Nolt

La Petite Mort

We skipped work that Friday and directly went to old Aberdeen street. Number 42 still looked like crap and the funny thing was, anyone would tell you that it had always felt that way. There just was something about that street that felt awkward, eerie, and that even before Nolt settled there. And number 42 was the worst. The first thing you saw as you came in was that strangely shaped bush which reminded me of a chimera. I had no idea why or even where that came from, but it somehow seemed logical that a guy like him should end up in a place like that. And he never did take care of his place anyway.
We knocked on the door three times and Jimmy wiped the window to see if he could spot the old man passed out inside. Every six months or so, Nolt would serve us that trick. He’d disappear for a time, playing possum as he’d say, and then we would have to get him back on his two feet. He generally passed out from too much booze, and most of the time it had to do with some crap he had done way back when. That was how he dealt with stuff, and I’m guessing how a lot of people from his era did too. He drank and drank and drank, and somehow it made him believe things would turn out for the best the next day. And yet over the course of twenty plus years, he never learnt his lesson. All he had the next day was a terrible headache, the overwhelming sensation of dying and being born at the same time. They got it wrong when they called cumming La Petite Mort – getting hammered was what it meant. Continue reading

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fragments

Group sesh’

It was Basil’s turn to speak now.
They all turned towards him and waited silently. Nadia thought it was better to follow this order, Mick always had a terrible story about his dead brother, and she knew that, somehow, Basil reminded Mick of him. Besides, you should never end on a such a terrible note, that had been lesson 101 of the many classes she attended. She had noticed the way Mick always looked sideways at Basil; it was not malicious, not contemptuous like it usually is with the others. He often took the seat next to him and even waited for him to finish a sentence before interrupting. There was some sort of weird fascination going on, and Nadia quickly put that on the dead brother’s account. The circumstances of Leonard’s death remained mysterious and blurry, but its presence felt like a heavy burden on Mick’s shoulders, until the moments he entered the room and saw Basil.
Continue reading

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Non classé

Click, click, click. And, I’m dead.

hank

Oh boy. You know what? Someone recently came to me and asked, “why in the world are you still doing that?”

Now, I must concur, it is a relatively broad question, and a tough one to answer at that. But it was mostly aiming at the fact that I keep on writing and sending out lines out right into the webspace. Why do I keep doing that? I have absolutely no idea, I just do.

But they also pointed out, and rightfully I think, that having a better (ie more regular) online presence would help. The truth is, I can’t write all day, every day. Even if I wished to, I couldn’t. That’s not the way my brain works. However, it was explained to me that having a social media for people to keep tabs on whatever it is that I’m doing, writing, thinking, could be a good idea. I’m not sure about that, and I’m not sure about how to manage it all. But life’s too short not to have a facebook page, right?

So why don’t you come on out and join me? Let’s be friends, foes, drinking buddies, whatever.
Find me at https://www.facebook.com/jerkwithwifi/

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