Blue Afternoon Candyfloss

(Short Stories November - December 1998)

A collection of ten happy / sad and funny short stories by Charla. Here's a couple of very short ones to give you some idea of what goes on in those small Autumn seaside rooms.

Some Stories are Written Howls

I was watching seagulls fly by high above. The sun made golden torches of their undersides and that made me feel a little better.

"Can I smoke one of your cigarettes" said I the non-smoker.

"Go ahead" she replied.

My head is full of bad words. I light up and lean out of the window like a first floor whore. People below are going about their business, I don't feel like liking them. I feel like falling out and squashing them. That's the way it is some days. Optimists get disappointed and pessimists underachieve - where's the middle ground? Today is one of those days. I'm disappointed and bored.

A seagull soaring high above sees my mood and lands a messy poop like a fool's crown upon my heavy head. That told me.

This is one of those stories.

A Thousand Words About the True Love of Buzby McDuff

True love asks for nothing in return - but if offered won't refuse. When Buzby McDuff fell in love with Janice he was quite happy to keep it to himself and savour the cherry syrup ooze of his infatuation. On the other hand he certainly wasn't about to break her heart if she just so happened to fall in love with him right back. She didn't.

Janice was Buzby's secretary. Recently she had fallen up to her eyeballs in love with Derek the motorcycle courier and since then each moment of her day either led up to or followed his delivery. In the hours before his arrival she would type letters on auto-pilot whilst busying herself with excited thoughts about how to greet him and what to say. She fantasised about romantic treasures - the touch of a hand, a gentle kiss, furtive forays in the broom cupboard and other such stuff. When he arrived she would turn to jelly. In a matter of seconds he would be gone and then for the rest of the afternoon she would wallow in a mind marinading heartswell whilst mechanically shifting paper from in to out tray like a robot in dialogue with heaven.

Unfotunately for Janice the McDuff deliveries were, in Derek's mind, merely en route to a pizza lunch. He'd grown fond of pizza lunches just lately. It wasn't the pizzas he was particularly keen on, it was Julie.

Julie worked at the 'Leaning Tower', an Italian restaurant where Derek was a customer. If you were to ask Julie about Derek at the end of a shift she might, if you prompted and supplied a clue or two, recall the short guy in motorcycle leathers with a helmet under his arm, but then again... she might not. A customer is a customer is a customer and Derek didn't particularly stand out from the rest as far as Julie was concerned. Her attention was under the exhausting strain of an all consuming infatuation. Julie, you see, was just crazy about Tony the manager (who in turn was itching with a caged hurricane desire for a young beauty whose name was Isabelle).

Isabelle walked past the 'Leaning Tower' every night at precisely 7pm on her way to work. She was very reliable. Tony would take a fag break in the doorway to his sore at 6.55pm and nod with a smile as Isabelle walked by. She would wave a small wave without bothering to raise her arm. An acknowledgement but not an encouragement, she knew what men were like - or at least she thought she did. Once Isabelle had passed by Tony would go back to his pizzas. The highlight of his day having passed he would immerse himself once more in the day to day business of making a living. If he was lucky he might dream about her. If not, there was always tommorrow.

Isabelle worked as a dancer at the 'Banana Bar', a late night club where the clientele were predominantly male. Each night she would dance the seven veils before a braying mass of keg heads and brown baggers in long macs. Her loves were all in the past. She was in an unconcious state of mourning passed off as a tired wealth of realism or an unwillingness to repeat unavoidable mistakes.

Her number one fan was Dicky, a barman who worked at the club on Tuesday and Thursday evenings. He saw in her an angel whose eyes were as long and dark as the sweep of her hair. To him the most distant souls were also the most precious. He worshipped Isabelle and kept a signed photo of her in his wallet.

That wallet was sold to Dicky by Amber Kastanshy who manned the leather goods counter at Graveson's department store. She had been quite taken by the suave young Dicky. Something about his manner and the soft grain of his voice. That had driven Pauly wild.

Pauly had been obsessed with Amber for over a year and a half but hadn't yet overcome his phobia of rejection enough to let her know. He could only get intimate with girls he didn't care for, that way there was no problem if things didn't turn out.

For example, the day that Dicky bought the wallet at Amber's counter was the same day that Pauly had woken up in bed with Holly (office party the night before, booze galore etc, etc...). Pauly had drunk enough alcohol that he'd found himself doing things he'd later wish he hadn't. Holly, on the other hand, had found an inebriated courage to do that which she'd always wanted to do but was usually too fearfully straight laced to consider. Thus they'd ended up in the same bed.

Holly was married to Buzby McDuff. Five years of the day in, day out had wreaked a calm of stolid indifference upon the jungle fire that had persuaded them to take the vows. Like so many before them they had elected to stand still amidst the blissful breezes of those passionate few weeks oblivious to the fact that paradise itself is a thing that moves. The place where they found themselves was a desert into which most people venture at some point. Some stay forever waiting for paradise to come around that way again, some move on and some return many times.

Love is a message from above, a transmission from the creator and for those whose hearts are open to receive, love is something which is all around them.

Just recently the sandy soles of Buzby's feet had alighted on a patch of luscious green. Holly had noticed it, so had Janice. They attributed it perhaps to the onset of a precipitous middle age or a premature senility. How conceited such fools can be, Buzby McDuff was not ailing or queer, he had simply found true love.

Steve Steele & Buck in Fudgy present

'YOU ARE THE ENTITY'

Radio Plays from the literary works of Dr.Blaster Al Ackerman (available on CD or mini-disc)

Blaster Ackerman is a Baltimore based US absurdist, visual, literary & mail artist with a huge cult following. Steve Steele, performance artist and film maker working both here in the UK and over there in the US dedicates much of his time to converting Blaster's literary works into movies, radio plays and performances.

This release is a collection of radio plays performed by Steve with audio atmospheres, music and sound effects mixed by Buck In Fudgy.

Cost £6.00 order here

AUDIO SAMPLES

The Man in The Green Nightshirt Pt.1 Real audio(200k)

MP3(850k)

The Man in The Green Nightshirt Pt.2 Real audio(200k)

MP3(800k)