Posted in Antarctica


Everything heard about Catch-22 was true.
a masterpiece.
For once, a” brilliantly original” book
that was
brilliant and original.

Catch-22, original title a not catchy, Catch-18
a byword for double jeopardy
the gloom to the bright side of win-win
Catch 22 compelled Yossarian to remain at war
living through a tour de force of farce.
promotions and medals for cocked up bombing raids
wheeler dealers profiting from misery
commanding officer stunned
commissioned and ranks prayed to one God
pompous colonels and generals
air-conditioned from the frost and heat of war.
Fiction right?

At the back of the kitchen was a storeroom
a long thin rectangle of floor-to-ceiling shelves
with cartons of cleaning supplies
sponges, detergent, scouring pads and powder, wiping towels.
common knowledge.
If cleaning materials were needed for private use
a quick visit to the kitchen storeroom
to collect sponge or wiping towel
decant detergent or scouring powder.
It had been happening for years – unofficially.

It came to the attention of the hierarchy.
this was theft. To be halted immediately.
The store room locked. No exceptions.
No exceptions included the storemen
boxes piled up in the corridor.
The unauthorised still required the unsanctioned
avoidance of detection necessitated speed
time forbade discrete selection
prospectors snatched a carton –  and ran.

For the back story click Backstage



Most of my life has been spent on the bench, occasionally called into the game by extravagance or attenuation. Waiting has turned a loner into a recorder - nondescript and inconsequential, more not noticed than overlooked - the non-vantage point of children not yet considered old enough to understand. Orphaned Islands (Un)poetry is a lifetime of picking anecdotes up and not throwing them away. Stories collected like odds and ends placed in a box in the basement, the garage, the garden shed - uncertain as to what their use might be but knowing that one day there might be one.

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