by Nimrod and his Amazing Performing Brain
Strangeness and the Married Man was originally written in 1992 when I was but a wee lad in school. However, since then it has many a physical face-lift. From a crude printout on a crude word-processor to a suave booklet on a nifty word-processor. Now, it makes the leap onto the World-Wide Web.
Before attempting to read it I think it warrants a little background. It was written during my GCSEs (for non-Brits that's a General Certificate of Secondary Education). They were mostly written during boring History and Chemistry lessons (hence the tribute pieces preceding the Episodes themselves). Some where written in other lessons too. They were written for the hell of it -- with no reason. I was experimenting with the language and was very much free-writing -- writing the first things that came into my head and thought little of what was going to happen next. Therefore the work is very much a scattered affair with little continuity. Written episodically each episode was designed to fit no more than two sides of the note-book I was using (yes, I was using pen and paper -- that old thing). And were written as suggested -- one at a time.
The original booklet that was circulated under the title Strangeness and the Married Man contained poems in between the Episodes (also some haphazard experiments -- the best of which survived). In the last face-lift of '94 I seperated the poems into a seperate booklet of its own. Therefore, the part that takes the leap onto the Internet is the abridged version of the originally titled Strangeness and the Married Man. This is the chief reason for the Foreword being an unrelated poem under the pseudonym of Zephnik (which later became a standard for the following two Episodes that made the trilogy).
I do not claim this work to be a masterpiece and I make no excuses for it. It is by far the strangest thing I have written (with the exception of a couple of stranger poems). You will either love it or you will hate it. I have not met anyone yet who has been indifferent about it. But I would appreciate any comments about it.
Nimrod Jones, May 1997
Beware the Ballowites and Gobbledaks, Most feared among the Hobbledash, Who live in the Goron Wood and feed on the fruit Of the Gelgary Bush.
Gone now are the Filgamies due to the Terror of the Ballowites, Fearless and strong unless A mouldy aubergine gives fright To that creature related to the foul And horrid Gobbledak only by a plum.
Your average Gobbledak is savage And is not to be reckoned with Unless applying the fear of old age.
Dagarons and Fignars Go gishbing through with avant-gardes But the Ballowites and the Gobbledaks Put the fear of Bob in the Hobbledash.
When I sit down I can't help my eyes but wander to the walls of the room and the pictures on it. There is a picture that catches my interest, it is of a Viking battle and is titled 'JORVIK'. There is a kangaroo in it -- or, at least, I see a kangaroo. In its pouch it carries a giraffe, on the giraffe's head is a bluebird. The bluebird is merrily singing all of Mozart and Beethoven's movements (including the percussion). On the head of the kangaroo is a turtle with four mice and a hedgehog riding it (I bet they never mentioned that in the history books). I tend to let my mind wander, occasionally, back to a certain period. I was once an aeroplane pilot for the Aram-Pio (a group of vigilantes who were never successful enough even to get noticed). I flew over Japan during World War Two and dropped a marrow on the head of a businessman. What a mistake. Later the businessman gave up selling Samurai hair-clips and developed a new form of attack. Kamikaze. Meanwhile, an anaconda bit my toe forcing me to accidentally release the highly explosive blue tomatoes. It certainly made a mess of Japan. The businessman recovered and kneed me in the groin, but I refused to feel any pain. Much to my brain's disappointment. Instead I dropped anothermarrow on his head. Just to spite him. History can, indeed, be very boring. Pink elephants stormed the classroom one day (totally by surprise, no-one even heard them enter until it was too late), bellowing at the very tops-and bottoms-of their voices. The black board said: "Why don't you use the banana?" I did. It was a shame to waste such a good banana, but some things you just have to sacrifice sometimes. Someone knocked on the inside of my skull. Coffee? I thought for no apparent reason. The table got tired and went to have a kip. I really wish it hadn't, my bag was on it at the time. But, thankfully, the chair only decided to sit down. There is a picture in the room that catches my eye. It is of a stain glass window. And when I look at it I can't help but wonder what exactly it is that the messiah is doing to that woman.
The strange purple acid I have in my conical flask looks jolly tasty. But I dare not try it because a shot gun threatens me with a sawn-off human. I am terrified. I try to hide it, but my brain has the privilege of knocking my knees. There is a sign that reads: "DO NOT SWITCH OFF FAN. HAZARDOUS FUMES." But it is very rare that I actually feel it on, considering I sit right under it. Something inside me wants to get out. Coffee? I think for no apparent reason. A bright magnesium flare goes off and in the bright white light is a green voice that tells me that acid is a refreshing drink and an ancient delicacy that should be served, chilled, at exactly 10°C (with ice). A refreshing drink? I thought and added the ice (which made a strange sizzle). Considering I had no throat left it was a nice drink - a bit dry however - I put the big hole in my chest down to the kick you get from these sort of drinks. Acid, in fact, tastes very much like vodka. That would explain it.
Terrified, sweating, I woke. It had all been a dream. Or, at least, I thought it was until I opened my eyes and looked up at the floor. I got out of bed and drew back the curtains to reveal a day that promised to be clear. But do you believe everything the day says? I went down to the attic for breakfast. It is strange that I do not remember the picture on the wall of a woman with no face, smiling contently. When I entered the kitchen the rich aroma of cold porridge entered my nostrils, got my taste buds exited, left my mouth watering as, in defiance, they left as there was no porridge at all. The aroma laughed at my face. I took the red clown's nose off and the laughing stopped. Something was missing from the breakfast table. Coffee? I thought for no apparent reason. I left the house in a ditch behind a bush for me to pick up later and set of for school in a hurry. Only when I got to the gates did I realise that there was no school today. Instead was a pile of horse manure. Talk about growing children. I kicked a stone out of boredom. It kicked me back. A voice in my head told me that I shouldn't stand for that sort of thing. So I sat down. It was going to be one of those days.
I didn't catch the train to Cardiff. The net wasn't strong enough. While waiting for the next train I had enough time to pop round to Japan. My first stop was at a little known area called Kowa-Ta-Tnampokoi (Great- Green-Gherkin-Of-Desperation-That-Once-Belonged-To-A-Mighty-Samurai-Warrior- That-Ate-His-Lunch-Here-And-Dropped-It). I was walking down one of the back streets when I heard a voice. "Pst!" it said. I turned to where the voice had come from but could see nothing apart from a batch of sharks' fins. "Get me out of here," whispered one of the fins. "I'm going to be eaten." "Yeah! And me!" cried another one. All the sharks' fins began shouting: "Me! Get me out!" A surprisingly big Japanese cook came out followed by a very angry businessman. I had a horrible feeling of deja vu and hit him with a marrow. A grasshopper chopped at my shoulder and hit a nerve that caused a muscle spasm that ended with a melon somewhere quite uncomfortable. The sharks' fins' cage got broken and they began to attack the cook. A cuckoo flew past my head and whispered in my ear: "The sun sets over the horizon but it is a wiser man that keeps the television in his living- room instead of the edge of the world." Coffee? I thought for no apparent reason. It was when the frogs went on strike and the snakes skinned the cucumbers that I got on my train and hid in the toilet to avoid paying the fare.
Something inside me forced itself out. Plop, I thought for an apparent reason. "Excuse me," said a voice that I had not expected to hear. A voice that I wish I hadn't heard. A voice grittier than Bob Geldof's stubble. A voice that continued to speak: "You're sitting in my place," it said. I turned to confront the source of the voice -- a six foot dung beetle. I was not afraid of any insect. I couldn't careless if it was eight foot. My brain begged differ. If it had eight feet it would be a spider and, although I personally am not, my brain is terrified of spiders. "Blackpool!" I cried. The beetle buckled up in pain and horror over came it. It ran for its life but was not quick enough to avoid the turnip. The toilet paper was obviously recycled. I got up and hit my head on the bamboo. I preferred not to use the carbon towel in the dispenser so I washed and dried my hands with a parrot. Coffee? I thought for no apparent reason. A platypus in uniform stopped me. "Tickets," it said. "No," I replied. "I really wish people would get my name right," I added as I got off the train. Maybe I should have waited for the train to stop moving first. Tumbling head over heels I landed on a cloud. Talk about being high. There was no doubt, however, that this was not cloud nine. It was numbered '12 - The Grove'.
"Good morning. We've been expecting you." The old man who spoke looked not a day under 10,351,152. He wore pink flared trousers, a bright black (with dark white polka dots) shirt with an interesting paisley kipper. He also wore a jellyfish. He invited me in. His wife was a table. I sat down on a chair that looked strangely like a sparrow. "Cup of plum?" he asked, conversationally. "Yes," I replied. It sounded promising. He gave me a glass with parsley in it. "Sugar?" he asked. "Two!" He dropped in two rhinos. "Milk?" "Yes, please." He threw in a liquidated slush that looked vaguely like a dustbin. "What's your name?" I asked him. "Hughy," he said. "Yes," I said. "That's understandable." "HUGHY!!!" I called, and threw him. Coffee? I thought for no apparent reason. I quickly ran out of the house via the lion, the ceiling and the computerised cowpat. I leaped into the purple lamborghini, hoisted the sail and weighed the anchor. It weighed 5 tons. A voice in my head said: "What how are in trouble you feel that I don't but you see help how about maybe improvisation or not perhaps pull sail the now!" I understood it perfectly.
The next morning I woke in the waste paper basket. It had been a hectic day last night. After escaping in the purple Lamborghini it turned into a potato and I decided to go home to bed. A rabbit asked me the way to the pharmacist. I wonder why? I skipped breakfast and danced lunch and left the house early late at night. The street was all hazy. I saw an orange car. The owner was a snail. The sun set over the northern horizon. Strange, I thought, I could have sworn it set in the south. A green-haired orang-utan stopped me in the street and offered to buy me a drink. I followed him into a bar called 'The Mangoes' Rest'. He bought me a bloody Mary on the rocks. He spoke to me while I carefully picked the bones and organs from my drink. "Bloody Mary!" I heard the barman say. The peanuts marched into formation. The salt of life. The colonel looked pretty strict so in one swift movement I swept him up and popped him in my mouth. What a waste of life. But a tasty waste. "You're not from around here. Are you, boy?" I was asked by a strange presence behind me. I turned and was confronted by a strange presence. I noticed a tortoise with a cigar in his mouth. "No," I replied hesitantly. The tortoise sat down next to me. A yellow bear came in and almost sat on him. "Watch where you're putting your butt, you stupid ass!!!" cried the tortoise. The bear moved on. "Listen, boy. I'm gonna give you a golden opportunity," said the terrapin. "A proposition the size of Jupiter," he added. Can't be all that big, I thought. Jupiter is very small. Only the size of a pea at arms length. No bigger than the stars in the sky. "Can you drive a car, boy?" he asked me. "No," I replied, trying to hide the confusion in my voice. My brain almost beat me to my mouth but I held fort and resisted the temptation to ask him, "Why?" "Good," he said. He took me outside and showed me a sleek magenta Rolls Royce. "Drive it!" he commanded in a voice that would make a bank clerk look like a jelly fish (which are, believe it or not, extremely good at giving orders). Coffee? I thought for no apparent reason. I got in. Panicked. I got out. Panicked (as I fell down an open manhole). I awoke under water. And much to my surprise I heard, " ".
I heard bagpipes. As the sound moved nearer I found that my first assumption was an inaccurate misjudgement on my behalf. It was, in fact, an octopus. Coughing, spluttering and gasping for air I was pulled out of the water. The iron grip around my waist up to my chest relaxed and dropped me one foot to the rubble below. As the ground raced up to meet me and the rushing air froze my face my heart stopped and I could not breathe. My life flashed before my eyes. Sometimes I wish it hadn't, I had lived my life and there were a lot of things I wanted to forget. I didn't want to re-live them. Coffee? I thought for no apparent reason. A pumpkin whizzed past me. "Good morning," it said. "Surely not," I replied. "Why ever not?" it asked. I told him my name. "I am terribly sorry," it apologised. "What are you doing all the way up here?" I asked. "I'm not," it said. "I'm on the ground." The ground introduced itself: "Hello, I'm the ground." I quite rudely ignored. The ground really isn't something you want to meet. But the ground announced its presence. I looked up, unscathed, at the building before me. Seeing that I was all right it left me to look after myself. "I thought you were a gonner then, boy," said the tortoise. "Clifford's the name," he said. "Clifford Heidelberg." He stuck out an aubergine. "Welcome to the team. You've got yourself a job."
The next day I turned up at the office late. The office was in an aquarium in a back street, four stories up. "I'm glad you're on time," said Clifford as I strolled in three and a half hours late. "Always good to start your first day on time," he added. "I've got a major deal about to go and I need you to do some research for me." He sat me down at a salt cellar then at a computer. "It's all on a file called, 'MD-1*3'. Good luck," he said as he left the room. I typed in the command and the computer told me to do something (I'd rather not repeat it). You would never think a computer could come up with something like that. Coffee? I thought for no apparent reason. I hit the screen hard with my hand then wished I hadn't as I broke my leg. Despite popular belief, computers are very much alive. And this proved it. In an instant I came face to face with the mind of the machine. Computers are, believe it or not, quite ugly. The computer spoke to me in the monotonous monotonic way that computers do. It came to a word it did not recognise, looked it up in its dictionary and listed the alternatives. It gave up and hit me with a courgette. I really wish it hadn't. I don't like courgettes.
After work I went down to 'The Mangoes' Rest' to have a drink with the green orang-utan. "A bloody Mary on the rocks," I told the barman. "Sorry, mate," he said. "Right out of Marys. Got some Annes and Susans if you want." "Okay," I said. "A bloody Susan on the rocks." The orang-utan spoke to me but I was only half listening. I was watching the flamingo play pool with the pink giraffe. But I wasn't concentrating on their game though, I was remembering how I had escaped the computer. I bit it. Computers don't like bites. Although they have been known to nibble a bit. But I was only half thinking about that, I was considering my job with Clifford Heidelberg. But I was only partially considering it, I was more interested in what the orang-utan was saying. A voice in my head told me that in the beginning was a potted plant and in the end would be -- It was rudely interrupted by a thought: Gooseberries. The voice continued. It told me of my life and then it told me of death. Do you want to die? it asked me. I don't know, I thought. Never tried it. I'm told it's a bit like a sardine. Coffee? I thought for no apparent reason. Water, I was told, is partially solid.
I didn't bother going to work the next day. I rung up and told them that I'd quit. Then I rung the correct number and told them I'd quit. I hit the trouser press with a broomstick I had been growing for 12 years with a prune and some citric acid. The broomstick snapped and sprouted sprouts. The sprouts fell over the floor and smashed it, revealing -- underneath the floorboards-a teacup. Coffee? I thought for no apparent reason. "Hi," said a lemon. "Good Evening," I said. "How are you?" it said. "About five foot eight," I said. "My name's Jack," said the lemon, introducing itself. I refused to tell it my name. "Bibliography!" I cried, threateningly. "Glue!" cried Jack in defence. I hesitated as I came to a sticky situation. Jack threw a beetroot in my direction. I ducked just in time and it swanned past me. However, it spat at me and the beetroot stained my kiwi. "Herring!" I cried. But this one was beige. "I give up," sighed Jack. A polyfiller is a replacement for a parrot.
I cried out in anger as I found myself in a mushroom. On a low table on the wall was a small bottle saying: PUT ME IN A CUPBOARD AND FORGET ABOUT ME UNTIL ONE DAY FOR SOME STRANGE REASON UNBEKNOWNST TO YOURSELF YOU DECIDE TO CLEAN IT OUT AND THINK: O GOSH I NEVER KNEW I HAD THIS AND DRINK ME. Underneath was a small plate with some small bite sized cakes on it. There was a small piece of paper next to it saying: DO YOU HONESTLY AND TRULY TRUST APPEARANCES? I figured I didn't. "But who?" said a mysterious voice. I dared not answer. A gnome approached me. "And what is your business within?" she said. "Pardon?" I replied. "My name's Mags actually!" "I'm sorry," I apologised. "Over there," she said and pointed to a door at the end of the room. I walked over to it, picking up a bar of gold on the way. I opened the door and stared into the dank room. There was someone in the room. "Well?" it said. I gave it the bar of gold. It added it to its hat. I watched the ercu eyes as they watched me. "Milk?" it asked. Coffee? I thought for no apparent reason. It was then that I noticed it. I had thought of coffee for a very apparent reason this time. There in front of me was what my life had been building up to. The moment I had been destined for. At last the secrets of the universe and the meaning to my life were about to be revealed to me. I cautiously approached the steaming mug. Then . . . I drank the coffee. It needed a bit more sugar.
The End?
© Copyright Nimrod Jones 1992, 1994, 1997