September 28, 2016
‘Villages disappeared. Where they had thrived were empty fields of waving grasses and moaning winds,’ the storyteller began, rubbing his chin and looking around to engage in turn each of his young listeners. Then he whispered, ‘Hear me well if you would save this village from … the minstrel.’
The children shrank down, wide-eyed. The storyteller nodded and pulled his lute by its strap around from behind his back. He sang. The village disappeared.
Days later, mist formed on a lake at dawn and drifted toward a nearby village. It paused and took shape. One black boot, one white. Satin tights, one leg scarlet, one leg gold. A checkerboard tunic of green and black. A jingle bell cap of driftwood grey. A fine lute strapped to his back. He strolled into the village and headed for the marketplace. At noon, the village disappeared.
Beware the minstrel. Beware the mist.
September 25, 2016
1 box carpet tacks
2 violins
8 gallons of churned paste
2 buckets of gravel
Throw the churned paste into an empty wine vat. Toss in gravel, tacks and violins. Using a gondolier’s pole, mix thoroughly. Hide yourself in the coal bin. Use ventriloquism to throw your voice and announce that dinner is ready. Mentally prepare for the beating you are sure to suffer from the angry giants roaring displeasure at discovering tacks and violins in their gravel paste.
September 24, 2016
(Curtain opens to reveal two lecterns fronting a backdrop painting of huge orange poppies blanketing a vast green field. A giraffe stands behind one lectern, an ostrich behind the other.)
Ostrich: Nevertheless.
Giraffe: In point of fact it stands to reason if not to rhyme that …
Ostrich: Nevertheless.
Giraffe: All things considered it should be known or at least surmised that credit due, make no mistake, is …
Ostrich: Nevertheless.
Giraffe: For intents and porpoises in a general manner not strictly defined, but …
Ostrich: Nevertheless.
Giraffe: Can be subverted if carefully kept in a warm and distant room while …
Ostrich: Nevertheless.
Giraffe: Vigilant maidens fair and true do swim or stroll or swim or stroll under flights of canaries in moonless sky or skyless moon or moonless sky or …
Ostrich: Nevertheless.
(Curtain falls.)
September 23, 2016
Whenever young Bill was missing, the first place they’d check was under the porch.
September 22, 2016
Young William Faulkner liked to play:
a. hitting at the ball with a stick.
b. way out yonder in the pasture.
c. bury it, dig it up, and bury it again.
d. under the porch.
September 19, 2016
Hake Murrow crouched hidden in the corn field, the slurry of mud sliding and dripping from his body. His heart hammered. Its echo throbbed in his ears. From far off in the distance he heard the high squealing yelps of the hounds. He dared not linger longer. He crashed through the corn, fending off stalks with his fendered arms. He heard the hounds no more. On and on. Ever and ever. There was no exit. No exit. Ever. He stopped. His eyes widened. No exit. Ever.
