What she saw

We were just standing at the bus stop, waiting for the 267 into town, and suddenly this man appeared. An unsavoury sort of man with overexcited colouring.

He strode in front of the bus bench seat, ripped open an envelope, pulled out a fistful of blue charity pens. He passed two pens each to the old ladies, and gave one for Rab and me to share.

Pen supply exhausted, he crumpled the envelope into his fist, and swished to the outside of the glass shelter.

The old women looked at each other and shrugged, nonplussed by the strange behaviour and thrilled at the prospect of a new, free plastic pen.

The bus came, and we all got on with our pens in our purses as if nothing had happened.

We're Back

We're back.

x

Episode 11: Bloated on Holiday in the U-S-A

my dear Doomed,

i am learning so much here on my american holiday. today i collapsed in hysterics to hear my aunt's summation to my father of the Days of Our Lives he missed while driving up to see her. complete with wild hand gestures. she, of recent cancer remission, had foolishly parked her red beehive wig on the kitchen counter, a wig i snatched up and claimed as my own.

i am eating lots of pie and things. to my delight, the family is obsessed with feeding me, as in the american stakes i am quite wee. i am therefore a candidate for constant cakes--hurrah! good thing i'll be leaving next week to begin working off the cakes and planning my next visit.

my mother does crosswords with the aid of dictionairies, thesaurases (thesaurass?), and several other illegal props. i called her a cheat and she snatched up my cold spaghetti, warning me to stop eating directly from the fridge. she told me i had BACTERIA in my mouth and that i was callously passing this bacteria on to her and my brother.

this same bacteria apparently lives in the mud and general yard area. after my vigorous afternoon of leaf raking, she snatched off my jogging bottoms to wash, even though i planned to wear them again the next day to finish the job. she literally ripped them off me in the kitchen and squirreled them down to the basement laundry. each morning she begs me for more dirty underwear and socks. my coat, hat, salvation army purchases, and even my hand bag are all now freshly washed.

there are lots of hicks in america. they still sell guns at walmart. since turkeys are colour blind, this year, walmart's turkey hunting gear features a stunning flourescent orange twig print. i bought Rab a orange twig hat as a souvenir of turkey season--or rather my dad did.

well, that's me. off to hang out my bedroom window and finish my spliff. mom's downstairs watching a movie. hurray for holidays!

much love,

your Bloated

Busy elsewhere... and hiring!

Greetings to anyone who hasn't given up entirely on my now dusty internet record of exciting thoughts... My head is still buzzing with dreams of bile and house plants with eyes--yes. However, having spent the past year preparing and launching a business venture, I am consumed like a marshmallow in a housefire.

Visit the website: www.checamille.com to see sticky sweetness it all turned into. If you happen to know anyone, we're hiring. Job ad below.
_________

Che Camille is looking for a Business Manager.

There’s no use painting a pretty picture. Working in a budding business is bloody hard work. It is mentally consuming, physically exhausting, and the financial rewards are shit to start with. However, it is also exhilarating and inspiring and there is massive potential to develop skills, a decent income, and be in charge of your own destiny.

We promise you will never be chained to a desk. As a part of a small team running an art and design showroom, you will be exposed to project management, financial planning, writing, editing, publishing, design, styling (fashion, interior and possibly even hair).

Person spec: Determined, patient, creative, organised, disciplined and resourceful. Someone who makes things happen. Someone who has balls but is fair. Someone who is good with all kinds of people, ranging from designers and artists to public officials.

Typical tasks:
-Researching and submission of proposals, permits, applications.
-Project Management (e-magazine, website, events, sponsorship)
-Financial competence (able to balance books, suss out the best way to structure fees and service packages)

Payment: For the right candidate, an hourly rate or profit percentage is available. Hours: Initially, one day a week is required, but as the candidate learns more about the business and takes the initiative with ongoing projects, it could quickly evolve into a full-time position.

Location: Ideally based in Glasgow. For the right person, there would be some flexibility about requiring commuting for meetings and regular meetings. This isn’t a position that can be done completely remotely.

Interested? Send CV and a covering letter telling us about your relevant experience and what you will bring to the role. All responses to be sent to: inspired@checamille.com.

Samson's barber

My hair is so smart.
It gets mad at me when I ignore it.
When I don’t cut it for months, it plays dead and growls
into my ear until I either pay someone to put scissors to it
or lop off bits myself.
then it comes back to life and wiggles into funny shapes.

Like Samson and Delilah?

Are you comparing my hair to a famous opera?

Camille and Marcin in the kitchen with a Polish - English dictionary (during this time it was cloudy)

Cry.

Not what you feel about this, just think about screaming.

Why screaming?

Because of cry.

But screaming is what cry means to you, not what cry means to me. I don’t see screaming, you do.

Cackle.

You’re changing the subject.

Yes, of course.

I’m not sure I understand the game.

Ok, pick up this word – repulse – and use it.

Or inutile.

Inutile, yes, this is exactly what means this game. Stream of consiciousness.

Gotcha, gotcha.

Now is my turn… ok? Social security. But I have no idea how to use this word. I see socialist. Maybe you find a word? You try.

Let me finish typing this sentence. Ok.(she reads off the script before actually saying, subverting the reality of which is the present tense, the computer or real life.) Alike. It makes me think of twins.

I like? Yeah, I like this one.

No, alike. A L I K E.

Goad. What is this for you?

A cross between a cheese and an animal with horns.

Tie. Like a marijuana line.

You mean hemp?

Tidal wave. What is this for you?

Sljfalksjeefawu-94 dakljf (intermission, fight and snack) 20348098ws098234

This is a nickname.

You think people call you tidal wave?

Maybe not me, maybe somebody else. Scuff. No… monster.

Blue and lives in the closet.

Moulder.

I’ve would never used this word.

The mould. The monsters are mouldy.

The monsters are under the microscope.

Estimate. The number of monsters, five million different. Exaggerate. I like this game.

I’m not sure I understand this game.

Make it connect. Two to three words different and you try to make them connect.

WE are poets

Have you seen my typewriter?
I PARKED IT IN THE GRASS, with a view of the daffodils.

(We are poets, you see),
We were golfing.

It was April.
There was fog, we wore fur, which is forgiveable, I figure,
because of poetic license (and the confusion we dwell in).

We wear second-hand minks.

I am a poet.
I am guilty.
Guilty of grocery lists lost before I got to the store.
Guilty of things unfinished.

We think we go to the store to fill our stomachs.
Really we are going to fill other things.
I see plastic baskets and broccoli.
I see poetry in ice cream.

We don’t worry about things like stalkers and rent,
We poets worry about words,
Words are never good enough.
I worry sometimes that crazy is close at hand.

Mark is a Doctor.
Mark tells stories about patients who think they are chased by giant slugs.
KICK IT! KICK IT! they beg him.
IT’S RIGHT THERE BY YOUR LEG!
He probably shouldn’t tell us the stories.


Poets are dreaming drunks who stare in the street.
Poets are absurd critics who smoke in bed...
Poets spend lots of time in bed.
Poets look at their belly and think it is their brain.

Adventures of Bloated and Doomed (10)

The Adventures of Bloated and Doomed
Plague of the week: Purple teeth.
Chapter 1o: WINETASTINg

Yum yum, there are many cleverly anonymised bottles
Yum, yum, we are many thirsty patrons.
We have new glasses especially for the occasion
We have three soups, garlick bread, and mystery casserole.
All vegan of course.

Wine 1: We swirl. We sniff. We set rumours right about legs and cork sniffing. Alex shares that he hasn't masturbated in 15 HOURS!

Wine 2: We burp. We cringe at its nail polishy redness, undoubtedly the £2.80 Haddows special. We decide this wine has no legs.

Wine 3: First spill. We stomp it into the carpet.

Wine 4: The wine demands reggae. We oblige. We think it might be the Italian.

Wine 5: Half-hearted attack of remaining soups until someone remembers it is time to pour again. We lose our pen.

WIne 6: Half-time. Pen is retrieved from potato and coriander soup. EVentual phone call to and rendez-vous with drug dealer. He is celebrating something and sounds happy to hear from us.

We pay a social call to the housing projects.

Extended break.

Jane falls asleep. Alex declares that he loves his friends, his friends are so great. they have great ideas like winetasting parties. THey know guys who sell weed.

They take ages.
They return plastered.

Eventually we return to the wines. It is heard more than once, Guys, we HAVE to finish this.

I want to finish these wines.

Wine 7: Camille curses as Tim forces the wine past her lips: Nononononooo... she says, I don't want any more of your fucking SOUP!..., trails off and passes out..

Wine 8: it is mystery what happened during this round. little evidence is recorded. the page for recording comments about wine 8 contains purple stains. nothing more.

however, the next morning over veggie breakfast at Snax, the boys piece together flashbacks of Dai rallying a Best Wine victory for the Tesco French he declared the best wine he ever did drunk.

Ever.