In August, we eat Sturgeon. Yes?

Tis a phrase that I hear gunmetal gray cars utter as they drive past.

(its pronouced oar-guuust, and stuuur-gen, just like Voitek at work does)

Just as you can imagine every (truely english) car in british racing green go "Humph!" in that lordly tone as they putter past.

And scooters (Of the vespian variety) zoom past in high pitched italian, the chinese copies (just like my previously owned black steed) go 'QQQquaaauuuurrrr' in passing.

Mercs wear black and white suits of various varieties of formality (tuxes for the cls, sports suits for the slk)

BMWs wear black leather bomber jackets just like the pilots that used to fly their planes in WWI.

Audis are all genteel older warriors, a touch of grey on the sides but still that killer bright spark in their blue eyes.

Alfas slick their oiled hair back and their gleaming dark eyes reveal mischief and amusement (Maybe i will get you home tonight? maybe not?)

Hondas say only one word, "Heyyyy!" In varying timbres across their range.

And Volkswagens? They're the 2nd son in every teutonic family. Princes, not kings and they know it. So as long as they make the people smile, they're happy enough.

So its always been with Germen Bob (yes folks thats the name of my volks).

Until 6 months ago.

I showed him my idea of the rims of my dreams.

hmmm.... I like those very much. said he...

but maybe not for me hmmm? too rich, expensive no?

and so we walked away.

3 days ago, we found them again, the same set of customs, surfacing one last and unlikely time.

An unlikely knock on the door this time.

"Master? I know it is not august, but may we try for the crown? Just once?"

So we did try, and the numbers did crunch, twas tight but doable...

Germen bob looked quietly pleased.

But just as we were about to seal the deal...

"Sir, let us pull out. I have decided no. The crown, it is too beautiful for me. Let another have it, our current gear will do fine."

So there we go.

Bye bye pretty shiny things.

When world's collide

I watch the offbeat movie Lars and the real girl the other night.

And was charmed at the main character's delusional love and its power.

There was a scene where Lars danced with tears in his eyes as his friends played along to the illusion he had cast for them.

I think that was when the delusion had worn thin, and the reality of the situation began to at least shine through for brief, lucid moments, piercing deep into his soul, wounding deeper than anything.

For some moments this weekend, I began to question things too.

Surrounded by my newly acquired trinkets and toys, I've built myself a nice little hovel in Adelaide.

I spend my hours between new and old forms of escapism to fend off the inevitable and growing truth... the loneliness.

This weekend I realized that somewhere along the previous weeks I had stopped struggling against this long time foe.

Pray for me friends... I'm tired and I've just realized that a wordsmith's tiny silver hammer does not do well against the darkness.

I need new friends, a new network, new allies, new direction.

Standard Issue

Soldiers inevitably fall into 2 types.

The first arms him or herself with everything the quartermaster issues and trusts in army's procurement system to have chosen correctly for their survival and comfort.

The 2nd stands by the code that "standard issue is never enough" and is willing to spend above and beyond reasonable lengths to obtain only the best equipment for themselves.

In my time in the army I confess to spending most of my time as the latter variety, being known for my custom light saber-esk torch and love of exotic steel (ala obsidian blade from earlier posts)


But this story isn't about me.

Lieutenant Lane was a career soldier when I met her.

By lack of choice or ambition she had signed her contract to the "men in green" at an age when others would have been cramming for university exams.

By every count she was a better soldier than I was, running further (I could run faster though :P ), shooting better (Hey Laney, i hit 44 out of 50, what did you get? I didn't miss a shot?... Oh, thats great.) and jumping out of planes for the sheer fun of it.

And so it with great joy when I won our bet for a meal on who would have a faster obstacle course time (I beat her time on the Standard Obstacle Course by 10 seconds)that I rubbed it in her face by requesting a nice seafood restaurant dinner. It was not a cheap meal.

Days later I walked into her office to borrow a compass.

Hey Laney, can I borrow your compass? I think I buried mine in the last exercise.

Sure its in my webbing pockets, get it yourself

And as I rummaged through the webbing (the utility belt typed thing that soldiers keep stuff in) pockets for the compass, I suddenly noticed.

Hey Laney, This isn't standard issue is it?

Nope, I got it custom made, kevlar weave in the belt and the back holds a couple of ceremic plates strong enough to stop a bullet from 100m

Sweet lord this thing weighs a ton! Do you always run the obstacle course in this thing?

Of course I do, its the only webbing I own now

So I guess I owe you dinner now?

Nope, I want a torch like yours

But you already have a surefire torch, why would you want another one?

Just to be able to say that yours isn't a one off anymore?

You're a mean winner you know.

No, you're just a girly man who can't run faster than a girl.

I think she uses that torch for night reading...

~~~

Scenes from the mindscape

The writer looks around at his surroundings.

A beautifully furnished cell, furnished for the transportation of a queen complete with airholes.

With every known comfort yes, but a cell nevertheless.

Walking to the desk, running tired hands along its dark mahogany surface, he picks up a pen and tries once again...

~~~

The Forge
---------

Stepping in to the glowing room, the knight removes his armor and lays it on the brooding anvil.

His fingers trail across the pockmarked surface, pausing at each dent, each field repair, reliving the encounters.

The awkward weld of repair after the first battle.

3 holes in the shoulder where arrows had pierced.

The gash in the backplate, struck by turned brothers.

Drawing deeper into his memories, he examines the many symbols on the breastplate that make up the coat of arms.

Cross, scales, torch, blade, and so many more that even he could not recall what they all stood for.

Finally, his fingers find the few that he seeks.

The waves, the mouse, the green dagger, the bloody horn and the copper bloom.

marking them out with a white lime stone, the man turns to heat a chisel in the glowing forge then turns to the wall and hefts a silver hammer from a hook.

Placing the white hot edge of the chisel on the breastplate he eyes each symbol one last time.

Then, closing his eyes, he lets the hammer fall.

again

and again

and again

Lets jump start this pen!

The stories swell up and then fizzle without an outlet.

Some good and golden, some dark and silent, but like all wordless songs they fade quickly.

How long since i've sung or woven that special brand of magic?

It takes deep to call upon deep, and for now the silence is deafening.

Black Blade

A strange city at odds with itself, muttered a voice in my head.

I had landed in shanghai through a strange twist of fates and coincidences and between work and meetings I found myself wandering the streets.

The most capitalist place in the world, nestled in the most communist country in the world (oh, cuba communist enough, but china certainly wins hands down for size!)


Having acquired the accented speech of a canton dweller for my haggling with the shop keepers and the strange insulting me way of haggling of the locals.

I had amused myself that morning in the markets picking up what trinkets that caught my eye.


Me: "What? you call this a quality shirt? just because i come from canton doesn't mean I'm ignorant!"

Shopkeeper: " Its not like you cantonese know a quality shirt when you see one! Last batch of stock I bought from canton was rubbish!"

Me: " Its probably because they knew you were going to sell it to a foreigner instead of an honest chinese like me!"

Shopkeeper: "You got a point there cantonese, you can have it for your price"

And so on...

Thus it came to be that I stood in front of a shopkeeper of a weapon shop berating him for the rubbish he was trying to sell me (at this point an ex red army artillery man from the canton 26th artillery wing).

"Your're ex army you say? My cousin is in the army now, I really respect the work you boys do. So I'll let you in on something special if you can be quiet about it."

Then he disappears out back and appears with something wrapped in newspaper.

"I got some of these from the factory, you know how these things can fall off the back of the truck sometimes ;) ... we issue them to the police squads here, very good stuff"

I heft the obsidian blade and smiled the same smile I do whenever anyone ever asked me how I got my hands on it.

well now you all know.

Ebbs and flows

The continuity of life and the struggle of it all.

Men need goals to work towards.

Achievable steps to reach for fuel forward momentum.

And the lack of vision of the road ahead can be... ebbing...

You will all notice a lack of posts lately.

But here's a few stories

~~~

HMmm

Rental going up. Interest rates sky rocketing. Houses I want just not happening.

Is it all bad?

Heck no!

After all, God's driving the car no?