Sunday, October 11, 2009

09. Tings Nov 09

(9:16 am Nov 09, 2005)

The Low Voltage Blues

I got the low voltage blues
I got the low voltage blues
Yeah, B.E.C. is messin with me
I got the low voltage blues

My U.P.S. is beepin
My Fridge is gettin warm
My A.C., it won't kick in
Man there ain't even no storm

I got the low voltage blues
I got the low voltage blues
Yeah, B.E.C. is messin with me
I got the low voltage blues

I'm tryin to write my novel
In thirty short, short days
And now just like the last year
Gots to pray they change their ways

I got the low voltage blues
I got the low voltage blues
Yeah, B.E.C. is messin with me
I got the low voltage blues

If I don't reach my fifty
I'll know just who to blame
Them boys and their low voltage
Who keep messin with my brain

I got the low voltage blues
I got the low voltage blues
Yeah, B.E.C. is messin with me
I got the low voltage blues

It was happening again, just like last year with Conch. For several mornings, he had been getting a call from a client who was having the type of computer and U.P.S. problems that led him to predict low voltage on the part of the power company. Labour negotiations were ongoing and so this was not too surprising. Actually, these sorts of things happened all the time, but for the semi-paranoid, it seemed that the frequency of power fun increased during labour negotiations or disputes. It made him suspect deep plots. Was the man involved in all oft his? No, it just couldn't be.

This morning it had happened to him and messed up his writing schedule. If this kept up, expensive corrections were in order. Definately low voltage. The low voltage blues. That might actually have legs.

Flipper. One who does flips? A famous marine mammal with ties to the islands?

Flipper. Fins. Mask. Goggles. Sling. Spear. Spring Steel.

There you go.

Of course, we could be talking about Eagle Bald Face and his flying flippers. We could be, but we are not. We are interested in the kind you put on your feet. You put them on your feet and bam, you ability to swim fast increased dramatically. Of course, it helped to have some ability to swim in the first place. You are not advised to think that flippers will actually give you the ability to swim fast, or even to swim at all, if you have no such ability in the first place.


(9:35 am Nov 09, 2005)

Bruno struggled home, tired but elated. Another fantastic night with Melody. They had danced till dawn on the sand, the waves making an eternal rhythm as they greeted the shore. The wind in the casuarinas adding ethereal highs while they made beautiful music together once more.

Earlier in the night, he had taken her over to a friends house for a barbecue and to listen while a local band practiced for an upcoming party they were to play at.

Live music. There was something special about live music. He must get back to his efforts to promote live music in the islands when he got up tomorrow. At least for a few hours. The nano word count had increased nicely yesterday and he wanted to build on that as well. Get on a roll as it were instead of running on the rocks. He smiled at the bad pun. Pun can done.

(9:44 am Nov 09, 2005)

(4:07 am Nov 09, 2005)


Mango, buy de mango.

Bull. Kent. Haden. There are others. Mangoes are great right off the tree. Some people peel off the skin and discard it. It is my farourite part of the mango though. Another fantastic way to eat a mango is chilled. At the beach. The sun shining down on you. In the calm, clear, warm water to your waist. Hanging out laughing with your friends. A big straw hat on your head for shade. Dip the chilled mango in the sea and take a bite. The salty water adds a wonderful flavour to the chilled mango.

Apples and watermelon are also great when eaten this way.

And never neglect the Mango Lassie. There is a dream beverage. You can get your hands on some good ones in Nassau if you know where to look.

Ezza had not slept for two nights. Well, perhaps he had caught small snatches of fitful, restless sleep here and there, but he was simply too excited to sleep.

On studying the map further, he had at first been crestfallen. There was some writing that when, he had finally figured out what it was all about, made him think that the map must surely be a cruel joke. It did not seem possible that the extensive system of tunnels it described could have been built. Or its construction gone unnoticed during the years it must have taken to build. Nor that, if it indeed existed, it could have gone undiscovered all these years.

(4:27 am Nov 09, 2005)

However, he had not spent his whole life interested in an search for pirate gold only to be foiled by disappointment.

The map seemed to indicate two entrances to the system of tunnels. One in the east, and one out near Clifton. How could there possibly be one system of underground tunnels running for most of the length of the island? It could not be. He was determine not to let doubts control him. He decided he would search for the eastern entrance as he had roamed this part of the island extensively since childhood.

He was sitting now, inside of Blackbeard's Tower, his back against the wall. Sweating profusely, eating some curried dried mango and a handful of pigeon plums. The map showed the location of one of the entrances to be nearby.

There was another reason he had not slept for two nights. An old friend, Cang, had called and said that he need a place to stay and that there was trouble and he needed to talk. Ezza had stalled and put him off, but he and his friend were due at Ezza's house tonight. How would Ezza keep his secret with others living in his house? He certainly didn't want to postpone his search for the treasure.

Ezza studied the map again for the umteenth time. The sun was getting pretty low in the west and coming through the door at an angle. He held the map up close to his face and tilted it to get more light on it. He squinted. A grin spread over his face. He quickly gathered everything up and hurried out the door and headed south into the bush.

Roach. You got the little ones and you got the big daddies. The big daddies that fly. You walk into a room at night and turn on a light and all of a sudden one if flying straight for your head from some high corner. You duck and swat. Then there is the dance where you mash the roach. Then there is your heart which breaks when you get roach. Especially if your best friends roach you. Then there is a roach that gets passed around. We won't go there.

The roaches that Ezza was dealing with right up in now were the big flying kind. They were all over the walls of the passage. Cobwebs were everywhere. Dust was thick on the ground. Ezza's heart was singing again. He was breathing too fast. Hyperventilating was not needed at this point. He needed to be calm and keep his wits about him.


Bruno was sending a stream of words into abiword once again, trying to get to quota soon so that he could get ready for another night out with Melody.

(5:09 am Nov 09, 2005)

(5:43 am Nov 09, 2005)

He was stuck at a word block for two long now. He would need to try some verbal ju jitsu or perhaps aikido.

How can you get ahead when the google research temporal black hole sucks up your gains?

Write. Write. Write boy. Get the words flowing again. Break the chains that bind your mind. Let your spirit soar above the mundane to a higher plane. Find the words inside and let them out. Set them free. Release the hounds of of of of war. And so we come full circle even if it is a very small circle.

Bruno was thinking about taking Melody to The Buzz tonight. Have a few. Listen to some live music. A little jam. Perhaps the two of them could even get in on a set or two. That would be nice. Maybe later, go somewhere and have a quiet late night dinner. Or perhaps grab something and have a grill on the beach.

Bruno gave up. It was just too frustrating, he kept trying all of his old tricks for getting into the groove of writing, but his mind kept coming around to Melody. Oh, every once in awhile he hit a nice stretch where he was happy with his output, but mostly, his words came in fits and starts. Spurts that wouldn't last. Again he toyed with doubts of not finishing. Each time though, he recoiled at the thought. He would have to find a way to enjoy the good thing he had going with Melody and still get his chapters written each day. And then there was the live music promotion that he kept putting off. It was just not like him.

Sail. You heise up da John B sail, see how da main sail set. When the wind is blowing, when the sails are set, when you are heeled over and rushing along. The feeling of power is delicious. Pure delight. Never mind the drawers falling out down below. Never mind the cupboards crashing open and spilling their contents because you forgot to secure things properly in your haste when the squall appeared and the wind picked up suddenly after days of light winds and slow sailing.

Sail. Sailfish. Sale. Gigantic 90% off sale! Store wide. Hurry while supplies last.


Dude, we are talking sail not sale, come on, you know better!

Yes, but can I do better. Every trick in the book? I'll take it. There is even a thread in the Reaching 50,000 forum with the subject "ok everyone, give me all your dirty tricks" so you know it must be a legit ploy. Come on, we need the word count here.

(6:18 am Nov 09, 2005)

The soldiers had finally come up with a plan that they agreed upon. None of them were particularly happy with it, but it was the best they could come up with. There would be dangers. Their chances of success did not seem great, but they were all determined and they were all stubborn fighters who did not know how to pronounce the word defeat.

No really. They couldn't pronounce defeat. They could say quit clear enough, but could never manage to get out defeat. OK, so if you want to nitpick, perhaps they knew how to pronounce defeat but just couldn't actually pronounce it. Kind of like that Gordon, Gerden story huh? OK, OK. You win smarty pants.

They had thought of sending out an island wide look out notice to all the soldiers but they thought that would result in too great a chance of alerting their opposition that they had twigged to them and were on their trail. They thought it best to retain any element of surprise that remained to them.

Bruddah Bing and Bruddah Boom were therefore tasked with visiting all the areas of the island to see if they could turn up any traces of those two. Those dangerous two. Those unnatural two.

(6:33 am Nov 09, 2005)

Bruno was going stir crazy, The Buzz was not due to open until eight. He had time to kill. Well, he shouldn't kill it at all. He should capture it and use it to his own ends, but all he felt like doing was killing it.


(6:35 am Nov 09, 2005)

(8:23 am Nov 09, 2005)

Up in Spanish Wells, at the club in the clearing, there was an odd thing occurring.

Someone was telling an old joke. The one about the guys in prison who would...

No, that would ruin the punch line for you. Here is the joke:

This guy gets sent to prison. His first night, after the cells are all locked, things quiet down. After a short while, a prisoner shouts out, "twenty!"

The prisoners and some of the guards burst out laughing. The new guy is confused. Shortly, another voice shouts "two eighty seven!"

Again laughter ensues. This continues for a while with the new man getting more and more confused. Finally, during a silent period, he gets the attention of the man in the cell next to him. "Hey buddy, what's going on? Why does everyone laugh when someone shouts out a number? What's so funny?"

"Well," comes the reply, "there's this one joke book in the prison library that we all like. We've been in here so long, that we all have it memorized. We don't bother with the whole joke anymore, we just say the number, everyone knows the joke, we laugh. Simple. The jokes are the best."

The new guy thought this was a bit strange but the next day, he checked the joke book out. The jokes were fantastic. He spewed his tea on the first one. Soon he was doubled over, tears running down his face. His sides were aching.

At the end of an hour, he decided to choose the one he liked best from the ones he had read already so that he would have a number to shout out tonight.

That night, after all the cells are locked, things quiet down again. After a while, "fifteen!"

The place was raucous. He remembered fifteen and also burst out laughing.

Jokes continued to be shouted out from time to time and everyone would laugh.

Finally, it seemed like a good time and he shouted out "thirty three!"

Silence! Well not quite, he could be heard laughing for a while, but no one else was. Soon, someone else shouted, "forty five!"

Everyone burst out laughing again.

During the silence when the laughter died down, he again got the attention of the man in the cell next to his. "Hey buddy, what happened? That was one of the most funny jokes I have ever heard and no one laughed."

"Well, friend, some can tell em, and some caint."

OK, so someone at the club told that joke. They all laughed. Then they told some jokes on the conians and they laughed at those. Then someone, still thinking about the number joke, came up with this idea.

Seeing as they didn't all share the same joke book, they couldn't call out numbers, but what if instead of telling the whole joke, they were to just tell the punch line or the main point. They could tell a lot more jokes and laugh a lot more.

Everyone agreed that this was a capital idea.

His father wasn't sittin in the cherry tree.

That's a long way to tip a rare-y.

A synapse.

That's not my ear, mine had a pencil behind it.

Um so mad, um done chewed through three of ma legs and I aint down yet.

He broke in through the bottom.

Hare today, goon tomorrow.

People who live in grass houses shouldn't stow thrones.

(9:08 am Nov 09, 2005)

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