I’m a bad person.
When I see someone carrying recently made food I always visualise them dropping it. It’s just part of the human condition that other peoples failures are funny and there is nothing more spectacular than the cake drop.
The room fills with the aroma of freshly risen sponge.
The icing drips down the side.
And then it happens.
the shoe laces tangle.
The knees buckle.
And it goes flying through the air like a sweet vanilla projectile
The picture shows a typical incident. Edvard Munch’s “The Scream” can be seen. It is thought that the inspiration for the painting came from a similar incident that Munch experienced at his 5th birthday party.
People love schadenfreude, it goes all the way back to the earliest forms of comedy. English comedy is filled with slapstick.
Munch never truly recovered from the incident but he still managed to save some cake.
He lay with his greasy face against the cold laminate flooring after being dropped for the third time that morning.
He begged that he was not cracked, he had fallen at an odd angle.
Vertigo set in as a hand clamped around him and hastily lifted him from the floor. The fingerprints were wiped from his face by a shirt sleeve and he heard a sigh of relief, his screen was still intact.
Fingers smooshed his face once more as his user typed out a text.
He had been worried as of late, he had heard the rumours.
It was always discussed at this time of year, like clockwork, it panicked him immensely.
He hoped they were just rumours.
A new generation was coming.
He was being replaced.
His circuits buzzed as he daydreamed his demise in to the obsolete.
He thought he was special, irreplaceable, unique.
But the new phone was 0.6 inches bigger.
A technological revolution.
He placed himself on silent and hid behind the sofa cushions.
That’ll show ’em.
He hides a hard truth
A closet claustrophobic
He is irony
Haiku 5 – “Claustrophobia” by Art Artz
They stare up at him
Under the microscopes glare
His patient is cured
Haiku 6 – “Bacteri ummm…” by Art Artz
The hero prevails
He stretches faking a yawn
He’s a first date pro
Haiku 7 – “Teenage daters” by Art Artz
If there were no banks
Payday would be a nightmare
Get a bigger purse
Haiku 8 – “Making it rain” by Art Artz
The crab scuttles aimlessly across the wide open beach.
His icy blood is warmed by the harsh sun.
He snaps his claws together with bitter anguish, wishing for a more dexterous tool. A crustaceous Edward Scissorhands, his handshakes are never appreciated.
He was always bumping in to people in the street because he insisted on walking sideways and after all this stress, if things went badly, he might end up in one of those restaurant tanks like his cousin Barry.
It was a tough life.
At least there was always a castle to visit if he got bored…
Whenever i’m at a supermarket I always feel like i’m in the way.
Much like this elephant.
I just like looking at vegetables.
I mean how do you know your getting the best tomatoes for your money if you don’t peruse every tomato in the shop. There may be one tomato hiding at the bottom that’s the best tomato anyone has ever tasted.
Angry shoppers look at me like i’m an irritation, hindering their shopping experience. I just have a lot of time on my hands.
I get home and lay out my beautiful, plump, fresh vegetables.
They get home and weep over their unripe peaches.
“His work has changed my perception… of perception”
– Time Magazine
“After visiting his art exhibit I lay on the floor for 4 hours and wept”
“What is life?”
– National Geographic
These are just some of the reviews people would publish about me if my work was more popular. I wrote to Time magazine suggesting that they review my work but they did not respond.
I believe this is because of fear. Fear that if my work was to be distributed to a wider audience it might change things.
It may change the very make up of society.
Seriously though, they’re probably very busy.
I mean, I only sent a few letters, i’m sure i’ll get a reply soon.
Maybe they got lost in the mail.
…I’ll send another.
Thin Legs and Long Neck.
On The Decks A Vinyl Spins.
Dropping Some Sick Beats.
Haiku 1 – “The Stork” by Art Artz
The Cold Tarmac Rubs His Skin
A Short Dizzy Life.
Haiku 2 – “Wheels” by Art Artz
The Cement Binds Them.
But One Brick Wished He was Free.
His Friends Disapproved.
Haiku 3 – “Bricks” by Art Artz
His Arthritis Creaks.
Writing Down His Memories.
Haiku 4 – “Age” by Art Artz
The cats gather round as he approaches. He has the air of someone important about him and a glow to his fur that draws their eyes, even at this distance.
They know him well, he had been one of them. Just a simple alley cat. But he had made the big time.
He was a house cat.
Here for his annual return to his roots, complete with cat food gifts and endless tales of the high life. Regaling the rapidly growing crowd with stories of free food, sleeping on the sofa and unconditional love.
He epitomizes their hopes and dreams. An unattainable feline deity.
His presence runs a fine line between adoration and resentment.
An idolised celebrity.
And his fall from grace was all the more dramatic for it.
“Please no” the pencil murmurs as the sharpener rapidly approaches. “I’m small as it is…”
A nearby pencil case cackles cruelly at the pencil as it’s cries fall on deaf ears.
Oh how he wished to be a sharpie… those guys were so cool, with their ever lasting ink. His work could be brushed away with a simple rubber.
“it’s what’s inside that counts” His mother had always said, completely unaware of the irony. His grandfather had been Shakespeare’s pencil. He was just downright average. He just didn’t have the creativity of the rest of his family.
The sharpener slowly and cruelly shaved away another chunk of wood reducing his length ever more.
Forever under appreciated…
It seems odd that when you see a jogger out on the street you always assume they jog every day. I see a guy in full kit with his fluorescent trainers and just think that he’s a pro…
This obviously is not true, when i jog outside once in a blue moon, struggling for breath as I stumble across the streets of London, I think people see me as a pretender. In truth I probably get lumped in with the pros. I feel that this is unfair on them.
Because of this theory, i have taken to standing on street corners and breathing heavily while wearing full jogging attire. This way members of the public think I must be a marathon runner, or similar, pushing myself really hard. See below.
They probably just think i’m asthmatic…