the man with three thumbs – chapter 3 of 3
The last chapter in the story of the man with three thumbs, where all is revealed.
Apr 8
The last chapter in the story of the man with three thumbs, where all is revealed.
The story so far : Les Aitken admitted to hospital after being assaulted. He is suspected of having three thumbs. The Police and his mother arrive to see him.
The youths lounged about there on the dry seat, and every now and then one of them would quietly jack up a piece of sticky phlegm in his throat and lob it onto the back of her coat.
Rip an unborn calf from the womb of its dead mother and let it stew a while in the summer heat, then transport it at the dead of night to the Pass campsite wherein sleeps The Tribes of Unwanted and deposit this decomposed matter within their midst.
take the pictures from the wall / take her radio and all
take her raincoat by the door / what do we get in return
Young and old, they all bled and fell to the floor and their life was his for his profit, and pleasure.
One year out of school and centuries distant from discipline and firm order - blessed with the euphoria of the road.
This is the pic that Peter Cole keeps in his pocket. Waimea in '67. Cole is nearly eighty today.
Remember the ancient dictum: Once with a woman, twenty times with a wave - Know your pleasure(s).
How can a man stoop so low as to be seen publicly going for a surf in the passenger seat of his girlfriend's car? This question answered here.
Now the general plan for the evening is to chuck a couple of towels, the wetsuit, a spare T-shirt, the old boardies, the girl and a few bits of fruit into the boot and tie down at least two boards on the roof.
This is Ludovic Navarre and he runs St Germain, a French outfit that dips and sways and in this case grabs a little of John Lee Hooker's voice and guitar.
I've never seen a woman laugh when somebody farts, and I've never met a woman who has admitted to issuing such a warble. Further proof of their indefinable strangeness.
An Iraqi youth with fingers like talons strikes into his barrel of wet sand with the controlled psychopathic hysteria of a man in hot battle. His back is a griddle of deep hotwire scars earned by his insolence and fortitude in the dungeons of Abu Ghraib.
A story of birth training and revenge - a release of classified material.
A soft grassy patch under a shady tree that is also open to the sea breeze is considered sacred ground and as such is hotly protected from all other incursions.
In the distance the Bower breaks white and sweeping and a surfboat glides by sweetly on an unbroken wave into the corner and the golden sun and blue sky blesses us all.
The high rafters of the cooking room hide platoons of giant rats; sleek, fat, black and fed to bursting from their nightly foraging from the split edges of the bags