My Friend The Little Man

"Samson", by Miki - Pastel & Pencil, 65 x 50 cm, 2009

Just finished this portrait of one of my favourites actors, Michael J. Anderson, whom I discovered for the first time in the series “Carnivale”. I was seduced at once and always thought when I saw him:

“I wished I had such a little man as a friend…:

I chose to draw him with a coffee cup in the hand, in honour of my favourite place in WordPress:

Café Crem!

by Miki

The Fairy Trees

The Faery Trees

The scent of the elder trees seemed to shimmer in the hot June sunshine, making a heat haze of aromatic oils and dust, as Becky flung herself down in the shade and buried her face in her hands and wept, loudly. The hard earth beneath the two bending bushes had been packed tight by the baking of the summer sun and by small feet, she noticed with some surprise. The worn footprints, made when last the ground here was muddy, were no bigger than her own would have made, and she saw for the first time that the two stunted trees leaned together to make an archway, and beyond it, she could see a narrow path, vanishing into the deeper woodland beyond. The path was barely more than a rabbit run and she wondered why she had never noticed it before.

She wished she had thought to bring a bottle of water; her throat was dry with the heat and it hurt through her wailing. A sob rose again unbidden and she scrubbed at her face as the tears began to course down her face again.

“Why are you crying?”

Becky jumped with shock, and saw to her intense surprise that a girl was standing over her, her face hidden in the mass of wild flaxen hair that tumbled round her shoulders. Becky’s own hair was tied back neatly in a tight plait to keep it from escaping and looking untidy.

“Nothing,” Becky said, gazing at the girl with awe, and rubbing the tears away hastily.

The girl came and sat next to her, her face still shaded a little by her hair and by the dappled shadows cast by the trees they sat beneath.

“You sound so unhappy,” said the girl. “Tell me about it.”

Becky drew a deep and shuddering breath.

“It’s my Gran,” she said. “She’s mean and nasty and she won’t let me have what I want.”

“That’s terrible,” said the girl, her voice sympathetic.

“So I have run away,” Becky continued. “Just for a little while, to scare her, the mean old bitch.”

“Why don’t your parents help you?” the girl asked.

“My parents are divorced,” Becky said. “Dad works abroad. Mum went back to live with her mum; that’s my Gran. So Mum goes out to work and Gran stays home with me. Only, today, we were going to get me new shoes after school, and this is what she made me get!”

Becky pointed dramatically at her feet. The sensible and comfortable shoes were coated in the fine white dust kicked up by these chalky fields in drought.

“They look…” the girl tailed off without finishing.

“Exactly,” said Becky triumphantly. “They’re hideous. I’m going to be a laughing stock at school tomorrow.”

The girl patted her arm.

“We could swap,” she said. “You look like the same size as me.”

Becky glanced at the girl suspiciously. The girl was wearing much the same clothes as herself, jeans and tee shirt, but while Becky’s jeans were a standard supermarket brand, ironed and laundered and ordinary, this girl wore designer jeans, with the artistic rips and chains Becky coveted. Her tee shirt had a neat little Chanel logo on it, and round her neck, where Becky wore a tacky Best Friends Forever pendant on a worn thong, this girl wore a heavy gold chain, bearing a suspiciously real looking diamond. And her shoes! Well, her shoes were the exact pair Becky had seen in a magazine and had begged her Gran to buy for her.

“Why would you want to?” Beck asked grudgingly.

“To make you happy,” said the girl, throwing back her hair and smiling a big broad, braces-free smile. Becky has stopped smiling properly the day they fixed her teeth with braces.

“OK,” said Becky, kicking off her shoes with speed, in case this strange girl changed her mind.

Within a few moments, the exchange was complete. The high-heeled red shores hurt Becky’s feet but after a few moments staggering around, she found she could walk just fine in them. The girl buckled her new sandals and smiled in a way that reminded Becky of her cat’s face when it had just stolen some cream.

“Drink?” said the girl sitting back down in the shade and proffered a bottle.

Becky took an experimental swig and nearly choked.

“But that’s cider!” she exclaimed.

“And?” said the girl shrugging.

“It’s nice,” Becky said meekly and took a long drink.

The sun peeped through the leaves and sparkled on the diamante trimmings of her new shoes; Becky felt the drowsy heat of late afternoon fill her and her eyes felt heavy.

She woke to hear her name being called and shivered. The sun was setting, blood red in the West and the fragrance of the elder trees had begun to smell like a tomcat had used the earth here for a toilet. She scrambled awkwardly to her feet and swayed out from under the shade of the two elder trees. Her grandmother was crossing the field, coming towards her fast.

As she caught sight of her granddaughter, her whole body seemed to spasm, as if with shock.

“Oh no you don’t,” she shouted and Becky cringed before realising that Gran was not shouting at her.

Gran seized her arm firmly and then bent to yank the glorious shoes off Becky’s feet.

“Not my granddaughter, not ever, you conniving little thieves,” she yelled and to Becky’s horror, she threw first one and then the second shoe at the narrow path between the elder trees.

“But Gran, we swapped shoes, they’re my shoes now!” Becky protested, but then stared open-mouthed, unable to believe what she’d seen.

The path had closed up, like a book shutting and now there was no trace of the way through between the two elder trees. Of either pair of shoes there was no trace at all.

Her Gran gave her a little shake, and pointed at the last rays of the sun as they dipped below the horizon.

“Just in time,” she said. “Another few minutes and I’d have been too late.”

Becky felt her tears returning but now they were tears of incomprehensible relief. Gran looked at her, and passed her a hankie.

“Well, losing your shoes is a fair price to pay, I guess,” she said. “You can walk home barefoot or I can give you a piggy back? Which is it to be?”

Becky went to school the next day in her old, worn out shoes and a much better frame of mind.

by Viv (c) 2009

The Thread

By Miki

Bubble Boy – 16 -

Bubble Boy - 16 - , by Miki

(Original German Version)

(Bubble Boy – 1 -)     (Bubble Boy – 15 -)

…

Now Bub was standing there, with a tiny little Witch in a poison bottle in his pocket, with an owl who was staring at him from the top of a kitchen cupboard , and all this unfolding inside a Witches castle in the middle of a Witches land.

Following the natural curiosity which inhabits all children on our planet, even the ones born in a soap bubble, he started exploring the castle. Such a castle, with all the corridors, the rooms, the towers, and the hidden corners was certainly a very exciting and mysterious place for a boy. He spent hours and hours running up and down the stairs, opening doors and drawers and poking in all the nooks and crannies, leaving an indescribubble chaos behind him everywhere he went.

Tiwoo, who of course was following him everywhere very closely, got an unpleasant feeling in her tummy, thinking of Barbra who indeed hated it when somebody was putting his nose in her things. And of course, she hated it even more when this somebody was leaving everything all over the place.
On the other hand she was secretly very excited to finally be able to enter some rooms into which Barbra never let her in and always kept locked.
She had always been very curious to see what was hidden behind all these mysterious doors…
But to tell the truth, nothing special was behind these doors. Just totally normal rooms, most of them even empty. Tiwoo understood that Barbra had just wanted to make herself look important with these supposed hidden secrets.

After exploring every single corner of the castle, Bub sat on a step of the main staircase, exhausted. Tiwoo landed on the banister in her usual uncertain style, not too close to Bub, but not very far away either. To tell the truth she had lost her initial mistrust, the boy looking pretty harmless and anyway the lust of adventure was stronger than any fear: she really didn’t want to miss anything!
She realised too that this was THE occasion to make the sightseeing flight above the land around the castle she had been dreaming about for a long time.
Of course she hadn’t forgotten Barbra who still sat in the poison bottle in Bub’s pocket, but she calmed her conscience by the thought that the fresh air might do her brain good, and help to find a way to free our little Witch.

And this is why Tiwoo suddenly spread her big wings wide and took off. The fact that she looked like a bat didn’t bother her at all, because she had never seen bats before and didn’t know how ugly they are. But even if she had known, it probably wouldn’t have bothered her either, because she was a wise owl and knew, that in most cases it is not the beauty that matters but the efficiency. And one thing was certain: her wings were very efficient!

As Bub saw the owl flying away, he decided to follow her: the thought of staying alone in that castle with the ugly little person in his pocket was not reassuring at all!
He screamed:

“Wait for me, please, wait for me!”

and started running after her. For a second Tiwoo thought that there was no reason why she should wait for him, but well, one never knows what crazy ideas could cross his mind, for example, what to do with the bottle in his pocket! She definitely had to keep an eye on him! She let out a deep sigh
“Why always me?”
But once again her sense of responsibility won the day and she was ready to sacrifice her lusts for the sake of Barbra. She also decided to fly in a holding pattern, but not without moaning what a silly creature that boy was for not being able to fly!
On the other hand, she realised that it was perhaps better this way. At least he could never catch her and keep her in a poison bottle! This all the kind of stuff she was thinking about while waiting for Bub… as you can see: the fresh air was really doing a great job on Tiwoo’s brain!

…

(next instalment on Monday 2nd March 2009)

By Miki

The Window

By Miki

Love Whales

My daughter Nicole, 7 years old, drew this specifically for me to post here when I told her about the “Minibar.” The girl in the airplane is saying “Come back here with my necklace!” The mommy whale is swimming away with it on her head. Two of the fish are thinking “What is this a dog?” and “Whale alert.” One of the fish is saying “small,” and the other is saying “Spite pphh” — I think that is supposed to be spit. She probably thought it was funny for a fish to spit while already in the water. It is interesting to see her developing a sense of humor, although I wonder if she and I are the only ones laughing at her jokes.

Happy PrEGGnancy!

No, I am not pregnant!

No, Kevin, either!

And none of the people we know are!

It is just that following the Christmas, New Year and Valentines trend, I have started creating eCards for Easter. Or rather: WE have started. In fact 2 years ago Kevin created for Easter a series of cartoons featuring wordplays on the word “egg” . I liked them so much that I decided to work on them, adding my little personal note. Here is the first one, as always,

premiered in Café Crem!

by Miki

The Viral Phenomenon

Yesterday, browsing the discussion boards relating to my football team Derby County, I came across some great ’spoof`’ lyrics by a fellow fan, to be sung to the tune of an old Pulp hit. I liked it a lot, so in the afternoon, I rushed off a version and posted it on my blog mooremusic, with a link on the message boards. Within 3 hours I’d had around 1,500 views, and I’m on course for the same again today. It’s gone viral, and i can barely keep up with the downloads for the fans!  Today on WordPress, it was the featured Hawt post. I didn’t know until today what a Hawt post was, but now I think it means “very popular”!   Have a listen to the song “Commons people” – the new lyrics tell the tale of how our bitter rivals let the footballer Kris Commons leave their club FOR FREE and how he came to us, flourished and helped beat them TWICE in their own backyard. It is very sweet to be a Derby supporter right now!

Kev Moore

Bubble Boy – 15 -

Bubble Boy - 15 - , by Miki

(Original German Version)

(Bubble Boy – 1 -)     (Bubble Boy – 14 -)

…

Barbra then watched with horror how the second giant hand uncorked the bottle and poured away some of the liquid inside. She noticed also how the hand which was holding her came closer and closer to the bottle, and suddenly, exactly in the moment when she was directly upon the bottle neck, Barbra felt the pressure against her body vanish: she soon started to go down in free fall! And before she really realised what was going on and she could have the time and the presence of mind to grasp the bottleneck to prevent herself falling further down, plop! She has slipped all the way down to the bottom of the bottle!
You should have seen her face!

She was sitting now with the green liquid all around. She realised that she had been very lucky at least that the poison only reached up to her throat…  imagine what would have happened if the poison was covering her head! She would be dead by now… supposing of course that the mixture was working!
Anyway she was thinking deeply now, how to get out of there. Of course! Wasn’t she a “witch” after all? This was the occasion to show what she could do. She started screaming all the weirdest witches magic curses she knew, you know, things like
“Abracadabra” and “Watapalava” and “Avabanana”
waiting for extraordinary things to happen. And indeed something incredible did happen: the cork was back in the bottleneck!”
Not that this happened by magic: Bub couldn’t bear her screaming and thought that this was the best way to make Barbra shut up!

Tiwoo, of course,  had followed the whole thing from close by, and with increasing curiosity. She was generally much more rational than Barbra, and anyway, not being directly involved in the drama, it was of course easier to judge the situation and to plan the right solution.  She knew that the little Witch had no chance to get free on her own, no way! She had envisaged to help her, flying straight into the face of the boy as he was opening the bottle and to scratch his eyes with her claws, so that Barbra could flee.
But somehow, she could not do such an awful thing. Without knowing exactly why, she found the boy quite sympathetic, in fact much more sympathetic than Barbra herself! To be honest, Tiwoo felt quite ashamed about it, having the feeling to betray Barbra, but well, in the end nobody knew what was going on inside of her and she shouldn’t be bothered too much. Anyway, she was a wise owl and knew that in a difficult situation it is much better not to act too spontaneously
” turn your head seven times around your neck before acting!”
said her mother owl always. She thought it better to wait and see if a less brutal solution came to her mind. But also, to tell the whole truth, she thought that Barbra had deserved a lesson eventually, and it could not really damage her to stay for a while in her crystal jail. Surely the right place to think, to learn patience and reason, she thought, because without thoughts, patience and reason, Barbra had surely no chance to become a big Witch. All this Tiwoo knew it from all of those stories in  those magic books which Barbra always read in a loud voice…

But for now Barbra sat in a poison bottle and again the bottle was in Bub’s hand. Bub had no idea what to do with it, so he simply put his hand holding the bottle inside his pocket, and as he didn’t know what to do with the other hand, he put it in his other pocket.

What now?

…

(next instalment on Thursday 26th February 2009)

By Miki

Atlantic Bridge – 14 –

(Prologue) (Atlantic Bridge 13)

Cassel Residence, Canterbury.
The languid vocals of Donald Fagen filled the room, as Marius poured them both a Californian Zinfandel Rose.  The track was Home at Last from Steely Dan’s masterpiece, Aja.
“Is that how you feel, when you walk into this house, Marius?” asked Annie, nodding appreciatively to the music.
“Home at last?” said Marius. His eyes took on a faraway look. To Annie, it looked like he was deciding something. Eventually he turned to her, eyeing his wine, holding it up to the light. “ I could be arrested you know, a Frenchman drinking a Californian wine” he sighed. “Yes and no. I feel at home here. But I never feel as if I’ve come home. There’s a subtle, yet important difference.”
“It’s the soul” offered Annie, mysteriously.
“Are you sure it isn’t the wine?” he said, smiling softly.
“It’s a lot easier to rest your mind and body” continued Annie, “but where the soul rests, now that has to be a special place.”
He looked at her. How did he get into this conversation? He didn’t really want to go down that particular road. Not yet. Music felt like safer ground.
He went over to his shelves of vinyl, his finger tracing the spines until he found what he was looking for.
“Are you familiar with Alphonse Mouzon?” he asked, brandishing the Mind Transplant sleeve in front of her face.
Annie, sensing she’d probed a little too deep, went with the flow.
“I’ve got a feeling I’m going to be. Is he French?”

“No, he’s an African American Drummer, popular in the mid-seventies, early eighties of the twentieth century. I want to play you Golden Rainbows, it features the legendary Tommy Bolin on guitar. Enjoy, and I’ll do some pasta. “  He tossed her the sleeve, the virtuoso guitar music filling the room, and headed for the kitchen.
“Sounds French to me” she muttered, leaning back and closing her eyes, losing herself in the music.

Twenty minutes later, they were enjoying Tagliatelle Carbonara, discussing the project animatedly between mouthfuls. Annie was stunned to learn of the Biomolecular properties of Polyflex, which Marius had disclosed to her following her questions regarding speed of manufacture versus deadlines.
He in turn was captivated by her tales of a life researching the Oceans of the world.
Inevitably, talk turned to family.
Around 1 a.m., Marius was persuading Annie to finish the third bottle of wine.
She gently placed her hand over her empty glass.
“Nope” she said, firmly, but kindly. “A girl’s got to know her limit. I need to get to bed, if you’ll show me my room, kind sir.”
Marius put the bottle down.
“I wasn’t trying to get you drunk…”
“Itsh too late for that” she slurred, rolling her eyes comically. She looked him in the eye. “Seriously though Marius, I like you, but I can’t get into anything right now, I just cant. You would be doing me a great honour if, at least for the moment, you could be my friend. I need a good friend. More than you know.” She looked away, biting her lip.
“Whatever else I may or may not become, I’ll always be that” he said softly, kissing the top of her head. “Come on, your bedroom awaits.”
He led her upstairs, showing her the door to the spare room. He headed off to close up the house. As she turned to go in she called after him.
“Marius?” He looked up. “Thank you” she said, meaning it. The bedroom door closed, and Marius secured the doors and windows and set the alarms. As the clock struck 2 a.m, the house was in darkness, its occupants alone with their thoughts.

The Monastery, Ambialet

Henri cast his expert eye down the barrel of his high-velocity snipers rifle.
He’d spent the last two hours disassembling, cleaning, and reassembling it with loving care. He checked the extraordinarily powerful telescope night sight mounted on the top. He was supremely comfortable with this piece of hardware; it was like an extension of him. It had also saved countless lives. Fifteen years previously, he’d received a citation (secretly of course) from U.S. High Command for taking out a suicide bomber with a head shot before he could detonate himself in a busy shopping mall in Toulouse, which was filled with American Exchange Students.

He slung the rifle over his shoulder and climbed the stairs to the roof, emerging into the starlit night. Dark clouds drifted solemnly in the blackness, obscuring the moon for minutes at a time. He crouched down in front of the low stone parapet that encircled the roof. “Allez, Come then” he growled, and began to systematically scan the approaches to Ambialet down the barrel of the gun.

© Kev Moore 2008 All Rights Reserved

( Atlantic Bridge 15)