Thursday, November 16, 2006

Missing Mary and the Elephant Tree


This city is getting to me. Usually there's Mary around to clear my head, or cloud it, but the recent herbal drought has gotten many of her companions jittery.
Stretch called on the weekend, voice twanging with nervous apprehension and anticipation.
"Doooood! I was in the neighbourhood and was wondering if it was possible to maybe, y'know, bum a joint offa you", much dismayed to learn off the lack of supply.
It's really living in the city that's getting to me.
After living out in PV with the ball court nearby, the chlorine-infested splasher next to it, eye candy for free, Mary down the road and around the corner....aaahh.
When self and the Sister moved out of there, dusted the rug on my floor round which many chillums were boomed and countless spliffs rolled and enough Mary rolled out for me to squeeze together half a tola!

Desperate for a toke, rambled by Meg's last weekend to bum a toke and ended up going home with half a T and a bottle of feni that Meg got back from the homeland.
Apple was there too, come by to pick up her bottle of port so we sat at the back and toked one before leaving. The back being a lane overlooking a disused Muslim graveyard.
We're sitting and smoking and Meg's waxing eloquent about beach bumming when a low moan from beyond the chicken-wire fence interrupts her ecstactic spiel and sends us scurrying for streetlights.

Back in PV, with just a five-foot hedge separating the basketball court from the local cremation
ground, weird shit was everyday. The court had orange lights on and we used to play at night in the winter.
The Beast, possibly the most fuckall ball player alive, chucked the ball at the backboard after missing possibly 300 straight shots and Mr Spalding flies past the fibreglass and into the darkness beyond the hedge. As per court rules, the chucker was also the retriever, so mumbling some Garwahli mantra under his breath, The Beast strode through the hedge to get the ball, picks it up and is backing out so as to not have his rear facing the silent mounds of ash and leftover bone, when he trips and lands flat into a fresh one. Sped out through the hedge with ash flying off his t-shirt, hair and shorts, jumped the wall, onto his mountain bike and we didn't see him for a week after.
This other time, we're all playing ball in the eveningtime when a group of white-clad villagers wend their way into the cremation ground with a newly-dead person on their shoulders and I tell you the smell of burning flesh wafting up your nose as you go up for a rebound isn't the most pleasant thing around.
We had a substantial number of canine pile-ons back then and my dad used to let them all out at night for a run around. We stayed pretty much down the lane and left from the cremation ground. Whenever someone was on their way to meet their maker, the pooches would come back with bits of toe, fingers, teeth and once two of them came home fighting over a head!
Well.. a skull really.
Took it to the biology teacher in the school next door and that's where it is still...preserved as a perfect speciemen!

DeGun and Satriani have moved in with the DJs-from-DownUnder, Pen and Sarah into a totally funky four-bedroom pad that overlooks the jungle in GK1. Went by there yesterday for the signing-of-lease-so-lets-get-drunk scene. Housewarming will probably happen later.
Shaggy's birthday today so the office is flooded with beer.... ahhhh high again naturally.

1 Comments:

Blogger jerry said...

cheers...

1:36 PM  

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