Stories and Paintings
Ronald Guitar was born in Little Rock, Arkansas in 1942. The youngest of seven children, Ronald stood out among his siblings as a gifted child, and one with a massive, pineapple-shaped birthmark on his left cheek. His father, Herman, was an angry tennis coach with long hair. His mother, Ethel, was a cake decorator... Continue Reading →
In the games room, we huddled together as Rory laid out the strategy for the final assault. Basically, the Rorys and I would turn left at the top of the stairs, while Ezra would go right. Then it was just a matter of killing everyone we encountered. “Castor oiler,” said Ezra. (It wasn’t “Castor... Continue Reading →
There was some mild applause from the crowd. I held down a soft D major chord, making an unattractive key change from the B-flat I had been playing during the introduction. LaShawn brought in a steady rhythm on the hi-hat cymbals. Budgie gave one of the tuning knobs on his guitar a hearty random... Continue Reading →
The combination of the crowd’s rapturous cheering and the overpowering green glare of an overhead stage light had me momentarily stupified. Lifting my hand to shield my eyes, I found my way behind Budgie’s guitar amp and to the keyboard. I adjusted the microphone stand in front of me. On the keyboard’s electronic display,... Continue Reading →
With speed and precision that would impress any seasoned roadie, Rory and Budgie rushed back and forward between the garage and the stage in the backyard, moving in total six amplifiers, three guitars, two distortion pedals, two microphones, two microphone stands, one keyboard, one keyboard stand, a five-piece drum kit, four cymbals, one drum... Continue Reading →
Ten minutes passed in our small concrete fortress. The air was stuffy. Sweating my arse off under the afternoon sun had gifted me a noticeably stale aroma. Even Rory, usually anointed with a subtle touch of top-shelf aftershave, now had a whiff of old cheese about him. It added an extra unpleasantness to an... Continue Reading →
It is dark. A rumble, like that from a passing semi-trailer, jolts my spine. Distant echoes of a thunderclap trail off. Red stars dance above. A crack pierces the air; light flashes. I squeeze my eyes shut, then open them. My lungs strain for breath. Things take shape. Glistening raindrops dart at... Continue Reading →
Budgie’s return, less than twenty-four hours after infiltrating New Zealand’s worst prison, surprised us all. After a whirlwind of shouts, cheers, bear hugs and high fives, we gave him enough space to set his case down, take off his jacket and loose his flowing locks from the absurdly oversized man-bun he had worn on... Continue Reading →
After LaShawn talked me through the plan to overthrow New Zealand’s communist regime, he went back out to the shed to check on the brisket. In the games room, I played some pool by myself, and then had a look through Budgie’s record collection. Budgie reckoned you couldn’t truly appreciate a song unless you... Continue Reading →
When I was a child I loved going to Mr Herbert's music shop. It was filled with the most wonderful sounds. Saturday mornings I would go with my sister and ask Mr Herbert to show us a new instrument. He would play for us and then let us have a turn. Or he would just... Continue Reading →
