Friday, September 19, 2008
Gmail - Inbox (1) - nowyourwritingmichael@gmail.com
Gmail - Inbox (1) - nowyourwritingmichael@gmail.com why do l continue to receive these unwanted messages? PLEASE SOP SENDING THEM AND REMOVE MY DDRESS FROM YOUR LISTS.
Friday, August 29, 2008
LET THE STORY BEGIN
Here's what I have in mind. I'll start a story tonight and keep on writing until I fall asleep, discover that there is actually a program on television worth dragging myself away from this; I head to the kitchen to make tea and notice that I didn't clear-up from cooking my meal. Distractions already and we have not yet begun. Note I wrote that we have not as yet begun.That's the whole idea. When I, with the attention span of a nat; has given up - you take over. Continue the story as you choose; in the morning I shall grab back the reins and try as best as I can to steer the story back on to the course I had intended. When next I weary and you take over; no doubt you'll be off on a totally inappropriate track again and I'll again struggle to get you back on course - get it. Good. Let's start.
Glancing down from his penthouse window, Trevor was surprised to see a dozen or more Fresian cows grazing on the narrow band of grass that devided the two roads leading to the casino. But where was the usual early morning traffic? The band of angry engines snarling one at another as they powered their gleaming bodywork along Main Street and St Paul's Avenue; were no where to be seen. Mercedes replaced by mulching cows. There'd been nothing on the early news. A farmer's protest. That's it. Rich little farmers moaning about their falling incomes had taken over the main road in to town and soon the police would arrive; herd the cattle in to trucks and all would be back to normal. It's early. No point in trying to get anywhere. Wait until everything's back to normal.Hey! I didn't expect that. She's arrived with a three-legged stool. She's milking a cow. Now there's more of them. They look kinda cute. I'll grab my binoculars from the bedroom and get a closer look. That's not milk. Milk's white - right. Whatever's coming out of those udders isn't like any milk I've ever seen. It's bright blue. Here come the cops. Hold the phone. The girls are handing the buckets full of 'blue milk' to the cops and they're walking away with them right to the cross harbour tunnel.The girls are leading the cows away by their ears. Following the cops with their bucket. I'll just watch awhile until the cars, scooters, vans, trucks and motorcyles arrive.
Glancing down from his penthouse window, Trevor was surprised to see a dozen or more Fresian cows grazing on the narrow band of grass that devided the two roads leading to the casino. But where was the usual early morning traffic? The band of angry engines snarling one at another as they powered their gleaming bodywork along Main Street and St Paul's Avenue; were no where to be seen. Mercedes replaced by mulching cows. There'd been nothing on the early news. A farmer's protest. That's it. Rich little farmers moaning about their falling incomes had taken over the main road in to town and soon the police would arrive; herd the cattle in to trucks and all would be back to normal. It's early. No point in trying to get anywhere. Wait until everything's back to normal.Hey! I didn't expect that. She's arrived with a three-legged stool. She's milking a cow. Now there's more of them. They look kinda cute. I'll grab my binoculars from the bedroom and get a closer look. That's not milk. Milk's white - right. Whatever's coming out of those udders isn't like any milk I've ever seen. It's bright blue. Here come the cops. Hold the phone. The girls are handing the buckets full of 'blue milk' to the cops and they're walking away with them right to the cross harbour tunnel.The girls are leading the cows away by their ears. Following the cops with their bucket. I'll just watch awhile until the cars, scooters, vans, trucks and motorcyles arrive.
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