Rainbow

A rainbow erupts from the 18th hole. Upstaging the greens and causing the starched whites to slink into silence. Zooming up into the sky, birds swerve out of the way. Colours and chemicals and moisture and imagination streak across the blue sky, like a little kid going mad with crayons. Perfectly parallel yet with no clear distinction.

The unwashed masses look up from the grey to the messiah that spreads the light across the sky. Surreal yet perfectly natural. The eyes move slowly, transferring images to the brain which then shrivels up in humiliation. Of a world gone dark, with flats and sharps, and candy that nobody likes. Someone cries “shoot yourselves!”, another answers “when?”. Of a will driven deep beneath the soil, uprooted only by chaos and mayhem. Riots. Blood. Screams. Gunfire. The speech from the soul, floating about scared, scarred.

Past the valleys and the fields that used to exist. Now only flat. Over the monuments that stood as a tribute to a great race. A race that finally consumed itself. Without knowing it. A race that will probably never know it. One dies here, 2000 die there, the balance is absolute. Not in reality but in the mind. And it is the mind that is the final judge.

Past the ghosts of dreams, the little seeds of imagination. Slicing the acid rain and giving hell to the putrid clouds of greed and pride that float above the metropolis. The new monument to a race that has finally derailed.

Past the oceans, now filled with the crimes of humanity. Past the brothels and the whore houses. The state capitals, the breeders of the new world. Past things that used to be sacred.

Past the past.

And into the future.

With all the colours of hope. A hope that can be dismissed easier than it took to sprout. A hope with little hands and little feet and wings so large it would take a enormous amount of hate to clip them. A hope that follows a path, straight and true. Flying high. With a purpose. Flying because nothing else will.

Where will it end?

Does anybody know?

Somewhere far off, showing the way? In someone, showing the light? Will it come full circle to remind us that we will all die? Who knows?


But this I do know; on that green there is a little balding man. Dirty hands, bulging eyes, torn coat, shoes too large. Self consumed. At that 18th hole, looking for a pot of gold.

The adventures of William the 5th

It was just after I saw the flying pig that I heard it.

The pig had just disappeared into the clouds, (funny thing was, its tail was straight) when I heard it creep up from behind. The sound of a thousand whistles. It seemed a tad strange to hear a sound like that, especially when your standing atop a vanilla milkshake. I mean, have you ever heard a whistle let alone a thousand when you were standing on top of a milkshake? I thought not. Needless to say I wanted to know who was making that unearthly racket. So I turned around. And came face to face with it. A gigantic purple steam engine, cowcatcher and all, hurtling straight at me! I strafed to my left and the thing missed me by an inch. And straight down I went, down into the milky depths of the shake.

Now the thing about drowning in a vanilla milkshake is you can’t see a bloody thing! I’m told it’s even worse if it’s a chocolate milkshake! Try as I might I couldn’t rise to the surface. I tried swimming, paddling, groping and finally tap dancing. Nothing worked and I sank to the bottom.

As I sat there on the bottom, freezing, head on my folded arm, I thought to myself, why not drink it? That’s what it’s there for so why not fulfill its destiny and save myself while I was at it? So that’s what I did, I opened my mouth and sucked the entire contents of the glass in. Now I was alive… and full.

As I looked upwards at the brim of the glass I realized I had a new problem; how the fuck was I going to get out. Climb? Glass is pretty slippery even when it’s not wet. And after a vanilla milkshake I was in no mood to do anything, let alone climb. So I sat down and leaned against the glass. I guess all that milk made me heavy because the moment I leaned against it, the glass slipped off the table and landed on something soft.

I crawled out.

There was soft white porcelain all around and a big red and white sign that said ‘A banana must be eaten’.

I had nothing to do so I walked on down to the sign. There was a button labeled ‘down’ next to it, so I pressed it. An elevator door appeared and opened. I stepped inside and traveled down to basement number 1,45,987.

As I exited elevator I found myself inside a subwoofer. It was playing some Rage Against The Machine. So I did the only normal thing I could think of and surfed the sound wave into the great wide open. It died after a wile and I found myself in a freefall.

Crash! Bang! Shatter and Splat!

I assumed my liquid form (You’re probably wondering why I didn’t do this earlier on with the milkshake incident, well, I didn’t know I could do it) and flowed onto a stamp. Big mistake. I was stuck and posted.

Nest thing I knew there’s this fat guy in a red suit with white fur and a pink nose looking down at me. Oh no I thought! I’m at a village people concert! But then I spotted another sign that said ‘Santa’s Little Workshop’. Whew!

FYI, Santa’s Chinese. I mean, think about it, who else can manufacture so many cheap toys, still maintain a decent profit margin, always get the order wrong, find the address no matter what and slide down the chimney? Fuck! It’s obvious! The fat guy is Chinese and his last name Ling. All that nonsense about Rudolph and his shiny red nose was a result of the historic affection the Chinese have for live animal fights. BTW Rudolph won, 7-1.

Now Santa had no fucking clue as to what I was, to be honest, neither did I! I was as shocked to see him as he was to see me. I was even more shocked to his lovers, all 75 of them and all male. Santa scratched his head and did the only thing he could, he called the Pope. Now the Pope is not that guy at the Vatican. That’s a farce. The real Pope sits in an orbiting spaceship made entirely of gingerbread. And eats candy canes all day.

I was sent up without delay. Now let me tell you, that gingerbread spaceship that the pope has is something else! Truly a work of art! Marshmallow beds, the new PlayStation 3, VR, every single movie ever made, ever, 451.1 surround surround surround sound, a massive plasma TV, a big blue sky for the ceiling, a beach, a golf course, cars, an F1 track, planes, chocolates, books, lots of pot, a 324 foot bong, beer fountains, a harem, a cinema, the entire cast of Cats, Elvis, Marley, Dylan, Hendrix, a rainforest, a beehive, two soccer stadiums (Complete with football hooligans), 400 fireplaces (Risky business on a gingerbread ship), a snooker table, a bowling alley, radio controlled cars, boats, planes, …. Small place, but cozy. Anyway, now the Pope, the real deal here, asks me. What’ll you have? To which I replied “Scotch, on the rocks”. Done. So we sat, or rather, floated, there are no chairs there, just anti-gravity, which is a pain in the ass (Ironic?) after a while.

I stayed there for a few years. And one fine day I just got tired of the entire deal. Pssst, the old fart watches porn too. But you didn’t get that from me. So I turned myself into a dream and woke up in someone’s room. Sunlight filtering through the window, birds chirping and all that jazz old Armstrong sang about.

And I yawned. Yawned, yawned and yawned. Nice and big! Tongue out, arms outstretched and head tilted back. Now those of you reading will probably feel like yawing too, even if not immediately at least a few minutes down the line. Is it because of the story, maybe, but it’s more to do with the fact that yawning is contagious. If there’s someone next to you and they catch you yawning they’ll probably yawn too. An interesting little fact I read about. Right, now back to the story.

I was in a little girls’ room. Pink walls, N’Sync and the Backstreet Boys pasted on them, lace, flowers, dolls, pink curtains and a satanic altar. Woah! Back track, satanic altar??? Kids these days I tell you!

So I got the fuck out of there. Turned myself into light and sped straight out. Smooth flight, till I hit a mirror. Now any of you who have ever traveled as light will know that hitting a mirror at that speed is not funny. You get reflected and as far as I’m concerned that word ‘reflected’ does not do the experience justice. Words like ‘crash’, ‘collide’, ‘slammed’, they all have a sense of pain. Not because we’re sensitized to those words but because they just sound nasty. “Poor ickle thing, you were in a crash? Aaawww”. Tell someone you got reflected and they’ll look at you with such a comic expression you just want to wrench their heads off! “Hey ma, guess what? I was reflected today!”, “Jonny, shut the fuck up and go clean your room”. Sad but true.

I turned back to liquid and evaporated myself.

As I lay there among the clouds I reflected on my life. The things I had done and the people I had met. Places I had visited and the things I had learnt. It was here that I realized that there was one thing about my adventures that still bothered me. Why was that damn pig’s tail straight?

2F

There was this place I grew up in
A place I knew
A place where everyone fit in
A place that held all but few

2F they called it
And they came in droves
In cars, on bikes
In autos
But bored

Three rooms it had
One was his
One was mine
The other held everything
That had ever passed through time

It had a balcony that overlooked some cars
Some were old and rusted
Some were new
Some covered
But all of them grew

Not in size
But on us
When they left
They were replaced
By more still
Spoils from a criminal race

One room had a view
That was blocked by glass
Which was covered in dust
That grew and grew
Till there was no more view

The big brown couch
Was the favourite place
To sit,
To pass out
It set the pace

For the two chairs around it
And the table in front
A chair with air
A translucent green
Thrown about
Till it lost its sheen

A small table in the midst of it all
Screamed when showered in vodka
The spoils of a party
The mark of a few Rastas

Then there was another table
With two legs that became four
Six chairs around it
And it faced a door

As big as it was
It could never hold
The amount of people
That called 2F home

Right next to that was a big blue fridge
Well past retirement
Rusty hinges
And a stale smell of peppermint

There she stood
Big and cold
With a big blue door
That could hold and hold
Posters and stickers
And flyers and all
Everyone saw it
As they passed through the hall

That fridge as I recall
Probably had more on it
Than inside
At all

And oh yes
It was against a wall

A wall that saw 2 people grow old
One of them die
They saw a house full of children
Who had hopes till the sky

Five feet of smoke
Would linger in the air
Every day of every week
It would be there

All those who came in
Had something to say
Had something to give
And something to takeaway

Change would be collected
Cigarettes and cream buns bought
For those who seemed strong
Yet otherwise distraught

A motley crue of assorted nuts
From almonds and cashews
To those out from a rut

It was a place anyone could visit
To sit down and smoke
Or drink like the fish
Till they dropped to the floor

For festivals they treated
The house as their own
Contributions from some
And others unknown

From decorating to drinking
And dancing and trying
To prancing and falling
With incredibly stale wine
Christmas lights
And trees
With ornaments from beyond
Those who were about
Would always belong

From the stains to pains
And the curious stuff on the floor
To the clean days
And apple juice
And dinner
Wolfed down as never before

With a kitchen that was never used
But used all the same
Not for cooking
But telling friends we loved them
And would love to have them again

From hugs and kisses
And movies and booze
And smoking and eating
We didn’t need an excuse

2f they’d say
And some would frown
But the love that was around
It wouldn’t die down

Nor did we want it to
And nor did it do
Fuckity fuck fuck fuck
And dum-diddly-doo

A house, a home
A place, Rome
Civilizations may fall
But memories will stay on
In our heads
In our hearts
From the days of the plenty
To the days of the not so
So you remember the donuts
Whisking to and fro?

And then came the end
The end that was so near
The end that seemed far away
The end that was dear

When the dust found its place
And the old things could rest
The voices that held so much promise
Had finally left

But left not in sadness
But with joy in the heart
For they can always go back
And visit the start

The start for me
The start for most
The start that will never
Ever
Ever
Ever
Become a ghost

But will stay on in the minds
Of those that have left
It was mine long ago
And for that I feel blessed

The things that went on
In room after room
All had their stories
All have been marooned

Tethered and anchored
And safely dropped
They’re contained in the walls
Till the walls begin to talk

And maybe they will
And maybe they won’t
But whatever they do
They will hold fort

So here’s to the people
Who made home what it is
What it was and what it is

To everyone that ever went through
Annoying and nice
To those that danced
To those that like mice
To those that drew
So many, so few
To those that sang
Deep into the night
To those that smoked
Till it was twilight
To those that spilled
Their hearts on the floor
To those who were weak
But now never more
To those that were strong
And courageous and brave
To those that went mad
And tried to rave
To those who hid booze
Like ants in a tree
To those so sweet
It seemed motherly
To the tattooed
And the not
To the ones that thought they were fat
But actually were not
To the footsteps and the voices
And the songs and the smoke
We’ll all meet up
Have a few tokes
But now is it finished?
I should think not!
It will live on
Believe it or not

Longwinded as it seems
It’s not nearly enough
To explain and paint
The pictures in the trough
So keep what you learnt
And build and build
It was a gift
To all of us
Drilled with riddles

What we learnt and we will know
To face everyday
To go with the flow

So here’s to 2F
The place I call home
Farewell farewell
I will remember you all
For evermore.