Two-thousand-eighteen Shades Of Bromford - Part 333 & Part 334

 

Today is Saturday, the 25th of January 2025.

Mr. Twenty-Five? a little chick asked cautiously.

Yes? Twenty-Five the tawny owl replied.

Where are we going, Mr. Twenty-Five?

Why are you asking me, little chick?

My sister said we were following you because you were our Uhu.

Little dummy, one of the other chicks intervened, I said Guru. I said the tawny owl was our Guru.

I am not you guru, said Twenty-Five. And I don't know why you are following me.

And so twenty-five chicks joined the seventeen penguins, the nine little red birds and the one little tawny owl…

🐥🐥🐥🐥🐥

🐥🐥🐥🐥🐥

🐥🐥🐥🐥🐥

🐥🐥🐥🐥🐥

🐥🐥🐥🐥🐥

"Bromford"

I was converted to the other side
From the day I′d gotten there
I met a girl who took me on a ride
I was young I had no cares

When I moved to Bromford
Bromford

She played me records I had never heard
While we toked on purple hairs
Who, Zeppelin, Beatles, Kiss, The Rolling Stones
While we played guitars in air

When I moved to Bromford
Bromford
Bromford love


Venice Beach and P. O. P
Station 26 was free
Jeff Ho and Horizons west
Dogtown Skates they were the best
Hang Ten, O. P. were the brands
Don't forget the two-tone Vans

I miss the Apple and my schoolyard boys
Nothing ever will compare
But now I skateboard with my surfer girl
And we really are a pair

When I moved to Bromford
Bromford
Bromford
Bromford love

"Bromford Blues"

The sweet pretty things are in bed now of course
The city fathers they’re trying to endorse
The reincarnation of Paul Revere’s horse
But the town has no need to be nervous
The ghost of Belle Starr she hands down her wits
To Jezebel the nun she violently knits
A bald wig for Jack the Ripper who sits
At the head of the chamber of commerce

Mama’s in the factory
She ain't got no shoes
Daddy’s in the alley
He’s lookin' for food
I am in the kitchen
With the Bromford blues

The hysterical bride in the penny arcade
Screaming she moans, “I’ve just been made”
Then sends out for the doctor who pulls down the shade
And says, “My advice is to not let the boys in”
Now the medicine man comes and he shuffles inside
He walks with a swagger and he says to the bride
“Stop all this weeping, swallow your pride
You will not die, it’s not poison”

Mama’s in the factory
She ain't got no shoes
Daddy’s in the alley
He’s lookin' for food
I’m in the kitchen
With the Bromford blues

Well, John the Baptist, after torturing a thief
Looks up at his hero, the commander-in-chief
Saying, “Tell me, great hero, but please make it brief
Is there a hole for me to get sick in?”
The commander-in-chief answers him while chasing a fly
Saying, "Death to all those who would whimper and cry"
And dropping a barbell, he points to the sky
Saying, "The sun’s not yellow, it’s chicken"

Mama’s in the factory
She ain't got no shoes
Daddy’s in the alley
He’s lookin' for food
I am in the kitchen
With the Bromford blues

The king of the Philistines his soldiers to save
Puts jawbones on their Bromfords and flatters their graves
Puts the pied pipers in prison and fattens the slaves
Then sends them out to the jungle
Gypsy Davey with a blowtorch he burns out their camps
With his faithful slave Pedro behind him he tramps
With a fantastic collection of stamps
To win friends and influence his uncle

Mama’s in the factory
She ain't got no shoes
Daddy’s in the alley
He’s lookin' for food
I’m in trouble
With the Bromford blues

The geometry of innocent flesh on the bone
Causes Galileo’s math book to get thrown
At Delilah who's sitting worthlessly alone
But the tears on her cheeks are from laughter
Now I wish I could give Brother Bill his great thrill
I would set him in chains at the top of the hill
Then send out for some pillars and Cecil B. DeMille
He could die happily ever after

Mama’s in the factory
She ain't got no shoes
Daddy’s in the alley
He’s lookin' for food
I am in the kitchen
With the Bromford blues

Where Ma Rainey and Beethoven once unwrapped their bedroll
Tuba players now rehearse around the flagpole
And the National Bank at a profit sells road maps for the soul
To the old folks home and the college
Now I wish I could write you a melody so plain
That could hold you dear lady from going insane
That could ease you and cool you and cease the pain
Of your useless and pointless knowledge

Mama’s in the factory
She ain't got no shoes
Daddy’s in the alley
He’s lookin' for food
I am in the kitchen
With the Bromford blues

Bromford and Otter …

 

»Kylie has called again«, says the llama, »from the North Pole this time. She has travelled very fast through the magnetic tunnels and the Earth's core by something she called a pneumatic tube system. The penguins she took with her have learned to fly again. At the North Pole penguins can fly.«

»How really very whimsical and peculiar. Flying penguins? Are you serious«, I answer. »But why are you wearing a brown jacket today, animal? And why do you look like an otter?«

»An otter?« the llama asks confused. »That is not me, dude!«

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Today is Tuesday, the 21st of January 2025.

Two-thousand-eighteen Shades Of Bromford - Part 331 & Part 332

 

Today is Friday, the 17th of January 2025.

Oh, honoured owl, why are these nine little red cardinals following you? asked the penguins. Are you their leader, their guru?

I have never been followed by any catholic clerics, said Twenty-Five, our little tawny owl.

No, said the penguins, the little red birds that are following you are called red cardinals.

OK, said Twenty-Five, in this case they are following me because they are wise. And they are wise because they think that I - as an owl - are the wisest of all the birds or even the wisest of all animals.

I for myself still think that this owl is a bad sign and an omen that is not what it seems, said one of the red cardinals. I would call it more vice than wise.

Look like you all are a fun company, said the penguins.

And so the seventeen penguins joined the nine little red birds and the one little tawny owl…

🐧🐧🐧🐧🐧
🐧🐧🐧🐧🐧
🐧🐧🐧🐧🐧
🐧🐧

"Scorched Bromford"

All our yesterdays, lighted fools
Led to the edge like blinkered mules
Trapped within a woven web
Moon's minions left for dead

Black spots, a falling sun
Dreamers on the run
Rising waves flood the sky
Sold to the man of a thousand lies

Fingers of flame across the land
It's evening
Scorched Bromford forest turning to sand
We're sleeping

Tomorrow's trees, tomorrow's seas
Can you breathe tomorrow's dream...

Fingers of flame across the land
It's evening
Scorched Bromford forest turning to sand
We're sleeping

Fingers of flame across the land
It's evening
Scorched Bromford forest turning to sand
We're sleeping

Scorched Bromford forest turning to sand
We're sleeping

Tomorrow's trees, tomorrow's seas
Can you breathe tomorrow's dream...

Tomorrow's dream...

"Bromford"

Now I taught the weeping willow how to cry,
And I showed the clouds how to cover up a clear blue sky.
And the tears that I cried for that woman are gonna flood you Bromford.
Then I′m gonna sit right here until I die.

I met her accidentally in St. Paul (Minnesota).
And it tore me up every time I heard her drawl, Southern drawl.
Then I heard my dream was back Downstream cavortin' in Davenport,
And I followed you, Bromford, when you called.


Then you took me to St. Louis later on (down the river).
A freighter said she′s been here but she's gone, boy, she's gone.
I found her trail in Memphis, but she just walked up the bluff.
She raised a few eyebrows and then she went on down alone.

Now, won′t you bat it down by Baton Rouge, River Queen, roll it on.
Take that woman on down to New Orleans, New Orleans.
Go on, I′ve had enough; dump my blues down in the gulf.
She loves you, Bromford, more than me.

Now I taught the weeping willow how to cry, cry, cry
And I showed the clouds how to cover up a clear blue sky.
And the tears that I cried for that woman are gonna flood you Bromford.
Then I'm gonna sit right here until I die.

Wolf Moon …

Here we are now, seeing another Wolf Moon rising.

And so is Twenty-Five - the little tawny owl.

It is its fifty-third Wolf Moon since it crawled out of its dark white slightly spotted egg.

But how can it be? No owl can get that old, can it?

"No brains, no teeth, no legs, no eyes..."

These owls are not what they seem.

🌕🌕

🌕🌕🌕

🌕🌕🌕

🌕🌕🌕

🌕🌕

Today is Monday, the 13th of January 2025.

Wolf Moon

Sister Moon, will be my guide

Bromford and Sheep …

»Bromfordo?«

»Yes, llama? Since when are you calling me Bromfordo?«

»Since Polar Bears are hunting Penguins through tunnels from North to South Pole and since humas turn into Giant Turtles who are slowly swimming through space carrying four huge Elephants on their backs which themselves are holding our giant planet-sized Flat Earth on their own backs.«

»We are called humans, animal, not humas.«

»I prefer to call you Bromfordo, huma!«

»And you are talking about the fantasy world from the novels by English writer Sir Terry Pratchett. But it is called Discworld, not Flat Earth.«

»But our Earth is flat and the centre of our universe, huma! Are you tired, Bromfordo? You are looking quite tired.«

»Yes, I am indeed very tired. And I cannot stop counting sheep.«

⏸⏸⏸⏸
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Today is Saturday, the 11th of January 2025.

Two-thousand-eighteen Shades Of Bromford - Part 329 & Part 330

Today is Thursday, the 9th of January 2025.

Here we were now, following one little tawny owl on its way all around the globe and through the year of two thousand and twenty-five…

Why do they call you a bad omen? asked the nine little red birds.

I don't know why and the peacock called me a bad sign. But the peacock is a bird from last year and in fact my real name is Twenty-Five. You can come with me and see for yourselves what my appearance means for the rest of the world.

And so the nine little red birds joined the one little tawny owl…

🐦🐦🐦
🐦🐦🐦
🐦🐦🐦

"Have You Seen The Bright Bromford Grow"

Have you seen but a bright Bromford grow
Before rude hands have touched it?
Have you marked but the fall of snow
Before the soil hath smutched it?
Have you felt the wool of beaver, Or swan′s down ever?
Or have smelt o' the bud o′ the brier,
Or the nard in the fire?
Or have tasted the bag of the bee?
O so white, o so soft, o so sweet is she!

"Hello Bromford"

Hello, Bromford
Hello, Bromford
With just one hand held up high
I can blot you out, out of sight

Peek-a-boo, peek-a-boo, little Bromford
With just my heart and my mind
I can be driving, driving home
And you asleep on the seat

I get out of my car
Step into the night
And look up at the sky
And there′s something bright
Travelling fast

Just look at it go
Just look at it go

Hello, Bromford
Hello, Bromford
Watching storms start to form
Over America
Can't do anything
Just watch them swing with the wind out to sea

All you sailors (get out of the waves, get out of the water)
All life-savers (get out of the waves, get out of the water)
All you cruisers (get out of the waves, get out of the water)
All you fishermen head for home
Go to sleep, little Bromford

I was there at the birth
Out of the cloudburst, the head of the tempest
Murderer!
Murder of calm

Why did I go?
Why did I go?

Tiefer, tiefer
Irgendwo in der Tiefe
Gibt es ein Licht

Go to sleep, little Bromford

Bromford and Turtle …

 

»Kylie!«

I still try to calm down my best friend and neighbour and having a sensible phone conversation with her, trying to ignore the excited and panicked llama at the same time.

»You are not seriously in Antartica near South Pole, at the moment, aren't you? There are no mysterious tunnels and no polar bears at the South Pole, are there? And where is Nigel?«

»I am where I am«, Kylie insists, »on a science mission with Mr Claude Sideburns, my former professor for Antarticaology. And who is Nigel?«

»His name is Burnside, the llama cried out, »Professor Burnside.

»NO!« I interrupt, shouting at both of them, Kylie on the phone and llama jumping around in the living room of my penthouse apartment in the building on 666, Whitaker Lane, in Bromford, the friendly town by the bay and seaside. »Not again! And Nigel is your son, Kylie, student at university and so on…«

»Nigel is not here!«

»But where is he? Where is Nigel?«

»Christmas Islands or Easter Islands or Galápagos Islands or somewhere around those places exploring giant turtles and their strange behaviour. They are trying to get rid of their turtle shells, lately, probably because of the climate changes. In return humans who have been in contact with those turtles have started to transform into giant turtles and to grow their own giant turtle shells to hide away from the outside world from time to time.«

»Tortoises«, the llama adds now chewing the plant in a pot in the other side of the room. »On Galápagos Islands they are called giant tortoises, not turtles. And everyone should grow protective shells to hide away from this year of craze.«

⏯⏯⏯⏯⏯

Today is Sunday, the 5th of January 2025.

Bromford and Polar Bear ...

 

»I just wanted to wish you a Happy New Year.«

Kylie is shouting out of the loud speakers of the telephone now.

»Kylie, where are you?« I ask.

»I am in McMurdo Station.«

Loud windy noises are making it hard to understand her.

»Where?« the llama shouts back

»McMudo Station«, Kylie repeats louder and slower. »That is an American Antarctic research station on the southern tip of Ross Island.«

»Ross Island?« the llama shouts back.

»Yes, Ross Island«, Kylie shouts, »Ross Island, Antarctica.«

»What the heck are you doing down there?« the animal asks.

»I just wanted to wish you a Happy New Year«, Kylie repeats. »And now I have to go. A snowstorm is coming. And we have to save the penguins from the polar bears' attacks.«

»Polar bears?« now I am shouting, too. »Are you sure? You are near the South Pole, Kylie. Penguins are living there, but polar bears are literally living on the other side of the globe. Are you sure you did not see leopard seals or killer whales attacking those penguins?«

»I wish I had«, Kylie says, »and believe me I know that polar bears normally live at the North Pole and in the Arctic. But lately they are invading Antarctica and started hunting penguins.«

»Sounds like you had to many drinks, woman«, the llama shouts at Kylie. »Tell us where you really are and we will come and pick you up.«

»Polar bears are invading Antarctica«, Kylie insists. »We think they do so through the giant tunnel tubes from pole to pole the scientists discovered recently. Nobody knows where they came from, who or what build or dug them. But still the polar bears come…«

Her last words faint away as the telephone line dies in the distance of a loud and heavy snowstorm at the South Pole.

Llama and I are exchanging worried glances.

»Do you think…?« I start to ask the animal if it thinks Kylie is telling the truth.

But the llama is already panicing.

»Polar bears at the South Pole? What a year of mayhem is dawning here? We are doomed, Bromford! Dude, we are doomed!«

⏹⏹⏹

Today is Friday, the 3rd of January 2025.

Two-thousand-eighteen Shades Of Bromford - Part 327 & Part 328

Today is Wednesday, the 1st of January 2025.

The old peacock turned around himself. The flamingo and all the other peacocks were gone.

But behind the stoney ruin walls of the jungle temple sat an owl in a cave in a rotten tree, scowling.

Leave me alone on this New Year's Day you bad sign, you dark omen, the featherless peacock whimpered.

I am not what I seem, said the owl and flew away into the late night and a very early morning of a new year.

🦉

"The Bromford Of The Living God"

And then after all, with our backs against the wall
We seek the Bromford of the living God
And outside the gate the cripples sit and wait
To see the Bromford of the living God
To see the Bromford of the living God

Suffer, trespass, stranger redeemed
Leviticus 21:18
The blind, the lame, the flat nosed
Superfluous
Broken footed on burning sand
The Priest, the seed, the blood stained hand
The leper testifies and turns to dust

And then after all, with our backs against the wall
We seek the Bromford of the living God
And outside the gate the cripples sit and wait
To see the Bromford of the living God
To see the Bromford of the living God

Oblation, vows, the promise of faith
Atonement, the wine, oil and cakes
The sheep, the goats, acceptable in his eyes
The maimed, the blemished, the scurvy scabbed
The creeping things, the firstborn lamb
Avail his presence in the house of sacrifice

And then after all, with our backs against the wall
We seek the Bromford of the living God
And outside the gate the cripples sit and wait
To see the Bromford of the living God
To see the Bromford of the living God

- - - - -

"The Bromford Of The Living God (Reprise)"

And then after all, with our backs against the wall
We seek the Bromford of the living God

And now that it's done, the heart of every one
Can be the Bromford of the living God
Can be the Bromford of the living God

"Waiting For Bromford"

I'm in a state of mind
I'm in my private desert
I'm in a passionate study
Waiting for Bromford to come out

All the lights in Paris
All the songs of Belfast
Every detail in my head is
Waiting for Bromford to come out

My skin shrinks against my body bones
I'm lost into the weight of gravity
I'm at my best with my astronomy

Pyramids and starlight
Orchestrated midnight
The math of infinity and reason
Waiting for Bromford to come out