The exercise:
Write about (or a piece by): the ogre poet.
Yeah, it's not getting any better out there - unless it has? We took a break from the news today. But, yeah, probably not. So more silliness it is.
Last Monday the town decided to close the rec centre (that I worked at before my current position), along with the arena, and closed the fire hall and public works (also where I formerly worked) to public access. That left town hall and planning open to the public, with a request to only come in if absolutely necessary.
As a diabetic with a compromised immune system, I was feeling extremely uncomfortable with this, because I know people don't listen and I didn't want to be the welcoming point for who knows how many people coming in to town hall. Plus, with things seeming to get more serious every day, just being out and about in general.
After speaking with my doctor, I've stayed home since then on her recommendation. Thankfully the weather has been nice and the backyard has been welcoming. We went for a hike in the mountains yesterday afternoon and that was fantastic.
It would be nice to know how long this is going to last, but taking it day by day is the only option at this point. So on we go, into the great unknown, every waking moment it seems.
2 comments:
I hadn't realised that diabetes is an autoimmune disease! I know that in Diabetes type 1 the body destroys the cells that produce insulin, but for some reason I never continued that thought on to note that that makes it an autoimmune disease. Thank-you for pointing that out :)
And... I hope you continue to get a chance to stay away from the idiots. I'm definitely surrounded by them -- the Maltese seem proud of their inability to take simple precautions and behave like normal people -- but at least I can hide in the office for the moment (the people coming in are predominantly non-Maltese).
The ogre poet
The poetry slam was packed; the dark, rocky underground room known officially as 'the Cavern' and unofficially as 'Gehenna's Pit' was filled to capacity and then a few more people and creatures had been stuffed in for good measure. The bar was doing a roaring trade and the tables had been pushed closer and closer to the front as people had squeezed in, until the people seated at the front-most tables could practically look up the shorts of the elven poet currently sweating and rapping. Smells drifted through the room and swirled about: the sweetness of the fruit in the cocktails rising from the bar at the back, the earthiness of the dwarves and gnomes and the outright putrid stench of the gnoll couple who had the most personal space of anyone in the room; the musty, bosky scent of the elves who were cheering the current poet on; the metallic scent of the chimerae clinging to the ceiling, and the milky, dairy scent of the three lamia women who were casually seducing everyone in a five metre radius.
The elf finished up, staring wild-eyed out at the audience and throwing his arms wide as he yelled, "...and so one does not simply walk into Mordor!" Broad applause rolled around the room while the other elves hooted and whistled and generally demonstrated how very drunk they were.
A man short enough to be a gnome and ugly enough to be a gnoll waddled onto the stage and took possession of the microphone.
"Thank you, Liam O'Legless," he said. "A very convincing set, and one that I'm sure will be hard to beat." The elf tried to nudge him but elbowed him in the ear instead. The short man scowled. "Oh yes, and Liam would like me to remind you that his new poetry collection Penticton Poems will be available, signed, from him after the show. For the fan-bois out there, Partners in Rhyme will be on at 10. At 10! Next up, we have Larissa!"
He waddled off the stage while a listless clap accompanied Larissa, an ogress, to the microphone.
"Thank-you," she said in a low, husky voice that made guts twist and sweat stand out on every forehead. She sounded predatory and hungry. "My first poem this evening is about my parents. I wrote this when I was seven, originally in Ogrish, and I think it stands the translation into English."
The crowd fell silent, slightly confused by the terror they were feeling instinctively mixing with the sentiment of her words.
"Mother, Father," began Larissa.
"Skulls like stone
Permit no new ideas
Unless they are opened.
Eyes that refuse to see
Are not eyes but mirrors.
Skin that does not feel
Is wallpaper for the soul.
Ears that do not hear
Provide an excellent place for a chisel.
Let us open our minds
And perceive the wider world.
Mother, Father,
For this opportunity
I thank you."
The short man stood at the back of the stage and held up the large white placard that had "Applaud now" written on it in sixteen languages.
Greg - yup, still a lot of idiots out there. I'm all in favor of a complete lockdown, personally. Stay the hell home, just shut it down for a couple weeks.
The descriptive scene setting you do here is just fantastic. What a cast of characters gathered for a poetry jam! And of course the ogre poet does not disappoint in the least :)
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