Coetzee on Claus

I always thought his poems hermetic, unpenetrable blocks of obscurity. His use of the language that I should, after all, have mastered, left me puzzled. No, I never was a fan of Hugo Claus, but I should blame my 16-year-old self for that. And I always thought his greatness was a fable. JM coetzee prooves me wrong. I do think he read it all in translation, though.

Via Maud Newton.

Spring

I actualy did this one before.

Monster #100

Breeding monsters had never been the career he'd envisioned for himself. There had been a smooth path laid out for him in printing: his great granddad (the late Mr. Gutenberg) had invented the printing press after all. There was something good and solid about spreading "The Witches' Hammer" across the European continent. Until the day fate chose to cross his yellow brick road with inkblots.
Their biggest press (nicknamed "The Monster") had been spewing out pages and pages of "The Witches' Hammer" for the French market, when the operator noticed big trouble: almost every page was stained with thick drops of ink that leaked across the page when he tried to brush them off. The Monster was defective. While his workmen worked around the clock to save the leaking press, Gutenberg's great grandson took it upon himself to search for pages that could be rescued. The less that had to be reprinted, the better. They were working on a tight schedule here.
Deep into the night the printing press owner leafed through pages and pages, looked at inkblot after inkblot, wondering if there was just one page that could be saved. But every page was the same: ink spattered like blood of a dieing animal. The owner realised he was ruined. With watery eyes he stared at the pages scattered across the floor, tables and chairs of his study. He sighed. If only his precious Monster hadn't abandoned him... The only monster he had allowed to live in this world.
Before his tired eyes the blots on the pages started to shift and change. They grew bigger, getting hand and feet. He shook his head in an attempt to clear his view. The shaking only awakened the creatures, making them hop from page to page.

Years later he found himself watching inkblots grow on paper, and caressing new-born monsters. This one was his favourite. She'd given him many eggs that hatched into monsters to admire, monsters that would never make it into "The Witches' Hammer", and that would make their big Monster-Mama proud.

Monster #100 drawn by Stefan G. Bucher.
View it & post your own story.