Here’s a couple of sunrise scenes. Let it never be said I’m all Gloom & Doom. Well Met. In her quest for kindred spirits, young Miss BattyBall has been travelling along the Via Spaccata for many moons, on her way to the Open Marshes. Half a mile before the Fuzzy Crossroads, where the Via intersects the Slippery Slope, she is met by a couple of chubby sauroids bearing gifts and a small cluster of sentient stardust, there to assist her in the often perilous negotiating of said junction. Also to provide some much needed comic relief; the sentient cluster has a nearly inexhaustible stock of crappy jokes, spurious anecdotes and utterly absurd but otherwise entirely truthful and accurate tittle-tattle. Sunrise Demonettes. They dance with the rising sun, they do, these flaming creatures. Just for the pure joy of it.
I’ve got a new toy; a new app for the tablet. I actually paid for this app, believe it or not. Other than being pixelatious, as opposed to vectoroid, it’s quite groovy. It’s called ArtRage and this is my first serious attempt to get something out of it. The scene takes place somewhere in the generic South. Actually, it’s happening not to far from Uluru. There.
Weeping Lizards. For Federico, who wrote, and for Paco, who sang, and for Maria Clara, who likes them both.
El lagarto está llorando.
La lagarta está llorando.
El lagarto y la lagarta
con delantaritos blancos.
Han perdido sin querer
su anillo de desposados.
¡Ay, su anillito de plomo,
ay, su anillito plomado!
Un cielo grande y sin gente
monta en su globo a los pájaros.
El sol, capitán redondo,
lleva un chaleco de raso.
¡Miradlos qué viejos son!
¡Qué viejos son los lagartos!
¡Ay cómo lloran y lloran.
¡ay! ¡ay!, cómo están llorando!
Not a joke. A little old lady with perhaps a touch of dementia, walks into a supemarket and steals a pint of milk. She gets arrested and the full force on The Law falls on her poor addled bonce and she gets called names into the bargain. A fat cat bursting at the seams with fraudulently obtained cream hides his profits in some nice little tax haven. Nothing happens to him and he gets feted and praised and called a benefactor of mankind by the Mainstream Meedja; every dark, murky night millions of peasant dream of being just like him one day. I’ve said this before but it bears repeating: I know “monsters” with more good sense and integrity that either the fat cats or the peasants. There. PS. I seldom bother with topic themes but this one about the leaked off-shore accounts “scandal” (and the subsequent meedja response) was too good to miss. Also, it coincided with one of my latest lots of monstrous larvae. These two are called Sol and Elvira, like the daughters of Messer don Rodrigo Diaz de Vivar, alias el Cid.
Update 11/04/16 For don Esteban Bucknell, because I kind of promised. According to Google Translate specula means, amongst all the other more obvious things, watchtower. That’ll do me. Meet yet another relative of the MadGirl-who-stands-before-tanks-and-dies-young. This one is likely to last a little longer…if she’s very careful how she opens her fridge. Offer her a wee dram now and again, along with your requests, and if she deems your requests righteously groovy she’ll see what she can do. And because too much of even a just moderately good thing is wonderful, have a B&W version, just in case.