Free world...

Genre: Reflection, non-fiction
Inspiration: The whole Frakin' world

Apparently there are 192 countries in the world. Reading this I wondered to myself how many I'd be able to come up with given as much time as needed... a familiar scenario that I tend to apply most personal challenges to rang in my head:

If I was kidnapped by a sinister individual (or organization), and my release depended solely on my ability to list all 192 countries of the world could I win my release?

It struck me that I could try listing the countries that come to my mind but that would make for a superbly boring and futile exercise; instead I've decided to look at trusty Google Maps and find at least a few that I'd never remember to list:

Mauritania
Benin
Bhutan
Kyrgyzstan

this list certainly isn't exhaustive, and if it was would just serve as a reminder of how ignorant I really am. The important thing is that I now know - I'd be locked up forever. Sucky.

Ghosty Mcwater

The bad witch

Genre: Wickan reflection
Inspiration: Unskilled labour

Selena was an awful witch. Not "bad" in the classical sense - she'd had an aunt who would willingly and without remorse of any kind permanently transform small children into forest critters; She was just really poor at being a witch. Factors beyond her control made her inordinately compassionate for instance... compassion as every witch knew was the downfall of even the most talented spell-caster. As an example, she'd once made a new years resolution to fill every house on a city block knee-high with filthy dust, but upon reflection decided that no one in the vicinity could possibly have that many vacuum cleaner bags at their disposal. Also, she wasn't particularly articulate having had a mumbling problem since childhood. The art in a spell after all is not simply in intention, but as it turns out, involves a hefty component of elocution. An unfortunate lazy tongue had just two months earlier caused her to falter on a spell intended to lite a fire in her hearth and instead, fired a ballistic missile from a major nuclear installation in Siberia. Her only saving grace was that in 1973, a Russian officer with a sense of humour had aimed the missile squarely at a small Atol in the Pacific which had, only 6 months ago lost favour with all western nations by decreeing their sole proprietorship of Antarctica and demanded from the UN compensation for all past explorations - the coincidence seemed divine, and no one in particular missed the 37 inhabitants of Rutitonga.

While many in the Wiccan community considered depression the debilitating affliction of mere mortals, Selena knew better. Too ashamed to see a speech therapist, and too sensitive for the requisite infliction of torment on mortals, she turned her complete attentions to conjuring up a generic cauldron of Zoloft to tide her over until her miserable demise, just 837 years hence (if the most recent statistics issued by the Ministry of Witchdom were to be believed). The gruelling process, of re-engineering the formula was tedious, due in large part to a complete lack of direction from her ancestors or peers; the fact that the big drug companies didn't publish their formulas was a source of further depression. Cursing the "Women in Witching Labourers Union" for their 1856 withdrawal of witch drug benefits, she continued to experiment with the various ingredients she knew to be integral components of all Pfizer drugs - Squirrels intestine, Dragon Sperm, Fish knuckle etc...

The irony of her efforts was that in her success she found destitution. For the brief but blissful 47 hours that she was able to enjoy her generic Zoloft (as it turns out it was almost 100% Dragon Sperm with a only a dab of Zippo lighter fluid) she was truly happy, but it was short lived. The lawsuit Pfizer unleashed was worse than the fire and brimstone she was capable of conjuring (but to kind to do so) and her life possessions were stripped from her. With no broom, no cauldron and no hearth for cooking To-child-ofu (her Tofu substitute for small children) she was destitute - aimlessly walking the hills and dales in desperate longing for the day that generic dragon sperm would flood the shelves at the local witch cooperative.

Cyclops Midgets Unite

This is by far the most meaningful of all my doodle masterpieces. I hope to be remembered for each pen stroke on this page - particularly those comprising the weight lifting cyclops midget.

Plugged

Strange. I'm feeling plugged up with thought and am sort of itching to write something that will interest me but seem to have no capacity to carry anything worthwhile through... Here's a false start that I wrote based on a premise that my brain completely hijacked - I can't possibly recover it so all that ends up here is a sorry, impossible snippet of disjointed writing - can YOU finish it?

"Pandir Rathmathenalasmican was ecstatic; lining up at the ministry of transportation marked for him the culmination of a long and arduous journey through the Canadian vehicle licensing process. Not that the process itself was particularly cumbersome – Pandir was a truly terrible driver. Seven tests, 3 traffic convictions and countless parking violations had led him to this point – the day he was to license his 1987 Toyota Tercel. When he arrived at the counter Pandir was ready to treat himself and cash in hand, requested the vanity plate he had always dreamed of: HNDILVR. To his shock and dismay the (particularly surly) woman behind the counter informed him that the plate was not available....."

That's it. Seriously. I've got nothing else on this one.

Order and Structure

Fatty Mctubs

Doodle quilt

I have no context for this other than boredom - I believe I was in the US though, not that that's relevant.

No pinnacle of excellence.

I struggle not to fall, and I struggle more to stay,
I perform harder than I thought I could, day upon day upon day.

But, the time will come every now and again where I find that it's not enough
I'd like to end right here with a powerful line, but it turns out that poetry's tough.

The great white of the north

The Snow Cometh

Purpose...

Genre: Surreal Gourmet
Inspiration: Strange looking, limping guy with hand in pocket on Kingston Rd.

Reginald walked, unaided along the boulevard; a recently rediscovered pleasure since he'd managed to renounce his cane. The pain of walking was considerable, but it allowed him to once again hold the world in his hands. Often, when Reginald explained to people why he always walked with his hand in his pocket - because he held the world in his hands - he would get strange looks, but the fact of the matter was that he'd once tried holding the world in his hands outside of his coat pocket, and that had very nearly been a catastrophe.

The world - well, Reginald's world anyway, was considerably smaller than others - with a population of 30,000,000 it measured only 4" across with a depth that varied by region. It was in fact, the shape of a brick of cheese. Given that the oceans were once the colour of white cheddar, and the only continent on its surface looked uncannily similar to a label of Balderson's Aged Cheddar one would be forgiven for thinking that Reginald was not well... For it looked as if he kept the company of a brick of cheese. Adding to this oft communicated mis-perception was that the world's atmosphere, composed of a chemical and gas mixture unique only to it, wrapped the planet in a coating indistinguishable to humans from cellophane.

When Reginald found it 3 years ago it lay vulnerable and cold in a cooler at the super market, discarded in a heap of cheese. Luckily for its inhabitants though, the world was saved by Reginald when, recognizing the incredible properties of this chameleon world, he extracted it from the bin and delicately placed it in his pocket knowing that it was his destiny to protect this precious ecosystem for all of eternity; He named it Dairy in honour of the store section where he had found it. It was this special calling that prompted him to carry Dairy with him wherever he went and he had done so faithfully for the better part of 21/2 years up to the fateful day.

That day marked the near annihilation of Dairy as Reginald was tackled by a megalomaniacal German Shepherd trying to gain control over his precious ward. To this day Reginald is unable to understand how his canine nemesis came to know of this special world, but damned if he wasn't going to fight for it. Reginald gave chase as the filthy beast darted into the street and it was here that Reginald met the co-conspirator; he knew he had fallen for the trap set by the dastardly team of world-nappers as he watched the bumper of an '78 El Camino shatter his knee. At the helm was an incredulous and shrewd septuagenarian feigning innocence. Were it not for his state of shock Reginald would have fought harder, but as it was he was just glad that the deafening squeal of tires had shocked the dog into submission and caused him to drop Dairy. With his last gasp of breath before unconsciousness Reginald curled up fetaly on the street - miniature cheese shaped planet in hand. All was right he thought to himself...

So it was with this memory that Reginald resolved to keep walking but with the world concealed. Its forests still continued to grow and the soft organic greenery added a welcome compliment to the ever increasing stench - this was a small price to pay for such a lofty life's reward of keeping an entire world safe from the dangers that lurked in Reginald's cruel reality.