These stories, that have been available on
Blogspot for 10 years for free, will now only be available on Amazon at the
address above. They are contained in “Vagabon Freak”, the 1st volume
of a trilogy titled “The 7 Lives of the Punk Poofy Cats”. I have been the
archetypal starving artist in his garret, painting, drawing and writing,
writing, writing as if I were some waif crying out in the wilderness. Now I
need you, dear reader, to hear my cries and go to Amazon and buy a copy of my
book and keep me alive. There you will find my complete tale, from beginning to
end, in one place, for you to hold in your hot little hands. When you read it
straight through, I assure you, it will blow your mind.
Below are introductory paragraphs and some pictures that I still retain to illustrate
those stories, hopefully to give you a come-on to get my book. Thanks for giving me a go,
TZ.
Arthur tried to block out his parents’ whining voices, thinking of other
families, their care-free strolling and sunny smiles in their crisp white
shirts and stylish skirts, the children blond and perfect. He wondered what was
wrong with him that he deserved only these grumbling fuckwits swinging like a
pendulum between sweet and sour. He swore to himself, “If they start fighting again,
I’ll kill myself in front of them, that will stop them in their tracks.”
It was monstrous the violence they’d put him through, unbearable. He quaked
on remembering the nightmare of his infancy and prayed to any god who might be
listening that it would not be repeated in the oncoming years, or that this
second chance at domestic bliss in West Heidelberg be not as insecure.
Shadowy images of the early ‘Fifties drifted back to him, of the
flabbergasted tension between his parents that rent all their lives apart.
After four years of marriage to Frank, of poverty, domestic warfare and a
second child, Elaine had been fatigued, restless and angry. Escaping from her
parent’s prison only to be incarcerated in Frank’s, she’d dreamed of a gay
life, dancing in the arms of a Bogart-like character, seeing something of the
world, not this eternal pushing and shoving in the kitchen.
Frank was no fun, he preferred fishing and golf and boozing it up with his
mates in the pubs, not interested in nightclubbing with the wife. Arthur
shuddered at the memory of that particular night when his world had fallen
apart. His mother had insisted on going out, with or without her husband.
Frank’s patriarchal domestic lordship was outraged and his jealousy would not
have it.
“My two screaming babies and those of them we share the house with, it’s
driving me crazy. Please, can’t we get a baby-sitter and go out for once?”
“No, we can’t afford it! You’re staying home, where you belong!”
“I’m sick of you, you boring bastard! You stay home with the kids if you’re
so fucking concerned about them, I’m going out for a drink, I want to hear some
music and have some fun!”
“You fucking slut! You just want to meet some bastard behind my back! A
good woman would want to be with her kids, not run after blokes like a fucking
mole!”
“Yeah, well you’re a selfish arsehole, you don’t mind spending money on
your mates but where’s the money for us? I’m fed up, give me some fucking
money, I need a fucking break from this shit!”
“Listen cunt, you get nothing more from me, you’ve already spent the
housekeeping money on beer, now you wanna go fuck someone on my dough! Well you
can fucking keep your slut’s face indoors!”
Arthur
was just handing his plate back after dinner, when, nervous of their arguing,
he dropped it and it shattered. Frank leaned over and slapped the
three-year-old hard across the face, grumbling, “You clumsy little bastard!”
whereupon Elaine responded in turn, screaming, “Stop hitting the fucking kid!”
They were already sozzled on beer, him a bit slow and her in an Amazonian fury;
before he could duck she smashed a plate on Frank’s head and blood seeped into
his popping eyes. (If you want to read further please go to the WEB address above and buy "Vagabond Freak.")
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