For Linda’s Friday #SoCS

Tales? Of brave Ulysses? Who, as you may recall was enchanted by the mermaids who, as their defining feature have great tails. Not to be mistaken, as Ulysses seems to have done, for a great piece of tail. It was this error of judgement that led, famously, to ‘his naked ears [being] tortured by the sirens sweetly singing.’

Anyway, James Joyce also jotted down a few thoughts on the subject and, if memory serves me correctly produced a book that had a sort of ‘tales in parallel’ arrangement to it with limited reference to mermaids. Although ‘great pieces of tail’ infiltrate a lot of stories (Joyce’s little ditty is no exception) and are put in there primarily to divert the hero from course. So I suppose mermaids are an ideal euphemism. Have you ever seen an unattractive mermaid?

Here’s another thought. Have you ever seen a short-haired mermaid? Presumably they are depicted with those flowing locks to preserve their modesty. Which is a bit of a contradiction considering their reported behaviour. The world is full of conflicting messages. And we males place ourselves at terrible risk by complaining about these messages. So I won’t.

So, what’s my point? I don’t know. I was hoping to stumble across one in there somewhere. But I suppose, at least, that there’s some comfort to be taken in the knowledge that those great seafaring heroes of the past were just as easily undone by matters of the heart as have been all the rest of us. Because ‘when your fingers find her she drowns you in her body, carving deep blue ripples in the tissues of your mind’.
That’s my tale. And Eric Clapton’s too.

 

Please click the link for perspective

Not sure if I have my head around this

Wedding in LA

Go Niagara the next day

Too rooted to stay

 

 

I used to write quite a bit of poetry when I was young. Some of it was sort of OK, some of it was bad and some of it was terrible. So ….In response to this prompt HERE I offer to you the absolute worst poem I have ever written. I gave it to a friend when we were both about 15 and he put it to music. Such was his talent that it then sounded like a sweet masterpiece. He has become something of an internationally acclaimed music aficionado since. I have remained a (mostly) cheerful nobody. Importantly we remain very close friends. As a result of all that I can never really get it out of my head …..

Harry my uncle

Lives in the jungle

Resides with the birds and bees

Gorillas he likes them

But the things tend to bite him

And the pollen it makes him to sneeze.

(I think there was some sort of strange chorus and a second verse, but both are long gone from anyone’s memory)

In response to Laura’s Prompt and in keeping with my vague aim to write something almost every day.

He pulled over in no particular place and stepped out of the car. Night was approaching and behind him he could see the dull glow of the city. Ahead the sun was completing its descent and creating a clean red line that ran across the edge of the world. He had not passed another car in almost an hour and for a moment he imagined that he might be the last man on earth. As he stared into the distance he realised that he could discern the curvature of the earth. He felt very much alive.

The police would catch up with him sooner or later, of course, and the cycle would begin again, but for now there was time to stop and look at the sunset. He realised how few times he had done so before.

He reached into his pocket and retrieved the letter. Upon opening it he chose , this time, to read only the last few lines, “Remember,” the letter assured him, “that I adored every single minute of it, but I knew, from the beginning, that you would never love me. So in the end nothing has been lost.”

Everything, of course, had been lost. But not for the first time.

He returned the letter to his pocket and climbed back into the car. He turned the key and the engine responded obediently. And then he was moving again, towards a fading horizon.