no more pix . . .

[Geoffrey]

. . . for a while. mustapha and i have locked the door. driving through the sunnmøre alps. coming home when it feels right. it's so beautiful here

update:
everything was so serene and perfect, i just KNEW something awful was about to happen. sunday morning in this remote, tiny village. the church a magnet for tombstones, little monuments screaming above chattering lawn mowers about someone’s love, someone’s pain. a lonely pensioner pulling on a lead as his dog sprays vinegar onto the leg of a road sign. bells throwing iron waves onto cottage roofs to propel the robots to run with their cash cards into the arms of the good shepherd. mustapha walks up to me and says he’s leaving, ‘can’t continue like this, my suitcase is packed,’ he says. i said nothing, just stood there like a chimney after the house has burned down. i’m never going back to ålesund.

[Geoffrey]

mustapha has gone, escaped in his passat as if he had just robbed a bank. left me on the moon, amongst the squirrels, no driftwood to keep me buoyant in this sea of utter tranquility that he hated more than cold pizza. i have made a decision, there are no winning numbers on this bingo card, i need to go down to oslo, walk in a forest of buildings, see cranes pulling skyscrapers from the ground, see early morning road sweepers feeding breakfast to their carts, see cars barking at the traffic lights as they wrestle with the hands of a clock. it’s autumn, the trees are about to be shaved bald, turned into skeletons, spidery fingers scratching fervently at the sky’s roof light. it’s autumn, oslo is hungry, snapping its fingers at me, calling the waiter to its table, but there is nothing on my menu except faces, a million faces, each with a different template – nothing else have i to offer. lahcen, may god bless him, just answered my message of desperation - he has a bed for me

[Geoffrey]

oslo central station. passengers being spat out of train doors as if they were grape pips. a wild pack of suitcases chasing their masters along the platform, me balancing on the knee of fate, a jumping salmon flapping on the ledge of a boat. will i fall back into the river, or down onto the rusty spikes of reality? my eyes comb through the cacophony, searching for lahcen, a swear word leaks from my lips, and there he is, waving from the turnstiles, the saviour who can lift this cripple from his wheelchair, hang new wallpaper onto the walls of his life. i feel relief, no more a prisoner scratching little gates on the wall, no more standing on the moon in a pool of dust, drenched in self pity. i hear my name, the air is an invisible conveyor belt carrying the music of lahcen's voice to my ears. we hug and rub cheeks, i can breathe again, and all the shadows that were snaking towards me like lava are sucked out of a window in the sky. "i bought you something," he says as we get into his mazda, "a reward for making it this far!" i feel like a pony being given a cube of sugar, but all awkwardness is dissolved as his gift climbs out of the paper - green candles and a menorah! "watch out for the mosquitoes," he grins.

[LisaLCFan]

After being harangued by these interminably arduous histrionics, I feel like I have been drowned in a monsoon of immoderate metaphors, engulfed by a flood of figurative prose, and utterly enervated after wading through a veritable sea of excruciating verbosity.

*****

Just to clarify: this thread is a contest to see whose writing can be the most overwritten and overwrought, right?

[Geoffrey]

hei lisa. it would be unfair of me to instigate any kind of writing contest in this wasteland, because while the imagination-starved populace in here seem to have been vaccinated at birth against original thought, i have a fertile intellect that grows orchards overflowing with the stuff. as everyone here well knows, my brain is a diamond encrusted treasure chest rich with gold mines and oil wells, a place where poets looking for inspiration kneel and worship. i give people hope, and the knowledge that there is one amongst them who brings light to the world.

[LisaLCFan]

Well, I am glad to see that you're having a high self-esteem day today!

[Geoffrey]

Well, I am glad to see that you're having a high self-esteem day today!

well now, not sure as i'd go so far as to say that, but, well, you know, um, like, i do see this place as my pulpit and all that, i mean, people do seem to have a need for a leader, you know, i mean, like, um, somebody's got to do it, if you know what i mean - so seeing as i'm, like, probably the best one for the job, me being good with words and stuff, i reckon i must be the one that's, um, got to do it, like.

[LisaLCFan]

Exactly.

[lizzytysh]

And there I was, reading and feeling every word, thinking how grieving can hardly be over-described.
The menorah and green candles underscore the content.

[solongleonard]

Me norah what you are talking about. I can share that Geoffrey is indeed a live candidate for the position of Deputy Word Geezer here. The position is in my gift, and he truly has a chance.