Further Adventures from the Mind of Doc Martin 

  

SLEEP THAT BURNS

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                                      The Eyes of the Raven.

                     Not to be mistaken for a Crow or a Rook, the Raven is somewhat more of a 'majestic' bird, some would say Satanic even Demonic, although similar of course, perhaps even from the same family, or so the books might say but this bird stands out from the rest.  While the Crow and the Rook come from almost a pastoral background, the scourge of many a farmer and of many country folk and the legend they have created over the generations, they have many a tale to tell of the battles that have been going on for what seems like...forever but the Raven is different! 
                  This is a bird, some might even refer to it as a creature, a feathered beast even, that has dark mysticism surrounding it, from it's jet black plumage, it's perfectly upright posture, the flapping of those huge wings to the grey of it's beak but that is not all! The feature that is perfect in all of it's primeval glory, are the eyes, so perfect in detail and yet...there is no detail, just two of the most heart stopping, beady eyes, eyes that are as black as night, as dark and impenetrable as pools of ink and whose only form of movement is the lightning blink of those grey eye-lids. 
                 Some say that Ravens contain the spirits of the dead, whose bodies have gone to... wherever, who knows but leaving their souls remaining to keep a watchful eye on the living.  Do they look after us or do they disturb us, it is a job to tell, unlike most birds, the Raven is rarely scared by an approaching man and it will almost invite you to stare into those black eyes of theirs, looking for what, what is it that is in there, is it the reflection of those who are doing the looking, or the souls of the departed ones, looking back!  Are they smiling, are they crying or are they screaming, do these souls want to be in there, have they been taken or are they willing guests, destined to stay with the Ravens until the Raven  blinks no more! 
                     A bird that appears, when not even invited, although a solitary bird, it is a bird that is not shy of making it's presence known!  The cry, the squawk of the bird, causes the same reaction to man like nails scratching down a blackboard, a noise that causes you to turn away in abject horror but also demands you to look back to where the sound comes from. It's head will move from left to right almost mimicking the way you look at it, oh yes... this is a clever bird, a very clever bird, perhaps it is more human than we think, perhaps it knows what we are thinking, perhaps it is aware of the alarm that it causes, perhaps it is aware of the evil face it projects to us, perhaps it relishes in the fear that it gives to all in it's company! 

                 You just can't help it, those eyes seem to demand that you look into them, you will look away but you will always be drawn back. Unlike when you are staring at another human being, you can always look away when noticed, you can quickly avert your gaze, after all, you do not wish to appear rude but a Raven is a bird not an inanimate object but still, just a bird, just a big, black, bird. Funny thing is, when it appears, it just seems to do that, appear, none or very little noise, perhaps the silence is what makes this such a creature of intrigue, of mystic powers, maybe the sound of it's silence, is the sound of your own fear!  It seems to never look at you in a quizzical way, it seems to be bereft of any fear of you, it seems to show some form of contempt for you, you as a person, you as the scarer becomes the scared. The Raven seems to view you with the utmost contempt, almost with a aura of superiority about it, it looks you up and down, it seems to be judging you, you never saw me arrive and you will not hear me leave!

                

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      If I could talk, if you could hear me, then again, maybe I can and maybe I do but it is not words that you hear, it is fear itself, your fear, louder than any words...and I like that!
     'I know I make you feel uneasy, perhaps even frightened, but still you look at me, you can't help it, you do not want to but still you do!
     I know you do not like me, and I like that, is it true what you have heard, when you look into my eyes, what do you see, for it is you and your own fear, looking back at you... and I like that'!

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       So just what is it that you see, apart from yourself looking back, it is not the souls of the dead, it is not fear, fear is a state of mind, fear is a feeling, fear is within us all, yet still you look for the answer,  there is no answer but still you look and the Raven...I'm sure he likes that!
       There are some things that should remain, that should never change and the eyes of the Raven should be left to our imagination, they should create fear, they should make us feel uneasy, fear is the antithesis of boredom, fear keeps you, me and all of us alive, awake, on edge but most of all, ALIVE!

A Short Story from the Inner Workings of SLEEP THAT BURNS
( the ramblings of Doc Martin)

WE ARE ALL CATS! 
The origin of the species.

According to Keith, I have no chance and neither do you, maybe him of course that goes without saying and that guy will always be a  CAT!  Why, because Keith say's so, only a guy can earn that title of course but not her or her, they are Chicks or Old Ladies,  terms of endearment, not to be misconstrued  as patronizing or even derogatory, totally different. Both are used as generic terms of endearment, one could even refer to them as badges of honour and to have them bestowed on you by a man such as Keith, they are just that, an honour! For a man such as Keith who has an uncanny ability to live in the now whilst still being able to retain the spirit of '69 via '70 and back to '68 at the drop of a doobie, to him everyone is a Cat or a Chick, it's the law, it's his law and if you cross him, then you my friend, to him anyway, are a Mother Fucker and you cross him at your peril!

"...and your point is?"

            He may hide behind Aviator's and the swirl from  a slow burning Marlboro but when those lasers turn your way and  become fixed on you, some even say locked onto you, you being his target, those black pupils of his that dilate at will, in and out in the whites that have become  beautiful caramel coloured pools of menace, they reach into the hearts and minds of those who are foolish enough to ask stupid questions or those who are just so naive. Eventually they will burn through to the mind deep beneath the flesh and cut through to the bone, all with just the glare of his eyes, those black lined jewels of menace. You will know when that happens, oh you will SO know that you have not made the grade, his grade, the grade that makes you a Cat or...not.
           This 'circle' of his, this circle of honoured 'felines', are quite simply just that, honoured. Just to be referred to as a Cat is a pretty cool thing to carry around but being a cool Cat, well, that is something entirely different, especially if Keith say's so! If he say's so, it means, in his world anyway, you are a master of your craft.

Chuck Berry (King Cat)

             Chuck Berry for example, goes without saying,  I would be so bold to say is the 'King Cat' and these two have scratched and bitten each other in many well documented spats, possibly in an attempt to 'out' Cat each other, ending in, maybe a draw, maybe not, one storming off before permanent damage is inflicted, held back from doing so by a grudging respect, first generation Cat against a Cat of the next wave of Rock 'N' Rollers, the colt taking on the stallion, maybe it is the old guard keeping a firm grip on his share of the ticket money, things were much tougher for this Cat, certainly by comparison, Keith has had it so much easier! All of these disagreements the two have had have been  played out in front of a pick-up band of Cat wannabees, Berry may skulk off at times, leaving Keith, the young pretender to take the temporarily vacant throne and while doing so he takes a huge gulp from the ever present bottle of 'Jack', the amber coloured liquid flowing down his throat like a flow of molten lava, forcing him to release a growl of...maybe contempt, or is it some form of admiration  for his elder, after all, the older King Cat was playing the field long before Keith was!
     It is without doubt that the time honoured Chicago Blues men or maybe the Blues players from the South or maybe the Texas Delta, as far as Keith is concerned, are ALL cats!  However humble their origins were, whatever road they may have taken to gain recognition, most we must remember, never attained the kind of adulation that Keith has, whether it was to sell tickets and be adored throughout the planet, or to shift units and keep the MAN at the record company happy. These men justifiably, have earned the title of Cat and there are a few names that rose above the rest of the pride, those who could back in the day and indeed, some still do, command respect from their peers and in particular, the young pretenders, those blue eyed white boys who had such an insatiable hunger to learn to play the Devils music from these Cats. 
         Up until then, this music was 'owned' by these men, the men who had experienced it, nobody had any right, nobody could ever relate to it, nobody could 'taste' what they had tasted on their journey, 'Old Whitey don't know Jack Shit'! of course he don't, there are hard times and there are harder times but if it is all you know, nothing else 'means' Jack Shit to you anyway.  
Therefore, Cat is a very fitting, collective name for any of these men, after all, they possess names suitable for a man with a life like they have had, names that seem highly appropriate for you to call out to your own pussy cat, from your own back door.  Names such as Muddy, BB, John Lee, Jimmy, Freddie or even Little Willy, names that fit perfectly to your pet cat or maybe to a bunch of battle scarred alley cats, especially Cats with a story to tell. These are Cats that have pasts for sure, maybe it's the grinding poverty and the hardship that goes with it, lives seen  through the bottom of a liquor bottle or a life of broken dreams and hearts, of an old lady who took another road perhaps, 'she done me wrong', who knows. These are time traveled Cats of distinction, all worthy of the admiration afforded to them but being a Cat is just another name as far as they are concerned, a term of respect from one old troubadour and his battered old guitar to another. For this is a title used by one Cat towards another, a name to use that perhaps acknowledges a shared past. "Man, I am a Cat, you are a Cat, we're all Cats ...and her? Hahahaha, she is just my old lady, as sweet as my guitar, wherever I go, she goes".
    This form of raw and shameless ideology has been adopted by a seemingly endless procession of young pretenders, those who chose to sit at the feet of all of these Cats, the Cats in the hats, the Cats in the sharpest of pin stripes. There they have sat for decades, studying and learning their chops, watching the bony fingers dance up and down the fret boards of battered but true Resonator steel guitars, absorbing the words of the Cats who are forever down on their luck. 

Behold, a mighty Resonator Steel Guitar!


      This tale could not unfold without a nod to their old ladies that were on hand throughout these journey's, the ladies who were on hand to light their reefers, top up their glasses with more Bourbon and of course, break open their charred hearts along the way, the thumping heart of  real Cats.... just ask Keith!

A - Boom - Boom - Boom - Boom!


(Is that the beating of a heart... or just a '45 in the heat of the night?)

"Excuse me sir, never interrupt the guitar Man...he may be a Cat!" ***************************

SLEEP THAT BURNS (aka the thoughts of  Doc Martin)

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Vive La Difference, non, Vive La France!

             My second short story is a story of something that has been going on forever, man's inhumanity to man and on this occasion it was played out, yet again on the streets of a city, a Capital city, a Major city, a city that like so many throughout Western Europe, including the streets of Britain have  become  places of simmering tension,  that have brought yet another act of terrorism that all are able to see unfold on everything from the National News to YouTube! 

                 When these 'acts' take place in towns and cities in all  these countries that have taken pride, and indeed encouraged the sharing of everything from religion, customs, food, art, music whatever and yet now like so many places, there are those who wish to use this freedom for their own ends. They are trying to create their own havens for terror, for fear and all because of the fear and terror going on in another town, another city, another country. 

 To you and I, it makes no sense, why would anyone, how could anyone do such things, in layman's terms, why shit on the door step of the very nations who have allowed you to integrate your ways of life, with that of their own!  Surely by performing such atrocities, by creating an atmosphere of mistrust that is brought about by the more radical elements that lurk and breed just below the radar of these countries, that they themselves have chosen as their home, where the vast majority of the men and women who have fled oppression, wish to live and mix peacefully, to start a new life, is beyond any form of  comprehension, except in  the twisted minds of their powers that be. It is so sad that there are people within our world that are hell bent on spreading their mantra of violence wherever, whenever and at whatever costs!

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The Beacon Of Democracy And Freedom Of Speech.

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Is this for real?!

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            When something so evil happens, something that defies all human logic, something that is beyond the thoughts of anyone who sees and hears, someone who is very aware of what goes on in the world through normal eyes and ears. This is normal day to day life for most,  not a war zone, this is earning a living, not dodging bullets, why are they doing this here? Do I do nothing, I have no time anyway, my mind is elsewhere, it is usually in a far, far better place but that's life, my life, this is the real world coming bursting out of the T.V, this is C.N.N and YouTube in my face and in my back yard. I am are aware of evil, of course I am, I know it exists, I know it is always there but I just...carry on, aware and yet unaware, it is someone else's problem, I shall watch it on the News later, this is my life, it won't happen to me.

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               There is a guy in the street running towards me, that's an umbrella... right? It looks like one, or is it pipe -benders, is he a plumber? No it's one of those joke ones that looks like an AK-47 right, like the ones you can get on Amazon or somewhere online right, it's really an umbrella...right?

Is that fireworks, did you hear them too?

...but its daylight, of course it's not fireworks, don't be so stupid, it can't be, whoever it is letting them off must be crazy, what would be the point? My simple logic, comforts me until it happens again.

You must have heard it that time, that sounds like a gun going off! A gun? What am I thinking but why is that guy running this way, and why is he wearing a mask? Why is there another man running with him now, and why is he wearing a mask too, what a dumb ass place to leave their car...

It must be Halloween but that was months ago, it's a windup, it's a stunt like those things you see on YouTube, it must be... but it looks so real and those people who are screaming, they must be in on it too, but it's not very funny now...

That screaming, there is no laughter accompanying it, it's getting louder and that's real screaming and those fireworks are definitely gunshots, I've never heard gunshots for real but if I had, they would sound like this for sure. It's fucking crazy out here, got to keep down and keep quiet, there's a guy on the floor over there, what's he doing, he looks like he's hurt! What the fuck is that?! Is that blood, he's been shot! Oh my god, oh my god, that guy on the floor, he's really hurt, fuck, they shot him, they fucking shot him, he's on the floor, what did he say, did you hear him?! What am I saying, nobody is listening, they are all scattering for cover... My throat is getting dry with fear, the words are coming out but nobody seems to be listening, I clear my throat and start to sweat. They are shouting something about God, something like God is great, I think someone just said, I don't know, they are just shouting  at whoever is listening, fucked if I know... Hang on a minute, that other guy in the mask, the one with him, he has stopped, he's bending over that man on the floor, I think he's the police or security, holy fuck...no...NO!...They shot him...they shot him, this is no joke man, they just fucking shot him, this is for real, stay down, just stay down!  I soon realise that I've company behind the low wall where the bikes go, most have been strewn about the floor, obviously left to fall by their fleeing owners. I call to the guy  next to me, he's petrified and does not hear me at first, "what are they saying?" I call to him, he is numb with fear, I kick him and repeat my question, he's finally acknowledges me and responds "God..they keep saying something about God..." "God, what about God? Whose God?" He falls silent, looking fearful. I'm scared...we're all scared, I'm shitting myself but we just need to stay down. The shooting is getting more sporadic and I notice that the hooded men have gone into the building, still shooting. We have got to go now, while they're in there, "are you hurt?' I say to him, "no... I don't think so" he stammers. Quickly we move, their car is facing away from us, going in the opposite direction seems the best choice, after a beat we both run, and run, feet pounding the pavement, adrenaline and gunshots reverberating around my head, don't think, just run. As we race for freedom, my only thought is suddenly that this is being filmed, not by a camera crew with state of the art gear, but by someone like me, normal and unassuming, with his iPhone, this will be on YouTube within the hour, I look around at windows, in cafés and shops, I see the lights of phones in people’s faces, the faces of fear... I have a nervous giggle to myself but I keep on running and running, this is my town, my city, whatever it is , it's not my fault, it's not my problem...is it?