Category: Okategoriserade

Old man’s rambling #2

The Christians sure believe in a lot of things. They seem scared, terrible scared and the only cure is to spread their fear far and wide and make everyone else frightened too. You’ve probably had a christian knock on your door before? I wonder if they get some kind of bonus for every convert… I wonder how they would keep track… Maybe they just do it for the street cred. I dunno what goes on behind church doors but, after all, but I feel like money is the thing that everyone is after. Another convert means more money and more money means more converts and so on. The guys doing the walking though, they’re brimming of faith! Faith that they won’t get stabbed or shoved or get their dicks bit off by the guard dog. I guess it’s the same for all door-knockers but I still think Christians carry a bigger risk. Everyone wants a piece of them, one way or another. What bugs me most about them are their smiles, their ugly stale smiles and their half maniacal confident look, the look that says ‘I’m sure I’m right!’ But in reality they are lost, lost like any of us, in search for answers. Perhaps they hope to find the answers in strangers, that God will test them or something.

Hell is a nasty place, so I’ve heard, invented by the Babylonians or maybe it was the Greeks. The Greek’s hell always seemed tamer than the Babylonians, but then again, the Greeks didn’t have a choice and ended up there regardless. Heaven is just a nasty lie, really, something the Jews invented, at least they don’t have a form of hell. Christians stole from both of them because they realised it easier to get converts with both stick and the carrot. In any case, it’s the door-knockers that always get the bad end of the stick, it seems like, not that I have any sympathy for them.

That’s not to say faith is not important. Religion doesn’t have monopoly on faith, though. I have faith that what the scientists are telling me is the truth, even though they don’t know themselves. It’s a better deal than being a christian, I feel like. I can question things without getting hanged. The only form of science that I don’t trust is when they tell people what’s healthy. They’ve made too many U-turns and I’m confident they don’t know shit about anything, as if the human body is more mysterious than the Universe. The only thing I know for sure is don’t drink too much water… But I’m not really bitter about that, at least they’re trying. Healthy people don’t need an ultimate truth to latch onto. Christian’s faith is flawed but then so is mine, the difference is that I’m not walking around telling people they are wrong. Perhaps that’s what the christians think what schools are, places for brainwashing. Only people that actually brainwash would think that; only a cheater would accuse another of cheating if they lost. The most vocal anti-gay is gay as hell and so on… You judge people based on yourself. I tend to avoid people with strong opinions either way. We have no idea what we’re doing and we make shit up as we go along, making living a little easier for ourselves.

by Stamphers

The drunk – very short story

Michael went to the bar often. He had one beer on Monday and two on thursday and a whole lot of mixed drinks in between. He’d even had a glass of wine if he was in the mood for it. His work tossed him here and there and to all sides of the city; he worked weekdays, nights and weekends, it didn’t matter, but he liked it that way, it made him feel on the outside, not normal. Most people would say he was different enough but he never hurt nobody and he did his job so nobody really cared. He was an apprentice carpenter, been one most of his life. He never bothered to graduate, at least his boss never bothered to get him out of the apprenticeship, he was too stupid to work on his own they said behind his back, not that Michael cared, he was comfortable where he was.

The alcohol smoothed all the jagged edges of his brain, he said, It was like walking on air and everything made sense. Life’s not bad. The alcohol helped him not think about the bad stuff, things that he got beaten up for thinking when he was a child. He didn’t know why they got so mad about it. His mother wasn’t alive anymore so nobody stopped him from thinking things like that anymore but she beat him good and it would take another severe beating to turn him back the way he was! At least he kept his spirit, the kind that made it easy to look at people and people to look back at him without shying away. People enjoyed talking to him, at least for a little while, until they realised just how strange he was. He even got free drinks at the bar sometimes, and in general, life didn’t try to trip him up, not like his mother did. He enjoyed that she was dead, greatly.

Yes, life was good and interesting and different, Michael was good at finding stuff like that, things that most people gloss over or don’t even notice. It made everyday interesting and people seemed to genuinely enjoy his outlook on life and even though he was an alcoholic, he wouldn’t trade his jagged brain for the world.

by Stamphers

Solve for fun – poem

Words are words

Words are pain

Words are fun

but pain

is even better.

Words have meaning

and words are shit

Words are both of those things

and more

It should be

it is fun

and it’s painful

and dull

and grand.

There’s no such

thing

as a happy

ending.

by Stamphers

getting good is bad

I didn’t believe it

I don’t think anyone believed

but

it was true

because

there was no punchline.

Tears welled in one guys eyes

then everyone cried

it was very sad

I wasn’t

I was mostly relieved

I wouldn’t miss this place

This place of idiots

by Stamphers

backwards

I am old

in my head

I’m old.

I like old things

things before my time

simple things

before

I have

any claim

on

nostalgia

I don’t complain about the new

I complain about what it does to me

I’m just a monkey head

with imagination

by Stamphers

Cat’s don’t have money

Cat rode down the mountain on a bike to get some cheese. He couldn’t get the cheese because he didn’t have any money, he didn’t even know what money was. Yet he knew how to ride a bike. Actually, it wasn’t his bike, it was the Dog’s. The Cat just borrowed it. The Dog didn’t have any money either.

by Stamphers

The Pit – Very Short Story

Sometimes we die, we do that quite often in fact. Some people believe life and death is just a cycle, that death isn’t really the end, but I’m getting ahead of myself:

Let me introduce you to the Melburns. They are a wealthy family, not only in money but in children as well. They have seventeen of them – eight Mrs Melburn doesn’t even know about. The thing about Mr Melburn is that he isn’t a good person, not in most circles, but at least he takes care of his family. He feeds them, clothes them, and that’s about it. There’s only one he pays any attention to and that’s his eldest daughter.

She died, recently, at the tender age of twelve of mysterious reasons. She was found with a mouth full of sweets and several of them were lodged in her throat. Mr Melburn always said gluttony is a problem, I guess she disagreed. As you can see, being wealthy doesn’t protect you from death, not entirely anyway. Life cannot be bought or exchanged, but that didn’t stop Mr Melburn from trying.

He contacted the local Necromancer – every small and big town has one. Necromancy is the cure against dying, according to their words, and they have many theories on how to bring back the dead; the most common one involves an exchange. The Melburns weren’t willing to give up one of their own children so they went and looked for another. A local eleven year old boy disappeared soon after. The whole incident was hushed up later when the right amount of money appeared in the right people’s pockets. It was a freak accident how the child gut himself before walking across the country and breaking into a total stranger’s basement.

I’m not saying necromancy is complete bogus, but it’s a lost art. I find it ironic how the people who are afraid to die are the most avid practitioners these days. With the Melburn’s left with no other option they decided to buy her a fancy new home to sleep her eternal rest in. It’s common in most places to have a fancy little crypt for their loved ones; to tell the world that somebody important was buried here. You better pay attention to her. If the Melburns are lucky, their dear daughter will be happy with her new accommodation and stay quiet for all eternity.

Now, let me turn your attention to the Shillies. They are not a wealthy family. Indeed, they’re so poor that the father often doesn’t eat, like, at all. He’s the definition of a saint. He also died recently and his death was not a mystery. Mrs Shillies would like nothing more than to give him a nice home to rest in, but they cannot afford to, and most likely, Mr Shillie won’t expect one either. He’ll sleep quietly in whatever grave they end up burying him in.

But, the funny thing about dying is that it’s a lot like living. People change. If Mr Shillie had any unfulfilled hopes and dreams that we didn’t know about, he might wake up and try and fulfill them. His chances are pretty good too without those pesky responsibilities of being alive or morals that comes with it. In fact, there’s a saying that most kings never lived. But one thing’s for sure, Mr Shillies won’t be able to rest easy knowing his family will most likely die of starvation without him. The city knows this, that’s why he’s going into the pit.

The pit is not just a hole in the ground, it’s deeper than anyone knows. Some say it’s bottomless, while some scholars claim it’s exactly 3000 kms deep. Nobody is sure how they came to this conclusion, most people don’t understand what those weird scientists are saying, anyway. But it doesn’t really matter in the end, because anything that is thrown in doesn’t come up!

© Christopher Stamfors

by Stamphers

The Joker – Very Short Story

“Yes, yes! Let’s party!” a man with clown makeup cried while dancing around a larger, bulkier, man with a shaved head and a mean expression. Jason, on any other night, would have punched anyone who dared annoy him, but he found the clown strangely captivating. Jason was proud of his ability to remember anyone he ever met and he was pretty sure he could recognize them even with makeup on, but somehow, he couldn’t put a finger who this man was; but he looked familiar.

Intrigued, he let the clown do his thing, while the small entourage of men followed closely behind. Suddenly, the clown grabbed his hands and swung him in a circle without letting go. Jason tried to stop him but the clown only swirled faster and faster until Jason lost his grip (or did the clown drop him?) and fell on his ass. His cheeks flushed red.

“Ooof, need to work on your balance there, my friend,” the clown said.

Jason bared his teeth. I’ll mess you up, he thought and accepted the clowns helping hand. The hand popped out of its socket and left a hole around the clowns sleeve. Jason fell again. The light from the streetlamps shaded the faces on the group behind them but they were no doubt trying their hardest to suppress a smile. “Weehehee,” the clown laughed.

All right, tonight I kill a clown, Jason thought as he got back on his legs.

“Oh, don’t be like that,” the clown said. “Everyone needs a good laugh every once in a while. Tell you what. I’ll buy you a drink at–,” he paused, looking around. “That bar,” he said and grabbed Jason’s arm.

If there had been a convenient alley that he could force the clown into at that moment, he would’ve, but yet again, the clown was lucky as he dragged him into the bar. People stopped and stared at the clown, however, they cowered as soon as they saw who the clown was with. The bar stools emptied for the new guests and the barkeep handed out the drinks promptly and without taking pay, which negated the clowns promise.

“Cheers,” he said, apparently willing to conveniently forget about it.

Jason ignored the clown and drank with a frown.

“You’re not still mad at me, are you? I’m the Joker, I joke!” He cried happily and fooled the man next to him with a fake flower that wet his nose.

Jason finished his drink. “Another one,” he growled.

Jason still couldn’t put his finger on who the clown was. He was far too comfortable around him, and he started to worry that he might be somebody he should know. The clown dies tonight either way, he thought to himself. “A joker, eh? Then let’s go kill somebody,” he said. “You and me. The greatest joke there is, right?” He chuckled, imagining the clown’s eyes to hide in his skull out of fear because he couldn’t get any paler than he already was.

But the clown didn’t seem uncomfortable at all, in fact, there was a glee in his face and he became misty-eyed as if from joy. “I thought you’d never ask,” the clown said and ushered Jason out from the bar and danced down the street again, singing. “Kill, kill, kill, let’s kill!”

Jason was mystified by this reaction. Even though he was THE thug of the street, the clown didn’t seem afraid of him. Perhaps he was mad. “Will you shut up!” He said. “This is not how it works.”

“I’m sorry, I’m just so excited to kill with my new best friend,” he said while walking. Then he stopped abruptly. Gasp. “Should we kill him, or maybe him? There’s so many to choose from!” He said and grabbed a random stranger and pushed him close to Jason’s face.

The stranger looked bewildered and scared as he met Jason’s eyes. “Is he good enough?!” The clown said.

“Are you crazy?” Jason said and threw the stranger to the side who was promptly picked up by his entourage.

“Hmm, you’re right. He didn’t feel right…” he said and started looking for another.

Jason had had just about enough of this clown and he pushed him close to his face. “Are you trying to get me into trouble? Who the fuck are you?!”

The clown smiled; he never stopped smiling. “Worried they’ll recognise you? You should’ve had makeup on, like me!” He smiled. “But don’t you worry, they’ll never notice you once I fix your nose!” A machete emerged from the clown’s pants and with one sweep, Jason’s didn’t have a nose anymore.

Jason staggered and touched his face that was wet and full of blood. He didn’t feel anything, though. Not yet. “In fact,” the clown said. “I should fix a few other things while I’m at it!”

Jason’s left ear came off cleanly and he didn’t feel the pain immediately that time either, but as he realised what was happening, he felt the pain and he crumbled to his knees. “Stop, please!” he cried.

“Please? Too nice a word coming out of you!”

The clown planted the blade deep into Jason’s skull and he collapsed, pathetically, onto the street. The clown looked at the entourage who remained frozen a few feet away. The man they’d caught slipped out of their grip. Somehow, the clown thought that was very funny. “Weheehee! I am the Joker. I’m the one who jokes!”

© Christopher Stamfors

by Stamphers