STRIKE: Line Of Duty

 

[A knock at the door of Comoran Strike’s office. Two figures enter]

Detective Sergeant Steve Arnott: I’m Detective Sergeant Steve Arnott –

Detective Sergeant Kate Fleming : – And I’m Detective Sergeant Kate Fleming

Together: And we are from AC-12…

DS Fleming: – Wait a second, is that a cup of piss on your window sill?

DS Arnott: That’s breaking building regs…

Robin: It’s not mine!

 

[Strike walks from his office into the reception area]

Strike: What do you want?

DS Arnott: It’s come to our attention Eric Wardle has been leaking you investigative information about ongoing cases which you then go on to solve.

Strike: Who says that?

DS Fleming: Detective Carver.

DS Arnott: Kate! That’s confidential information!

DS Fleming: Sorry, I don’t know what came over me… I just felt like telling him.

DS Arnott: Don’t tell him about Anstis then…

Strike: Oh, so Richard Anstis is involved in this too? He owes me a leg… you might say an arm and a leg.

 

[Suddenly a senior police officer bursts through the door]

Superintendent Ted Hastings: What the feck is going on here you two?

DS Arnott: We don’t know Guv, he just has an effect on us both!

Super Hastings: [Addressing Strike] You listen here son – we have you bang to rights.

Strike: Then I have no choice…

 

[Strike leaps out the window quickly followed by Robin]

Narrator v/o: Little did AC-12 know but the secret identity of down on his luck private detective Cormoran Strike was that of the super detective COMORANT MAN! Aided by his trusty sidekick Robin (who is in no way an intended copyright infringement on any other superhero sidekicks who may go by a similar homophone or name) they fight crime through sheer coincidence using their author given ‘make up an expertise in the necessary skill on the spot’ writing.

Super Hastings: The Comorant Strikes again!

 

[outside walking down the road in slow motion Comoran is smoking and Robin is not looking where she’s going as she looks up a new job to apply for on her phone]

Robin: Thank goodness we both took advanced courses in stunt work!

Strike: Actually I didn’t. I just got blown up by an IED on tour in Afghanistan. On the bright side my tuition only cost me a leg. Get it… ‘it cost an arm and a leg’… and I lost my leg… but… not an arm…

 

[Robin looks at him awkwardly not sure what to say since the BBC might censor this scene for fear of offending someone. They continue walking down the street]

Strike: Quick Robin! To the Comorant Copter!

Robin: We don’t have one…

Strike: The Comorant Cycle!

Robin: Nope…

Strike The… Comorant… um Canoe? Cart? Chariot? Crop duster? Caravan? Caravel? Catamaran? Coach? Compact car? Coupe? Cruise ship? Container ship? Clipper ship? Cutter? Cable car? Convertible? Container ship? Conveyor belt? Covered wagon? Crane? Combine harvester? Chair lift?

Robin: Nope none of them. Not even a Convoy.

 

[a few minutes pass as Strike, with a thousand yard stare, suffers PTSD with only the cigarette in his mouth twitching to show he’s still alive before he recovers]

Strike: Bugger… um, alright… let me use my trusty Cormarant lighter, ‘strike’ up another cigarette and we’ll go down the pub.

Robin: Won’t they find us there?

Strike: No way. This is London – there are loads of pubs!

Robin: But I found you there after knowing you only a few days. I’m sure they’ll –

Strike: – Well hopefully I’ll be so drunk by the time they find me I won’t care!

Narrator: SO CONTINUE THE AMAZING ADVENTURES OF COMORAN STRIKE AND HIS ‘WE’RE NOT IN A RELATIONSHIP NOR WILL WE EVER BE’ SIDEKICK! UNTIL NEXT TIME, SAME CORMORANT TIME, SAME CORMORANT CHANNEL!

THAT’S ALL UNTIL THE NEXT TIME ” COMORANt STRIKEs”!

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Old Women Falling Out by Daniil Kharms

Excessive curiosity made one old woman fall out of a window, plummet to the ground and break into pieces.

Another old woman poked her head out of a window to look at the one who had broken into pieces, but excessive curiosity made her too fall out of the window, plummet to the ground and break into pieces.

Then a third old woman fell out of a window, then a fourth, then a fifth.

When a sixth old woman fell out, I felt I’d had enough of watching them and went off to the Maltsev Market where I heard that a blind man had been given a knitted shawl.

 

by Даниил Иванович Хармс (Daniil Ivánovich Kharms)

(1937)

translated by Robert Chandler

One Fat Man by Daniil Kharms

One fat man invented a way to lose weight. And he lost it. The ladies began pestering him, trying to pry out his secret. But the thin man replied that it becomes men to lose weight, whereas it does not become women at all; that ladies, on the contrary, ought to be plump. And he was absolutely right.

by Даниил Иванович Хармс [Danill Kharms] (Mid-1930s)

Translated by Eugene Ostashevsky

Blog Changes Announcement

‘Trashed’ a few entries I didn’t like or got no views.

I intended to update regularly but never had time to do anything properly so everything came across half-hearted.

This is not a declaration of hiatus but rather an admission that blogging isn’t something I can do routinely or feel the need to put much effort into on a regular basis. Better that I post infrequently once a month, or whenever the urge arises, but put enjoyable articles than write things which become too personal and be ridiculed for it because all I do is complain and apparently think people ignore me. Some things are best kept to yourself than try to reach out and find identification from others. No more personal articles. Just reviews and vignettes. I took someone’s advice and tried this… for what it is worth.

Next update… on the weekend possibly but from that point on far less frequently than I have been doing. Reviews get views. Vignettes get read. Personal matters are not people read blogs for. Strangers are strange and as much as we might all want to know what others think in the end we would prefer a comfortable life and to ignore uncomfortable truths like we are are a negative effect on others.

A Concrete Salesman Always Seals The Deal

Once there was a meeting of townsfolk people with many concerns. Each came to the meeting looking for answers but alas the town council had no answers. They too had given up hope unlike a bland looking man in a bland grey suit with bland well-worn grey shoes entered from the rear of the town hall. Oh what a marvel, oh what a wonder, he had an answer to all the town’s woes. And so began his pitch:

Ladies and gentlemen, fear not for I have the answer! Step right up and I will solve your issues with this wonder substance! I’ve heard it all before and I have the answer in this bucket of dust!

‘There’s a hole in my wall but I can’t afford to rebuild it’ – Why not seal it with cheap affordable concrete?
‘My garden is overgrown’ – Cover it over with concrete and you will have an all year round useable surface. Why not park your car on it?

‘I’ve lost my teeth’ – why not use concrete to grind down your food and drink the remains like a thick soup? (Do not take our product orally).

‘My dead pet, child, lover, mother and/or significant other smells’ – why not dig a hole in the ground and cover it in concrete? That will stop the smell and preserve your beloved for the ages.

‘I fear fire’ – why not create a fireproof yurt made from non-flammable concrete. Guaranteed to last for years to come rain or shine surviving multiple arson attempts!

‘I’m colour blind’ – No fear! Concrete is one colour fits all! And even if you have the colour perception of a dog you are seeing concrete at its full colour range like everyone else so no fear of embarrassment calling grey grey! Don’t like the all-natural colour? Then why not paint it any colour you like! The sky’s the limit!

‘My fruit floats on top of the water, I think it might have gone off’ – Well that can be solved by a few hours submerged in concrete. With a fine few inches of concrete applied to the exterior anything will sink to the bottom of the ocean… why even that guy across the road you don’t like who you know is a stool pigeon who ratted you out to the cops about your illegal gambling den in the garden shed! Got gambling debts? It’ll get rid of them too! (Not that we here representing the Concrete Union of Nationalised Tradesmen Society endorse such actions).

‘I’m cold’ – Another wonder cure through the application of concrete! Lo with just a jacket of concrete you will never have to worry about the temperature being too high or low every again during the rest of your life!

‘I’m tired’ – why not make yourself a fine heat retaining bench slab of concrete and lounge like a lizard taking in the sun. Don’t like the sun? Build a cover with our multipurpose product! It is just the versatile!

‘My car is constantly being stolen’ – Why not put the wheels in a protective casing of concrete! It’ll ensure no one will take you precious vehicle anywhere ever again! Put all your valuables in concrete! Hide them from prying eyes and ensure their safety! Security guaranteed!

‘I have no friends’ – Why not make one? Why just like the golem of Prague you too can make a lifelong friend with your own hands! Why it will be even longer lasting that that old clay golem! Fed up of life? Just pour it down your throat and immortalise yourself with the piece of artwork it produces mapping out the network of your digestive and respiratory system!
‘I’m lazy, I don’t want to be cleaning things constantly’ – Our product needs no upkeep! As soon as it’s in use it keeps on trucking by itself no hands on assistance or maintenance necessary!

Stops weeds, stops sunburn, preserves food hides unsightly blemishes and loved ones for a lifetime! It does it all ladies and gentlemen – Just add water! You can swim in it, sleep in it, Live in it, laugh in it, love in it – it is the miracle substance of our era!

Now whether you think the salesman made a killing or was run out of town is up to you… Personally I reckon he’s out there right now, laying down the same pitch, seeing what comes of it, like many an ornery wandering merchant selling his wares out there on the open roads and nothing going to stop him until it’s all gone. Last I heard of the troubled town it all got flattened to the ground, paved over and turned into an industrial park supplying construction tradesmen across the nation.


I do have reviews to post but it is just getting put off… so here is a filler vignette.

This was conceived and written in one sitting. It either sinks or swims as a story idea. As ever with these vignettes I don’t feel I should be polishing them if I am posting them and people can read them for free (or steal them). It was a nice idea though. Thanks for reading if you took the time.

Comment, like, follow – all are welcome!

Where Is Your God Now?

I was once asked ‘Where is your God now?’

I could not answer.

Millennia ago homunculi had been forged from horse shit and spilt seeds. Those that had formed like stalactites became known as men while those that had formed as geodes became known as women. Each an incomplete being. Each requiring the other to perpetuate their mutual existence. Each mixing their elemental stone mass to create metamorphic rocks, an amalgam, transformed forever never to return to their original state.

In time the homunculi, believing themselves above the natural order, sought out the fruit of knowledge so as to complete themselves and be equal to their creator. Imbibing it they came to understand the azoth the animating spirit hidden in all matter that makes transmutation possible, but in doing so were themselves locked into a single form forever.

In time God grew weary of the people and turned them to pillars of salt upon the baked earth. He flooded the world and thus the seas laden with their undrinkable waters were created. Other Gods rose from seas of frothing milk and in time were but personas of some greater beings which could not be conceived save though explaining what they were not rather than what they were. Others say that all things were but flakes of skin and detritus from a giant who is the universe complete in one being. His dandruff the people. His veins the rivers. His breathe the winds. The sun and moon his eyes.

Others yet say that the queen of the black lake cast her pale sister amongst the stars but was too weak to exile her completely. Thus comes the waxen moon mocking the earth every night when the queen dreams only of slumber yet is unsettled by her sister’s reflected glory.

Some were both of the earth and return to the earth and consider life to be but a terrible punishment to be tolerated until that return to dust. The Gods not so much deities but cruel, ennui afflicted, ubermensche who toy with their inferiors to try and forget their own inadequacy.

A growing number consider there to be no God save logic. And in logic they find their deaths. To become tools, a single tooth in the never ending cogs of the universal machine, to have purpose but no greater value. One day the universe will fade out or just pull the plug and there will be no backup to restore.

Perhaps God killed himself two thousand years ago when he became flesh realising the futility of what her had bourn into creation and seeking release from his burden. Others would say only an aspect of the one true God died. Others again would argue that this form was but a shadow, created by God, trying to explain his logic as a scientist, raising chicks from the egg, would use a sock puppet. Humanity cannot understand the divine. Prophets come and go saying they know the true word of God. Could a single cell life form like an amoeba contemplate the office politics of a multi-national’s CEO having an affair with his foreign national subordinate wherein, while caressing each other in the post coital chill, they decide the budget cuts which will affect those lower tiered staff who chose to dedicate their careers to working hard, yet blindly, to the reality of humanity’s selfish genes and this coupling’s infidelity? Of course not – nor can a single, flawed, being understand everything that their multi-faceted creator thinks or believes before, during or after their existance.

Where is your God now?

Beyond your reach. Beyond your understanding. Beyond thought, wisdom, logic and emotion. Beyond fire, water, wind and earth. Beyond all things and existing within all things. In the things that exist and the things that do not exist. In between the cracks of reality and the gulfs of the imagination. Where there is both light and dark and where there is neither yet both simultaneously exist. Where you think God is and where you do not realise where God is. Where it has always been and always will be.

Do not even question where you God is now…

No one can answer.


Another off the cuff vignette to keep things ticking over. No editting. No real focus. Just an experiment in writing. So there are a few made up creation myths and a few actual ones in there. The divine is beyond our understanding in whatever form you wish to believe in it in. Some wait for the end times. Some think it has already passed. Scientists believe that the Higgs-Boson will reveal all the answers to life, the universe and everything. The answer is 42. It is all beyond our understanding.

Prospero:
Our revels now are ended. These our actors,
As I foretold you, were all spirits, and
Are melted into air, into thin air:
And like the baseless fabric of this vision,
The cloud-capp’d tow’rs, the gorgeous palaces,
The solemn temples, the great globe itself,
Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve,
And, like this insubstantial pageant faded,
Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff
As dreams are made on; and our little life
Is rounded with a sleep.
The Tempest Act 4, scene 1, 148–158

The Cool Night Air

Once more spring has passed and it is now summer. A cool breeze drifts past the window.
I think of childhood and how the days of summer did not end back then.
Now, when the light begins to fail, I want to go for a walk in the cool night air.

Where to? I do not know.
Until what time? I do not care.
If I left I would not return. What is there to return to?

People have dreams and make memories in the dark hours. Especially during the summer when the darkness is a soothing comfort not a sign of insensitive death.

As a child you think adults have freedom while you yourself have routines and people to answer to.
You answer to your parents, your teachers, you community.
When you are an adult you still have chains but now they are invisible.

The barbed wire of etiquette twisted around you harming you every time you allow others to treat you as an inferior for decorum’s sake.
The razor blades of financial worries giving you the death of a thousand cuts.
The pressure of self-inflicted moral restraints contorting who you were, are and will be.

Existentialism poses the question asking what exactly is stopping you from dropping everything and walking away. These tethers we bind ourselves with are not real, physical, things. But they are there all the same.
An adult answers to their employer, to their family, to their peers and to the government that cannot see them as anything other than a statistic to be checked off the page.

The night air soothes the skin. Caresses it like a woman placating the injured thinking this tactile moment of amity, invading the solitude of suffering, will ease the tormented and assure their soul.

I will walk away from the lights of mankind’s pointless struggle against the beautiful night but in the end, no matter what direction I walk in, eventually I will return to it.
The only other choice is to blindly walk off a cliff into the awaiting pitch black sea who will claim me for her own. A phone will ring at the chapel down the bottom of the slope and the Samaritans will be told it was too late but they will go home in the end and sleep peacefully.

I cannot go because I will not return. There is nowhere to go. I am ensnared by responsibilities others have foisted on me because of the choices I made and the indecisions I allowed. I am in a gilded cage of my own creation and soon the night will past. I will wait. Wait until it returns once again. The cycle will continue until autumn kills it once more, dressing the floor with its golden red entrails and we bow our heads during the winter songs where the world is washed away to muddied grey and white tones.

The air is stale in here. I can breathe – but only with a heavy heart. I will embrace the night and sleep. I know when I awake the light wll have been victorious over the night and the cycle of maturity will repeat once more.


I have the past few evenings wanted to go for a walk. I have not though. I don’t know where I would go. There is nowhere but to the town with its glittering lights and dirty covered paving. To sit in a bar and drink until the ring of the bell for last orders and the long, lonely, walk back home. Tomorrow is another day – a day like any other day.

Unplanned piece. Flawed but then it fills the blog until the next entry.

Like, Comment, Follow – Any of these are welcome.