Writing

Cursed objects and the purchase thereof

Not every item at The Old Curiosity Shop is cursed. In fact, those that are we keep safely behind the counter. You may only gaze upon them in the presence of our highly trained staff. Touching is forbidden unless you are over the age of eighteen and are certified to handle cursed objects. We will not sell a cursed item to any customer without a full background check and a waiting period.

An exception to this is the cursed item grab bag by the door. Pick a box, any box. You never know what you will get and that is part of the fun. As always, re-gifting from the grab bag is forbidden. You get what you get and what you got is yours and yours alone.

Some items, however, are magical without the added onus of being cursed, per se. There is no extra charge for this. The magic, we give away. This saves the consumer from having to pay the magic tax, which can be hefty.
No magic tax on any item bought this year. We eat the magic tax. Literally. We transform it into cupcakes that we sell next door. Please stop by on the way out. This is how we pass the magic tax back onto you.

Buy three objects and you may refer to them as a Trinity. No charge.
The Old Curiosity Shop. Unending Bargains! Ceaseless Havoc! Eternal Joy! Constant Dread! Free Parking! Soundproof Walls!

A shadow’s nose

The famous image of a nose scrawled all over the world in graffiti, a running joke or a profound statement that something has gone off?
Is it based on one specific person’s nose or is it based on an amalgam of every kind of nose; an everynose?
The answer is, of course, “no one knows.”

Witness the kitty cat

A Hapgood and Fowler erotic adventure

Hapgood stared at the crime scene. Actually, he stood at the crime scene, his back to the area of the actual crime. In front of him sat a black house cat. The cat stared to the left of the actual crime scene. Hapgood carefully observed every  subtle move the cat made. Behind him a small group of lower-level detectives scoured the scene for evidence.

Fowler walked over and stood at Hapgood’s right. “Ball Peen Hammer,” said Fowler with the tone of one who is discussing the weather. “Rusty.”
“Mildly interesting,” replied Hapgood. “But this cat. This cat undoubtably knows something.”
“Undoubtably,” replied Fowler.

The lower-level detectives paused activity and watched Hapgood and Fowler. “I think Hapgood and Fowler are on to something,” one of them whispered to another.
“Undoubtably,” said the other.
***
In the law offices of Clark and Frederik, Clark entered Frederik’s office and sat down. There was blood splatter all over his suit, heaviest on the right side.
“Did you use the rusty ball peen hammer?” asked Frederik.
“Yes,” said Clark.
“Good. Did anyone see you?”
“Just a cat.”
“That’s probably all right.”
***
Back in their office at the station Fowler held the cat in his arms, slowly stroking it. “Have you seen this?” he asked. He tugged at the collar around the cat’s neck. Attached to it was a name tag.
“No,” said Hapgood. “I have, until now, concentrated wholly on the behavior of the cat.”
Emblazoned on the tag was one word: “Witness.”
“A name?” asked Fowler.
“A description,” said Hapgood.
“At least he is a friendly witness,” said Fowler.
“Yes,” said Hapgood. “Not like the badger.”
***

“Ball Peen Hammer,” said Fowler.
“Rusty?” asked Hapgood.
“Yes,” said Fowler. “I feel like I’m repeating myself.”
“Two could be a coincidence,” said Hapgood. “I wouldn’t put a lot of weight on it yet.”
“Slow and steady wins the race,” Fowler said.
Hapgood was watching a hamster run on a wheel. Fowler joined him. Behind them detectives worked on a second crime scene involving a rusty hammer.

“This rodent was in a perfect position to see everything,” said Hapgood.
“That is true,” replied Fowler. “He could not have left the scene. But I would like to point out that doesn’t mean he was watching. He could have been looking the other way. He could have had his eyes closed. He could have been blinking.”
“Can you murder a man in the blink of an eye?” asked Hapgood. “What do hamsters dream about? Was there something more interesting to look at in the room at the time?”

“Those are some intriguing questions,” said Fowler. “I’m not sure how we can get answers from the hamster.”
The younger detectives stopped detecting and looked toward Fowler and Hapgood in wonder.
***
Frederik walked into Clark’s office at the firm and sat. Blood splatter covered the left side of his suit, as he was left handed. “Volley,” he said. “Your turn.”
***
In the office of Hapgood and Fowler sat a very happy cat.
“The cat ate the witness,” said Fowler.
“One witness ate the other witness,” said Hapgood. “Don’t worry, we’ll get it in the end.”
***
‘The press are calling these the ball peen hammer killings,” said Clark.
“What about the fact that the hammer is rusty?” asked Frederik.
“Papers are rife with inaccuracy, I’m afraid,” said Clark.
“They are missing the whole point,” Frederik said.
***
“A cat is curious,” said Hapgood. “A hamster is perfectly positioned to see everything in a room. But a bird can talk.”

In front of Hapgood and Fowler stood a grand cage, and in that cage a parrot.
“Extraordinary,” said the rookie detectives gathered in their wake. “Tremendously exciting. All senses aroused.”
The bird looked directly at Fowler and said “Murderer.”
Hapgood asked, “Did you commit all these crimes?”
“I am afraid,” said Fowler, “That the eyewitness testimony is strong.”
“You’ll need a lawyer. Luckily, these cards have been at every scene.”

What you see

In all fairness, the wicked witch was also known to screech “What a world!” when she was extremely happy.
So, for the half-observant monkey – all was well.

Things in which

Things in which some people believe: miracles, daydreams, me.

Things one can be the prince of: peace, darkness, frogs, whales.

Places you can rock: you can always rock the Casbah.
Times in which you can rock: all night (but only if you party every day), around-the-clock, ages.

Things that come in packs: wolves, cigarettes, fools, some inclined animals, mentalities, lies. Malarky comes in bunches.

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Movies for the seeing impaired

Jodi: Sometimes your facial expressions don’t match the situation. At all.
Me: Oh, no, they are always correct expressions. We are just out-of-sync.
***
Seeing a movie at the Capitol theater a week or so ago. The movie starts. WB logo comes on screen. A woman’s voice says, “LOGO, CENTER SCREEN.” It is a strange choice, I think, esthetically. The voice reads the text appearing on screen. “In space, survival is impossible.”
The voice starts to describe the action on screen. People float in space. One dances to music. One is frustrated. I am pleased the voice will be explaining facial expressions as we go.

The film stops cold. The blackness of space is replaced with the blackness of nothing. Two completely different blacknesses.
Someone says, “They are fixing the sound. It was playing the soundtrack for the visually impaired headsets.”
The film begins again at the beginning.

I watch the film regretting what could have been. As the film passed the previous stopping point I am left to wonder what the narrator would say. Probably information to enrich my moviegoing experience. In space narration is possible, but optional and limited.

***
By the way, I prefer the version of Charles Chaplin’s “Gold Rush” that he re-released after sound came in. Chaplin narrates the silent film all the way through. Critics revile this version. I love it.

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At the existential sandwich shop, your sandwich calls you

At the existential sandwich shop your sandwich talks to you. It is unclear if the power of speech and thought is conveyed by the quality ingredients or by the artisan construction. The sandwich philosopher behind the counter, when asked, shrugs her shoulders and says, “Who can say?”
Still, you eat it. What else can you do? When confronted with a talking sandwich in an existential sandwich shop it is a simple equation of eat or be eaten.
Still, you know it is wrong.

If I like you I will write you a poem. If not you will live the rest of your life without poetry.

 

Police procedural

I looked at the items assembled upon the table. I said to my partner, “These are the raw ingredients for trouble.”
He said, “Not to worry. They have to be assembled in exactly the correct order. At exactly the right temperature. For exactly the right amount of time. Anything less renders them inert.”
Our relief was short-lived. Even as he uttered his last word both our eyes wandered directly to the left. There, sitting upon the counter, open, was a cookbook. It was open to the chapter on trouble.
“Dammit,” uttered my partner. “Is there no end to the misery caused by cookbooks?”
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