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Hypnostone
.
I found a thing while prospecting,
Was not sure it was mine to take.
But I truly had to have it,
Now it keeps me awake.
.
I put the curio on my bookshelf.
For every day to see.
But the more I look at it,
The more it looks at me.
.
I see it pulse and shimmer,
With psychedelic light,
But it's powered by something sinister,
And fuelled by the night.
.
I drop a cloth over the thing,
The rock I now despise.
But I see its stony smile,
Whenever I close my eyes.
.
I sell it to a dealer,
A proprietor of bric-a-brac,
But he returns ill & shaken,
The dealer brought it back.
.
I'm soon invited to his funeral,
An open casket affair,
But I did not know him very well,
And frankly I couldn't care.
.
I take the effigy to a bridge,
And throw it away myself,
But it kills a gull as it falls away.
I go home - it's on my shelf.
.
I dream of damn-ned creatures,
Lines of shuffling human frames,
But I never see their faces,
Wretches with no names.
.
I recoil as one draws near,
Whispering warnings in a hiss …
But I force and will myself awake,
I have no time for this.
.
I decide to attend the funeral,
I go there to be kind,
But I hide the idol in the coffin,
To ease my state of mind.
.
I feel free of the terrible burden,
I can finally move on,
But I double check the bookshelf,
Yes, I'm sure that it's gone.
.
I think of the poor bric-a-brac man,
Was it all real, I wonder?
But time to forget the evil rock,
My troubles are six foot under.
.
I sleep dreaming of the dealer,
After drinking whisky alone,
But I wake up in his coffin,
Holding the Hypnostone.
.
+++
.
You found a thing while prospecting,
Weren't sure it was yours to take.
But you truly had to have it,
Now it keeps you awake.
.
You hold the mesmerising idol,
A slave to the hypnotic hell,
But when sleep comes it comes not alone,
And soon you'll have a tale to tell.
.
You recoil from my story,
While contemplating schemes,
But I'm one of the nameless faceless,
That populate your dreams.
.
I have words that can save you,
So you can halt your grim destiny ...
But you force and will yourself awake,
Now you’re doomed to walk with me.
.
The Loki God
The Loki God,
Is a trickster God;
And Lord of Anarchy.
I met him first in some remote grove,
I'd pitched camp to give my horse rest.
Food was good, company convivial,
I shared much mead with that fire-side guest.
Then he said,
“If I had a half, and you had two halves,
Together we’d have three.”
“And three is better than two, my friend,
On this we can agree.”
“So, I’ll give you my half, and you’ll keep two halves,
My friend, this one’s on me.”
“And I’ll do it all for free, my friend,
I’ll do it all for free.”
“But at the end of the day, you’ll owe me one,
One for the price of three.”
So, I shook his hand, and slapped his back,
And said it, “’Twas well met.”
We revelled and laughed and blessed my luck,
Until the sun had set.
But the half a thing he had for me, was half a lame donkey,
And even if whole, to any fool, ‘twould be a tad wonky.
What’s use of half a thing, cut off at the belly;
What’s use of half a thing, I could not think of any.
He answered not, but with his sword he cleaved my great stead in twain,
The front fell forward, the back fell back, thus my horse was slain.
He pointed to the bloody bits,
His eyes alight with glee,
Six legs, one head, and a donkey’s ass,
Butchered that night, on the moonlit grass,
My halves that came to three.
And the thing I owed him, because, “I owed him one,”
Was my servitude forever, under the rising sun.
The Loki God,
Is a trickster God;
And Lord of Anarchy.
The Loki God,
Is a lonely God;
And me his company.
-----
Don’t Eat Babies
A Public Health Announcement for Witches
"There now follows A Public Health Announcement for Witches."
We the Government of the United Kingdom,
Address the Witches to impart our wisdom,
We understand your issues, dear ladies,
But with that in mind ... Don't eat babies.
Now we know that babies look delicious,
Tender, plump and quite nutritious,
But don't fall for the hype,
Because those babies are not ripe.
Try to avoid babies in the main,
Although it goes against the grain,
Don't serve them up with lizard eggs,
Don't gnaw upon their bandy legs.
A toddler can cook up alright,
But a baby keeps you up all night,
Trust the science ... without exception,
Babies will give you indigestion.
Dinner parties? You won't be disgraced,
With any meat that's not plant based,
For something simple, and a bit plainer,
A surly teenager is a no-brainer.
Try a vintage baby if you can,
But this in truth, it's just an old man.
Or an old woman, they are both divine,
If consumed with enough wine.
Thinking of doing a Baby Fondue?
Fon-don't do that I'm telling you.
Please push back the witchy stereotype,
Because those babies are not ripe.
So I take my leave, you can't take it back,
I have today's date in my almanac.
I say tally-ho, because very soon,
I must be away before the full moon.
Let's all pull together, and there-unto,
We can avoid this hellish hullabaloo.
May your familiars be fiendish, and your nights a fright,
But don't eat babies, 'cos babies ain't ripe.
Jabberwocky By Lewis Carroll - Read by Benedict Cumberbatch
(Bandersnatch Cut)
`Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.
"Beware the Jabberwock, my son!
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun
The frumious Bandersnatch!"
He took his vorpal sword in hand:
Long time the manxome foe he sought --
So rested he by the Tumtum tree,
And stood awhile in thought.
And, as in uffish thought he stood,
The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,
Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,
And burbled as it came!
One, two! One, two! And through and through
The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!
He left it dead, and with its head
He went galumphing back.
"And, has thou slain the Jabberwock?
Come to my arms, my beamish boy!
O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!'
He chortled in his joy.
`Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.
Puppy Head out of Car Window
#shorts
Puppy border collie dog loves a drive in the car.
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Music by Alex Grohl
Electronic Rock (King Around Here)
https://pixabay.com/music/beats-electronic-rock-king-around-here-15045/
River adventure
Jabberwocky By Lewis Carroll - Read by Benedict Cumberbatch
Raven poem - Edgar Allan Poe (read by Christopher Walken)
High Noon - Do Not Forsake Me Oh My Darling.
Will Kane (Gary Cooper), the longtime marshal of Hadleyville, New Mexico Territory, has just married pacifist Quaker Amy Fowler (Grace Kelly) and turned in his badge. He intends to become a storekeeper elsewhere. Suddenly, the town learns that Frank Miller (Ian MacDonald), a criminal whom Kane brought to justice, is due to arrive on the noon train...
You know it's gonna be a bad day when you start it by writing your will ...
Young Guns is a 1988 American western film directed by Christopher Cain and written by John Fusco. The film was the first to be produced by Morgan Creek Productions. The film stars Emilio Estevez, Kiefer Sutherland, Lou Diamond Phillips, Charlie Sheen, Dermot Mulroney, Casey Siemaszko, Terence Stamp, Terry O'Quinn, Brian Keith, and Jack Palance.
Young Guns II: Blaze of Glory is a 1990 western film, and the sequel to Young Guns (1988). It stars Emilio Estevez, Kiefer Sutherland, Lou Diamond Phillips, Christian Slater, and features William Petersen as Pat Garrett. It was written and produced by John Fusco and directed by Geoff Murphy.
It follows the life of Billy the Kid (played by Emilio Estevez), in the years following the Lincoln County War in which Billy was part of "The Regulators" – a group of around six highly skilled gunmen avenging the death of John Tunstall – and the years leading up to Billy's documented death. The film, however, is told by Brushy Bill Roberts, a man who in the 1940s appeared claiming to be the real Billy the Kid.
While the film takes some creative license, it does show some of the main events leading up to Billy's documented death, including his talks with Governor Lew Wallace, his capture by friend-turned-foe Pat Garrett, his trial, and his subsequent escape.
Young Guns is a retelling of the adventures of Billy the Kid during the Lincoln County War, which took place in New Mexico during 1877–78. It was filmed in and around New Mexico. Historian Dr. Paul Hutton called Young Guns the most historically accurate of all Billy the Kid films.
Honest Evans Vs. Vintage Plonk - The Cold Call Cases
0:00 Intro
0:45 The Call
2:27 The Fine Wine Market
2:55 Diverting Water
4:28 Wine Trade
6:00 Robert Parker
8:12 I'd buy a bottle
12:12 Born gambler
14:23 Horse Race
15:27 Bye
15:48 Credits
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Gareth Thomas ( Blake's 7 ) Tribute by Stephen Greif on BBC Radio Wales. Interviewed by Peter Johnson (Good Morning Wales) on 14/04/2016.
RIP Gareth Thomas, you will be missed.
also
RIP Stephen Greif, 26 AUGUST 1944 - 23 DECEMBER 2022
Most recent photo by Auz. (cc)
Vid by Laughing Cynic
---------------
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Drinking with Hamlet
"To be or not to be"
Spoof soliloquy
-------------------------------------------------
-------------------------------------------------
Drinking with Hamlet
To beer, or not to beer--that is the question:
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The tonics and spritzers of outrageous boredom
Or to take beer against a sea of no-beers
And by drinking, drink 'em. To drink, too sober--
No more--and by a beer to say we end
The sobriety, and the thousand natural springwaters
That sober is heir to. 'Tis a libation
Devoutly to be pissed. To drink, too drunk--
Too drunked--perchance to snore: ay, there's the rub,
For in that sleep of drink what mornings may come
When we’ve an 'ead like ten bears,
Must give us pause. There's the respect
That makes calamity of so long night.
For who would bear the whips and scorns of the morning after,
The Technicolour Yawn, the praying to a Porcelain God
The Wrath of Grapes, the carpenters in the forehead,
The high cost of low living, red-eyed and bushy-tongued
Crapulence. Polaxed, sossed, dawn damaged, tenderised,
Bottle-ached and as sick as a small hospital,
The Irish flu wearing loud shoes. Who would not beer,
And grunt and sweat under a weary life,
But that the dread of something after beer,
The hangover country, from whose pains
No paracetamol will work, befuddles the will,
And makes us rather bear those ills we have
Than drink and drink until we know not of?
Thus consequence does make cowards of us all,
And thus the native thirst of resolution
Is sicklied o'er with the pale ale of thought,
And enterprise of great pitcher and malt liquor
With regard to the barman, we turn away
And lose the name of action. -- Soft you now,
To be fair, my shout!
-- Beer, in thy froth
Be all my sins forgot.
----------------------------------------
“Abandon all hope ye who enter here.”
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The event no-one asked for ... Lockdown Sports - The Deadly Derby. We make our own fun.
Place your hopes on a fictional horses and cheer them over the finish line.
Many thanks to:-
Warner Bros. Entertainment - (THE MAN FROM ATLANTIS 1977 S01E14 Scavenger Hunt )
mgm, Beta Film GmbH, egeda, and NAN Films LLC - (For a Few Dollars More (1965) )
for their kind permission to use footage,
and to all the other good eggs who have allowed access to thier material in this spoof nonsense.
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The event no-one asked for ... Lockdown Sports - The Deadly Derby. We make our own fun.
Place your hopes on a fictional horses and cheer them over the finish line.
Play solo or with mates.
Many thanks to:-
Warner Bros. Entertainment - (THE MAN FROM ATLANTIS 1977 S01E14 Scavenger Hunt )
mgm, Beta Film GmbH, egeda, and NAN Films LLC - (For a Few Dollars More (1965) )
for their kind permission to use footage,
and to all the other good eggs who have allowed access to their material in this spoof nonsense.
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Spooky Poems
Featuring Echo Shae-Lyn as host
Poems by Morien Wyn Jones
aprox 30 mins
0:00 The Witch Child Shumba Lumba
6:00 Sounds From The Long Dead
7:27 The Loki God
10:52 Drinking With Hamlet
15:35 The Welsh Are Here
17:12 Hypnostone
20:50 The Mear
21:31 A Funny Thing, A Funny Thing
29:22 Outro
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Film taken at Newcastle Emlyn Castle in Adpar
Music - Ekvelika - Chonology Of Love
----------
The Welsh Are Here.
We're here.
We showed up didn't we?
Here's not what it was though.
This place.
Not like it was.
But we all turned up.
Ready to do.
Owain Glyndŵr,
Llywelyn the Last.
We're all here.
All of us.
Like the sea.
But where are you?
In the time before now,
It was a time again.
We breathed that air, we loved, we fought and lived.
But that time is not for you.
Not you.
And now is not for us.
But we cannot feel the ground beneath our feet.
And the Druids have long gone.
-------------------------------------------------
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The Mear
What you have now,
Will subside.
What you hold close,
Will not abide.
But in this mear,
Twixt hope and sorrow,
You'll get up again,
Tomorrow.
-------------------------------------------------
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A Funny Thing, a Funny Thing
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The Witch Child Shumba Lumba
As a gentleman uncommon,
I leave to view the light,
Of Stonetown in the distance,
On this pitted lonely night.
A figure sits gently rocking,
In the stark starlight alone.
Skin pale and smooth and beautiful,
Like moon kissed moonstone.
Black hair frames this forlone girl;
As her chest heaved and fell;
Her large eyes held the glint of Heaven,
Which whisked me from my Hell.
Raven tells of her lost her love,
By some foolish night of sin;
And how she'd forsake her very life,
For one more day with him.
In a gasp, her presence quickens me.
We talk - I free my soul,
To the prospect of human closeness,
In a world too dark and cold.
Unaccustomed as I am,
To the rigours of social delights;
We had in mind to stroll,
To the city's warming lights.
My thoughts, carefree and fluid,
While misty fields we hiked.
It made no matter on this night,
That in the town, I'm not well liked.
And walk and talk we did,
Amid the spice of vibrant folk.
While we enjoyed a tavern,
I spied the Little One in the smoke.
The witch-child Shumba-Lumba;
For years she's been watching me,
Peering out of socket-eyes,
With crone-doll on her knee.
A dirty white dress,
Red lip paint; a mess,
Wiped across one tiny cheek.
Curly hair in a matt,
Under dusty top-hat,
Adorning petite physique.
Black-toothed and bilious,
Rotting and hideous,
Foulness - her size belies.
Her skin skull-white;
As in permanent fright;
With holes instead of eyes.
Tiny hands eel-writhing,
At the neck of her grim doll.
I cry out, 'But I can see you!'
And she flees at my call.
It would be rash to confront her here,
In a town she knows of old.
This wily ghost-witch has her tricks,
For the hasty and the bold.
But does my Raven take fright,
Of the spectre; vengeful and hateful?
No, the pure of heart, can't see the dark,
And for this blessing I am grateful.
We forsake the steamy bustle,
Of town's people, dark and striking;
Heading instead to my house on the hill;
- A prospect most inviting.
Through my disused banquet halls,
Considered stately in these parts,
Then up to my tower of potions;
You see ... I too have my Arts.
I light the candles of protection;
Imbue charms from near and far.
I take her to my window,
To view the splendour of Zanzibar.
The yellow-lit town houses,
Moon-waves washing clean the shore;
Wind-scattered stars over heaven;
I show the one I adore.
I capture this image in a crystal sphere,
And freeze the moment in time;
I halt the translucent crashing waves,
And petrify the sun's climb.
It is a perfect moment;
Preserved like a perfect pearl.
I gaze transfixed, at this rare gift,
For her, my perfect girl.
---------
And thus he does not see me,
Moving slowly from his side.
I Raven snuff out the candles;
I undo the rites applied.
Tiptoeing down the spiral staircase;
My pace increasing greatly;
Entering the disused banquet hall,
In these parts considered stately.
There I spy my Smokey Princess;
Demure, dead-white in the gloom.
The hellish Child-Jinn, with harrowing grin,
Regally floats into the room.
Her head lolls from side to side;
Venting sounds between purr and hiss;
Inhaling spiteful victory;
Hated bathed in bliss.
I bow my head as I pass her,
But she gives me not a glance;
Our deal done, our tryst fulfilled -
To the stair she does advance.
I look back once before leaving,
As if waking from my dreams;
But I see no more the ghoulish girl,
And all I hear - are screams.
--------------------------------------------------------------
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------------------------------------------------------------------
---------------------------------------------
“Abandon all hope ye who enter here.”
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