OH MY BLOG! WTF

Post number 71

CAN YOU BELIEVE THE AMOUNT OF FAWKING MAY BABIES??!!

-~={/;o."O".o;\}=~-

Wassup Birthday Chikins!

With her visually gratifying blog, owner Lex turns a sexy something* this year
And twin Tonestar, with her fabbo dotty site, turning a spunky something* this year
Bron-n-on (twin to Neko-Sam) has her house of waffles full of birthday goodies and turns a fabulous something*
(*never ask a lady her age!)

-~={/;o."O".o;\}=~-

Wassup Birthday Playorz

No-blog Q-Dog has some ossum powahhh bling doggy bling happenin' in his dog house
Neko no neko Sam (twin to Bron-n-on) dons the superhero mask to become Super-Sam - no lycra
Speaking of dons... R-Don celebrates a lucky number this year with Coolshite Crew springing surprises from every nook and cranny

-~={/;o."O".o;\}=~-

Happy buthdayz to yaz all. Stay bright fresh and best before the use by date!! Have a great year ahead and I hope the memories are fantastic to boot!

Meanwhile - if you're planning for a May baby - August seems to be the season to be jolly.

Post numero 70 - oh

.....beep beep beep.....

Transmission start

*The CMax-break hotel*

Since the trip to D'port.
Don't forget your towel.
The dolphins are being cheeky with their
Space wand'rin tails

I says don't panic baby
I feel so paranoid baby
I feel so like a cup of tea

Jedi's are so neurotic
I'm emotional like Padme
The chancellors got some makeup
but it don't improve his face

Ohh baby I feel so armless baby
I feel so legless baby
I feel dismembered and so burned.

End Transmission

.....boop......

Post 69

Light reflects on cold, white, sanitary bathroom tiles. Sharply angular lines of sun cut through the water in the full bathtub.

Porcelain. Clean. Filled. Not white. Mucky, tainted, yellow-brown.

Bubbles break the reflective sheet of water which fills the bath, rupturing the glasslike, delicate looking surface, in to intricate masses of concentric circles. Into waves, then to ripples.

One hand emerges from the off colour water. Water that is now an unsettling brown shade. The colour of rusted water, dripping from a weathered, old tin shed.

A second hand springs out of the water and grips tightly to the edge of the bathtub. An arm , which doesn't keep the momentum, jerks and locks into place as goosbumps form like beads of sweat.

The knuckles whiten. The bubbles lessen. The arms stay firmly locked into place. A body lying in the bottom of the porcelain tub, rigid and tense. Water returning to a smooth pristeen and cold surface - except for the trickle of mucky fluid from the wrists of the bathtub body.

The body flings itself out of the water, propelling itself over the side of the bathtub, ungracefully hanging over the side for a moment before straggling legs grip the base of the tub to push it further, onto cold black and white tiles and a dirty towel.

Water is thrown from the bath as the body writhed to the floor, splashing over the tiles, drenching the towel and creating pools of dirtied reflection.

Slivers of sunlight dance across the wet body thrashing about, until it curls up into a smaller shape, huddles, to find conserve heat, to compensate for the shiverring. It starts to convulse, and the rays of light again creat spots, blotches, patches, and accentuates the goosbumps quickly covering the body.

Vomit is expelled from the mouth, the stomach moves with such force as if being punched, neck arches back and the head pulls away from the brown, yellow, and thick red liquid. It covers the tile with an intense colour in comparison to the tinted puddles.

Drips off the bathtub fall to join the ever growing puddles of filth. The body on the floor is that of a man. He begins to open his eyes and focusses on the speckled light, the white of the bathtub, the black and white tiles and the towel.

The smell of blood, effluence, urine and vomit assail his nostrils. Such a putrid smell doesn't clear his head for thinking. Beginning to moan he attempts to move his limbs. They are rigid, cold, the shiverring doesn't stop or help, and don't respond to his brain signals. Instead, the limbs, extend partially, shake, then he convulses and realises the sensation being felt is the cold from the tiles and a cramp has affected his left leg.

After a few seconds of strange agony from the cramp he slides his body to the nearest wall, slipping in odd directions, and pushes his form against it, leaning, breathing heavy.

He sees a doorway, with a door, ajar, slightly and the outside noises start to filter in his ears. His blurry, water soaked eyes make out the shape of moving objects beyond the door. Car noises filter through the pockets of water in his ears.

Sliding down the wall, he crawls on his stomach over the cool tiles, dragging the soggy form that he is, towards the noise, towards the light that begins to stream through the doorway to the sound of a busy street.

A large sign outside the doorway winks orange neon and displays "Self Service".

His foot brushes agains the towel as his legs straggle behind him. His ears turn icy from the breeze through the door. He turns on his side and grabs the towel with his fingers that are bent, awry, from the cold. Fumbling he tries to dry himself, discovering the sensation of his body messaging his brain that he's alive. As he smooths the scratchy, half wet towel his body shows no signs of scratches, nor bruising and his mind becomes clear but he can't remember how he was. He just knows how he is now.

Cold.

Naked.

Less damp than before, but the disgusting smell and the taste of vomit creates the memory of being in the water.

Icy, silent.........

And one word forms, like a flower, stem growing, leaf uncurling, bud sprouting and petals unfurling to a gorgeous, perfect form.

"Bequeath"

post 68

*****s.....S.....hh........... hh ........ ssi....... lll..... h.....L...... nn...... en......****

*****b.....B.....ll........... ll ........ lla....... lll..... b.....L...... la...... LL......****

......... **beep beep beep**.........

......... **beep beep beep**.........

A........ signal........

striking me from my sleep. I bolt upright from a restless slumber. My head still whirls from the giddy, startled state. I wipe the crusted sleep from my eyes and try to focus on a sliver of morning rays seeping through the curtains of my room. The beep, still ongoing, monotonous, unchanging. I switch off the alarm clock.

~7:38~

A yawn erupts from my the back of my throat. Morning breath exudes last night's onion and toothpaste. I run my fingers through my hair - trying to reason with it's lack of conformity with the rest of the strands over my face. It flips back over my crown in a tussled defiance.

I push the bed sheets away with my foot and swing out my legs to the floor. My feet land on the thin carpet. Small bobbles of carpet fibres cling to the rough patches and callouses on my feet. My foot starts to itch, so I ease the discomfort by rubbing my sole on the carpet. It lets up with the warming, rough texture of the piles. Sitting, I start to scratch in a random spot. Now the itch has left my foot and has travelled over to my belly, to my sides and to my back. I allow myself a small stretch to liven the rigid muscles - it's like a roll call to check my parts are still there and ready, for yet, another day. A twinge strikes my side so I recoil my position to one that is less less postured but still comfortable. The weight of my head starts to become heavy, like lead, on my neck. Perhaps it's the thoughts, or the dreams crammed in there.

~7.40~

The red of the LED digits remind me of my dream. Fleeting patches of the interior of a house with lots of boxes, perhaps junk springs to my vision. Not sure. Can't remember now it's morning. And my brain kicks into awake mode and the pain in my head starts. Must get up, get through the day.

With that resolve I power into the bathroom, glimpse at my hair that defies gravity and resign my life long wish that it would be permanently in the one, perfect style at any given time of day. I know that won't happen and shelve that thought in the back of my mind. I go to brush my teeth, pick up the toothbrush from the basin to get the onion flavour out. The brushing creates a strange sound in my mouth - scratching sounds, scraping noises. Without thinking I turn to pee in the adjacent toilet. Morning pee smell and toothpaste create the nauseating but familiar smell. My brain registers that as a cue to finish up immediately.

**flush....sh....shhh.......sss......sss...........s....s.....hss.....**

Morning light doesn't filter into the bathroom except from the window in the adjoinging room. It's kinda semi dark or semi light - whichever way I want to look at it. But I leave the lights off and shuffle out of the bathroom. I turn to open curtains. No difference in light but my head begins a slight ache from the dispersion of morning sunlight on the fog. Need better curtains.

There's fog and the door has the build up of condensation from a cold night. A distinguishable outline of a garbage bing and boxes are all I can make out at first. Sounds of a what sounds like a dog becomes baffled by the glass, my breath fogging it up and I can't hear anything after that - just my breathing. It's quiet. Except for my breathing. It's cold too.

I drag clothes onto my body - they're smelling clean. They're washed I think to myself. They're washed. I go back to the bathroom to soak my hair in the basin and then brush it back across my head in an unfashionable but reasonably ok style. It stays out of my eyes for a few seconds - then wet pieces fall back to my face as I rush out the door, car key in hand and a small bakpak over my shoulder.

The fog is wet - the air is moist - my clothes and the hairs on my neck begin to feel damp as the cold seeps in. My hair doesn't help the situation and brushes against my face in thick wet clumps. The street is covered in the fog, cars are blobs in the fog. The street is awfully quiet - no cars. Am I early? No, I was rushing too much to be early, I must be late. The car takes a while to warm up and makes sickly coughing noises from the exhaust. It's not a morning car. It steadies to a rythmic hum and rumble. I indicate and drive down the road. Heading to work and I feel late.

I put my lights on. The fog doesn't ease up - it looks a shade of yellow, dirty, unclean. Fog. It's just clouds come down to earth. I bet a car would think this air is thick and cold and damp - I would if I were a car. The windows gather small bobbles of condensation. It's from my warm breath - but I'm not going to stop breathing. I turn the ventillation up and cold air chills me. Not many people take this road, it's gravel and dirty and dusty. Can't see the dust for the fog.

The road ahead becomes less gravel and turns to gunmetal bitumen and some house shapes replace the shapes of trees.

Suddenly.

**smbachrh**

**screeeeeihhu*

I hit something. Fuck. I didn't even see it.

But I stopped.

At least I stopped, right?

Shit. I hope it wasn't an animal.

I don't need to get upset. Don't get upset. It's just something. Go out and look.

My heart beats faster and my head begins to throb with the ache from before. I stop the engine, open the door and the cool air fills the car and around my face. All I see is fog behind me as the exhaust fumes dissipate - eaten by the fog. Foggy road, foggy house outlines.

No lumps on the road.

Nothing.

Except for an unusual sound that comes from past the footpath. A sound, muffled, but regular, like breathing. Too heavy and noisy for a cat, perhaps even for a dog but I've never hit an animal to know. I shut the car door and walk over towards the sound.

Focussing becomes a chore but my eyes make out a large shape in the fog. It's in the front yard of a house. I can make out more of the house now and a letter box. Number 48.

The shape looks like it's trembling as I get nearer. But then the fog seems to be shrouding it, - it's all blurry - and it's not moving. No trembling. Just a large weird shape, a small bear? As if, moron - why would it be a bear? I stop a few feet short of it before looking at it closer. I don't want to. There's a funny smell coming from it. A gross smell. Like baked meat that's been left in on a BBQ and gone cold.

Burnt, meat.

I put my sleeve over my nose and curiosity gets the better of me.

WTF is it?

I can't see blood. But the smell..... there should be blood...... I take a step back before taking one forward until I can almost touch it.

It's like a large sack with awkard shapes protruding from one side of it. No legs, no head. This isn't an animal. It's not even furry, it's more...... skin...... flaky black and red...... skin..... ugh.... and that smell. Fuck. Someone must've left it out on the road. Left what? The whole street seems so empty and it's not garbage day. I can't hear anything now. And my head feels worse with the pungent smell.

The sack thing starts to shudder. Stops. Shakes. For a bit. And then, stops, again. Shivers. I step back as the form in front of me begins to shake unnaturally, and the awkward protrusions move like involuntary jerks, until the whole form is moving spasmodically.

And then, the shape erupts, and - I can't move - all I can think of is my head feeling like it's erratically thrashing and my headache is splitting it open and sound of waves of the sea crashing are pushed out of my head by a siren.

A loud siren.

Chilling my body to the core.

Post number 67

Something. Hit me. Today.

A thought. Bubbled.

Up. And Burst.

Sending ripples across my memory lake.

CORN DOLLIES - MURDEROUS CORN DOLLIES - AND MICE

All I remember is a story, or animation, of a community of mice that have the children make corn dollies perhaps for harvest or festival reasons, or for pure self-entertainment. Somehow there is a mysterious murder of a mouse, by strangulation, with anyone being the possible suspect. However, it was the CORN DOLL. It had magically come alive with murderous intent - perhaps even under a voodoo spell - and had strangled the poor mouse with his empty, noose like head.

And that's all I remember.

And the bubbles subside. The ripples grow few and large until the memory lake is calm, the surface a smooth as glass.

Until another Bubble. Rises. Like a small, transclucent balloon, once again, to the surface of the Memory Lake.