15 Jun 2008

Ms Desperately Seeking and Mr Upwardly Mobile.

 Ms Desperately Seeking and Mr Upwardly Mobile.

Ms Desperately Seeking contacted Mr Upwardly Mobile via telephone. She, a teacher of the English language in the empty space where the midlands mining community once stood; He, still reeling from a head on collision with a hermetically sealed family of four and their cunningly booby-trapped daughter of a lunchbox.

Ms Desperately Seeking Someone made the first call, that’s how these things work. Mr Upwardly Mobile Sought-After, decided on the place. “But how shall I know you?” “Oh, in these situations, people always spot each other”. And so, the date was made; a try anything once, smart but casual distraction to help ease the pain of solitary living. And why not?

But what to wear? Ms Desperately Seeking decided on her off-white, trouser-legged, one-piece, zip-up jump suit, designed for maximum coverage and protection in sensual combat, whilst concealing the self-conscious economy sized legs that matched the paintwork of her economy sized teacher-mobile, the latter for which she had saved the original box knowing it would be worth more to collectors one day.

Mr Upwardly Hopeful, but horizontally inclined, elected for white shirt freshness with a pair of snug but subtle fit black cords; a naughty but nice mixed message of opposing tones. Blame it on the Boogie. “Do you come here often?” He was about to find out.

Whatever happened to conversation? Whatever happened to butterfly hands in hands on the first walk home? Whatever happened to under street lamp embraces? First time tastes of a stranger’s lips? And more to the point, whatever happened to the coffee he had made her?

Ms Desperately Seeking Action suddenly swept up and set aside their two cups and plate of custard creams with gingers, as if the FBI were about to raid a Casino and all evidence of gambling had to be concealed. Stooping to place said culinary delights on the not-a-drop-was-spilt carpet, she took a deep breath and began to consolidate her position against his lower regions, rapidly breaching the black cord zipper wall of defence about his thighs.

Mr Upwardly Mobile, now more upward than was even usual, froze like a rabbit in her head lights; a water buffalo staggering under the inevitable conclusion of the lioness fangs. Looking down from this position, he saw no point in even attempting a reciprocal advance against her trouser-legged one-piece. He had thought another custard cream might have been nice, and suspected a crumb still lingered on his lip, but concluded it was probably uncool to wipe it off right at this moment. Just sit back and think of Scotland. Take it like a Clan.

Ms Desperately Gasping for Air soon emerged from his lower regions, pleased and smiling from her inspection of the goods before making a purchase. Grading things as teachers are won’t to do, she awarded it a 10. Then, deftly pinning her prey with one arm whilst reaching for the gingers with the other, she extended him the plate:

“I’ve been wanting to do that all evening. Would you like another biscuit? Take your mind off it for a few minutes?”


All text copyright ian gordon craig.



47

 




I’ve always wanted to pursue Abstract Art. To this end I decided on an experiment: Make 47 images, one per day, all related via an underlying “gold ratio” grid, the latter intending to provide some parameters in which to experiment. The above shows 12 of the 47 results. 

All artwork & text copyright Ian G Craig