Venerdì, 04 Giugno, 2004 | Posted by Lionel Gerkin at 20:21

I can't get it through my head. They have told me today that they have placed Marie into a mental institute. Why would they do that? I could look after her. I would know what to do. I have always taken care of her. Unlike her natural father I have always loved her.

I can't get it through my head.

Sabato, 05 Giugno, 2004 | Posted by Detective Stevens at 13:12

Over the last few days we've had a young buck tagging along with us. Name is Vernon. Early 20's. Thought he'd just tag along almost as work experience. Head office thought they'd throw him our way for a week or so.

It's wonderful in this business to see enthusiasm on the face, to see the look in the eyes when you apprehend someone for a crime, and you never forget the heave of the lunch when you see your first dead body.

After a couple of years you become hardened to it all. The lunch stays down and looking over a murder scene has proven to be quite thirsty work. Well any way, it's one way of forgetting what you have just seen and getting the smell out of your nostrils.

This one we looked at today, was particularly bad. The deceased was a male in his late 30's. First shot in the head, then run over by what looked like a large heavy vehicle. His guts had burst through his stomach, his head had been crushed. The smell was awful. He'd obviously been there a couple of days and it seemed that the local stray dogs and cats had feasted on his leftovers.

Vernon had come along. We're not allowed to bring people like Vernon, but he had insisted and it was a long way back to the station, so I gave in. I saw the look on his face. Everyone has seen thousands of deaths on television. Every cop show has at least one, but nothing prepares you for it. The scariest reality show on earth. You could see the blood draining from Vernon's face. I walked over to hold him up and take him back to the car.

As I approached the stench hit me. I was prepared for it, unfortunately Vernon wasn't. Up it came, a Big Mac, large fries and a large Coke. Thankfully he hadn't take the upsize offer, or it would have continued for some time longer. It lay all before him. If you reached down, you could have pieced the whole thing together and saved it for dinner.

I didn't mentioned that to Vernon. Didn't think it was appropriate at the time.

At teh end of his week I sat down with him. I thought it had been a good week. He seemed to like it. I had enjoyed the mentoring experience and thought I had done everything to show him the good side of the job. I thought I had been a good role model. I had hoped that something had been learnt by the young fellow that would hold him in good stead no matter what career path he was to take with the force.

So I asked him the question, "Well, Vernon, what do you want to do as a career?" I had hoped it would be Detective, or Senior Sargent, or something where he could put what I had taught him into practice.

He looked at me and said, "I want to be a DJ." I must have looked stunned, because he felt he had to elaborate just in case I didn't know what he meant. "A DJ, a Disk Jockey, music, dance, you know?"

Domenica, 06 Giugno, 2004 | Posted by Marie Sven Gerkin at 19:58

The world is made up of crazy people. I'm sure of it. I know as I work in a crazy place. They have given me a job here in this mad house, to see if I can help people. I have told them I will have no effect. I can't help anyone. Not after what I have seen and what I have heard.

But they still placed me here.

Okay, so what's crazy? Most people will probably think it's someone who has lost their marbles. It's not. We don't really have marbles, so how can we lose them? That would indicate and inability to think straight. I have to tell you everyone in this place thinks straight. They know why they are here. Julia keeps telling me that she has an itch. She has had an itch for 30 years. It's just above her knee. She knows this, she is not crazy.

The dictionary says crazy means:

Possessed by enthusiasm or excitement: The crowd at the game went crazy.
Immoderately fond; infatuated: was crazy about boys.
Intensely involved or preoccupied: is crazy about cars and racing.
Foolish or impractical; senseless: a crazy scheme for making quick money.

This all says to me someone with an intensity for life. That's me. My intensity for life has become so great that I can see the blood on my hands. It's there every morning. I try to hide it, but can't. It just won't wash off. I wash and wash most days up to 100 times a day, but it just won't go away.

I don't want the other crazy people to see this, so I wear gloves all the time. It makes it very hard to eat and wiping your bum can prove to be a real nightmare. But there you have it. I have tried everything.

It's even hard to type this with gloves. It takes a long time to make every entry, and those crazy people in this place just won't let me be. I can feel my hands itching. I need to wash my hands. I need to stop.

Lunedì, 07 Giugno, 2004 | Posted by Uncle Jozef at 20:14

It's a big, full moon tonight. I sit here and just look at the wonder of it. I wonder what Neil Armstrong thought as he stepped on the surface. Did he believe it was really happening or did he think it was just a dream?

Did he wake up in a sweat?

His mate on that day was Buzz Aldrin. Buzz's main memory was of:

"...The surface of the moon was like fine talcum powder. It was very loose at the top. As you begin to get deeper, a half inch or so, it becomes much more compact, almost as if it's cemented together, though it isn't. It just seems that way because there are no air molecules between the molecules of dust. When you put your foot down in the powder, the boot print preserved itself exquisitely."

That amazing trip. And what he remembers is the way that the dust preserved something for life. Buzz along with Neil are preserved for life, their footprint has left its imprint for ever. Up there, up there on the moon.

Funny, it's not like Hollywood Boulevard. People can't exactly walk past it and look down and wonder at it. You can have your photo taken in front of Neil's footprint in moon dust. It's just crazy isn't it. What is the point of being famous and no one can really see what has been done.

It's funny, it's just funny.

Martedì, 08 Giugno, 2004 | Posted by Lionel Gerkin at 16:50

It was the wings I always remember. She kept them well hidden, but I would sneak a peek early in the morning. She would always rise before me. She stood there in the early morning light, her eyes peeking through the heavy sleep and she would stretch.

Some day, when I'm awfully low,
When the world is cold,
I will feel a glow just thinking of you
And the way you look tonight.

I remember the distinct sound of her wings. It was like the snap of an umbrella opening. Not that she ever used them, even though she couldn't exist without them. I would peak through the sheets trying to make sure she couldn't see me.

She would open the blind slowly and the sun would rush in foolishly, trying to see what was going on. It would wrap itself around her until she glowed and you could feel a warmth spread through the room, even on the coldest mornings.

She looked quickly around on one such morning. She caught me looking. I quickly clutched my eyes closed.

I slit an opening to see where she was and if she was still watching. I found her face only centimeters from mine. The glow of her skin was magical. Her wings were outstretched and fluttered. I could see their shadow against the wall. Quickly I snapped shut my eyes again. I felt her warm breath on my cheek as her lips pressed against it with a kiss.

Yes you're lovely, never, ever change
Keep that breathless charm.
Won't you please arrange it?
'Cause I love you
Just the way you look tonight.

I didn't want to open my eyes again. I didn't want the scene to disappear. I wanted it to be there always.

Domenica, 13 Giugno, 2004 | Posted by Detective Stevens at 13:54

I am an early morning riser. It's hard in winter. Not only is everyone still asleep, but so is the day. It's still dark. And it's always cold. My normal routine is to get up, go down to the local 7Eleven, buy the paper, read it over coffee, then shower and head off to work.

I remember this particular morning. A new Korean family had just taken over the 7Eleven. I said hello as I entered the brightly lit premises. I picked up the paper and looked through the magazines. I particularly like PC Mags, and quickly ferret through the stand to see if any of my favorites have a new issue. I rarely buy one as it's hard to read at this time of the morning and I didn't have my glasses. It's actually a lot easier to see the scantily clad females that adorn the "girlie" magazines right next to the PC Mags.

I heard the little Korean lady laugh loudly following a comment from her husband. I happened to be the only person in the store. In these cases I always assume the person is laughing at me. She was probably laughing at the overweight, balding man in a badly fitting track suit walking up and down the aisles.

Okay, it was laughable. Why is it that the most unfit and overweight people across the entire world are the ones wearing track suits? As if the very act of wearing them will make them fit and trim. We're a sorry lot.

I went up to pay for my paper. The Korean lady smiled broadly. There wasn't a mean streak in her body.

But again I heard her laugh stab me from behind as I walked toward the door to exit the premises. There was one of those circular mirrors that distorts everything but provides a 180 degree view.

I had thought I was alone, but wasn't. In the reflection I saw a male, approximately 185 cm tall, black hair tied into a pony tail at the back. I could not see his face. As he walked down the aisle, I caught the glint of metal that peeked out from the leg bottom of his pants and strapped to his ankle.

I stepped outside. I waited patiently. There was no movement. There were no shadows that rushed across walls or towered over cowered bodies. Today's over lit environments prevent all the drama of a hollywood film noir.

After a few minutes, I decided to go back and see if everything was okay. I could see no one at the counter, but at this time of the morning I assumed that they were stacking shelves and talking about the fat, bald guy in the track suit. I looked around, but couldn't see anyone stacking anything.

I walked in carefully. I approached the counter area. A bank of security cameras that I could see in the adjoining room showed no movement. The only thing I could see was an open cash register and a trail of blood that was slowing making its way across the floor. It was taking its time. No hurry. There was no rush.

Life however, wasn't so accommodating. From where it once existed only a few minutes before, it had now disappeared. Made a convenient departure. Escaped, if you like. Disappeared like the person who had also been here.

That had been my first encounter with Jesus Miguel Luis Rodriguez. That was a few years ago now, but I have recalled it recently when a new Korean family took over the 7Eleven. I heard the wife laugh. She was petite and with a warm face. It must have been that goddam track suit.

Lunedì, 14 Giugno, 2004 | Posted by Lionel Gerkin at 14:17

I often catch the train to work. The Dance Factory is in a busy part of town where there is little or no car parking. I was walking to the station when I noticed it.

There was a small squeal that was coming from it as it fluttered madly. It was a bird. A sparrow that was badly wounded. It flapped its wings wildly. It was probably wondering why it couldn't get back up into the air. Up high where it belonged.

Imagine, being free one moment and totally helpless the next. Nothing ever prepares you for this kind of thing.

I stopped for a few seconds and then kept going. My train would almost be pulling into the station.

From behind I could hear the flapping, it was useless. There was a desperation that would continue until the poor bird was completely exhausted.

I have never done this, but I found myself walking back. I stood over the bird. I picked up a rock. I would kill it with one blow and that would be the end of it. I'd put the poor bugger out of its misery.

I looked around, I didn't know what anyone seeing me do this would actually think. I held the rock high, took special aim and let drop with all my might. I heard the thump of rock against body.

The bird flapped wildly.

It didn't want to let go of life.

I struck again. Again, there was the sound of a dead object striking life. I must have weighed a hundred times heavier than that bird, but the effect was the same.

Life is difficult to eradicate with one blow. It's doesn't die easily.

I took another deep breath. Again I lifted the rock and struck and struck and struck.

The flapping continued, and then subsided and then stopped. It stopped. Finally. Thank god.

I felt sick. I understood where the pit of my stomach was right then. I could feel it.

I had killed the bird. I had stopped its life. I hoped I had done the right thing. I hoped so from the pit of my stomach.

Mercoledì, 16 Giugno, 2004 | Posted by Marie Sven Gerkin at 07:31

I met a girl who wasn't there
She wasn't there again, today

I wish she'd go away.

I met a girl who wasn't there
She wasn't there again, today

I wish she'd go away.

I wish ...

Lunedì, 28 Giugno, 2004 | Posted by Detective Stevens at 07:19

Don't get me wrong, I'm sure there are a lot of people who believe that the Recoder is a fine instrument. One deserving of great praise.

Even the great George Frederic Handle wrote a Concerto for Recorder. I suppose that back in the 18 century there wasn't much else to do on a Saturday night.

Well, call me old fashioned but the recorder has been known to bring tears to my eyes. It has also known to turn my stomach and completely give me the shits. Go to any end of term school concert and there you'll hear it.

"Mums and dads, and carers", I was there to see my niece, so I suppose I fell into the latter category of the School Principal's introduction. "The opening number is that well known recent hit called sdiooppoiu."

"What, what did he say?" I had missed the name of the well known recent hit and I knew this was dangerous. I know a lot of well known recent hits. I just have no idea why you would want to play them on the Recorder.

"Greensleeves" is about it. Even then at a push. But throw a Brittany Spears or a Madonna at the instrument and you have an instrument of death. It becomes a WMD (Weapon of Mass Destruction). Even a Barry Manilow number would sound worse than it already does.

Hey, just suck it in and get on with it. I was there to see Jemma. She was great. Maybe one day I could be bold enough to find someone who could help me raise a child as vibrant and vivacious as my niece.

I was also there to keep a close eye on Jesus who was there with Silvia to see Marie's school concert.

His gold tooth shone and sent reflections across the walls of the old church where the Concert was being held. When he smiled it lit up the room with its deadly glow. It also shone on Silvia, sitting next to him quietly, observing her daughter, proud of her use of the Recoder, playing that song that I hand't heard the name of and no one could tell me what it sounded like.

Silvia had the presence that you just couldn't hide. She would walk into the room and the lights shone that bit brighter. Your eyes met and it felt as if she knew you, as if she was communicating with you from across the room. As if she was looking into your soul. You had to look away for fear of what she might see.

The parents applauded furiously at the end of the song. So did I. It seemed that everyone was really pleased that the well know recent hit had finished and they were showing their appreciation.