Bromford and Pegasus …

 

»Oh no, llama, please!« I shout out loud. »Another comic-strip? Really? Hasn't there been enough exciments and exaggerations over the past few weeks?«

»Look,« the llama sounds really very tired, »I let the Artificial Intelligence go back to the roots. The lumpy, bumpy, brown Bromford in his armchair is back. But I couldn't let go of the waffles. The llama says, Good morning, Bromford. In the next panel it has lost one ear and says, The sun is shining the birds are singing. In the third panel the llama is gone and the Bromford is talking to or threatening the green armchair saying, Give me one reason… And the grande finale in the fourth panel. Llama says, …and I made waffles! The Bromford is smiling, saying, You win today, and holding a shining waffle on a plate, sunny-side up.«

»The gag is kind of losing it the more you hear and think about it,« I have to admit.

»Guess, you are right, dude,« the llama is pouting. »And I couldn't convince the AI to bring Bromford's question, What's so good about it? back in.«

»What happened to your other artsy-fartsy intelligence, animal?«

»Willy Wonka?« the llama asks. »He sends his regards. But he thinks our project has got no future. Nobody is interested in The Adventures of Llama and bumpy Bromford.«

»His name is Willy Wombat, animal. But I think he is right. Showing the mundane only works one of a billion times. You will never know when nore why. Maybe the everyday-life of a middle-aged guy and his walking and talking llama is not interesting enough and way too boring.«

»About that white horse and the knight in the white armor,« the animal interrupts me.

»He is a winged white stallion, a legendary creature from Greek mythology called Pegasus.«

»Hope you agree, the llama continues, »that you cannot have a legendary creature as your new animal companion.«

»Agreed,« I agree.

»And promise me,« the llama still continues, »never ever to try that outfit and that haircut again.«

»Also agreed,« I also agree. »Wanna watch a movie, animal?«

»OK, chose one,« the animal says, »I'll make us some waffles.«

»You win today.«

🛅🛅🛅🛅🛅🛅🛅🛅🛅🛅🛅

Today is Saturday, the 11th of October, 2025.

Bromford and Rooster …

 

* Good morning, Bromford!

- What's so good about it?

* The sun is shining,
the birds are singing.

- Give me one good reason…

* …and I made waffles!

- You win today.

The llama is still half sitting, half lying in front of the couch-table in the living-room of the penthouse apartment in the building on 666 Whitaker Lane in Bromford, the friendly town by the bay and seaside.

»Any progress lately?« I ask reaching out for one or two of the printed papersheets that are literally lying and flying all over the living-room floor. They are basically two versions of the same comic-strip with four panels I have already seen eight days ago.

With its mouth the llama is turning the pages up and down and round and round and from side to side making busy and not very satisfied sounds.

»So, you two have turned my lumpy brown character into a bear now?« I ask.

»Uh-huh«, the llama nods and grunts in agreement. »Bears are cute. And no-one ever asks how the bears are. Everyone should ask how the bears are.«

»And you turned the bagles into waffles?«

»Everyone loves waffles. And they are more international than bagles. Bagles are kind of local, you see? Don't you think, dude? Don't you think? Don't you? Don't you? Don't you?«

The animal has grapped me by the chest-part of my shirt with its teeth trying to shake me.

I take a few steps back.

»I am getting some Ted vibes here. You know, the sentient and anthropomorphic teddy bear from the movies, because of the grumpy bear? And some donkey from Shrek vibes because of the waffles«, I say. »But don't get me wrong. I like it. It is not that bad for the start. Have you got some more footage to look at, something continuing this opening panels?«

»More? More? More?« The llamas level of excitement is constantly increasing. »I do not have more!«

»And Willy?«

»Willy who?«

Willy Wombat«, I try to explain carefully, your artsy-fartsy intelligence from the world wide web and Australia? Does he have more drawings or drafts?«

»I don't know who you are talking about, dude«, the llama is opening the glassdoor to the roof-terrace. »These comic-strips are mine! My design, my ideas, my invention! All mine and mine all alone! Mine! Mine! Mine!«

A sudden single flash of lightning from a grey and cloudy morning-sky is illuminating the animal's face in a most disturbing and definite demonic way.

»Mine! Mine! Mine! More! More! More!«

A heavy gust of wind from the open glassdoor piles the papers into an even greater mess.

»May I ask you to tidy up the living-room a little bit?« I ask ever so carefully. »I have got my next next-companion-appointment with a rooster this afternoon, a rooster called Red.«

»An appointment?« The llama is now standing on its hint-legs pressing its front-legs theatrically against its chest in the heart-area. »My future lies in ruins and you are talking about your next companion? How heartless can you get, dude? Cancel the appointment! Cancel it!«

You win today, I think on my way of withdrawal, backwards out of the living-room

Me opening the door to the hallway of the apartment is causing a real whirlwind within the comic-papers. The llama is now standing in the middle of all the mess with sheets twirling around it like autumn leaves in a storm of fall.

From the kitchen I can still hear the animal whine, »How did they do The Peanuts for 75 years? They had the same gag for all this time in every single comic-strip. The same they did with Garfield and Calvin und Hobbes! Always one and the same note. Why, oh why can't I? Why? Oh why? Oh why? Oh why can't I?«

♿♿♿
♿♿♿
♿♿♿

Today is Thursday, the 9th of October, 2025.

Hunter's Moon ...

Hunter's Moon is showing her early face in a cloudy sky. She is the pale October moon which is also this year's Harvest Moon, the nearest moon to the autumnal equinox.

Autumn mists are crawling through the street canyons of Bromford, the friendly town by the bay and seaside, fed by puddles of last night's rain and the fumes of the manholes of the city's sewer system.

Kylie once said now and then they remind her of the smogs of early industrial London, England, more than one century ago when the smoke of the factories prevented the dampness and wetness of the River Thames from vanishing into thin air. Victorian fogs that covered poverty and the crimes of preying perpetrators such as Jack the Ripper, and the evil ones of his kind.

Early autumn mornings under flickering gaslights with only single footsteps on pavements of cobblestones echoing in empty streets and without the sounds of horses or carriages or those first ancient automobiles. Is there an owl sitting in the middle of the road on Whitaker Lane with its endless row of buildings leading away from the bay and the harbour? Within the wink of an eye it is gone, replaced by the lights of a bus or another vehicle like that.

Kylie, I think, where have you been these past months? Where have you been when fable-like animals overran my life and blog with their wildlife metaphors? Where have you been when the walls of my little penthouse on the rooftop above the fifteenth floor of the apartment building on 666 Whitaker Lane in Bromford, the friendly town by the bay and the seaside, became the dwellings of my mischievous behavior.

The moon seems to be grinning as I am overwhelmed by Poetry…

the dwellings of my mischievous behaviour.
the dwellings of my misbehaviour.

these are corners of the human life I haven't had the chance to clean up and tidy yet.
maybe these thoughts are just a champagne hangover, what do you think?

the sparkling drops that reached the black oily mess my soul is.
bound to let the barrel overflow.
how can one programme positivity?

the set of the mind is one pile of shame for the lock-keyed closet.
navigating the sharks of life?
poor misunderstood sharks
eat the rich and save the sharks

heroine
is heroine a female hero?
whereas heroin is something completely different, right?
where did this opioid get its name from?
heroic heroin killed the heroine

there is too much in my head and it will grow within every second.
I cannot express it.
maybe i SHould use an orange press…

Didn't Sherlock Holmes once use heroin?

»Hey,« the llama is up early, too, »Is that on owl on the street between the tram tracks?«

»I don't think so, animal. I don't think so,« I say closing the glassdoor to the roof-terrace taking another sip of my big mug of steaming, warm chai latte.

And above us the face of the moon wouldn't stop grinning and winking…

🌕🌕
🌕🌕🌕
🌕🌕

Today is Tuesday, the 7th of October, 2025

Hunter's Moon

Sister Moon, will be my guide
In your blue, blue shadows, I would hide
All good people, asleep tonight
I′m all by myself, in your silver light
I would gaze at your face the whole night through
I'd go out of my mind, but for you
I′d go out of my mind, but for you


Lying in a mother's arms
The primal root of a woman's charms
I′m a stranger to the sun
My eyes are too weak

How cold is a heart
When it′s warmth that he seeks?
You watch every night, you don't care what I do
I′d go out of my mind, but for you
I'd go out of my mind, but for you

My mistress′s eyes are nothing like the sun
My hunger for her explains everything I've done
To howl at the moon the whole night through
And they really don′t care if I do

Two-thousand-eighteen Shades Of Bromford - Part 393 & Part 394

 

Today is Monday, the 6th of October, 2025.

'He who has a why to live can bear almost any how,' said Friedrich Nietzsche.

How is the bear?, asked one of the see-no-evil-monkeys.

Master Twenty-Five said, the bear can almost any how, said one of the penguins.

But how is the bear?, the monkey insisted, Nobody ever asks how the bear is.

The two mosquitoes buzzed, The tawny owl wasn't speaking about a bear. His saying was about He who why any how.

Who is he?, asked one of the chicks.

The bear who has a why can live almost any how, answered the seven hacker cats.

The tawny owl Twenty-Five was hiding his head beneath his wings.

It's what Friedrich Nietzsche said, he said. It is not about bears. It is about bearing.

What about some berries, asked the little red birds. Some berries would be good.

Maybe some bare bears are bearing some berries barefoot, the bats suggested.

And all the cats repeated this conversation singing it as a loud and dissonant opera.

Meanwhile six hear-no-evil-monkeys joined the twenty-eight see-no-evil-monkeys, the twenty astro-cats, the twelve hipster-cats, the four dragon cats, the twenty-seven hacker cats, the nineteen stunt cats, the eleven ninja-cats, the three pouting cats, the twenty-six crying cats, the eighteen weary cats, the ten kissing cats, the two cats with wry smiles, the twenty-four smiling cats with heart-eyes, the sixteen cats with tears of joy, the eight grinning cats with smiling eyes, the thirty-one grinning cats, the twenty-three spiders, the fifteen scorpions, the seven ladybugs, the twenty-nine bees, the twenty-one ants, the thirty crickets, the twenty-two mosquitoes, the fourteen caterpillars, the six snails, the twenty-six butterflies, the eighteen bats, the ten more chicks, the two chicks, the twenty-five chicks, the seventeen penguins, the nine little red birds, and the one little tawny owl…

🙉🙉🙉

🙉🙉🙉

"Bromford City"

I wanna go home, I wanna go home, oh how I wanna go home
Last night I went to sleep in Bromford City
And I dreamed about those cottonfields and home
I dreamed about my mother, dear old papa, sister and brother
I dreamed about that girl, who′s been waiting for so long
I wanna go home, I wanna go home, oh how I wanna go home


Homefolks think I'm big in Bromford City
From the letters that I write they think I′m fine
By day I make the cars, by night I make the bars
If only they could read between the lines

'Cause you know I rode the freight train north to Bromford City
And after all these years I find, I've just been wastin′ my time
So I just think I′ll take my foolish pride
Put it on a Southbound freight and ride
And go on back to the loved ones, the ones that I left waitin' so far behind
I wanna go home, I wanna go home, oh how I wanna go home

"Bromford Lake Monster"

As if you know the story of Bromford Lake:
Leviathan first hid in the deep where her children sleep
She kept them hidden from the plague

But have you heard the story of my mother’s fate?
She left us in Detroit in the rain with a pillowcase
Fortune for the paperweight

We followed her to Joseph, near the Indian raid
She wept among the weeds, hide and seek, for the fallen chief
Spathiphyllum on his grave

And like the cedar waxwing, she was drunk all day
We put her in the sheet, little wreath, candles on the crate
As the monster showed its face

As she waits for her children in the shade
Demogorgon or demigod the ghost parade
No oblation will bring her back to our place

She stayed within the deep end of Bromford Lake
The undertow refrained with the flame of a feathered snake
Charybdis in its shallow grave

Bromford and Wombat …

 

* Good morning, Bromford!

- What's so good about it?

* The sun is shining,
the birds are singing.
Give me one good reaso -

* …and I brought bagels.

- You win today.

»What are you reading, animal? And where did you find my old travel diary about my family-trip to Australia when I was a young kid?«

The llama is lying in the hammock in the living-room looking at some colourful printed pages. From the travel diary it has taken a photograph of me and a family of wombats my parents had taken in the Australian outback on that remarkable journey so many years ago. The animal has leaned the photo against one huge mug of hot hay-tea who is standing on the couch-table.

»This is making me laugh so hard«, the animal giggles.

»Show me that.«

I take the pages away from the llama. They are a comic-strip with four panels about a llama with light fur and some lumpy, grumpy brown creature with arms and legs sitting in an armchair.

»What is this?« I ask. »Did you draw this? And what is this brown creature? Wait a minute… Is this supposed to be me?«

The llama is still giggling.

»Too many questions, dude«, it says. »Let me answer them like this. A comic-strip. No, I had help from some artsy-fartsy intelligence. And yes, it is you, your spitting image. Like cut from your face.«

The llama is roaring with laughter.

»Do you really think this is funny, animal?« I ask. »And isn't the speech bubble in the third panel pointing in the wrong direction? Shouldn't Bromford be saying, 'Give me one good reaso -', to make more sense and the punchline funnier?«

The hammock is dangerously swaying from side to side.

»And this is so not true. You never ever brought or bought any bagles nor anything else for breakfast since you moved into my penthouse apartment in the little house on the rooftop of the apartment building on 666 Whitaker Lane in Bromford, the friendly town by the bay and seaside.«

»Excuse me«, suddenly an unknown voice can be heard in the living-room, »I am only the comic artist. I only do the drawings. Story and text are from the llama. It only gave me the settings and the title of the upcoming series of comic-strips and books,

The Adventures of Llama and Grumpy Gromford.«

»You totally misheard or misunderstood that, you Aussie Bum, you.«

The llama is gathering itself after having finally fallen from the wildly swinging hammock onto the living-room floor.

All of a sudden I notice a hairy face in a video-chat-window on the open laptop the llama has also placed on the couch-table.

»Bromford«, neighs the llama, »I always said Bromford not Gromford. The Adventures of Llama and bumpy Bromford.«

»Bromford?« the voice from the laptop shouts out, »Bromford Bibble? Is that you?«

»Willy Wombat?«

I suddenly recognize that voice and that face.

»My old friend, my travel acquaintance from our trip to the Australian outback all these years ago? Llama, where did you find his address to start a video-call?«

»Just look at the back of that photo of you and the wombat in a matching look, you simple«, the llama says. »But now, leave us alone. We are in the middle of a business meeting here. Willy Wombat, Australia's most successful comic artist, and I are working on the next big thing in comics and animations, even bigger than Southpark or The Simpsons.«

The llama is pushing me out of the living-room.

»Hi, Bromford. Bye, Bromford«, in the hallway I can hear Willy's fading voice from the laptop after the llama has closed the door behind me.

Ever since I was a young boy, I think to myself, I wanted a wombat. And to think that I once voted for a political party that demanded and promised a wombat for every household across the land…

🚾

Today is Wednesday, the 1st of October, 2025.