kerbu
Appendix
Lost it in Masai Mara Game Park. Realized when I came to Guerrero. Got a haircut at the border and almost bit by a Gila. Took a dawn flight to Quebec. Landed, met my cold-storage friend. Said he could help me if humans find it.
‘Masai Mara is big! If a lion or hyena bellies it, he-he buddy. They’re protected. Go to South Africa, have arranged a meeting for you.’
Off to Cape Town with a life supply of ham, but unsuitable footwear. A big meeting coordinated with African forest officials. Shook hands on a bad stomach, yet spoke at length.
‘Meesta Aksar, eet is very unfortunate. The rangers will tell me if they find someding. Canzu! Show meesta Aksar ze lodge.’
Spent the weekend there.Then whizzed off to pet my cousin in Mongolia. A bike driver (yes, people hire bike drivers) and self-appointed Russian ambassador. Obsessed with communism and opium. Fell sick on the third hit, got a call from Nairobi about some Oinuj Crow having found it, but officials could not find him in time. Traced him to the Sioux in Dakota. Camped at Wounded Knee for a night, he arrived on horseback through the mist and gifted me a hat. Asked him if he had it, and thanked him beforehand. He took out a feather from his plait, wriggled it in the air and remembered something.
‘The spirit is asleep. I had too many buttons last night and the white lizard took it away. I give you a wish to break the sky with a finger.’
‘Where can I find the lizard!?’
‘He is everywhere. But this one went to Sydney. The white lizard fooled me. Took my whole skin sack. Even the pebbles of Black Mountain.’
Damned! Believed the ascetic but needed better clues than white lizard. Crow said he’s a sailor, with a missing limb. Searched the ports of Sydney for three limbs. Found a rumour instead that the punk had lost another one. Name was Deres. Sympathized, looked into the sea and only saw my reflection. Fellows at harbour told me he has the nerve for opera. Headed straight to net him in awe. Finally spotted him within the cacophony-dressed in a tux-hair like greased reeds.
‘Deres, ok. You probably have my notebook. The one you took from crow. I have been a lot of places looking for it. Can I have it please? So we can all go home.’
‘Aksar Deb! Good to see you. Man! Found a publisher in Iceland. Big Page by Deres MacMillan-Notes of an amputee sailor through the nether of Africa-I’ll give you a copy.’
‘What! My work! Iceland! Big my! I’ll sue you!’
‘Can’t stop you from trying. I have the original material. You should be happy it’s being published. Even you were distraught about not finding publishers. I read that in your notes.’
Checked his face and headed straight to Iceland. To look for publishers of my elusive notebook trail: The Hopping Mad Dairy.
Poll Rate this entry
Lost it in Masai Mara Game Park. Realized when I came to Guerrero. Got a haircut at the border and almost bit by a Gila. Took a dawn flight to Quebec. Landed, met my cold-storage friend. Said he could help me if humans find it.
‘Masai Mara is big! If a lion or hyena bellies it, he-he buddy. They’re protected. Go to South Africa, have arranged a meeting for you.’
Off to Cape Town with a life supply of ham, but unsuitable footwear. A big meeting coordinated with African forest officials. Shook hands on a bad stomach, yet spoke at length.
‘Meesta Aksar, eet is very unfortunate. The rangers will tell me if they find someding. Canzu! Show meesta Aksar ze lodge.’
Spent the weekend there.Then whizzed off to pet my cousin in Mongolia. A bike driver (yes, people hire bike drivers) and self-appointed Russian ambassador. Obsessed with communism and opium. Fell sick on the third hit, got a call from Nairobi about some Oinuj Crow having found it, but officials could not find him in time. Traced him to the Sioux in Dakota. Camped at Wounded Knee for a night, he arrived on horseback through the mist and gifted me a hat. Asked him if he had it, and thanked him beforehand. He took out a feather from his plait, wriggled it in the air and remembered something.
‘The spirit is asleep. I had too many buttons last night and the white lizard took it away. I give you a wish to break the sky with a finger.’
‘Where can I find the lizard!?’
‘He is everywhere. But this one went to Sydney. The white lizard fooled me. Took my whole skin sack. Even the pebbles of Black Mountain.’
Damned! Believed the ascetic but needed better clues than white lizard. Crow said he’s a sailor, with a missing limb. Searched the ports of Sydney for three limbs. Found a rumour instead that the punk had lost another one. Name was Deres. Sympathized, looked into the sea and only saw my reflection. Fellows at harbour told me he has the nerve for opera. Headed straight to net him in awe. Finally spotted him within the cacophony-dressed in a tux-hair like greased reeds.
‘Deres, ok. You probably have my notebook. The one you took from crow. I have been a lot of places looking for it. Can I have it please? So we can all go home.’
‘Aksar Deb! Good to see you. Man! Found a publisher in Iceland. Big Page by Deres MacMillan-Notes of an amputee sailor through the nether of Africa-I’ll give you a copy.’
‘What! My work! Iceland! Big my! I’ll sue you!’
‘Can’t stop you from trying. I have the original material. You should be happy it’s being published. Even you were distraught about not finding publishers. I read that in your notes.’
Checked his face and headed straight to Iceland. To look for publishers of my elusive notebook trail: The Hopping Mad Dairy.
Poll Rate this entry