me

If I took off my clothes in public I would be in trouble
Probably, yes
I choose to take off my clothes and walk around the railway station
In the cold with nothing to shield me from the screaming winds
I hate the naked body and I hate the railway station
The platform is looking at me
I tell everyone to fuck off
The guard approaches me as a train approaches me
“Don’t push me” I shout at the guard
I throw my naked body in front of the train
The platform is now looking at the guard
A dozen people ask “what did you do?”

Sunday, 26 October 2008

papier mache dog head in the woods

story I started

I keep my change in my pocket.

I keep my hand next to my change.

I walk into the woods and the change changes into little rocks that I place on a tree stump. And the stump and the little rocks change into a man wearing a papier mache head shaped to look like a dog’s head.

Through a hole in the papier mache mask he says “who are you and what are you doing?”

I explain that I am not here to cause him harm, and that I walked into the woods as a shortcut on my walk home from work. I explain that I’ve had a tough day at work and that the customers are painful to talk to.

"These are things that do not concern me little boy" the man says in a way that makes him sound like a film set in ancient Rome. I am offended a little by being referred to as 'little boy' because I am a grown up fighting constantly against the immaturity that holds me back from succeeding ever.

"Then don't ask me who I am and what I'm doing then!" I am angry at the man and his stupid papier mache head. He is naked also and that bothers me. "Who are you anyway?"

"My name is Scott and I work for the council, therefore you work for me, you are my employee. Go. Do my bidding."

I push Scott over on the leaves and branches that cover the ground. He doesn't land too hard because of the cushion this debris provides. I reach for his papier mache head. It is shaped like a dog's head and looks stupid and ironic. I hate Scott now and his stupid head. I try and pull it off but he has gripped tight holding of the edges. I pick up a rock. The rock is bigger than my fist and much harder and with coarse edges. I smash the papier mache head until I can see the real human eyes beneath. There is an amount of blood also.

"Do my bidding." Scott is week and crying and still giving instructions. "Do my bidding." I pull that last of the papier mache from his head and now pieces of the dog helmet cover the ground, mixing with the leaves and woodland debris. "Do my bidding."

"What exactly is it you want me to do?"

"Tell me. Tell me, who are you and what are you doing?"

I don't know the answer to the question anymore.


Thursday, 23 October 2008

Around The Inflatable

this is a new blog i have started. i am chris. hi.
this is going to contain bits of writing and also pictures i have drawn and maybe at some point music i have made (though i am happy to keep that seperate and over here for now.)

this is a little piece I wrote 6 years ago. it remains unfinished.

"That's my new dad", said the little boy.
I was unsure what to say to this little boy (he was little, I checked his height prior to his entry to the area surrounding The Inflatable. He came in at 90 centimeters approx.), sure I'd had a summer of nothing but little boys and girls, running around enjoying themselves and such, but this little boy felt the need to approach me, nobody else, just me, whilst I was waiting for The Inflatable to become deflatable, and tell me "That's my new dad, not my old dad. He died when he was 17 on a motorbike." Erm... Is this a test? Is The Company watching me? Is the guy in the bear costume really a spy-disguised-as-a-childrens-entertainer sent to check that I can handle all manners of children related issues?
In response to the little boys comment I simply reply "that's sad, man."
(Am I a stupid stupid person?)
The little boy looks up at me and says "yes I know it's sad."