The Shattered Prayer

Grubs taste like pork, reputedly. So does human meat. I’d be hard pressed to eat a grub, however, I’ll do it for money. Seriously. Name your price, and if it suits me, I’ll eat a grub. Maybe two. I’ll eat a human too, but only if my plane crashes into the side of a snow-cloaked mountain and I’m in danger of starving to death.

In the lazy, dulcet hours of twilight, a young man’s fancy turns to thoughts of pork. Have we had our share of pig conversations recently or what?

When I was young, my mother decided I liked pigs. Oh Che, she loves pigs, she loves anything with a pig on it. Just get her something with a pig theme for Christmas. This idea seems to have sprung fully grown from my mother’s head, like Athena from Zeus. I never once gave any indication that I liked pigs, and yet suddenly my life was inundated with pigs. Stuffed pigs. Ceramic pigs. Clothing with pig patterns on it. I grew to accept the pigs. Then I grew to kinda like’em.

Adam once had an ashtray in the shape of a swan. Pi and I decided Adam liked swans. We inundated Adam’s life with every ugly swan we could find in every charity shop from the north of England to the south. It became a game - finding a swan for Adam. We tried to out-do ourselves in tackiness with every gift of a swan. And pretended to be hurt if we went to Adam’s house to find that the swans were not prominently displayed. Cruel game.

Mercury, as whimsical as he is, has probably been the only man in my life to remain constant, so no more blaming him for my troubles. Its Saturn. Saturn I say. Actually that damned Saturn/Neptune opposition has a lot of people wallowing in misery these days. I don’t feel so alone. And even better, I know it won’t last forever. I just have to hold my breath… for most of this year. But it will end.

There was some lake where we used to feed the swans. Those bastards are mean. They’ll beat each other up over a piece of bread. “Such lovely, graceful creatures”…. ummmm… no. That bit of misinformation must’ve started with Leda, or some other pervo with a swan-fetish.

Ducks, on the other hand, are quite friendly and have a delightful sense of humour. I like ducks. But that does not mean I want duck figurines or a t-shirt with a duck on it. If you want to give me a duck, just make sure to include the orange-sauce.

Recently:

• Story a Day: Beggars Would Ride
• Story a Day: Born Into Light
• Story a Day: Deep Fried Moose
• Story A Day: Roscoe Falls Reflections
• Story A Day, or Thereabouts
• Happy Birthday Bas!
• Night: not just for sleeping anymore.
• Lads of the Legion
• The quality of light at sunset.
• Ladies of the Legion II