Happy days were here again. Almost. On her way to the shrine of plaudits, she paused. Quizzical thoughts and salty tears of long-lost joy. The sign that had caught her eye, she the one who made daisy chains for death row convicts and homemade chewing gum for the toothless ancients, read, ‘Henceforth and forthwith providing one is wearing sunglasses then naked cartwheeling across the desert’s soft sands will, once again, be permitted’. Excitement overwhelmed her very being for cartwheeling was her forte. That was three days previous. A Friday. Still she hadn’t taken up the option. Frantic, she’d looked everywhere, yet thus far no trace of her sunglasses in cupboards, drawers or even in the Christmas stocking under lock and key up in the spider-net central attic of impossible dreams. Should she go online and order new shades after all the high street had, long since, become a breezy yet thankfully not sneezy tumbleweed paradise?  A conundrum like no other.

In another part of town…that part where not so long ago red lights had a popular purpose…lived a lady of the night. These were the balmy days before regimented Cardinal Number’s claimed ‘one, two, three, four, five, once I caught a fish alive, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, then I let it go again’ as a cradle masterpiece, the melancholic señorita of abandoned consorts, seemingly stuck for life within a rococo whorehouse full of ripe memories, sought to befriend The Timekeeper. You see, The Timekeeper had never…not even once in his infinite life…taken a backward glance. ‘Onwards and upwards’ his maxim. He and she where much the same in that regard. The Timekeeper left redundant tick-tocks in his straight-line wake, for her part she made herself haphazardly scarce in the definable, yet hidden, chamber of horizontal counters predicting ‘profit and mainly, loss’, such was the way of courtesans come the tax return in a world of more goodbye’s than hello’s.

Ms Cartwheel would, as a matter of course, live by the rules. Señorita of Abandoned Consorts on grounds of scandalous inclination. By a twist of fate the pair found themselves in the company of each other before, the both of them in a state of bewilderment, the new sign permitting ‘naked cartwheeling across the desert sands’.

Señorita, turning her face of rouge patterns toward Ms Cartwheel, remarked, “I found this on March 9”.

“That’s today,” Ms Cartwheel’s perky riposte.

“I never leave the scarlet nunnery without a spare pair of sunnies. Shall we?”

“Why not.”

Ms Cartwheel found herself rather taken with Señorita of Abandoned Consorts, she her also. The rest is history.

Neither would ever know the world they left behind, nor its debatable manners, yet inside this revamped sphere one thing would never change. Pray what is that? Its name is ‘love’.


This post was triggered by chance by RESA  a diamond gal.  Should you not know her already, do visit her blog, a haven of all sorts of fasinating art.

blue eyed cat full print cover

Herewith the inevitable ‘Blurb’ for my latest book, a fictional story entitled ‘The Blue-Eyed Cat’;
‘A book of mind boggling time-travel, feverish sex, syrupy romance, ho hum history, a dark future, The Moon, Constantinople, Paris and Berlin, human consciousness, infinity, a tongue in cheek take on all things carnal, art for art’s sake and three thoroughly mad yet oh so delightful gals’
Should it take your fancy it can be found at;
I am not entirely sure of other Amazon global links and thus I apologize for not revealing them here.



8 thoughts on “‘I FOUND THIS ON MARCH 9’

  1. Ohh, I adore this!
    Wish I could cartwheel! No worries, as I have a slew of abandoned sunglasses that I can travel the sands with.
    TY for the shout out! I was on my way here a few days ago, but got lost in a pad of drawing paper and art supplies.
    It’s about time I felt like drawing, again.
    Funny thing about drawing; I feel great after I sketch, but I need to feel sketchy to draw.
    Fab bit of writing dear TOF!

  2. I found you in the ‘spam’! How strange. Your words amid a thousand nutters in the Spam Hotel for people who…for what ever reason…seek my email address. I’d never studied ‘spam’ previously. For example, one was a lass of ill repute requesting I do a little more than just follow her, another from an ex-military gay chap who wanted much the same as the lass of ill repute. I’ve never been in such demand. Most of the rest were money grabbing opportunists…boring ones, at that. How WP put you there one can only guess. As to the others who had commented on this post, Goddess only knows.
    ‘Feel sketchy’ the precursor of sketching. I understand that. I think the same applies in all art forms. Oh that I was feeling wordy this day. As ever, I and no doubt all your other followers, look forward to artwork on its way. Regards, TOF IN DEMAND

    1. TOF in Demand…… LOLOLOL.
      In demand in spam… kind of poetic, eh?
      Anyway, thank you so very much for fishing me out!

    1. My thanks, LuAnne. We have such an attic. It’s where my dear wife stacks away all the things I might seek from days of yore. Regards, The Old Fool

  3. The phrase “ripe memories” already brings so much to my door, but memories from a rococo whorehouse brings a flavor like no other. Yearning, pleasure, loss, tragedy. And yet, no regret…

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