Trigger's Brush

Mental health funding is being cut in the UK.
"You've got the stress of the exams, you've got the stress of the bullying together. Young people find it easier to hide behind a computer screen and they can do whatever they want."
-A victim of bullying who came out the far side now training to be a counsellor at 19, speaking on C4 news.

You ever notice how bullies try to turn something into a trigger for their victims? Inflict someone to an hour of bagpipes to induce a fear of Scots, for instance.
PUT IT AWAY, yeh dirty aul bully!


My idea is an abusive father who sits in front of his toddler child in his high chair. And he just repeats "Mind...the gap!" over and over, and slaps the kid in the face. Two decades later, after getting away from it all, the son has rising anxiety on the London tube when he hears the same repetitive announcement. And he has no idea why he's having the panic attack.

AN EARLY CHILDHOOD CHAPTER 28 PART 1: OUT ON THE LAM



Continued from Chapter 27.
In my day, if you were self-medicating as a teen because of your “issues”, your parents wouldn’t hold an intervention. Instead, what they’d do is pretend you had a mental condition that was worse than the problems you were already facing, and they'd keep pecking at you like a pair of eejits over the course of years and years, when really - in all fairness - it was outright viciousness. 
This is often what happened to my more bibulous or opiate-addicted siblings, such as Larry. 
He got off the drink - he didn't like being observed drinking his beers, or masturbating or whatever else, even in the comfort of his compound beyond the colony of the Tuberculoids with his harem of wives - and he got off the phone with the recording company, who gave him castiron guarantees, and he penned a few number one smash hits in the end, his Summer Cantatas reaching across the oceans to become hits in MNET Korea and elsewhere.

But as the sole heir to the family crockery – if it was extant, back in blown-up Ireland – I was damned if I was going to be classed as a similar lunatic by any man. 

These were the rather ungracious views I held as I climbed out of the well-pool sewer at Camden Market and found myself at the stall of a Pretend Antique Dealer. 

Just as I pulled aside the man-hold cover – so called because it kept the men in at their work on the shitty facilities provision – who should cross my path – or rather her foot planting atop my head – only Ai Bang Mi Fa Kin Ni her very self.
I caught her off-balance on my emergence from the ground, and she leaned for support from the man with whom she was holding hands – with whom the self-same man I’d seen her in the boat in the Irish Sea, whom with.
“Paddy!” she screamed in delight, hugging me. “This my husband!”
I looked at the man – and recognised him twice! – for not only had he been in the rowing boat with Ai Bang, but I now realised that he was – in point of fact, seeing the same groany deadness about him – that he was in fact the zombie Chinaman from my movie trailer in Tír na nÓg!
“Talk about continuity! He was dead?” I asked her.
“How you know?” Ai Bang’s eyes scrunched up.
“"Well, you did tell me he was undead. But I saw him…in…” I frowned and counted on my fingers, face strained in recollection, “…37...and carry the 3... in Cloud Cuckoo Land.”
The Pretend Antique Dealer stepped forward. He had an Asiatic appearance about him too.
"Can I interest you in some Réal Dootle?" he asked in a Spanish accent.
"Is that like Royal Doulton?" I asked.
"Yes. The same."
"No it's not," I insisted, dusting off the acumen I had acquired climbing out of the sewer in preparation as I picked up a gravy boat. 
"Wait, Paddy. We need this man's help," Ai Bang said.
Continued in CHAPTER 28 PART 2, so it is.

The Wyndermyre Memoirs by CeDany

CeDany has a web presence from where you can download a fantasy book series, The Wyndermyre Memoirs, featuring a family from a different realm.
That star's system and its calendrical similarities and differences to Earth's are outlined, and (at least some of) the residents on that planet appear to have more in common with the Ancient Greek or Scandinavian gods than with us mere mortals. The fantasy elements feature something of a genealogy.

Further background is detailed, linking our own blood types (A, AB, O, etc) to what could closely align with a clever "Twelve Tribes of Israel"-type concept.
It doesn't explain why we have blood types, but the assignation of a deity and descendants to each blood type is a nice touch.
The series is told from multiple perspectives, with an epistolary form that stretches back half a millennium, featuring raids on villages from a slightly prochronistic "Viking" class underpinning a modern-day setting featuring a college-bound heiress.
The laws of the period are invoked for making and staking claims on women, and full moon dates cited with an exactitude that suggests what goes on above has something to do what goes on below.
There's lots of entertaining back-story and mythos revealed in this epic, and the work appears to be inspired by the legends of multiple cultures, primarily European.
You can get the books free here.

Dear Mr Mace

Dear Mr Mace,
I appreciate that your name is the start of the word "Mason" in the phonetic alphabet I'm familiar with. 

WTF, like?
I was however most surprised to see some very wacked out, dervish-like esoteric bliss from some of your other clientele.
I only visited your store to have a look around for some tasty conventional product you'd expect - not quinoa-and-tofu shape-throwing.
I's outrageoused.
Yours,
Voucha for Trauma


Dear Msrsrs Trauma,
I see from your name and, indeed, your non-pink hue, that you're clearly one of these blummin' innagrins. If you come over here, you must assimilate.
I think you have, Mrserzs Trauma. I think you have. Why so?
 
Because we CAUGHT you on the CCTV no less than five seconds later, providing your OWN support on KEYS.
Not only that, but ACCEPTING A BLESSING, NO LESS, from our tiger god, KEWLTONY, pointing down at you from a hole in the blummin' ceiling with his paw! What's THAT about? No, seriously. I have NO idea!
Talk about the fingers of the gods indeed, if you want to. We would be most amenable because we're all so very eso-tastic.
So that's all. 
If I hear from you again, I will live up to my name's ACTUAL meaning, and give you a blast of the pepper-sprays!
Yours etc, etc, etc
Mr. Mace.

You're His Auntie!

Well, winter is here, everybody! Here's my new song -

YOU'RE HIS AUNTIE!!! (Lyrics below.)

Oh Dany girl, the wights, the wights are coming
From glen to glen and down the mountain side
The summer's gone and all the flowers are dying
It's you, it's you must go on Drogon’s hide
But come ye back for your unknowing nephew
For he is kin, tainted, not white with Snow
Tis he'll be there in sunshine or in shadow
Oh Dany Girl, oh Dany Girl,
you’re his aunty!
You’re his aunty.