Joe’s finger – The story. (Fiction)
Post No 8. 23/6/21
Crouched over, hand on hip, with low levels of glucose, barely standing upright. Joe was at the final hurdle of a long, hard, gruesome shift; each day becoming more punishing. Now 54 – and not in a prime state – he watched his old “Work buddies” sling rusty old wheel rims, into a huge garbage compactor they call “Ash extractors.” One could call them – Visceral jaws of human consumption.
The rims served only one purpose; to strip the last bit of combusted waste, off the heavy metal cladding – so the maintenance guys could go and spit shine it; then massage their small ego’s with an uncompromising sense of worth: if only they knew how little significance, the hours of sweat, and exposure to cancerous bacteria, made to their life – if anything – it shortened it.
The somber look that plastered Joe’s face – a mask that all could see. He didn’t want to be looking at this shite, at his age, at this time in the morning. He never said so, but, his heels were burning like smoking coals in a sauna; and his mind pondering the next bout of equine sprint’s – he was a “Horsey man.”
Joe bent down gently, to keep his knees from total collapse. Picked up a wheel rim, and held it close to his swollen stomach – too reduce the back agony. Walked slowly over to the large steel door – a door that carries over a ton of metal fabrication – lifted up the rim with his remaining energy, and slammed it into the swell, of already injected rims. Joe stood back, slumped over, put his hand on his hip, and watched the jaws do their work. Every stroke contained potential energy, for a stray missile; made of scrap metal; launched at terminal velocity.
Today was Joe’s “unlucky day,” as he stood there, in front of the open door. A potential projectile was launched into reality. With the speed of sound, and the accuracy of a veteran sniper; his middle digit was the victim. Instantly, Joe fell to the floor in agony; gripping his hand close to his stomach – some say this is a natural human reaction.- and part of the sacral chakra, which can aid with healing energy – this was not on Joe’s mind – but a natural response his body took. He let out a visceral roar, and looked up at the watching audience. Joe felt like a clown – a common emotion – he stood up and immediately left for the safety room, about 50 meters and 2 story’s of metal steps away.
He booted the door open, sat down on the table; a table that served as a chez lounge, for most. Gritted teeth, he began to weep, uncontrollable blubbering; from a deep feeling of desolation. His finger now purple, it was on its way to death. A teardrop fell from his puffy cheek; and nestled into his bloodied cuticle; the salt content providing natural disinfection – Joe’s body was trying to heal itself – all them years of unreachable self control; in a single moment was reversed, and he realised; the healing he needed was inside himself – all along.
Book review – Lee Child – The Hero.
Post No 7. 19/5/21
Well… I suppose when I picked up this book I immediately thought, ‘yes, perfect, a book that will give me the exact low down and details required to make up the most page turning hero’. And coming from an established author, sure what else would you think. This short black hardcover book with excellent cover imagery, drew my attention right over to it, obviously I was in the fiction section. But this book is nonfiction, or is it? No it is…wait it’s not!
This is what I was left with over the course of the book, it was an absolute page turner! Child most likely forecasted the book as if ok… ‘The Hero’. My fans and inspiring writers will buy and read this because they imagine it will give the perfect outlay into creating a ‘Hero’ from thin air, well imagination. And in a mildly amusing way it absolutely does that.
The storyline is a narrative of the whereabouts the word ‘Hero’ came from, how it developed, and evolved into what we know today. He delves way back into stone age evolution and the theory of language, the finite use of words; a world were fiction was not necessary for communication, and the basis of fiction was yet to be understood. A world were only absolute truth was required. The development of the spoken language at some point took a turn, is what I took from it. Which impacted the natural evolution of the human species.
Did fiction shape the world we live in now? Are we just a product of developmental fiction?
From the beginnings of early medication; heroin, morphine, codeine and the likes. The chemists that were brave enough to experiment against popular belief that they could produce something to ease the pain and suffering of human mankind. Were these men Hero’s?
From the Natural evolution of men and more importantly women, as he refers to his grandmother throughout the book and her connected line of ancestry. Are these women the hero’s?
Is the creation of fiction and more importantly – Mass fiction, the underpinning of the ‘Hero’. Fyi… This emphasis Struck a significant cord In my mind and definitely make me think.
The book leaves you as open ended as it is written, and makes you think about why we actually call someone a hero, because, nowadays it seems there is an open ended catalogue on why someone can be one? How is this? Why can so many be labelled a hero.
Because it’s fiction. Yes there is a few key markers that will broadly define a ‘Hero’. Like, facing adversity in the face of evil; having courage to fight for a cause; suffering or even death for the sake of others. All admirable. And somewhat necessary, but as time has gone by, the loss of the true meaning has come to fruition.
A ‘Hero’ is what the mass want it to be, in their own minds and imagination. A ‘Hero’ will suit any label or narrative the human race want it to be… Because, it’s all fiction.
So go, write your ‘Hero’, because at the end of the day, your only limited to your imagination.
Post No 6. 15/5/21
I’m am onion, an nunion.
“Ahhh here, leave it bleedin ouuu… I’m feelin like an nunion.” Wrapped up like an onion, in a black fur coat from penny’s. Something that most likely a poor Indonesian sowed together with their little young bare hands. Synthetic fabrics running through there breakfast, creating inflammation and sickness, in the mind and soul. While I stand here wearing it like a small black bear, sucking on my plastic manufactured vape pipe; which brings me no more ease to my anxiety than the fake plume of smoke that exits my lungs. I point towards my dying flowers up on my flat balcony, which I refuse to water; I can’t get any satisfaction, so why should my flowers. I’ll treat them like my perception on life. I’ll own flowers, but God be dammed if they have a better life than me. Jokes flow, nonsense and small talk. This has been the life for many years; I deserve this, without work, without having to suffer. People owe me, I’ve had it hard. I’ve had it harder than all the souls in the world. Come back to me, leave me, “How about you fuck off back to where ya came from.” I’m having a Guinness, watching my dying flowers on my balcony. I own them. I’ll drink all I want to, as this life owes me. And my flowers will suffer the same fate as me. Neglect and abuse. It happened, so it should repeat. And the mirror in my soul will broadcast all suffering I have become too. And shine it back onto everything in my life.
” it’s all a bit of craic”
Post No 4. 4/5/21
“Were left in the dark out there, like bleedin mushrooms.”
Every so often I hear what I call “Word gems,” these are a string of words, verbs, nouns, adjectives, all put together in a fashion that make up for a striking story. Mostly unknown to the speaker, which makes it even better! so when I hear them, I make a point of remembering and writing about them, which I already explained in the previous post, so I am now repeating myself.
So, the basis of this story is that if a person is left uninformed, surprised, excluded, neglected, omitted, you see where I’m going with this, that they should correlate themselves to mushrooms, How I ask? The comment “were left in the dark out there, like bleedin mushrooms” – absolute cracking comment I must add!! – makes for a good story, and a quick perception into the mind of who said it. Drawing similarities between being uninformed or left out, to being a mushroom…wow.., I couldn’t stop the laughter, you know the type of laughter that renders you uncapable of even sitting up straight, tears building up in your lower eyelids, laughing so much you stop making any noise whatsoever, brilliant,! absolutely brilliant.
Back to the key question, how? why? what the hell does he be thinking when he thinks of mushrooms? and even better, be able to call himself and attribute an emotional state to being an actual human mushroom? Well I can only presume his view on a mushroom, is something that gets left in the dark, that grows on logs and piles of cow shit, an object that belongs in a deep-dark forest, something that gets left out and is absolutely not connected to anything going on in the real world, and something that is as stupid as it sounds.
That would be my best guess! But what I see in that comment is the Irony. Yes, mushrooms are basically fungi, and yes, they do live in isolated areas, outside of the “Normal world.” In deep woods and high mountain forestry, but, if he really knew what goes on with a mushroom, maybe, just maybe, he also would see the irony. Fortunately for mushrooms they are actually the most connected and informed species of all, yes! They sit on a bed of mycelium that sends back the info they need for basically everything around them. Kind of like their own web of internet!! And with this information feedback they can know what’s going on, without the need for someone to say something, or call, text, email, whatsoever.
So what I’m left with is. Something funny to remember, write about, and now use my creative imagination on how I can create a giant human like mushroom character with arms and legs, that is emotionally unstable, sensitive, a bit of a joker, and wants to come out of the woods to live a sociable, informed life. Voila, Tom, the human mushroom.
Post No 3. 22/4/21
A pause in the park, beside the sea
Sometimes I like to listen to people when they tell a story, like really, really listen, if I think that their story may have legs of humour, conflict or something that may be worth writing about, ill remember it and then write it down, and now ill probably post some of the better ones on this blog. The reason I do this is because its interesting and funny to listen to some of the Dublin humour and banter that can come from so left field, it nearly belongs in a script. I am pretty sure some of them don’t have the faintest clue that they are funny or in some cases, actually have a very valid point, and then some are just uninformed with a hint of motivated reasoning for self validation.. and pretty racist, from a total outsiders perspective obviously!! Also these stories can fuel the imagination and lead to some pretty decent creative writing, I suppose in my own way its like doing some research into what people are generally talking about, which mostly is influenced by the current news, political affairs, or just their own general life status.
So here’s some conversations I heard, I was on my way into work to start a shift, I had been cycling in recently, every shift, it sets me up for the day, so I stopped to finish off a coffee I bought on the way in, just of the Grand Canal, a nice dark roast, so strong it tasted like tobacco, you know you scored a good coffee when the bitter smell widens the pupils when inhaled through the nose!!. I stopped off before I got to work on a park-side bench that overlooks Dublin Bay, it was an absolute cracker of a day, the heat was good, sun was out, and the glare of the sea from the sun warranted shades to be worn. People were out, all bustling about and ready to take on their walks like there was no tomorrow, they had their dogs, kids, sisters, brothers and grandparents with them, most people were in pairs as obviously that is were the conversations I listen to come form, anyone on their own talking to themselves mostly has a different shade to the story, if you know what I mean. Anyway I have set and described the scene now….on with the story.
Mother - Its an absolute disgrace the way the government have this bleedin country in, they should be ashamed of themselves.
Daughter - Ahh tell me about it ma, Janice was telling me about how she's been on the housing list for 5 years and she hasn't had a bleedin thing happen for her, all the bleedin foreigner's are coming in and taken up the whole bleedin lot!!!
Mother - Ahh I know, tell me abou it.
Daughter - Do ya know she was telling me there is a new family that just moved in 5 doors up, bleedin disguted she was, a paki family, about bleeding 60 of them, all arrived up in a bleedin space-wagon.
Mother - Ahh yar Jokin..
Daughter - Yea...., now in all fairness the council did let her have a look into the gaf but she didnt like the shape of the rooms and back door wasn't big enough for what she likes, so she said no..., im not takin that bleedin kip.
Mother - she was right..fuckin shockin state of the places, sure only the bleedin foreigner's would live in a kip like that.
Daughter - Ahh, its the blacks, there bleedin everywhere, there gettin houses left, right and centre, and im sittin around rejecting places left right and centre while their all gettin gafs... im sick of the jasis thing.
Another male passes by with a friend - I have been hiring and firing for 20 years now, and its just what you have to do, but when I am hiring a new guy, or even someone already on the payroll, I have always had the moral stance that "if a guy can cheat on his wife, he will cheat on you" and I stand by that basis when I choose someone or have to give them a review, because it matters, if your going to trust this person with other staff or even worse "your money", how could you trust a cheat.
Post No 2. 21/4/21
So, ill use this again as it seems to be the best way to communicate the various things I have going on. I am currently writing a few different things, working on a short story (The Culler). I am pretty excited about this short tale of modern day animal marksman, with a shitty life to go along with it he uses his job for a reality break, anyway, when I have it on paper I will talk more about it. It’s possibly a leg breaker into a script for a movie (thought)…hmmm. I also have a book started (Bodies in the Bay) and 3 more ideas I am pondering but I will have to see if them ideas stick around and then ill know if the story and writing will flow and grab a reader, if not, in the bin they go. (Souls of a journeyman, Point it twice, Cancer may fall)
Post No 1. 20/1/21
I suppose I should write something on this blog outlet (and maybe it will grow on me), I am not really a big fan of blogs to be honest, and I have not much of a liking for any social media, actually to be brutally honest, I am at absolute dismay with the social media evolution and the shortening of attention spans set out by the social media culture, to me, this is not culture. (small rant)
Arts, literature, paintings, scripts, movies, writing, history, these items are the absolute resolute and pillars of culture and anything apart from that should not be tolerated. (another small rant)
I do however have to roll with the times, because as a writer you have to want to communicate your thoughts and stories, as for this is the one golden rule for writing, to communicate a story, to let your mind wander, to engage the reader into an alternative reality to the world we live in.
After all, we can not bring physical possessions to the other side when we meet god, our lord, our only judge, but.. what we can bring is memories, stories, love and our spirit.
A bit preachy but sure fuck it.
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