2009 August | mathewferguson.com

August, 2009

webcomic – zombie drills

August 29, 2009 by Mathew Ferguson

did you run your zombie drills like i told you?

Category Webcomics | Tags: zombie,zombie drills | No Comments
webcomic – operation

August 29, 2009 by Mathew Ferguson

the way the operation made me

Category Webcomics | Tags: operation | No Comments
webcomic – lava floor

August 29, 2009 by Mathew Ferguson

everything was fine until the floor turned to lava

Category Webcomics | Tags: | No Comments
bear

August 27, 2009 by Mathew Ferguson

me and a bear travelled the world
found out a lot of useful stuff
bear chicks don’t actually like honey
who would have guessed?

human chicks really dig the furry bear
you have him flying wingman
and you’re set
seriously

you travel with a bear and your seats get upgraded
I can’t tell you how many times I’ve flown first class
(it’s thirteen, actually)
those hot face-washers are so nice

me and a bear returned home
brimming with knowledge
powerful with liquid smarts
really satisfied with our brilliance

Category Poetry | Tags: Honey,Lot | No Comments
wow

August 27, 2009 by Mathew Ferguson

they’ll be left by the way
if you’re not so crazy
you can outrun them all
just run.
now.

wow.

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nasty little cat

August 26, 2009 by Mathew Ferguson

so be a nasty little cat
and miaow those horrible little cat whispers
be obnoxious and loud
until everyone at the party is looking at you

the next night, the next week, the next year
always being the nasty little cat
are you even having fun?
What the fuck are you here for?

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opposite

August 25, 2009 by Mathew Ferguson

when i feel that love
i run like hell
when i feel that ignorance
i run towards it

give me attention
and lose me
deny me
and i will be yours forever

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after death

August 22, 2009 by Mathew Ferguson

after death
which came like a yawn in a warm classroom
meeting a nervous God
desperate for praise on all creation

it was ok, mostly
the pain of a broken bones i could have done without
and the rain in winter was too cold
and some of the food was not that nice

he got angry
yelled about making sheep and wool and me getting a fucking jumper
and some other bullshit excuses
no one can take criticism

so God sent me back for another dose
but was really snarky so i’m sure it won’t be fun
it’ll be broken bones, cold rain, disgusting food
and not a single sheep or piece of wool, ever

Category Poetry | Tags: God | No Comments
the french girl

August 21, 2009 by Mathew Ferguson

she had come to australia in a series of interlocking adventures which could never have been planned.

after all, how would a travel plan appear containing the item meet-a-guy-in-a-sushi-restaurant, go-to-bar-Red-Door and then drive across two states with him before parting?

in retrospect, the plan was an absurd list of unlikely events; if it were a movie, people would say there were too many coincidences, too many fortunate turns, it was too precise, too neat.

the scriptwriter would say it’s true! but no one would care because real life is full of stupid coincidence and no one needs it in a movie too.

Category Short stories | Tags: french girl | No Comments
Sanderson

August 20, 2009 by Mathew Ferguson

Sanderson from the driveway shouting out don’t answer the phone to his wife, falling out of the car in a slow tumble. She pauses with her hand reaching as he scuttles up the lawn, fumbles at the handle like a trained dog, and bursts in.

Don’t answer it.

Where are the kids?

I’ll get them.

He unplugs the insistent tone, strangles it with its own cord and hostages it under his coat.

Outside, struggling in their astronaut harnesses children call out.

Hell for a sandwich he says, clenching a silent phone under his arm.

Yes, she says, looking at the small freckles on the side of his neck that almost make a smiley face.

The astronauts are freed and lead inside, parolees skating on invisible ice. The boy coughs, the girl says something, and a moment later they are sent to their rooms.

The injustice of it all! Of all the most unfair things that have ever happened in the history of unfair things this is the most unfair.

Dammit for a …

Can we plug the phone back in?

Rocking with locked lips, surrounded by an invisible army standing perfectly still.

No.

The kitchen offers little words of comfort in this confusing time. A flour canister wisely says husbands, what can you do? The teaspoons twitter like brainless birds while dark murmurs slide from the knife block. The scarred chopping board yells for his impeachment, his burning at the stake, but who would listen to it? A perfect circle of burnt wood can unbalance a chopping board, make it not worth listening to.

Teacup and mug. The rarely used handle. An enveloping touch and a silent sip.

Did you … your sister?

She stirs her cup again and shuffles feet, her invisible army standing behind her.

Yes I did.

Nodding like a toy, the phone sitting next to him like a landmine.

Drowse slinks in, suckers to his face, taking his vitality. He slurps a few more times, rocks, and slowly sits back.

The mug, a survivor of many falls, survives again.

The hostage is reconnected, and cries out a moment later.

Oh god, is he there, oh god, I’m sorry about this, if he’s there can you keep him there please god just don’t upset him, please just keep him calm until …

She sits by the phone and watches her husband, his little smiley face not looking so smiley. An escaped astronaut approachs and sneezes.

We left school early today he says.

I know.

The astronaut sits down and awaits the sirens with his mother.

Category Poetry | Tags: Short stories | No Comments

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