Bromford and Llama …

 
* Oh, what a beautiful drawing of
myself, KussKuss, the legendary
llama, in my… in my white t-shirt?
But who is the human at my side?

- That is me, animal. Just look at the
heading of today's blockblog post.
'Bromford and…' The man on the
picture and from the heading, that is
me, Bromford Bibble, the guy who is
called like the town.

* No way! That guy is wearing a suit
and a tie. I have never seen a suit like
that on you. And there is no blue tie
in your wardrobe.

- Don't be so strict, animal. That is
what is called artistic freedom.

* The guy on the picture is thin and
young and has got a beard.

- Oh, come on, animal, I am not that
old.

* But you are not that young either.
You hair isn't that dark. There is much
more grey in it. You are what you
humans call a 'best ager'. And the
most important point to prove that
this cannot be a picture of you is… I
can see the dude's teeth. That dude is
smiling! I haven't seen you smile in a
long time, Bromford Bibble.

- You are so rude and mean, llama.
But your reaction shows me that my
plan for the next weeks is right,
necessary and overdue.

* What is this? Belated New Year's
resolutions? What is your great plan
for the next weeks, human?

- My great plan for the year 2024 is…
to find a new animal companion.

* WHAAAT?

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Today is Wednesday, the 31st of January 2024.

Cha…Cha…Cha…Changes …

 
David Bowie is dead. Jeff Buckley too. They drowned and died in the wheel of a paddle steamer boat during a spontaneous, full clothed evening swim in the Mississippi River in Memphis, Tennessee, in 1997. Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn were close friends. God bless you, Samuel Langhorne Clemens. And you Foghorn J. Leghorn, you fabulous rooster.

»What the hug are you writing there, dude?« complains the llama. »Your handwriting has become a mere scribble over the years, almost unreadable.«

»Hey, stop reading my diary, impertinent animal.«

»And what does this mean? They died in the wheel of a paddle steamer?«

»This may or may not be the truth. Would you have understood if I wrote 'drowned when they were caught in the wake of a passing boat'?«

»No-one wants to meet woke boats. You never know which feet they got up with, the good or the bad ones.«

»Animal«, I declare with a sad tone in my voice, »I have got to make some changes.«

»Mark the Twain«, the animal is shouting while I leave the living room with my laptop under my arm.

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Today is Monday, the 29th of January 2024.

Steamboat Willie

Two-thousand-eighteen Shades Of Bromford - Part 276

Today is Saturday, the 27th of January 2024.

Fables of the Reconstruction

Reconstruction of the Fables

Fable is a literary genre defined as a succinct fictional story, in prose or verse, that features animals, legendary creatures, plants, inanimate objects, or forces of nature that are anthropomorphized, and that illustrates or leads to a particular moral lesson (a "moral"), which may at the end be added explicitly as a concise maxim or saying, said the sloths and burp.

What did the sloth eat?

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"C Song (The Bromford Waltz)"

A doobie with Peruvian coffee
The begonias melt in the sun
Listening to a song about mysterious wisteria
From the voice of a good man long gone

The monitor screen a black window
I’m ignoring the knock at the door
An unopened letter on the table before me
An unanswered call on the phone

I won’t let you bring me down
I won’t let you bring me down
I won’t let you bring me down
Not today

I don’t want to buy into your sadness
Please keep all your grief to yourself
I’ll take stock of my own situation
Share my problems with nobody еlse

I dine alone in thе depths of the restaurant
Watch the candles burn slow in the night
Take my time pouring over the menu
Just make sure you keep bringing the wine

Half full or half empty’s the question
To be honest I don’t really care
I’m happy in this God given moment
But like me it won’t last very long
I won’t let you bring me down
I won’t let you bring me down
I won’t let you bring me down
Not today

I’ll face the inevitable ending
And the fact there’ll be no curtain call
I hope they write up my performance
The reviews are favorable

Until then I’ll dance the fandango
With a smile as big as the moon
Worship the arrival of tomorrows
And whistle an uplifting tune

I won’t let you bring me down
I won’t let you bring me down
I won’t let you bring me down
Not today

Rough Nights …

 
In nights like this the bite still hurts.

The llama - full of unexpected compassion - lowers its head and is trying to lick my left shoulder somewhere near the collarbone.

»What are you doing, animal?« I ask lying on the couch and opening my eyes.

»I felt your pain, dude« the llama says. »It's the bite where the red were-bus bit you a long time ago, isn't it? You are still feeling the pain in fullmoon nights. And soon the transformation will begin, won't it?«

»First…«, I start.

»Oh, not another enumeration, dude!«

I choose to ignore the animal.

»First, the red bus did not bite me, it hit me. And second, the only transformation is that I burst out into speaking and writing English from time to time.«

»You are not turning into a were-wolf?«

I shake my head.

»Not even into a beaver?«

I shake my head again.

»Lame«, the llama says. »Did I ever tell you that your werewolfization is more than lame, dude?«

»Did I ever tell you that I do not have a punchline to this conversation?« I ask yawning. »Let's go back to hibernation.«

And I roll over to the other side of the couch in the living room.

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Today is Thursday, the 25th of January 2024.

Wolf Moon

Yes, I′m being followed by a moonshadow
Moonshadow, moonshadow
Leaping and hopping on a moonshadow
Moonshadow, moonshadow

Two-thousand-eighteen Shades Of Bromford - Part 275

Today is Friday, the 19th of January 2024.

The kangaroo, the kandaroo

Got nothing, nothing, nothing to do.

The Kongoguru, The Kongoguru

Lost his shoe, lost his shoe...

Hoo Hoo Hoo...

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"Bromford"

Once when our mother called
She had a voice of last year's cough
We passed around the phone
Sharing a word about Oregon

When my turn came
I was ashamed
When my turn came
I was ashamed

Once when we moved away
She came to Bromford for a day
Her Chevrolet broke down
We prayed it never be fixed or be found

We touched her hair
We touched her hair
We touched her hair
We touched her hair


When she had her last child
Once when she had some boyfriend somewhile
She moved away quite far
Our Grampa bought us a new VCR

We watched it all night
We grew up in spite of it
We watched it all night
We grew up in spite of it

We saw her once last fall
Our Grampa died in a hospital gown
She didn't seem to care
She smoked in her room and coloured her hair

I was ashamed
I was ashamed of her
I was ashamed
I was ashamed of her
I was ashamed
I was ashamed of her
I was ashamed
I was ashamed
Of her

»«

 

»Seriously, Shakespeare?«

The llama is eating the plastic fruits for decoration. Again.

»First of all«, the animal complains, »I prefer the phrase artificial fruits as in artificial intelligence and secondly… I AM NOT EATING PLASTICS.«

»No, you are eating shaken pears or something like that.«

Why is winter making me so tired? I can hardly keep my eyes open.

»You, human«, the animal continues nagging me, »quoted Shakespeare in last year's last post. And I am wondering why you did this, dude. And is 'nagging you' even a correct phrase?«

»Three things, animal…«

I am stretching and yawning on the couch.

»Why not? That's my answer to your quoting Shakespeare question.«

I am holding up my index finger, followed by the middle finger, both forming a victory or peace symbol.

»And are you using the word phrase here correctly? And third thing…«

Stretching out the ring finger together with index and middle while keeping thumb and pinky down is a lot harder than it seems.

»Nagg nagg nagg nagg.«

I am imitating one of those tiny, little gnawling animals by pushing my incisors teeths over my lower lip and making that noise.

»We call them rodents, you terrible beaver-boy.«

The llama is leaving the living-room, eating another plastic banana.

»I AM NOT«, echoes through the penthouse above the fifteenth floor of the apartment building on 666, Whitaker Lane, in Bromford, the friendly town by the bay and seaside.

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Today is Sunday, the 14th of January 2024.

Artificial Fruits

Two-thousand-eighteen Shades Of Bromford - Part 274

Today is Thursday, the 11th of January, 2024.

ANDROMEDAMELLAMA...
Do you think I have got a talent for inventing words?

Andromedamellama... Take it as it is. And google... ehm... guess the city...

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"Bromford Sunrise"

The sentinels are watching
As the world begins its day
Memories of battles lost
Have never gone away

Swallow this morning whole
Let light shine upon frozen souls
Chroma hymns can set us free
If we sing in harmony
In the Bromford
Bromford sunrise

The sentinels are watching
As the world closes its eyes
Dreams of a brighter tomorrow
Shines from your sacrifice
You'll never cross the river
If you're scared of getting wet
Your spirit will guide us
To Plaza Italia

Swallow this morning whole
Let light shine upon frozen souls
Chroma hymns can set us free
If we sing in harmony
In the Bromford
Bromford sunrise
 

E arthes …

It's the most wonderful time of the year. Really?

It is the beginning of something new. Is it? I don't think so.

The time of predetermined headlines is over. Nothing but a nut no-one will notice.

Ah, come and let's go on. Let's see what time will bring. We cannot turn back the clock.

Who knows Mother Goose and her French sister Ma Mère l'Oye?

Bromford Bibble is a bad writer.
Bromford Bibble is a bad writer.
Bromford Bibble is a sad writer.

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Today is Tuesday, the 9th of January 2024.

Earthes

Two-thousand-eighteen Shades Of Bromford - Part 273

Today is Wednesday, the 3rd of January 2024.

The new year is here.

Watch your humps, said the dromedary to the camel.

Still jealous, cousin? asked the camel.

When will the animals take over the world-leadership?

Maybe next year, friend, maybe next year ...

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"Bromford Crawling"

I'll call you up from a phone box
Your light is on it's 3 o' clock
We'll go for a drive with the radio on
And you'll come alive to a forgotten song

Bromford crawling through the sodium glow
Just like lovers again
Slipping between the sheets of dirty rain

Bromford crawling through the sodium glow
Just like lovers again
Slipping between the sheets of dirty rain

Under the cover of the narcotic night
The streaming colours of the traffic lights
The two of us dreading the end
Burning our money in a basement

Bromford crawling through the sodium glow
Just like lovers again
Slipping between the sheets of dirty rain

Sunday morning and I don't want to go
Back to my single bed
To be lying alone out of my head

Don't stop at the lights
There's no one else coming

La la la la
La la la la
La la la la
La la la la

Bromford crawling through the sodium glow
Just like lovers again
Slipping between the sheets of dirty rain

Sunday morning and I don't want to go
Back to my single bed
To be lying alone out of my head

La la la la
La la la la
La la la la
La la la la