Landfill

I determined a long time ago that my site has a life and a mind of its own. If it wants to shut down and go on holiday, it does so. Of course, it does this without discussing it with me first. It doesn’t even bring me back a souvenir, bastard.

As for me, I’d post except I don’t feel like posting, and if I don’t feel like posting, therefore, I don’t post.

Makes sense doesn’t it? That is how I’ve managed to maintain a relationship with this site for so long. We are two individuals who meet up over espressos when we feel like it. If we don’t feel like it, we live our lives separately until we do feel like it.

I managed to fill a blog post full of a whole-lotta-nothin’. Yay!

And now, back to my manuscript. 

A Walk to Remember

It was hot. I was laying on the wooden platform relaxing in the shade. I had finished teaching my arena classes for the day and was enjoying my break. Closing my eyes, resting my head on my arms that were folded behind my head, I enjoyed the sound of the horses milling around the paddock behind me. They seemed to be thrilled that the lessons were done for the day too. I found myself pondering how they put up with novices on their backs on a daily basis, when I heard my name being called.

I sat up, waking from my daydream, trying to register where it was coming from.

“Can you give me a hand up here for a sec?” she said, calling my name again.

It was Ashley. I had forgotten that she was working with him in the upper arena. I sighed, and got up to go see what her problem was.

As part of our duties, aside from instructing arena classes we were assigned horses to train with the goal of them becoming lesson horses. I already had my assignment, a bay quarter horse filly named Debut whom I was saddle-breaking. She was located at the stable on the other side of the camp that worked with the teenage campers. I would get up at 4:30 religiously every morning and make the fifteen-minute trek through the woods to work with her prior to breakfast and the start of classes.

Ashley had been assigned Deezer, a flea-bitten Arab who had a reputation for being quite the handful. I didn’t have much first hand experience with him, but I knew that he was brought down to our barn, partially for his disposition, and partially because no one knew exactly what to do with him. He was known for lashing out and biting or kicking horses as they passed by. I suspected the fact that they waited until he was seven years old to geld him had something to do with it. The camp had owned him for three years and obviously not much progress had been made in the way of him becoming a lesson horse.

When I finally arrived at the upper arena, I found Ashley with whip in hand looking frustrated, trying to lounge Deezer in the arena. Trying was the operative word here, as she was getting so far as him making a few strides until he decided he just didn’t want to do it anymore and would pivot around on the line, stop, and throw a challenging stare at her.

“Having fun there, Ashley?” I asked her smiling, leaning on the arena railing.

She contorted her face into a scowl.

“Loads. He doesn’t want to move out for me on the line. I don’t know how to get him moving and keep him moving.”

“Ah,” I replied.

I didn’t understand why they had assigned Deezer to her. Blonde, thin, and admittedly gorgeous, Ashley had more experience being a model as opposed to training horses. She was fighting a losing battle with this one, and I knew it.

“Want me to have a go with him?” I asked her.

“Please.” she replied in an exasperated voice.

I proceeded to throw one booted leg over the arena railing, and then the other, landing solidly in the arena enclosure with a soft thud. I had yet to change from earlier, so I was still in my breeches and tall boots.

I calmly walked towards the pair, removing my black leather riding gloves from the back pocket of my breeches and slipping them onto my hands. I reached out for the whip and line, taking them from Ashley.

“Ashley, you might want to step out of the arena for this, I think things are going to be a bit interesting and it would be best that you were out of the way.” I said to her over my shoulder, gripping the flat cotton line to Deezer’s bit in my left hand, and calmly holding the long black whip in my right hand behind my body.

“Kay.”

From my peripheral vision, I could see that Ashley had moved towards the rail of the arena with the clear objective of hopping over it.

I then directed all of my attention to the horse at the other end of the dusty line. He was looking at me warily, daring me to try something.

“Ok boy,” I said to him as I stepped back, adjusting the slack on the lounge line and moving my body behind the line of his shoulder. “Let’s see what you know how to do.”

“Wa-alk!”

As exaggerated the word into two syllables I raised the whip in my right hand, moving it slowly from behind my body towards the stubborn creature.

He sighed and began to slowly walk about me, dragging his hooves. After a few strides I could see him begin to try to stop.

“Oh, no you don’t. Wa-alk!” I said again as I moved the whip towards him.

He picked up his pace. Matter of fact he picked up his pace considerably. In the blink of an eye I had a horse galloping and beginning to drag me across the arena on the line.

“Woah!” I said, simultaneously digging my heels into the ground and tugging on the line connected to the bit to get his attention. I was suddenly extremely glad I had my gloves on. I didn’t want to spend the rest of my day, let alone the week, with them raw due to having a tug-o-war with a horse.

He dug his hooves into the ground, skidding to a stop and pivoting on his haunches to stare me down. I stared back. Both sets of brown eyes were burning at each with the same stubborn defiance. He snorted and then charged at me on the line.

I jumped to the side as a thousand pounds of grey blurred past me, still stubbornly holding onto him. I then raised my whip, adjusting my position quickly to where I was again behind his shoulder.

“Oh no you don’t,” I said, gritting my teeth and flicking the whip with my wrist, “Move out!”

Of course he moved out, doing so with gusto. This time, in addition to bolting on the line, he’d mix it up occasionally with a couple impressive rears and several bucks that would put a rodeo bronc to shame.

My left arm was feeling like it was being ripped out of its socket.

“Deezer,” I said patiently, tugging the line to get his attention as gently as I could manage, “cut it out. I am going to win this one.”

“Wa-alk!”

I moved behind his shoulder again, flicking the whip. He moved in a circle around me, ears flicking towards my voice, eyes looking wild and furious. His body moved to pivot towards me, but I was ready, flicking the whip behind him.

“Nu-uh. I don’t think so mister. Wa-alk!”

He snorted, walking in a resigned circle about me. I could tell he was pissed that I wasn’t letting him get his way for once.

“Cut my life into pieces, this is my last resort…”

The next song on my iTunes playlist jolted me back into the present. Thanks Papa Roach. Really. I thought dryly.

I was tempted to go back to play “Jessica’s Theme (Breaking in the Colt)” again, just to be able to return to the past and relive that pleasant time in my life. So much I had missed, so much I had forgotten. So much yet to tell. However, the paper on the economics in Pakistan that I was supposed to have been composing all this time was glaring at me on the screen of my MacBook Pro, demanding my full attention. I sighed, returning to it, but not without promising myself that I would return to the past when I had a little more time on my hands to allow the daydream.

_____________________________________________

The aforementioned was written in response to the Blog Ninjas’ Mystery Topic Challenge question “What song transports you through space and time, and where do you go?”

Please visit the Mystery Topic Challenge Blog to view all of the other entries. Once you’ve read them all, please be sure to vote HERE in the Sidebar for your favorite.

Seriously?

An Oration for Monk Abuddhist of the Oracle of Biologisvensk at WordPress.com:

You know, I would never had known you existed had I not felt the sudden impulse to look my site up on Technorati. I saw that your site had referenced me several times, and since I had never come across you as one of the three or so remaining admirers I have, I felt the need to grace your site with my humble presence.

When I set foot upon the holy ground that is your blog, I saw nothing more than what someone like me dreams of: a blog filled of my posts in all their glory. Of course, I thought this must be some sort of mistake brought on by the internet imps, for why would someone spend time filling a site with my writings and not their own? It was then that I saw you couldn’t help yourself , my humble follower, but to alter the titles of my writings, and occasionally the phrasing of a sentence. I figure you must be trying to somehow personalise my magnificence to fit within the confines of your humble temple for my creative genius.  But at times, I did see that some of my compositions in the Holy Tome of HorseHell were so revered, that you left them and their titles untouched.

I understand your reluctance for recognition, even by one as magnanimous as I, for you didn’t reference the goddess from whose orations your site is a monument to.  I appreciate your humility, and I will honour it by not creating a link to encourage the pilgrimage of my faithful readers to your temple. You have quietly been following and transcribing my holy tome since 2005, but I, your goddess, implore your cessation of this activity. Please, come here to revere me. Transcribe my words upon your heart, not your site. If you do not heed what I, your patroness demand, I shall rain the fire of a thousand hells upon you. You shall feel my wrath and face the black abyss of deleted WordPress accounts.

I, Goddess Biologisvensk, have spoken.

A Short Story

Once upon a time, a princess was victimized by the meme-beast.

Not knowing what to do, the princess stared at this beast with horror: for she thought the meme-beast was the most horrifying thing she had yet to lay her eyes on.

“What should I do?” she asked herself.

“Should I panic, and run away, with my arms waving frantically to beat it off,” she continued,"or, should I embrace it, kiss it, and hope that the beast turns into a dashing, handsome prince who will end up knocking-me up, leaving me with screaming little monsters for the rest of my life?”

During all this interal conflict within the princess, the meme-beast stopped, stared at her, and asked, “What the Fuck is up with this bitch? She isn’t even looking at me, fearing my very presence. Oh no, she is just sitting there, off in some other place.” He continued staring at the princess for a moment, and then thought to himself,"What an air-head.”

By the time he had concluded that the princess was an airhead, the princess decided it was better to run off screaming, waving her arms everywhere, as opposed to facing a life of being knocked-up by the meme-beast, and have a life, thereafter, filled with little, screaming, baby meme-beasts.

And thus, the princess and the meme-beast went their seperate ways, to never see, or speak of each other again.
THE END