My First Nonet!
“Nonet” or “Nonnet”? I’ve found both spellings. So no-one can decide how to spell it. That’s not a good start.
“My First Nonet.” Sounds like a starter product, like “My First Train Set” or “My First Grown-Up Underpants”.
But enough of this frivolity. A nonet (or nonnet) consists of nine lines. The first line contains nine syllables and you remove one syllable per line until you’re left with one on the ninth line. It doesn’t have to rhyme and each line can contain as many words as you like, as long as the number of syllables is correct.
I’d never heard of them until a couple of days ago when fellow blogger morrighansmuse inspired me with one of her own. I decided to give it a go, and here it is! It stopped scanning after line 3, but hey-ho. It’s probably not supposed to :-).
Rainforest
The greedy came with axes, chainsaws
Once a forest now a wasteland
Never more the verdant green
Broken stumps, scattered ’round
Nature’s beauty gone
Desolation
Nature lost
Broken
Dead
Holo beam me up warptastic
Daily Prompt: The Next Big Thing – What will the next must-have technological innovation be? Jetpacks? Hoverboards? Wind-powered calculators?
An ant – or a mobile quantum computing device?
Photo – Fir0002/Flagstaffotos (see below for full details)
It’s going to be quite boring, is what it’s going to be. It’ll make a big difference to us, but we won’t care about the technology. I’m thinking quantum computing and storage or some such thing. We’ll have ultra fast computing with thousands of terabytes of storage in a computer the size of an ant, but we’ll just view it as “the next generation of computer – about time it arrived, what are those scientists thinking, taking so long?”. Hey, we could mount these new computers in an ant for computing on the move.
What about the examples in the Prompt? Jetpacks? Dated. Tried it, didn’t work, move on. Hoverboards? Very “Back to the Future”. Wind-powered calculators? Ooh, yes, I want one of those. Please? Pleeeease?
How about the “next big thing we really want” instead? Or to be more specific, what I really want.
Molecular transporters. There’s the thing. Beam me up! Forget hours standing in airports. We can spend hours queuing for an international beaming instead. London to New York in 3 seconds (please arrive 3 hours prior to departure, check-in closes 1 hour before). Marvellous!
Now we’ve got travel sorted out, how about entertainment? Some sort of “deck” using “holograms”. We’ll call it… a “Holodeck”! Yes, what an idea!
We’ll also be needing to explore the universe, find new planets to live on. We’ll be wanting to “boldly go where no man has gone before”. We’ll need something to “warp” space so that we can get to new planets quickly. Let’s call it “warp drive”! Yes! We’re really cooking now!
All that’s left now is something to defend ourselves with while we’re out exploring. Lasers are all very well, but we really need something which will allow us to “stun” our foes. After all, we can’t be known around the universe as a bunch of killers, can we? I’m thinking some sort of “phased” energy. We could call the device a, a, a “phaser”! Yes! We now have all the ingredients we need for a better tomorrow!
The technology might not be there yet, but it would make a damn fine TV show. Maybe I should propose it to a TV production company? There could be some money in this. I have created…
… hang on a minute. It’s Star Trek isn’t it? I’ve just reinvented Star Trek.
Arse.
“Holodeck” by DraliDoodles (TM). See below for apology.
Is this me on an alien planet? No, I’ve beamed onto a holodeck on a warp spaceship with my phaser!
An apology by the DraliDoodles (TM) team: DraliDoodles recently borrowed a drawing tablet from work in an attempt to make DraliDoodles (TM) appear more professional. It appears to have had the opposite effect. Apparently if you can’t draw to start with, a tablet only makes it worse. Sorry. [We’re going to go with the “it was drawn by a six-year-old” cover story, people.]
Photo – “Meat eater ant queen excavating hole”, from WikiMedia by “Fir0002/Flagstaffotos”, non-commercial distribution (CC BY-NC)
Life Story
Daily Prompt: Elevator – You’re stuck in an elevator with an intriguing stranger.
I yawned as the lift approached the third floor. Seven floors down and the damn thing had stopped at every floor. The third was no exception. I groaned inwardly as the doors slid open to reveal a short, grey-haired man. He tottered in, barely making it inside before the doors slid closed.
“Which floor?” I enquired as the lift began to move again, gesturing towards the buttons as he smoothed imaginary wrinkles out of his white linen suit.
He looked at me and smiled, his aged face crinkling even more (if that were possible), a glint in his surprisingly bright blue eyes.
The lift shuddered and ground to a halt.
The first flicker of fear trickled through me as I moved to the control panel. I wasn’t particularly claustrophobic, but I did harbour a secret fear of plummeting to my death. I jabbed at the buttons. Nothing. I pushed the alarm switch. Still nothing. Maybe it’s a silent alarm?
The man spoke.
“I remember when all this was trees and fields,” he said, gesturing expansively, moving his arms to encompass the entire lift.
“Right, yes,” I replied.
“Over here,” he continued, pointing towards the back wall, “was the lane I walked on my way to school.”
I looked at the wall and nodded, humouring him.
“When I went to school at all!” he cackled. “We often didn’t make it on hot summer days. You see that factory, just there?” He pointed to his left.
“Um, factory…?” I replied.
“That used to be a field, we played there on the hot summer days when we didn’t go to school,” he continued, ignoring me. “Ah, those were the days.”
I jabbed at the buttons on the control panel again. I was feeling more and more anxious. This guy seemed harmless enough, but he obviously wasn’t in complete control of his faculties.
“And over there,” he went on, “was the farm where I worked when I left school.” He was pointing to the right wall now. “As you can see, it’s an industrial estate now.”
I looked at the wall.
“An industrial estate, um, yes,” I replied.
“And there’s the park where I met my wife,” he went on, a faint smile on his face. “Fifty five years we were married.” He was staring at the wall, a wistful look in his eyes. “Fifty five years.”
Poor old guy. I wonder if he knows where he is? I wondered. There’s probably someone looking for him. He’s probably wandered off from assisted living.
“That was the church where I married my Masie.” He was looking at the wall to his right. “As you can see it’s still there. Not everything has changed.”
His tone turned sombre. “That was the church where I buried my Masie.”
He bowed his head and turned away, trying but failing to hide the tears which sprung into his eyes at the memory.
I hesitantly placed my hand on his shoulder and we just stood a moment as he relived old memories.
The lift started again with a jerk and I stood back, feeling awkward. A second later the doors slid open.
“This is me!” he exclaimed brightly and stepped out of the lift, all hint of sadness gone. I stared past him but could see only darkness. Maybe the power was out. Maybe that was why the lift was having problems. Maybe the stairs would be a better option. Besides, I couldn’t just let the poor old guy wander around all confused. I moved to follow him but the doors closed abruptly, forcing me to take a step backwards. They opened again immediately. Beyond was the familiar second floor, brightly lit. A couple of people were waiting to get on, seemingly unaware that the lift had been stuck between floors for the last five minutes.
I stepped out of the lift and looked down the corridor, first to the left and then to the right. There was no sign of the man.
“Excuse me,” I asked the couple as they moved past me into the lift. “Did you see which way that old chap in the white suit went?”
“I’m sorry, who?” asked one.
As the doors closed I saw their blank faces as they looked at each other, frowning in confusion.
Ever Changing
Daily Prompt: Goals – When you started your blog, did you set any goals? Have you achieved them? Have they changed at all?
I can’t make up my mind from one moment to the next, is my problem. Any goal I see for my blog changes from day to day. I just sort of write, really. Get my thoughts down. Be part of a worldwide community of people who also just sort of write, really.
I first started my blog back in, hang on, let me check…
… still checking…
… July 2011 with “Monkeys and typewriters“. Okay, I thought it was longer ago than that. I was pretty sure I was approaching 3 years rather than 2.
I didn’t have any particular goals. Thoughts kept popping into my head (like monkeys and typewriters), and I wanted somewhere to write them down. And so my blog was born. Hooray!
It has evolved a bit over the (apparently nearly 2) years. I’ve done a bit of shonky poetry. I’ve written a bit of mini fiction. I’ve even done some complementary (and largely talentless, but that’s their charm) sketches in the form of the ever-popular DraliDoodles!
I’d love to say I write purely for me and for the joy of writing, but that would be a big fat lie. I love it when people “like” what I write. This appeared in my “notifications” speech bubble thingy a couple of days ago. I know it’s not a lot compared to some of you guys, but I’m chuffed. Yay me!
“Likes” for me! Yay!
I love it when people start following my blog. Then I panic a bit. Did they follow me based on one piece of fiction? I don’t do much fiction! I can never think of any ideas! It’s too hard! That’s when I have to take a step back. Primarily I’m writing for myself, in the hopes that other people will like it. So chill out, draliman.
I’d like to post more, but after spending 10 hours at work (on a computer) all I generally want to do is watch TV and then go to sleep (that’s a good excuse for my lack of ideas). Since I discovered the daily prompts earlier this year I’ve managed to post a bit more.
I started out with no clear goals, and I still don’t have any. I’ll just let it take me where it will!
Thanks to all of you for reading and being my online buddies :-).
Missed Call
The joy of the junk phone call. Recorded messages. Amazing offers. An annoying and intrusive fact of daily life. Since I’m out at work I miss most of this joy, apart from the occasional recorded message on the answer machine – just hit “delete”.
But what about that occasional message on the answer machine that’s a legitimate call, but to the wrong number? I’m wondering on the etiquette of this.
A couple of days ago, I had such a call. A pleasant-sounding woman was informing me that they had come round to help me with “the problem with my back door – where was I?”. I don’t have a back door. I don’t even have a “back” in which to place a “back door” (I live in a flat so I suppose the back is technically where the only door is and the front is a window). I don’t really miss having a back door. I guess I would if there was a massive fire next to the “only” door, but fingers crossed on that one.
A few years ago I received a text message. Some chap told me he was waiting outside his house for me to pick him up. Where was I? It was cold and I should hurry up.
For all I know he’s still there, waiting for me. My mind conjures up pictures of his skeletal remains, propped up against a wall, long dead from exposure or starvation, the remains of a cigarette still clenched between the remains of his fingers.
Or possibly he gave up waiting and called a taxi.
What is the etiquette in these situations? Should I call/text back and tell them they got the wrong number? That seems the polite thing to do. Nine times out of ten it won’t cost me anything. Or should I just hit “delete” and let them work it out for themselves?
Raaaaaar!
Daily Prompt: The Interview – Interview your favorite fictional character.
draliman: And welcome to “dralichat in the afternoon” here on Radio Drali!
(“Tune on in to dralichat, dralichat, DRALICHAT!“)
draliman: And this afternoon we have a very special guest, Mr The Incredible Hulk! Welcome to the show Mr Hulk, or can I call you Incredible?
Mr Hulk: Raaaaaaaar!
draliman: So, Mr Hulk it is. So, Mr Hulk, what made you want to get into the rampaging business?
Mr Hulk: Raaaaaaaar!
draliman: Okaaay, could you describe your typical day?
Mr Hulk: Raaaaaaaar!
draliman: Riiiight, and what do you see in your future? Another remake of a remake?
Mr Hulk: Raaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaar!
draliman: Uh, no, don’t eat the furniture. Ha ha, sorry about this listeners! Please Mr Hulk, put the chair down!
Mr Hulk: Raaaar (munch munch munch) raaaaaaar!
draliman: No, please, my arm, oh God he’s got my arm, please tell me they can sew it back on, hey come back with my arm, uh (passes out)
Producer: Cut to commercials, cut to commercials!
“Mayhem in the Studio” by DraliDoodles(TM).
An Award for Me!
Yay! Lovely fellow blogger Nanuschka has included little old me in her award nominations!
(Pause for claps and cheers and whatnot.)
It actually appears to be a 3 for the price of 1 deal. How about that? It’s like buses. You wait for years and then three come along at once.
Make way for the logos:
Smashing. I hope it’s OK to stick them all together in one image like that. I don’t know how to make images sit next to one another.
So without further ado, I’d like to thank my parents, my family, my best friend’s cousin’s dog… actually, I’d like to thank all the people on WordPress who have been kind enough to read my humble postings and especially those who comment and click the “like” button. It’s a bit sad I know, but I’ve taken to keeping my email open at work so I can see if anyone “likes” me!
Here are the rules as posted for this multiple award:
- Display the Award Certificate on your website. Done.
- Announce your win with a post and link to whoever presented you with the award. Done.
- Present 15 awards to deserving bloggers. Well, this is 3 in 1 and it says “15 awards”, not “awards to 15 bloggers”, so…
- Drop them a comment to tip them off after you have linked them in the post. Will do.
- Post 7 interesting things about yourself. Uh-oh.
So, 7 interesting things about me. Seven. Seven whole interesting things. Blimey.
- I’ve lived and worked in Germany and Ireland (and the UK as well obviously).
- I can speak semi-reasonable German but I can’t speak any Irish.
- I can’t speak any Cornish either despite being Cornish myself.
- The most frightening and proudest day of my life was the day of my PhD viva (I “passed subject to minor corrections” :-)).
- I’m not married and I don’t have kids. Otherwise I’m sure number 4 would be different :-(.
- The name “draliman” is made up of my title, the short form of my first name and “man”. Because I am one.
- I spent many years of my life attempting to drink myself to death. I haven’t touched alcohol since February 2003. Yay me!
And now for the moment you’ve been waiting for – my nominations! As previously noted, this is 3 in 1 and I need to present 15 awards, so that’s 5 people, right? Ooh, I’m such a little cheater.
I know some of you guys aren’t ones for awards, so this is more of a thank-you list of people who have particularly shaped and aided my blogging, and whose blogs I really enjoy and have followed for some time.
I shall now repair to a mirror to bask in my own award-filled glory ;-).
Ripples
Daily Prompt: Fill In the Blank – Three people walk into a bar…
… although to even the most casual of observers it is obvious that their arrival together is mere coincidence. The barman watches as they approach. He recognises each one, knowing what they will order, where they will sit.
The Businessman
He looks out of place in his Savile Row suit, silk tie and expensive wrist watch. He takes his order – a double whisky on the rocks – to a seat in the corner and sips slowly. He is in the business of buying struggling companies for next to nothing, stripping them and selling them off piecemeal for huge profit. Now highly successful, he never forgets his roots. His Dad brought him to this bar when he was small – he’d practically grown up here. On completion of every successful deal he comes in, sits in the corner and sips his whisky while his driver waits patiently in the Bentley. You wouldn’t leave such a car unattended in this neighbourhood.
The Mechanic
Looking older than his years, he orders a glass of iced water and sits next to a window where he can watch the world go by. He splits his time between bars, shopping centres and, when weather permits, the park. He lost his job three months ago and hasn’t found the courage to tell his wife. He hides the letters from her – letters threatening repossession of his house. Where will he live? What about the kids? He burns through their savings in secret while he hopes fate will provide him a new job. He remembers the day he found out his job was gone. A nameless, faceless company had bought the chain of car servicing specialists he had devoted his life to and split it apart. Ninety percent redundancies. Stunned, he had walked away from the car he’d been servicing, neither knowing nor caring that the brake system replacement was left half-finished.
The Drunk
A sad shell of a man, he walks on unsteady legs to the bar. Unkempt and unshaven, he orders the cheapest cider. Although barely midday, he already reeks of booze. His hand shakes as he downs his drink and the memories of that day three months ago come unbidden to his mind. Walking with his beloved wife across the pedestrian crossing. The car which threw him sideways, breaking his leg. His wife, thrown across the bonnet into the windscreen, killed instantly. The police had told him that it was “mechanical failure”. A failed service had left the car with only drops of brake fluid in the cylinder. It was impossible to find the person who had serviced the car, they’d said. The company had recently been bought out and split apart. The paperwork had been lost.
Ripples
Every act, every decision causes ripples which spread outwards to touch, change, save, destroy lives.
The ruthless businessman. The negligent mechanic. The grieving drunk.
Three people walk into a bar.
Out of Time
Weekly Writing Challenge: Through the Door – The door to your house/flat/apartment/abode has come unstuck in time. The next time you walk through it, you find yourself in the same place, but a different time entirely. Where are you, and what happens next?
I trudged on leaden feet up to the door to my flat. Helluva day. Hell of a day. I fumbled the key into the lock, turned it and opened the door. I was looking forward to relaxing on the sofa.
Falling into the dark as the air was pulled explosively from my lungs was not on the evening’s to-do list.
It happened so suddenly I didn’t have time to feel fear. I just sat there for a moment, not breathing, and just as fear finally made an appearance something hard shot out of the dark, grabbed my arm and pulled me sideways. Just as blackness overtook me I heard a swishing sound and bright light flooded in.
Aaargh! Who’s pounding on my head? I cautiously opened my eyes. Staring down at me were two people. No, two trees – am I in a forest? No, two tree people. Holy smokes! Tree people! I blinked and looked again. Still tree people. Skin rough like bark, a dark cherry red. Kind of pretty, actually. Wide staring eyes and, oh boy, what a lot of teeth. Teeth, big, sharp teeth, teeth like razors, teeth made for ripping, tearing…
“Strewth, mate, are you OK?” asked the taller of the two. “What’re you doing in the hold? There’s no air in there, mate!”
A tree with an Australian accent! I had met a red tree with an Australian accent! My life was now complete. I closed my eyes again and waited for the Reaper.
“I think he’s passed out again, mate,” said the other.
Hmm, strange dream. I opened my eyes and took another look. They were still there.
“Um, where am I?” I asked, rather hesitantly. “This isn’t my flat.”
“You, mate, are on our ship. Our interplanetary transport.”
“What? Why is there a spaceship where my flat should be?”
“There’s a spaceship where your planet should be, mate,” the shorter one said.
I was feeling a little out of my depth at this point.
“So,” I said, thinking it best to humour them, “what happened to my planet?”
“Gone,” said the taller tree-person-thing. “Someone thought it a good idea to harness the boundless energy of the Earth’s core. As soon as they broke through, the immense pressure caused a fountain of magma to shoot out of the crust. A bit like a rocket engine. Propelled your planet into the sun.”
“BANG!” added the shorter one helpfully, miming a huge explosion with his gnarled red hands.
“You’ve fallen though an inter-temporal spacial flux. You’ve shot two thousand years into your future! You’re in the same place, geographically speaking, or cosmologically speaking if you prefer, but no longer in the same time!” concluded the taller one. He sounded entirely too happy about the whole situation.
“OK,” I said. “let’s see if I’ve got this right. I’m lost in the future, on a space ship run by talking trees, my home is long destroyed and I’ll never see it again?” This was so surreal it was beginning to sound a bit funny. I feared I was going into shock.
“You’re not lost in the future, you’re lost in the present.” explained the taller one patiently.
“OK, my future, Mr Pedantic!” I yelled, my voice starting to sound a little shrill.
“And we can get you home!” he finished triumphantly.
“Really?”
“Probably.”
“Then let’s do it!” I exclaimed. “If nothing else, I need to get back and warn everyone about the impending doom!”
“Sorry mate, you won’t remember any of this,” said the shorter one. He sounded a little sad.
“Oh, I think I will.”
“This is your future, mate,” he explained. “You can’t remember something that won’t, um, will not yet, um be about to happen in the future, um.”
I stared at him. “Whatever. Just get me home.”
“Nothing simpler. Stand there. Good. Ready?”
The shorter one gave me the thumbs up and flashed me a grin, which I’m sure was supposed to be reassuring and probably would have been if it hadn’t been accompanied by more teeth than anyone should be allowed to possess.
The taller tree pressed some buttons. There was a clunk, a flash of light, a feeling of disorientation and…
…I fumbled my key in the lock, trudged into my flat and collapsed on the couch, switching on the TV as I did so. Great. The news. Some scientists reckon they can solve all the world’s problems by tapping the energy of the Earth’s core. Sounds kind of dangerous.
Still, I guess they know what they’re doing.
A Last Goodbye
Maxwell turned up the collar of his winter coat as he made his way down the damp street. Raindrops shimmered in the glare of the street lamps as they fell to the pavement. A tall man in his late twenties, Maxwell always took care of his appearance while stopping short of vanity. He turned down a side street, a short cut to his parents’ house. He had an hour, the man in the sharp suit had said. An hour to say goodbye.
This route took him past his office building. He could see it on the other side of the street, an investment banking firm. He was working there in Accounts when he had first noticed the discrepancy. A small error (or so he thought) which had led him to one of the biggest embezzlement scams in recent history.
He couldn’t keep quiet, could he? He had to call the authorities. He’d have to go into protective custody, they said. He wouldn’t be able to tell anyone where he was. Chances were he’d never again have any contact with his friends, his family. These were nasty people, he’d been told. People with “connections”.
The doors opened and he felt a pang of regret as he saw his office mates come out. A flash of gold caught his eye. Maria. Maria with the golden hair, the big blue eyes, the heart of an angel. He’d spent the last eight months plucking up the courage to ask her out. Ever since she’d stumbled over to him at the Christmas party and kissed him under the mistletoe. He watched as Simon put his arm around her. Simon the snake! They were laughing. Too late now. He walked on towards his home.
He could see his parents through the kitchen window. They were preparing dinner. His Dad had his arm around his Mum. Twenty-eight years of marriage and still so close. He watched as his Mum chopped vegetables while his Dad walked to the table and began setting out plates and cutlery. Three places – Mum, Dad, and… him. But he couldn’t even go in to say goodbye. A tear in his eye, he turned and walked back the way he had come.
Forty minutes had passed by the time he returned to the alley, nestled between Sonny’s Bar and Mario’s Pizza. “The best pizza in town!” Mario proclaimed to anyone who would listen. Maybe not the best, in Maxwell’s opinion, but admittedly, pretty good.
The alley was awash with activity. He could see the man in the sharp suit, waiting for him. He picked his way past the police and the crime scene techs and lingered a moment to look down at the body. It was strange, surreal, to see himself lying on the street, the small hole just above the bridge of his nose, his eyes staring sightless at the stormy sky, congealed blood forming a halo about his head.
The man in the sharp suit took his hand and he looked around, bidding a last goodbye as they slowly faded away to nothing.
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