The Magnificent Mammoth Ballet

2010-09-28T09:52:00.000-07:00

The woolly mammoths were performing their spring ballet to the music being cranked out by the cosmic organ grinder. Their movements were careful, controlled and extraordinarily graceful. Yet, despite the delicacy of their steps, the vibrations the mammoths produced were causing thousands of earthworms to wriggle to the surface, fleeing the enormous mole they feared was coming their way.

Once the worms had taken in the sight of the mammoths pirouetting and glissading gigantically before them, they were even more terrified than they had been when imagining the size of the mole they’d thought was about to eat them up. But when the older, more experienced worms arrived (the ones who had developed the habit of turning up a little later than everybody else in order to outwit any early birds who might be around) they soon reassured their nervous young colleagues.

“Fear not!” they told them. “It is the Magnificent Mammoth Ballet! Nothing to worry about; it’s really quite a sight to see. We are very lucky to be here today. Just keep your eyes out for those blackbirds loitering over there.”

So the worms stayed to watch, swaying to the music and smiling with real wonder at the spectacle. They needn’t have worried about the blackbirds, who might at first have appeared to be loitering menacingly, but who were actually gazing at the Mammoth Ballet too, just as tightly spellbound by it as their erstwhile prey.

And this was the remarkable thing about the Magnificent Mammoth Ballet. It was the only instance in nature when all the creatures of the world would stop what they were doing, put instinct on hold for a few moments, and just enjoy a great piece of musical theatre. Was it art? Was it merely entertainment? Who cared! It was the greatest spectacle on earth.

However, there was one animal who never showed much interest in the woolly mammoths’ display, and that animal was Man. Because at that time in history, while the rest of the world was captivated by the Magnificent Mammoth Ballet, Man spent his days looking at his reflection in lakes and rivers and trying to decide if he really was as good looking as he suspected he was. He certainly was, he decided every single time, but the satisfaction he got from this conclusion never stayed with him for very long and he always had to go back for another look, just to make sure.

Then one day, quite suddenly and without a word to anyone, the mammoths disappeared from the world. Nobody knew where they’d gone but each animal had their own theory. The earthworms said that the mammoths had grown tired of living on the cold and inhospitable outer shell of the Earth and used their trunks (which, as the worms pointed out, were ideal tools for digging) to burrow down to the centre of the planet where it was safe and warm, and where they’d finally be able to take off those shabby fur coats they’d been wearing for so long.

The blackbirds thought this was nonsense and that it was much more likely that the mammoths had at last mastered the art of flight (a feat for which, the birds maintained, the mammoths had been in training with every grand jeté and sissonne they had ever performed) and migrated to the sun where it was safe and warm, and where they’d finally be able to take off those shabby fur coats they’d been wearing for so long.

Whatever the truth was, one thing almost all the animals agreed upon was that they felt very sad they’d never get to see the mammoths dance again. As before, Man was the only exception. He said he didn’t care one way or the other. In fact, he claimed, the only significant thing he’d noticed about the mammoths when they were around was their “terrible stink” – and that, he made clear to anyone who asked, was something he could definitely live without.

Yet, despite his harsh words Man did begin to feel sad after the mammoths left, and he grew sadder and sadder as the years went by, though he didn’t understand why this was. He certainly never connected the onset of his sorrow with the disappearance from the world of the woolly mammoth.

The animals had their theory however. And this time they were all in exact agreement, worm and bird alike. Man was sad, they whispered to each other, sadder than they could ever be – inconsolable, in fact - because he hadn’t seen the Magnificent Mammoth Ballet when he’d had the chance. And now he never would.

‘The Magnificent Mammoth Ballet’ written by Benjamin Palmer

Illustrations by Jordi Llobet

A Spanish translation of the story, also by Jordi, can be seen on his own magnificent blogspot!

Se puede leer una traducción en español del cuento, también hecha por Jordi, en su magnifico blogspot!

jordillobet.blogspot.com

2010-02-20T17:55:00.000-08:00

As Jazzy as They Come

Life, I felt at that point, had grown bored of me. I couldn’t remember when life had last shown me a really good time. So I decided to jazz myself up a bit, make myself into a more interesting and attractive lover, worthy of life’s attentions.

I decided to take up ostrich racing.

I took my training at one of the best ostrich racing schools in the world, located on an ostrich farm in Oudtshoorn, South Africa. I excelled there, quickly overtaking my trainers in terms of my ostrich racing skills. I was faster than they were, bolder and more determined. Soon I was on the international circuit, competing in races everywhere, from Australia to Argentina, and winning many of them.

My favourite steed was Apunda, a big, sturdy hen with kind eyes and a permanent sneer on her face. People were often intimidated by Apunda’s sneer, but I knew there was nothing in it. That was just the way her face was set. Apunda and I won a total of 153 races in our career together. 64 of those were consecutive wins.

Then, one race, around 3 years after winning our first title together, something went wrong. We were taking a corner – a tight one, but nothing we hadn’t easily managed before – when one of Apunda’s legs flew out from under her and we both fell. We’d been going about 50 miles an hour so we went down hard, tumbling over and over along the dry dirt floor. Apunda broke her right leg. I broke my left leg and fractured my right knee. Neither of us could move. We had just one working leg between us, and at that moment, as we lay there in a jumbled heap, I wasn’t even sure if it was hers or mine. The medics had to come and disentangle us before we could be stretchered away to hospital.

Soon after that I gave up ostrich racing. Everyone assumed it was because I was too frightened to race but the truth is the whole thing had already started to lose its appeal before the accident. Several months earlier I’d realized I was no longer getting the same buzz from racing with Apunda as I’d once had, and I could tell she felt the same way too. We’d kept at it though, because we didn’t really know what else to do with our lives. But then, of course, that fall happened.

It was while recovering from my injuries that I discovered knitting. I began doing it as a way of passing the long hours while I was laid up in bed. During those months of convalescence I knitted myself 14 hats, 8 pairs of mittens and a couple of cardigans. For Apunda I knitted an extra-long yellow and turquoise scarf to keep her featherless neck warm during the cold South African winters. I presented this to her as a retirement gift at the party we threw to mark the end of our successful partnership. I could tell she was pleased with it by the way her sneer softened - just a touch - as she took the scarf in her beak and wrapped it elegantly around herself.

Since then, I’ve knitted 412 woolly jumpers, 257 tank tops and 184 cardigans, as well as thousands of hats, gloves and scarves. Many of these I give away to family and friends, and sometimes I’ll offer them to strangers if I think they’ll look particularly good in them. Whatever I don’t give away I keep for myself.

I still get a buzz each time I cast off a piece, especially if I’ve used more daring techniques like Kitchener stitching or magic looping in the creation of the item. And, dressed up in my bright, colourful woollen wear I know I’m an interesting and attractive lover for life. I’m as jazzy as they come. Life, I feel at this point, will never grow bored of me again.

'As Jazzy as They Come' written by Benjamin Palmer

Illustration by Charly Arias

www.myspace.com/homelesstree

www.flickr.com/photos/aquatichorse/

2010-01-29T08:00:00.000-08:00

The Box

My first thought upon seeing the box was: ‘there is a severed head in that box.’ My second thought was: ‘or some puppies’. I closed my eyes and whipped off the lid. I heard a squeak and a rustle and what did I see when I opened my eyes but half a dozen severed puppy heads, all sniffing and blinking up at me.

'The Box' written by Benjamin Palmer

Illustration by Charly Arias

www.myspace.com/homelesstree

www.flickr.com/photos/aquatichorse/

2009-11-29T14:23:00.000-08:00

Memoirs of a Cat-Stroking Man

Yes, it's true: I've stroked a lot of cats in my time.

Never have I kicked one, tied fireworks to one's tail or hung one from a washing line.

But it's true: I have stroked a lot of cats in my time.

Now, we cat strokers don't get much attention for what we do. History doesn't remember us as it does the adventurers and the entertainers, the rulers and the warriors of the world: people whose short stay on Earth is noisier, sexier, more explosive.

But it is my dream to one day publish my Memoirs of a Cat-Stroking Man, and my hope that in doing so I will prove cat stroking to be a great and noble endeavour, both vital and worthy. From that day forward cat strokers the world over will be as respected and revered as history's bolder sons and daughters are today.

'Memoirs of a Cat-Stroking Man'

Story by Benjamin Palmer

Illustration by Iván Quintero

http://www.flickr.com/photos/liqs

2009-10-26T11:51:00.000-07:00

'Fig Biscuits'

Story by Benjamin Palmer

Illustrations by Albert Aromir

http://albertaromir.blogspot.com/

2009-10-08T05:54:00.000-07:00

'Eagles'

Story by Benjamin Palmer

Illustrations by Albert Aromir

http://albertaromir.blogspot.com/