Saturday, April 26, 2014

‘Lolly, coffee and incense’ by ‘O.M.C.’


Celeste had tears in her eyes as she listened to the soothing voice on her voicemail, lulling her to a fantasy world. ‘My beloved!’ the voice whispered, ‘I missed you this whole morning, at lunchtime, at supper time, and now I’m having my nightcap before turning in: the ultimate conversation with you, my beloved!’ Celeste moved from her left side to her right side on the couch. She wanted to tell him how she couldn’t function all day for thinking about him but the words would not come out of her mouth. Maybe it was because she was sucking on a huge lolly while listening to the voicemail message but perhaps it was senseless talking to a recorded message? She sucked with abandon in any event and after a brief silence, the voice on her cell phone resumed, ‘I bid you goodnight, my beloved; sweet dreams, and know that you are in my heart. Your face is the last face I see before I close my eyes, and it is the first face I see when I open them again at 5:30 in the morning.’ A sound as of a blown kiss blew into her ear before the message came to an end.

Celeste, a petite brunette, once married, then divorced, and now widowed, as her second husband passed away after having drunk himself into oblivion by managing to swallow gallons, nay barrels of whiskey in many a drinking bout, with whiskey emerging as the victor, was apprehensive about the future and full of self-doubt concerning her abilities in attracting another potential husband. Getting on in years she felt scared of being alone and unloved. Her great fear was that no man would find her attractive enough or love her enough to spend the rest of his life with her. She craved a friend, someone to talk to about these fears and share her insecurities with. She had several boyfriends in the past, some rich in worldly goods and some rich in spiritual goods but she was looking for a combination of both. And up to now she had not found that ‘combination-man’.

She stretched her arm to the coffee table and picked up a box of valium. She popped in a couple of pills and then carried on sucking the lolly; her tears began to abate but she stayed up into the early hours of the morning. It was very late or very early depending on how you looked at it, when she asked these questions of the Universe: ‘Why can’t I find a man to love and cherish me, and spoil me, and do things for me? Why do I fall in love so quickly and after a few days I realize that the guy is a jerk? I get so bored with them that I want them out of my space, pronto. What do I want? Do I know what it is I really want?’

Had she been capable of listening she might have heard, ‘Sometimes, if not often-times, in life, when we concentrate on ourselves alone, we don’t see the bigger picture; which is to let go of ‘you’ and incorporate ‘others’. So let go of ‘me’, breathe and be thankful for this moment.’


Rosa, a vivacious blonde, once married to a basketball player now deceased from a drug overdose, looked into the brown eyes of her new love and purred like a cat. After six years of loneliness, heartache, financial strain (her dead basketballer had squandered his earnings on drugs, fast cars, gambling and lavish parties). The cars had been repossessed as well as the house but now that was all about to change for she had met the generous owner of a sports store and one thing led to another and now a wedding was being planned.

Rosa said, ‘A hundred people is a large crowd to invite to our wedding, honey; let’s just have family, hmm? Mentally she was calculating the members of her own family on one hand but when it came to her darling’s family, she had to use both hands and ten toes, and because the number exceeded her ability to count on her own appendages she resorted to counting matches. There were 20 matches left in the box and so she had to stop at 40. Her counting efforts frustrated she raised her blue eyes to her fiancĂ© and asked him why there weren’t more matches in the matchbox? ‘Eh!’ he uttered a little fuddled. A familiar frown appeared. Even though he knew what was coming he was still surprised when she exploded with rage, ‘Matches!’ He bolted like a deer after a missed shot. A frantic search concluded with the fact that there were no more matches in the apartment only lighters.

Having failed in his mission to procure matches for Rosa he decided it would be wise to placate her. He turned on the charm and in a soothing, soft voice he said to the angry woman on the couch, ‘Rosa, you are the love of my life. I have never in all the years of my miserable adulthood come across such warmth and affection that you’ve showered on me.’ Rosa’s frown abated. He continued, ‘I love you so much that I – I have to leave you. I’m sorry; I’m incapable of giving you what you need to make you a contented woman. Even though leaving you hurts me more than words can tell, I have to go now.’ With that he ran out of the apartment and into his rented classic car and bolted back to whence he came from, having thus freed himself from marrying a harridan.

Rosa, her anger evaporated, had slid from the couch and onto the carpet – she was doubled up as though suffering from severe stomach cramps. The coffee table was nearby and she reached out and grasped a container of valium pills. She poured a handful of pills into her hand and threw them into her mouth. After about 5 seconds she spat them all out, got up and walked calmly to the kitchen to make herself a cup of coffee. A strong espresso in hand she went back to the lounge and found 2 valiums still in the plastic container. She swallowed them with a gulp of espresso. After the third sip of the strong coffee, she asked the Universe, ‘What just happened? Am I going to find any happiness after 6 years of hardship or am I destined to be left alone again? Is it me? Is it my temper? Did he love me at all? Is there no true love?’

She felt she could almost hear, ‘Sometimes, if not often-times, we mistake love for infatuation, and we do not see the bigger picture. Infatuation is like wildfire. It burns quickly and is reduced to cinders. A slowburning love outlives all. Let go of yourself, take a deep breath, and be thankful for the coffee.’


Melinda complained for the umpteenth time about what her boyfriend had done to her.
Her eyes blazed with the fire within as she went on with her litany: ‘For 4 and a half years I gave him my heart, my body, my soul, my home. I paid for his studies. I even paid for the engagement ring! I gave him everything I had and this is how he repays me – by running off with an older woman! But I found out she’s only 2 years older than me, if what she said on Facebook was true – her belly’s plastered all over her Facebook pages with his name tattoed there on her belly! I ask you - after he dumps me he declares his love for this woman the very next day! He refuses to work on our relationship but he’s more than willing to work on this new one.’

Melinda, a petite brunette with blonde streaks in her hair, was happily divorced and had endured several relationships that all ended in tears and rage. She began rummaging around for the incense to change the energy in the house she said. While she was conducting the search she kept on repeating in mantra fashion that she was a strong woman; that she would get over this; that she would find the right man. ‘And he would be on a par with me financially; he’ll be my equal in mental and physical attributes. He’ll want to spend time together and do ‘things’ together, and forsake all others,’ she explained more fully.

As the incense enveloped the lounge in a cloud of white smoke, she posed these questions to the universe: ‘Why did all my relationships end in disaster? My marriage and all the other live-in lovers, who for one reason or another, after I’ve set them up financially, and after becoming independent, kicked the hand that brought them to that successful stage in their lives and bolted out of my horizon to find better pastures. Why, oh, why, is this pattern repeating itself over and over again? Am I looking at the wrong end of the male chain? Are these younger males not mature enough to commit? Are they only with me to take all there is on offer and then leave?’

And a deaf person but not Melinda would have heard, ‘Sometimes, often-times, love comes in small doses, in all ages, shapes and sizes. But when the age gap shows the first signs of a thin crack, the writing is on the wall; no amount of money will plaster the deficiencies. The diverse thinking and common purpose is lost amid the fighting and verbal abuse. This is the end and a new beginning.’

This is a work of fiction and any resemblance to any persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

© 2014 ‘O.M.C.’ and R.W.

A butterfly on my knee by 'L'

blarghing woes

RW: 'I  am loathe to waste data on a futile exercise. At least, your pics and a few others of mine are holding steady...for now.'

'd': Yeah, it's a pity you got hit by this silly stuff so early in your
blarghing career. I would roll with the bugs, they are ever present.
Keep on going, RW is a fun place.

RW: 'In fact, mebbe we should abandon Reality Wedge, much like Microsoft abandoned XP and we'll let time and viruses work their...ok...enough negativity! : )'

'd': ':O NOOOOoooooooo! I felt a great disturbance in the Web, as if millions of bits suddenly cried out in terror and were suddenly zeroed. I fear something terrible has happened....'

Untitled pic by 'L'

Wednesday, April 23, 2014

The perils of blogging or The Great Pictorial Extinction

For whatever reason pics were replaced on this blog by no entry signs. I will replace pics slowly and hopefully they don't disappear again but there are no guarantees.

23 April pics by 'd'

Wednesday, April 16, 2014

Tuesday is the new Monday

Who’s in favour of a 3-day weekend (Saturday, Sunday, Monday) and a 4-day week (Tuesday to Friday)?

Sunday, April 13, 2014


1st panel: 'What are we going to do about Retron?'
               'What can we do?  Perhaps it's a phase? It'll pass....'

2nd panel: Earth's star.

3rd panel: Retron ponders on this sole image. All data and all systems are optimal. Initiate?

[I tried to beef up the image before uploading - didn't work! Still, I felt it would be wrong to deprive the world of this, possibly, single cartoon strip, never to be repeated, despite Roy Thomas' advice etc.]

On writing (and creating in general)

Quoting Roy Thomas (comics’ writer) who may have got it elsewhere:
“Desperation, perspiration, inspiration.”

J.R. Miller: “It is the talent that is used that multiplies.”

Saturday, April 12, 2014

Charlie Chaplin and the Egyptian cinemagoers

In the 1930s in Egypt, Charlie Chaplin was very popular with cinemagoers. My dad’s parents told him that when they went to see a Charlie Chaplin film at the cinema the excitement was great and while waiting for the film to start the gleeful audience would all shout repeatedly, ‘We want Charlie! We want Charlie!’ Of course, they were saying it in Arabic and in Arabic ‘we want’ is pronounced something like ‘ow-zine’.

So it would have sounded thus:  ‘Owzine Charlie! Owzine Charlie!’

Wednesday, April 9, 2014

The Human Beans

caption reads: These two human beans live in Beanburg, population 500 000.
Town motto: Eat, drink and be many.*

* 'Eat, drink and be many' is by 'd' and is copyright 2014.
'The Human Beans' is copyright RW 2014.

This is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

Tuesday, April 8, 2014

Chuang Tzu rocks!

The Complete Works of Chuang Tzu translated by Burton Watson.

Thanks, Burton Watson!

Note 1: Lao-Tzu preceded Chuang Tzu and wrote the famous spiritual text, the
‘Tao Te Ching’ which also rocks. History has established that Chuang Tzu existed but the same can’t be said for Lao Tzu.
         2: Chuang Tzu pronounced Chwong-Dzuh. Lao-Tzu pronounced Lauw-Dzuh.
  Tao pronounced Dao. Te pronounced Deh.

A cup of soup

Unlike his namesake Henry Mesmer had no special talent to induce trances in susceptible human beings. He did however possess a 12-guage pump-action shotgun, and this weapon along with his survival blade, a 9mm handgun, and a Kevlar vest formed part of his arsenal and defences against marauders; for Henry lived in a post-apocalyptic world devastated by natural disasters and pandemics of every kind known to man and some unknown to man.

‘Tired, so tired!’ he thought, as he picked through the junk of a massive junk pile looking for anything useful. ‘Lonely, so lonely – ah, well.’ Some silvery thing caught his eye and he knelt to pick it up, first scanning his surroundings quickly as he was wont to do habitually, to check for any possible assailants.

‘A lighter, that’ll come in handy.’ He snapped it once to test it and a small flame appeared. Satisfied he pocketed it and looked for more goodies. After a while, the strain on his eyes had become unbearable so he decided to call it quits for now and proceeded to find some shade. The only shade to be found was in a gutted building he had already established was free of danger. Under a battered zinc sheet he produced a carefully folded soup sachet from his jacket pocket, the type formerly used to make one cup of soup. It would consume a lot of energy but he knew it would be worth it to have hot soup for a change. He removed the equipment he needed from his bag and set up the little gas cooker. He poured in just enough precious water from his thermos, lit the stove with the newly discovered lighter, and waited for the water to boil. He removed a mug and a tablespoon from his sack and sheared off the top of the soup packet. He poured its brown powdery contents into the mug. It didn’t take too long before the water was roiling. Quickly he switched off the cooker, poured the boiled water into the mug and stirred carefully with the tablespoon. The aromas were strong. He began to sip the soup. He would take as long as he could to finish it. ‘Divine, delicious, lovely’ were the words that came to mind. ‘Lamb and vegetable’ he had read on the sachet. He would have preferred ‘Cream of Tomato’ but beggars can’t be choosers. It didn’t matter. He was enjoying every second of this treat. He prayed no bandits would come onto the scene to disturb this ritual of ecstasy.

When the mug was drained and he scraped the last brown goo off its inside with the tablespoon and into his mouth, he remembered the way it was before doomsday. He tried to suppress once again the memories of food: sushi, burgers, and – he closed his eyes deeply affected – ice cream! It had been years or was it only a year ago that he had last cried? He began to cry but cursed himself for wasting fluid in tears.

copyright © RW 2014

This is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

Botanical garden outing pics by 'd'

                                  One day you'll be a beautiful butterfly but right now, you're ergly!

                                                                   I lurv that purple! : ))

Penguins and gulls by 'd'

Sunday, April 6, 2014

The Strange Light

Bravebelly had won again! He had proven his worth once again at the Great Feast of Antatauk. He had devoured no less than 2 extremely tasty krukituks, several bowlfuls of Gworp, and for dessert, a Smarktanoup of an incredibly-tasting delicate sweetness. For drink, he had already dispatched half a barrelful of Glooch, a heady mix, whose effects were being felt by all the menfolk at the great stone ring-shaped eating platform. The women were wise enough to retire early and let the revelry burn itself out like the central fire in the platform.

Many hours later the fire had died down to its glowing red embers. A rumbling dozing motley at the table, on the grass, on the table, half on the table, were bathed now in moons’ light. Bravebelly had found his favourite tree and found a pillow on the soft mosses covering one of its protruding roots. The feast of Antatauk had been a great success as it was every year. The next day would be spent recovering from the evening’s merriment, and for most of the folk a slow return to normal duties such as tending to the harvest, the livestock and the fishing. Bravebelly would soon venture North in the direction of the Sula range, through the pass into the beautiful valley of Cador. There it was his mission to barter with the Gurf for precious stones and metals in exchange for food and drink. He would not go alone. Five traveled in the caravan of seven heavily laden jorgs.

It was very late into the night, and the heaviness of the food and drink produced some frightening dream imagery. Bravebelly groaned and awoke at the same time. He had the idea to walk down to the beach and fill his lungs with the fresh sea breezes. He felt sure this would help him feel better, and then it would be back to sleep; although this time he would seek out the greater comfort of his hammock and pillow, and forego the spot underneath the tree.

With everything bathed in moons’ light it was easy to find the path to the beach but he still walked slowly and carefully to avoid tripping on any roots or rocks. The beach was soon underfoot and he trod closer to the surf on its smooth yielding sand. He paused, lapping foamy seawater soaking into his shoes but he was quite oblivious to it. The air here was cool and he gulped in great mouthfuls. His head seemed to clear a little. The breeze was delicious. He was feeling quite happy and gazed at the flat horizon and the serenity of the ocean. ‘What a beautiful night!’ he thought, and was sad to have to leave it so soon for his beckoning hammock.

He turned and as he was turning, out of the corner of his eye, there was a momentary flash of luminescence. ‘What?’ he turned to look at the waves once more. Was it a fish leaping out into the air, shining with its own light? It was not uncommon to see many of those at night-time.

The light did not reappear so he assumed it was one of the shiny fish and turned once more to walk up the beach to the path. Another flash of light! This time he eyed the sea  keenly expecting to spot a few of the shiny fish breaking the surface in one of their leaps.
For some time he looked but nothing appeared. Not one shiny fish nor any other sea creature disturbed the gentle waves.

Feeling very tired all of a sudden he decisively headed to the path. He was puzzled but not very surprised. Soon he was on the path and heading for his hut. At the topmost part of the dune, he picked out his hut and began walking to it when brighter than the moons’ light he was lit from head to feet in a blinding white light. He shielded his eyes with one arm and tried to discern the source of the light. It was hard to see and very painful. Then it was gone. He did not realize it then but he had departed suddenly from consciousness.

The morrow found him near the pathway lying on his belly, the ample folds of which must have cushioned his fall to some degree for there were only scant scratches and bruising to his face. Everyone assumed it had been last night’s revelry which had produced this but Bravebelly knew otherwise, and was for the first time in his life filled with a most unpleasant feeling of trepidation.

He walked the beach later that day hoping perhaps to find a clue to the mysterious lights but there was nothing to be seen. None of the other villagers had seen any lights apart from the light of the moons that night. He did not make much of what he had experienced, and began issuing orders to his travel-fellows in preparation for their journey. He busied himself and did his best to forget the strange light that had so bedazzled him.

copyright © 2014 by RW

This is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

Mountain walk pics by 'd'

                                                            Is the cloak malfunctioning?

Thursday, April 3, 2014

Thursday 3 April pics by 'd'

                                                                      zen composition
                                                                        alien looking
                                                                      Pretty pink ones!