The Dead Sea & The Story of a Shipwrecked Carrot

The woman approaching me looks barely thirty. Her beauty shows no sign of vulnerability. Indeed, her persona of radiance and happiness exudes a bold piercing intelligence. I decide to play along. She is tremendously elegant and dressed in a grey melange trouser suit.

'Have you heard about the Dead Sea?' she enquires, gently stroking her auburn hair which softly drops to a fringe on to her forehead and sparkling brown eyes. 

'Heard about it, I went to the funeral.'

The sales representative smiles, half closing her eyes. She starts to talk about nail care and produces a Dead Sea Nail Buffer. When she asks me to hold out my left hand I willingly comply. As she holds my left wrist and concentrates on my thumb nail we talk and laugh. I study how she moves, smiles and converses to capture another buyer for 'that perfect nail care collection.'

'How does that feel?' she asks.

'I have entered a painless and distant land. My thumb nail feels and looks healthier. As for the rest of my body ... Well, I believe that's best kept secret.'

She produces a second product from the collection. A body lotion.

'This is Ocean Mist.'

'Atlantic or Pacific?'

'Are you a comedian?'

I leave the shopping mall more invigorated and cheerful than when I entered. Did I buy anything? No. And, yes, my left thumb nail looks quite appealing. It even glows in the dark.

*

This morning I finished my script for a film called The Story of a Shipwrecked Carrot. I plan to shoot the film next spring inside a french-horn which speaks fourteen languages. Like many hyperpolyglots the french-horn is male and left handed. Despairingly, the french-horn can't speak French without sounding like a wheezy car engine.

If I can't raise the money to shoot the film I'll be forced to 'kill it' by other means. If only Van Gogh were still around with his razor. I could arrange an argument between Van Gogh and 'the script', and let the quarrel take its mortal course. What will I tell the vegetables if the project is put on hold? My own money would run out in a week. The film is about fidelity, infidelity and Soupe à l'Oignon. The relationships of the vegetables are a major part of the story. In fact, a lascivious carrot has a leading role.

I'll come straight to the point. The lascivious carrot has an appetite for vegetables of all kinds. The swollen-headed carrot enjoys getting drunk, dancing the cancan and delights in attracting the attention of female vegetables. A certain cast member, Chanterelle Mushroom, will drive the carrot to distraction. No one in their 'right mind' could resist Chanterelle's frilly trumpet shape and uninhibited sensuality. 

I'm composing a letter to Chanterelle of sentimental nature. However, efforts to portray myself as witty, lucid and intelligent only serve to expose my irrefutable faults. Principally, that my writing is dull and turgid, and of uncertain tone. This similarity to my film script would only worry an artist born with genuine talent.

 *

Reflection:  Today I painted four houses (exteriors & interiors) and put up some wallpaper. The owners' don't know yet.

Best Wishes for a Merry Christmas & Happy New Year in 2012/13

With gratitude I wish to thank those people who visit this site. Sometimes I write in a sketchy abstract form which I do not profess to understand myself. My hands may tremble as I write and type, but they are innocent. As innocent as my most mysterious thoughts.

I wish you, and your families, a life that evokes admiration and emotion in each person you meet. And that your days are rich in beauty, vigor and filled with delightful moments of astonishment. Moments that linger in the memory, make you happy and glad to be alive. 

Cardboard British Police Plan Strike

Cardboard British Police have announced their forces may go on strike during the Christmas and New Year period. Pulp Carton, a Cardboard British Police spokesman, said: "Cardboard police are forced to work 24/7 with no pay or allowances for unsocial or irregular hours. It doesn't help that the government said that savings must be made through the disposal and recycling of over 85% of cardboard police officers, cardboard police motorbikes, cardboard police cars, cardboard police dogs and cardboard Police Stations in the next financial year [2013/2014]. 

"It's disgraceful that Cardboard police do not qualify for paid leave, training, promotion, a pension, public holidays, maternity leave, maternity pay, parental leave, or statutory sick pay. Unbelievably, they are not entitled to rest or toilet breaks. Even during the winter cardboard police cars and motorbikes are not provided with anti-freeze, windshield washer fluid, petrol, or 'tangible' lights and indicators."

Attempts were made to ballot Cardboard Police on whether they want to strike for full industrial rights and equality. However, given that 'Cardboard Officers' are unable to see, to read, to write, to talk, to listen, to remember, to experience emotions, to identify activities involving bullying, dishonesty, deception and criminal activity, or engage in intelligent receptivity, is causing great distress and tension for their families, friends and supporters.

Talks are currently taking place between the Cardboard British Police Federation, cardboard union officials and cardboard government officials ahead of strike action planned to start on Monday, December 24, 2012. It's believed that one major sticking point is that cardboard police officers do not have powers of arrest.

A recent public opinion survey has confirmed that the public find 'cardboard' police officers more approachable than 'real' police officers.

*

This afternoon I sent an email to a dear friend in Oxford, England.

I've fallen in love again. This time with a human being. She's beauty personified, wealthy, and fluent in German. I know what you're thinking? I can't speak German. But I'm besotted! I know! I know! Even when the sun shines at its brightest, the rain runs down her face, and her voice is sometimes lofty. I've made an appointment with a doctor to diagnose her condition. However, believe me, she is like no other. She's teaching me to 'Goose-Step' to 'Achy Breaky Heart'. I know this may sound simply-minded, however, every time I mention Gabriel Daniel Fahrenheit she gets hot under the collar. Any ideas?

* 

Reflection: I feel a sense of sadness and despair for those who surmise the need to look down on others through an injudicious sense of superiority. Some workplaces are populated with so many bullies, pimps and thieves it's hard to breathe air that has clean hands and a clear conscience.  

Mirror, Mirror on the Wall: I Look Weird From All Angles

I admit to being socially maladroit. The last time I shook a person's hand it belonged to my wife Ingrid at our wedding in a Bleecker Street playground. When she chirped, 'There's nothing in the world we can't do if we stay together' I felt the onset of a migraine attack. Suddenly Ingrid looked different; her facial features began to blur; she looked almost feminine. She raced about the playground like a crazed weasel, 'My whole body is tingling! Let's stay up all night, every night, until we evaporate!' 

Her mania drove me to Distraction: a small town on the upper floor of a shopping mall in North Carolina. When my mind seemed clear I changed my name to Olive Pickle, and walked the streets 'trying to be, rather than to seem.' Occasionally I shouted at gulls circling overhead, 'Slow Down! For God's sake, slow down!' Two birds landed on my shoulders, pecked at my fake toupee, and screamed for food. I've barely slept since it happened.

My 'unsound sanity' is still intact, at least. Ingrid? Probably guzzling her way through a large box of chocolate éclairs in South America. However, I realise she may be in the Far East meditating on the memory of her youth with envious suffering, while checking a restaurant bill she can ill afford to pay.

*

My current girlfriend Lorna is preoccupied with her body. She continually 'undresses and dresses' when the mood strikes. Whether it's in a private or public location is immaterial. Indeed, Lorna has perpetrated the performance in front of work colleagues at CIA headquarters. I see nothing inherently wrong in such behaviour, but when it's a guy at the deli?! ... well, the curiosity value tends to fade rather fast, like making love without enriching either your own or your lover's existence.

Nothing alters the fact that Lorna hasn't a clue where the CIA building is located. Each morning she is bundled into the trunk of an automobile by a man wearing a black turtleneck, and a white baseball cap which covers a wart on his left buttock. She is then driven to a bedsit in Cuba and is dropped down a large isolated tunnel by way of Jay Leno's chin.   

Lorna's grandmother, Tallulah Methadone, worked in the CIA K-9 Corps. Tallulah left when her human partner, Officer Bonio Bowser, had an affair with her younger sister, Gabby (a black Labrador from Las Vegas), whom Bonio wished to marry and raise a family. 

*

Reflections: Lorna considers the left side of her face to be 'less attractive' than the right side. She favours the right side: less wrinkles, softer lips and the skin is less tense. Whenever we dine Lorna insists on sitting with the left side of her face towards a partition.

This preoccupation with the 'least attractive' side of her face extents to walking, travelling in cars, trains and aircraft, and chewing gum for a couple of minutes then sticking the gum in her left ear. I don't share Lorna's dilemma. I'm acutely ugly, and each time I blink in the bathroom mirror it confirms I look bad from all angles.

Girl Talk: Aimee and Lily Kerrigan

Lily Kerrigan was born on June 22, 2012 to my daughter, Emma Kerrigan

When I was one week old I thought I had lots of mothers too. You only have one. Anyway, where was I? I know. My name is Aimee, I'm a girl. Your name is Lily and you're a baby girl. Girls develop in all sorts of ways faster than boys. Don't ask me how, or why? I just know.

Everyone seems to talk to babies in high-pitched voices and shake noisy rattles and toys in our faces. Just play along with them, smile and raise your eyebrows. Then there's tickling our toes and playing 'This Little Piggy.' Look happy and put on a brave face.

I don't remember nodding my head as much as you do? Your face expressions make me giggle. One minute you're smiling, then frowning, then surprised, or wide-eyed and a bit frightened. You don't like loud noises, that's for sure. I like watching you smile when you're asleep.What can you be thinking about? Probably your mummy, milk, and beautiful lights and sounds. I do hope they are happy thoughts.

Sometimes you can be quite noisy. No one knows if you're stomach is full of bubbles, if you're teething, hungry, or just plain grumpy? When I don't get my proper sleep, or someone wakes me up, I get really grumpy.

My favourite colour is pink and you're covered from head to toe in it except for those big white booties. You can't wear those to school! Everyone will laugh. I can tell you will be a sensible girl. I've lovely blonde hair and I'm pretty. Everybody tells me so. And you're beautiful too, even if your hair is a different colour to mine. I can't see you needing a haircut for a while, but I want to be there when it happens.

I love nursing babies, especially you. I'd like a baby girl when I grow up. I'll buy her lots of dolls, teddies and soft toys. I've lots of cuddly toys that I like to snuggle and rock to sleep. The trouble is I've run out of names. You're tiny nails are sharp. I'm going to ask your mum to cut them or buy you a pair of mittens. They'll be pink, of course. 

Did I tell you that boys are disgusting? They like getting muddy, bite their nails and pick their nose and eat it. They also get nose bleeds if they climb up trees. Most boys are really cheeky and don't know good from bad. Horrible boys. Except for my brother, Joshua, of course. Though he does have his moments. Just treat all boys as half-wits and silly billies.  

I know lots of words. I expect you'll soon say your first word. Probably something like 'Mama,' 'Dada' or 'Ba Ba' like in 'Baa, Baa, Black Sheep.' Whatever that's all about? A disaster down a lane, I think. At the minute you tend to 'coo' and stare at everything with your beautiful big blue eyes. Remember to cry to get attention and tilt your head when you really want something. It's a girl thing, but some boys try all manner of tricks to get attention too.

Did you know you were born under water? Was the water nice and warm? Nanny says that babies born in water are calm and cry less than babies born in air. That sounds just like you, Lily. Calm, happy and clever. In fact, that sounds just like me, too. I'll sing you my "favourite" song. I'm going to be a singer and a dancer when I grow up. Maybe you, me and Becky will start a girl band. We'll call ourselves . . . Let's see . . . 'Sparkles'! Now listen and watch me singing. And try to remember the words.

*

Reflections: Lily Kerrigan was born in a birthing pool at the Ulster Hospital, Dundonald, two days after the funeral of my father, Robert John Kerrigan. I wish to thank my wife, Sylvia; sons, Richard and Philip; and daughter, Emma; for their love, understanding, support and steadfast compassion.

My heart has been warmed by Lily, Aimee, and Rebekah (Becky), who, with heartbreaking simplicity, bring an emotional charge of light and joy to my life.

I am deeply grateful to Bobby Weatherhead, a special friend, for his thoughtfulness, benevolence and valuable wisdom in a time of unforgettable grief, amid the emotionally charged arrival of a 'new life' into this world.   

Writing with Courage, Truth and Integrity: The Bravery and Determination of Malala Yousafzai

Sometimes for a writer to resonate in modern culture the narrative requires courage, truth and integrity; a commitment to freedom and justice. Many writers, bloggers and journalists throughout the world have been murdered, or brutally beaten, because they wrote about crime, corruption and the right to freedom of expression. 

What about the acts of suffering and violence occurring in the world at this moment orchestrated by those in power and in control of information, knowledge and the media? What is their agenda? One of their many objectives is to distort the truth about those who do not have power.

I greatly admire the bravery and determination of Malala Yousafzai, the 14-year-old schoolgirl, who committed no crime, but was shot at point-blank range in the head by a Taliban gunman for her campaign for girls' education in Pakistan and for speaking out against 'Taliban oppression'. I hope she makes a full recovery. Given the extent of her injuries, however, it will be a long, complex and tortuous journey. I hope that the 'Taliban cowards' who ordered, planned, and carried out the attempted murder of Malala, are caught and receive sentences befitting their crime.

Writing with conviction and truth is not without danger. Sometimes police and employees of local administrations are implicated in the attacks on writers, bloggers and journalists. 

No police force in the world is above the law. Any alleged acts of corruption, racism, torture, incompetence, indifference and collusion must be investigated, and individuals arrested and brought before a court, where necessary. People must be convicted for the crimes they commit on writers, irrespective of the perpetrator's position in society.

It follows that this should apply with respect to all violence wherever it is perpetrated on this earth. No one should remain unpunished for senseless acts of violence no matter how deluded their motives may be: patriotism; loyalty; nationalism; religion; economic and political power; money; drugs; greed.

We live in society. But to say we all live in communities gives a sense of false security. This not only stretches an acknowledgment of reality, but demeans the law and the life and memory of those people who have been murdered. Meanwhile their attackers bask in freedom, go unpunished, and in some quarters, are hailed as people of distinguished courage, and are rewarded for their despicable actions. 

Indeed, some perpetrators of violence no longer seek anonymity, but live with impunity, and are constantly in search of the limelight. Just don't expect some individuals to voice contrition for their criminality, for many carry a bitterness towards humankind which endorses their deluded sense of superiority.

Some people in positions of great political power rarely want the truth to be made readily available to citizens. They are on a collision course with death and destruction, and look upon fellow human beings as insignificant, dispensable, a meaningless statistic.  A serious and harrowing situation; criminal in itself.

(2012)