Random Musings

That title is sorta said in this weird accent. Then it makes sense. It does indeed, it does. This may sound strange to those of you who are not familiar with sailing around the world in little dinghies, but

in some cultures such greetings are quite normal.

But no, these are modern times. In these times, there are no more Malbar pirates. The islands all have 3G, HSDPA, WWAN, and GP-f’ing-S. The undersea cables buzz with photon, carrying millions of

conversations, and billions of dollars around and around and around, in never-ending synchronization. Ravens and writing desks are passé.

I’ve also been wondering about the appropriate moment to use the word jejune.

Insipid?

Vapid?

Dull, even.

Honing in on this, I see the potential for an interesting story that comes up. Let’s do this by the book, shall we?

Characters?

A cranky old man who apparently hates everyone, but secretly..hates everyone!

A mysterious stranger who appears at twenty year intervals?

The wise, all-knowing fool?

Sundry beautiful women?

Some good music.

a few food scenes. Nothing like a good food scene. It’s better than a love scene, and you’ll be thankful that you didn’t write a love scene twenty years later, when your teenage children discover it.

Laughter and hilarity will ensue, much hilarity.

We still need a plot. The good ones are all taken. So I shall just randomly string words together, trying to see if things fall into place. Bear with me here. Snow capped mountains, and the silence of ages,

broken by a deep-voiced laugh.. in a land where no one has been heard from for the last twenty years. A struggling musician, composing rock opera by day and secretly dreaming of being an undersea diver, but

is afraid of high-pressure situations. A lamp-post that stands in the rain, and weeps metal tears for friends that are now in scrap yards.Even a mouse, a white one, one with a gray belly. This one does

nothing.

Plot lines are drawing a blank. We need a new line. How about no straight lines in nature? Shall we build space opera on that? Or the upthrust arm of Joan of arc, minutes before the flames swallowed her?

What shape did those fingers trace out in the smoke?

Atheletes wrestling for places in the track team, and tripping on speed. Tripped up by regulation and Le Tour de France. Those pesky cyclists rush through towns with no regard for decorum and dignity. Pah, a

pox on two wheels, nothing but a pox, a POX A POX!

I’m only dancing, try and take away the racquet from my hands. Evil twins with jelly-dripping eyes will invade, screeching out prayers and gouging out eyes. Delhi is safe, you think? HAHA AHAHAHA… thud.

—–

phew and egad! That was a complete blast, writing all that. Boom and Biff! and POW! ZOINK! too, for good measure. Some flowers for the lovely lady?

Random