robber barons do the hurdy gurdy 3

And then he collected himself, looking a little guilty. “Well, at any rate, that was a bust. He’s given up the idea since, I’m pretty sure: it can’t help that he’s losing his hair at a jolly old rate of knots, and never had any chin or cheekbones to speak of in the first place. Pulchritude can substitute for talent in youth: but once your youthful charms are gone, all you’ve got is what you’ve put the work in to hone and polish.”

he touched his hand to his hair again briefly, and to his face as if to smooth out the odd faint touch of wear, time’s kisses. Besides the pallor and shadows of the stress he was under, Erik could discern the faintest traces of ageing. Wasn’t he a connoisseur on the subject? It didn’t detract altogether from his charms: only lent a trace of maturity that had been lacking, a spurious air of wisdom. (Spurious, surely. Erik ought to know that by now.)

“Vicarious satisfaction, then?” Erik diagnosed. “If he can’t hog the spotlight himself, let him at least have the star of the show on a collar and leash, jumping when he says jump, hoops a-gogo? Sharing the red carpet and swagging off with every Emmy, Tony and Academy Award, on permanent loan in his creepy little lair?2

“Erik,” Charles said, and shook his head. He smirked a little, as he said, “You used to be such a nice boy.”

“Yes,” Erik agreed. ‘Then you happened to me,’ he added mentally.

robber barons do the hurdy gurdy 2

And then he collected himself, looking a little guilty. “Well, at any rate, that was a bust. He’s given up the idea since, I’m pretty sure: it can’t help that he’s losing his hair at a jolly old rate of knots, and never had any chin or cheekbones to speak of in the first place. Pulchritude can substitute for talent in youth: but once your youthful charms are gone, all you’ve got is what you’ve put the work in to hone and polish.”

he touched his hand to his hair again briefly, and to his face as if to smooth out the odd faint touch of wear, time’s kisses. Besides the pallor and shadows of the stress he was under, Erik could discern the faintest traces of ageing. Wasn’t he a connoisseur on the subject? It didn’t detract altogether from his charms: only lent a trace of maturity that had been lacking, a spurious air of wisdom. (Spurious, surely. Erik ought to know that by now.)

robber barons do the hurdy gurdy

And then he collected himself, looking a little guilty. “Well, at any rate, that was a bust. He’s given up the idea since, I’m pretty sure: it can’t help that he’s losing his hair at a jolly old rate of knots, and never had any chin or cheekbones to speak of in the first place. Pulchritude can substitute for talent in youth: but once your youthful charms are gone, all you’ve got is what you’ve put the work in to hone and polish.”

8 out of ten cats wanna rub up against Jon Richardson

The poem is the way back machine

is the head-to-toe skin-tall Tardis removing you from this speck of existence to another

you wrote it because:

you were drunk

(applicable only to Persona A)

you are a peacock

(universally applicable)

it was funny and bad ideas are still ideas

and all ideas must be implemented in all possible worlds

this world is the only world possible for you

(applicable)

because it scoured and bleached the memory

and Jon Richardson would approve

(spottily applicable where you care to apply it)

not even because you slept through

and nothing else was going to get done that day

not everyone’s

not ever

predictive

of the diminution of results

from strenuous efforts

POEM: poison, fear me

I eat black mould and I thrive
poison, fear me
bears and snakes, don’t come near me
behind the wheel, but I can’t drive
the dream’s a dream of when I was alive

spiders know that I won’t kill ’em
the dentist gets bitten if he tries to fill ’em
nice girl that I used to be
met you, which was nice for you
’cause it meant you met me

bleach from the cupboard in the old toothmug
cum on the seat someone’s been giving it a tug
and I roll up in foisty blankets
phone in and use up some love
on a move in the game today

 

A Nice Jewish Wolf 1

Elena stirred, alerted by the long, long silence to the fact that business was exceptionally slow. There was no great need to worry: their bookshop was ticking over in the black – just about – and had been for years now, given a fortunate location and loyal clientele. It was just – wet Wednesdays, and early closing day, and a long way off payday for a lot of folks. The thing was, a lack of customers gave her the urge to mess with her brother, even if only for her own personal amusement.

She looked over at him, hunched beside the elderly till, a vintage Guy de Maupassant spread out before him, and a mug cooling by his side.