Murder

Some stories I think up and write, or think up and never actually write, have in them a murder or two.   If I don't write them down it is when I become uncomfortable and anxious that it is my subconscious desires that speak through them, desires to slaughter my real or imagined enemies.  I'm never certain that this is true, the stories are not that transparent.   They are told (or planned out) in first person singular relating a tale he has heard or observed, or else in the authorial third person.  They are not typical detective stories, there are usually no detectives in them, or else there are police detectives who fail to solve the mystery, while the suspect gets away from them.  And we are never sure if the suspect really did it, or contracted out to have it done.

And I wonder if the crime stories by more or less known writers are not sometimes tales of revenge against the writers' enemies.  It happens that writers put their friends, ex husbands and wifes and foes in their stories, and occasionally even get sued for it.  Besides, certain writers are known to be misogynist, misanthropist, or misandrist.

Here's a story idea I've thought up a few days ago, and haven't written.

Several prominent men, celebrities, movie stars die under mysterious circumstances.  There are few leads.  A letter surfaces from a man who admits to the murders and warns that they will continue until his unnamed lady friend agrees to marry him. Analyses of the letter lead nowhere.   The narrator of the story tells us he suspects a friend of his, who is in an up and down love affair.   Women in the naked city who have been asked to marry their beaus, and refused or else haven't made up their minds all begin to suspect the men.  The girlfriend of the narrator's friend finally accepts his proposal and the murdering spree stops.  She will live uncertain if she had married a murderer.

Day 4

This morning, day 4, remnants of the heart were there, even though nature, nighttime moisture, dogs, kids, damaged the heart to a large degree.  I decided to rebuild it again, just to spite fate, dogs, kids, and whatever evil forces conspire against my heart.   There were some kids around, with their mothers and dogs while I was at it.  The kids thought it was lovely, the dogs walk over it, and the mothers eyed me suspiciously.  I took photographs and kept on improving my design.  It is different every day, only a few of the pebbles appear in different versions of it, and I intend to keep doing it.

On the shore

I took a photo of a triangular moss covered rock, a couple of people said they liked it, and I went on to search for a rock more in the shape of heart. I didn't find one, so I collected some pebbles and made a heart shape on the rocky beach where I take my dog for walks.   I snapped a few photos of it, went home and uploaded them to the computer.  I didn't like any of them, and decided to return the next day to take more pictures.   The heart was gone.  I couldn't even find the place where I had built it, even though it is a short, maybe 25 yard beach.   I finally located traces of it, recognizing some rocks that had been part of the structure.

Who could have destroyed it and why, I wondered.  Maybe some kids picked up the rocks and threw them in the ocean, or dogs messed it up. Or a park ranger happened on it and decided to bring the beach back  to its "natural state". Or a fanatic of the same mind, as there are plenty of those, even though the park and the beach are on a landfill, formerly a garbage dump, later covered with two feet of dirt, while the beach was built out of randomly dumped concrete blocks from old buildings, freeways and god knows what else.

I rebuilt the heart on the second day, took photographs while the dog stood by patiently watching me from above.   On the third morning the heart was gone again.  I built it again, just for the heck of it, to see what happens.

Rejuvenation

You'd laugh and think that I had lost my remaining marbles if you heard me talking to my dog in the privacy of our home or automobile.   But then, having heard other dog owners speak to their animals in public, often in baby voice which, incidentally, I don't use, I think I am not alone.

One time in the dog park, I saw an elegant lady standing about 15 feet from the water fountain, her dog 15 feet away from her in the same direction, that is 30 feet from the water,  inviting him to approach the water bowl: "Come Rocky, rejuvenate yourself!"

"Rejuvenate"?   What kind of dog was it to understand a four syllable word?  Did he understand, say, "reprehensible", or "anthropomorphic"?   In any case, while I was there, Rocky didn't come, preferring instead to continue his current activities.   Who knows, some people train their dogs to understand more than other dogs.  My dog understands plenty, probably more than I give him credit for.

In general, I believe than dogs know more about us than we'll ever know about them, even if they cannot express their knowledge in a language understandable to us.   Yet, there may be something more there.  Sometimes I suspect that dogs have a direct line to heaven, being innocent and sinless creatures.

Brit Slang

Some of Britain's obscure words compiled by the library:

Baffies -- slippers (east coast of Scotland)
Bishybarnabee -- ladybird (Norfolk)
Bobowler -- large moth (Birmingham)
Deff -- to ignore, split up, pack in, avoid (Birmingham)
Dodderman -- snail (Norfolk/Suffolk)
Gopping -- unattractive ( Manchester)
Guddle -- to rummage about (Northumberland and parts of Scotland)
Gurtlush -- the best ( Bristol)
On the box -- off sick from work (Black Country)
Ronking -- smelly, disgusting (Black Country)
Tittermatorter -- see-saw (Norfolk)
Tranklements -- ornaments (Black Country)

http://timesofindia.indiatimes.com/world/mad-mad-world/Now-a-database-of-Brits-weirdest-words/articleshow/9100005.cms