Story No.27 Rupert and Greg

Sometimes Greg smiled because he understood, sometimes he was in repose because he understood, looking at him attentively, as his friend ashamedly confided in him, looking up at him, smiling the whole time as he was speaking. Even on the phone calls he took, you could hear his smile. Either way, his friend had to learn for himself what he wanted to do. Was he getting it right? That was the basis of their friendship and what it revolved around.

Sometimes, Greg would talk from his own experience which nudged Rupert from his self-absorbed ponderings. Steering the conversation purposely in his direction some people could not really listen for long without talking about themselves or how their stories are related to their won, when they weren’t doing back with something bigger and better.

Some people so centred in their own train of thought that they weren’t actually listening. Sometimes Greg would be thinking about something whilst listening. So then Rupert would ask for affirmation: ‘are you listening?’ Greg would succinctly summarise what he was saying, but it wasn’t just a small indication of what details he had caught onto, but rather it was the main of it together with his response. Naturally, some people retained more information than others. Rupert couldn’t keep up with his own impressions and thoughts, let alone what was going around him, therefore, he would sometimes talk a bit loudly, not paying attention to his surroundings, saying inappropriate stuff, that was vague and incoherent.

The Eaghams Weekly: Teaching in Mexico with ABC English

I received a phone call when I was walking in Epping Forest. My employer-to-be rang me to tell me I landed the job in Mexico. It’s a small town called Poza Rica that I went to. I was teaching with ABC English.

The Mexicans are on the border of Texas, and the cowboy traditions have been picked up. The Mexicans like to dance in a sort of way where you move your hips side to side as you pace back and forth. I was testing out my dance moves at a wedding do, we rocked up to, where a girl called Bertha taught me the moves. 99 percent of people drink, it’s considered strange if you do not drink. You are considered either a) crazy or b) gay.

The Mexicans eat alot of tacos, there are stalls everywhere, I was hooked on tacos. You could stop off somewhere and there would be a tacos stall with tacos ready to go. While on the subject of continental cuisine and dining, I used to eat something bucoles, look out for that one, that is a real treat. I used to have bucoles for breakfast at the workman’s cafe, to get my day started. It’s fried eggs with sauce in small pancakes. Delicious.

The English teachers had a house party, where I sang some of my material in the works. Bertha was there in the corner of the room, and took interest in the song. The teachers were a mixed bunch, some were Americans, others Italians. One of the Italian guys had Aztec symbology tattooed on his back, it was newly done, there was a film of blood left on his back. It would have been quite full on to watch.

I met Sonia in my free time, she had children. She was one of the security guards at Pemex oil company, where I taught clientele one-to-one Business English, written and speaking. She was a Freemason. I was trying to in all honesty and truthfulness set up a Falun Gong qigong (which is a tai chi type of exercise) site at a school,  she assisted showing compassion, we tried to set one up in the local area, patiently and with tolerance. We couldn’t set that up, but I sent out a few leaflets in the area.

One of the New Yorkers, an English teacher, would ring us all up when she was drunk at one of the bars on her own, on her time off work. We were all quite busy most of the time.

Getting to work, I would take a collectivo, which is like the usual taxi, but they squeeze in three people at the front. There were too big Mexican guys I was wedged between. I could see the drivers view.

Teaching English in Mexico was very cool. One student drove us back home. One day, as I went out of the classroom to see my employer for a minute, the students played a CD on the school stereo. I came back and they were all singing Wonderful World by Louis Armstrong.

If you enjoyed this post, please share with colleagues, friends and family. Check out other writings about travel:

On Teaching APASS English in Mexico

WRITER BIO: Zubyre Parvez (BA hons) studied English Literature at Hertfordshire University. He writes song lyrics, poetry, short stories, reviews, and articles for The Taoist Crucible.  His poetry won runners up in a competition judged by Simon Armitage and Margaret Atwood. His poetry has been published in Kobita. His articles have appeared in The Epoch Times as a journalist for the newspaper. He has worked for New Tang Dynasty Television as a journalist. You can catch up with his tweets @TheEaghams

ARTIST BIO:The Eaghams aka Zubyre Parvez is an Urban Indie singer songwriter from London. His song The Roots was played on BBC 1Xtra by DJ Excalibuh. He has collaborated with artists such as Mr Hectic and Jason Air formerly of Island records. He has played at The Garage, and various open mics.

.

The Eaghams Weekly: Short Story No.22: Little John by The Eaghams

Little John
Blogpost written by The Eaghams 



Little John is a classic story about a memorable character making great use of the motif travel imagery that runs throughout his work. There are some wonderful poetic and lyrical turns of phrase in this one.

To continue reading the interconnected short stories click on the characters included in this short story with a hyperlink.Timothy. Enjoy!
 
Little John, younger brother of Timothy, was in a relationship with a women in her thirties, he was age twenty eighteen. She hadn't disclosed the exact figure, her age, although he got to know all about her when they were spending time together. Little John wasn't as athletic as the other boys and was a sensitive intellectual. They talked about romantic trips to Venice and the yearning Qawalli music of the Middle East. She was animated he was imaginative using witty asides as part of his speech - that was their conversational styles, in fact.

He thought she was his prize. He was at an age where eating chicken shawarmas at the upmarket Moroccan restaurant and other grilled foods were more important to him than any other delicacies. He was earnest, untainted by disappointment, he always showed up on time. So when she went AWOL on his ass, there was no time to spell it out to him, the reasons why, on a scheduled date for the Saturday, he was at a loss as to how to respond. Her phone he left wailing messages, that were absurd in their melodramatic tone, that he used up all her recording space for messages, it should be noted. He decided he liked her slick antics and vowed never to be innocent again. He was on the phone to his friend Greg, he had the phone on his shoulder gazing out his window at the traffic lights. 



Source: www.mercedes-benz.co.uk

He took a girl for a ride with his cerebral games, she drove a Mercedez Benz. She let him drive it sometimes around the city, sometimes at night when there was an open and free road, or in the early hours. One day he took the car for a spin, turning the car round, a 180...as they call it and sped off to make a new life in the city. His new friend awaited him, he was single, shrewd, and he was not looking to settle for anything, haste drove him. Caroline ate at the restaurant, a steaming dish, fine and proper, was brought out by the waiter, and her company? Her own. She was moving up in her new job, a new world, that Little John could only wantonly be in envy of. Little John had a terrible temper that shook up their relationship, so she looked the other way, they were not seeing eye to eye, such was the state of things. He was chewing the fat of a bitter ambition, to be a lucrative young buck, a big shot, making an untold fortune, he was already at the executive level in a New York company, he was in Big Business, when he was with Caroline, a native New Yorker who was a bit crass.  
 
What John really wanted was to be like Caroline: He never imagined someone who was so kind, could suddenly change their tune. Before, it seemed like she was the only dude she would treat nicely, because he seemed trustworthy, and he saw her other side only play out with all the other men, never with him before. It was the combination of tact and severity that overthrew him and created a jealous admiration of her personal power and her wealth she didn't disclose to him.

He didn't drive home his manly sense of desire, he only vainly coaxed her coquettishly. It wasn't good enough for her. However, he decided he needed his authority back to even the urban landscape of his life by repeating in kind the behaviour that was so slickly done onto him. To know power, was to misuse it. Perhaps, in the long run, he would be a better man for it. After he betrayed someone, finding the right moment all of a sudden in the easy relationship, as an excuse -- he accepted that no one was perfect but by then he was never caught with his guard down, a smooth talker. He seemed more accepting of who Caroline was, and now had a more realistic view of himself. They had gone their separate ways. 

© Zubyre Parvez 2017 All Rights Reserved

If you enjoyed this post, please check out further short stories in the series:
  1. Anish
  2. Agnieska
  3. Caroline
  4. Mustapha
  5. Boy from Bath
  6. Actor Dude
  7. Imtiaz
The EaghamsWRITER BIO: Zubyre Parvez (BA hons) studied English Literature at Hertfordshire University. He writes song lyrics, poetry, short stories, reviews, and articles for The Eaghams Blog.  His poetry won runners up in a competition judged by Simon Armitage and Margaret Atwood. His poetry has been published in Kobita. His articles have appeared in The Epoch Times as a journalist for the newspaper. He has worked for New Tang Dynasty Television as a journalist. You can catch up with his tweets @TheEaghams



ARTIST BIO:The Eaghams aka Zubyre Parvez is an Urban Indie singer songwriter from London. His song The Roots was played on BBC 1Xtra by DJ Excalibuh. He has collaborated with artists such as Mr Hectic and Jason Air formerly of Island records. He has played at The Garage, and various open mics.

The Eaghams Weekly: Short Story No.25: Timothy

Timothy

By The Eaghams

The realism with which she calmly talked about her life, despite it’s fullness, the spirit of her attitude and outlook that made it depressing to listen to her. It wasn’t that she didn’t have an interesting life, it was how she’d managed to make it monotonous that was questionable. He was fortunate so far as he was always had active ideas he could connect up – it was her inner emptiness that made him think he was being excessive but it was just enthusiasm, nor was it some vanity or falsity. To oneself or others or foolish whimsy, but just less subdued by the familiarity of her routine. The bar was busy, Rupert and Greg had already gone off to chat at a nearby table, (they always paired off together, anyway) whenever they hung out with anyone, to leave Timothy to it.

She thought he was an intellectual, who enjoyed his own company, who didn’t care for alcohol and had made his mind his best friend. She kept herself to herself, whereas he had always anticipated more from life in his exploration and experimenting on his own. Maybe adulthood had taken her sense of expectation and optimism from the separations, the desolation, and the sense of the workplace, that kept her there and didn’t allow her imagination to flourish, beyond what she used to know having a good time at college, she was busy these days.

Maybe he had read an out-of-the-way book, she could borrow, she was eager to learn more, she wanted to try something new, he had left with his books, and she resumed her work duty, Rupert and Greg joined him, to leave the place together. He wrote in his journal, of the new town he wrote, with all it’s characters. He was a habit he had picked up from his father, who was a Professor of English at Manchester University, who used to be a Glastonbury going hippy in his hey day. Timothy was from the same town as the Boy from Bath.

Source: http://www.blueskypapers.com

She didn’t want to think, just to have a good time. the less she could think, the better, she hated to be on her own. She was a person who required a kind of man who could chase her through the house, who would surprise her with animated gestures and carouse in drunken merriment shouting over dance music where the bass boomed.He was an easy going man, not the liveliest of the pack, a man who sit amongst others, watch others and take notes. He was suited to someone who made more of what he had thought, someone who was impressed by the intellect, and by cultural knowledge, and worldly turns of phrase,verbose with wit and sarcasm.

He was easily influenced by negative moods and would make much of a vibe of a place – so that it was hard to say anything to him that didn’t feel buoyant to him, he was a literate middle class guy who could not face reality and talked endlessly like at a tea party, all the time, and ran at the sight of anything personable and affecting, or left him to consider a given thing by himself,an expression of mediocrity that wouldn’t harm anyone was the only way you could get through to him, which was precisely not to get through to him and who he was, actually was.

1. Mustapha
2. Actor Dude
3. Boy from Bath
4. David
5. Imitiaz
6. Agnieska
7. The Workplace
8. Jack and Joseph
9. On Motivation
10. Angela
11. The Deep Sea Diver
12 After The War
13. Nigel, Samantha and Luke
14 James Changzhu
15. Ali and Some Books
16. Joe Bloggs
17. Naveed and Rupesh
18. Lionel
19. Abdul
20. Ajaz
21. Mr Jameson
22. Little John
23. Adventures of Zhi Xin
24. Dave and ‘Jim’
25. Timothy
26. Wayne
27. Rupert and Greg

The Eaghams Weekly: The Lyric Play – Complete Lyrics

LYRICS
Prologue

The simplicity of the elements
Wood, water, fire, metal
I turn to
To distil with ink
Fine words of my rich verse
To write of this nature that we have
The Londoner’s lingo, the hip hop
We’ve walked
And the rock we’ve scaled
And broken out into step by step
The Traveller, of horse, of boat
Of train and of road.

The Lyric Play

Prospect Calendar / Fall of The Tyrants / Parallelogram Telegram / Road Less Travelled / Silence / Sage Fire / The Drum The Bell The Strings / Withdraw / Subterranean Storm

Prospect Calendar

Wash out
In the year of around
The lyrical lounge
No band just a wavelength
Broadcast of life’s rogues
In the town

Missing the days when I was younger
Analogue days
We played arcades
We used to play marbles on the draintops

You and I
In the momentum
Of the crescendo fathom
Work my way out
Work my way out
On prospect calendar

Getting past the nights to a dayjob
It’s simple after it’s hard
It takes time to move from
Slow to fast
Always be steadfast

These are the years we’ve been waiting for

Fall of The Tyrants

The fall of the tyrants
The chair collapses
Broken legs, disarmed
Words dispatched
The small ship of an iron
On the navy blue
Buttoned shirt he mans
That he mans
Hard pressed to shake hands
Crooked like a walking stick
The same crook be humble today
Oh understand
Understand

The fall of the tyrants
The fall of the tyrants

The debts settled
The score now written
The music composed
The money laundering
It all balances out
In the ordering

Eats the kipper tie
Big fish, little fish
All the scams and the lies no suprise
No suprise

The fall of the tyrants
The fall of the tyrants

Parallelogram Telegram

Apprenticeship
Through the inbetween
Been rolling with the punches
Straighten up before the hunches
I’ll reel in a hook
To write this line
If what you longed for
Was only a short way
Would you hurry your step
And seize the day

Paralleogram Telegram
Paralellogram Telegram

The world’s a stage
The people and the places
The shape of things to come
To write this line
Trees thunderbolt the sky

Parallelogram Telegram
Parallelogram Telegram

Road Less Travelled

Draft till craft
Wood and strings
It’s a kite
It holds my heart
In it’s frame
It’s a sailboat
It holds our dreams
and tells them to heaven
Bring it all together
A fine seam
Know what I mean

I’ll take you on a journey
On a road less travelled
The winding road we unravel

Custom made beats
We aren’t cutting down to size
Cooking the beats right
So it’ll be no flash in the pan
Pushing the button
Of the fake outfits

Silence

Wheatsheaf harvest
The March of Spring
Crescendo Harvest bring
Now you wont go against the grain

When they unplugged you charged ahead
Horses and thunderbolt
When they spoke up
You were silent
Trying not to find fault

Sixty seconds worth of distance run

Sage Fire

My will building tracks
Fires build
Moving like a motion picture
To forge this work
From desire

Sage Fire Fire Fire Fire Fire
Fire Fire Fire
Sage Fire Fire Fire Fire Fire

On the journey
Providing beauty, vision
Ladder along mountain

The Drum The Bell The Strings

You give life to all that was borne
Got an axe to grind
Chop wood, carry wood
We don’t broach the branches that’s twigged
From that fount of knowledge
Cos the secret is out

We’ll need no rebellions
Roaring our rout
Jumpight
As we move around so rapidly
Race the chequered flag
Of the dream

The Drum, The Bell, The Strings
The Drum, The Bell, The Strings

Break the ice in the cold war
Peal of thunder
We’ll fire neurones
On the live circuit

Withdraw

Falun Gong
Practiced by a 100 million in China
Before the persecution began
in July of 1999

Thousands have been killed
For a belief
To be true, to be kind, to endure

Falun Gong is Good
I’m telling you now clearly
Let truth be understood
The fabricated lies on Chinese TV

Thousands have been killed for a belief
To be true, to be kind, to endure
The CCP will not be
So withdraw and withdraw
and withdraw

Subterranean Storm

Were historians tracing the trees
To their roots
Whole forests uncovered
and brought into view
Were artists sculpturing rock
and wordsmiths too
Been writing these rhymes
Through and through
Been reading the spine of book

In the subterranean storm
Plans redrawn
Redouble on the windmill
Early morn

We used to listen to Tagore
In our longee on the Bay of Bengal
Elephants trunk of memory
The oak tree recall
History of the ebony and ivory all

The Eaghams Weekly: Short Story: Ajaz

Note from the author: This short story is about Ajaz, a perceptive young man who encounters an older woman in her forties who feels slighted by Ajaz’s perceived intelligence. It’s a true-to-life story, that many readers will certainly relate to.

To continue reading the interconnecting short stories of the characters by clicking the title links embedded in the text of this blogpost. Little John, Timothy, Joe Bloggs. Enjoy! 

A kind woman by the name of Loretta was in the reading group that the two brothers Little John and Timothy, Joe Bloggs and Ajaz had attended. Whenever Ajaz came into the room, she suspected the cunning wiles in him, something his intelligence included, she had sold people on who she was as being kind, whilst simultaneously sneering and nonchalant. She had to get by in the world. It wasn’t that Ajaz was cunning – just more intelligent. He didn’t choose to play it that way, so they both didn’t get on, both distrustful of each one for trustfulness, other for the usual wiles. Most people she interacted with were just a little less smarter, it so happened to be. She wasn’t out meeting everyone like a savvy entrepreneur, she was in her forties, and sticked to the pubs she knew best.

She looked at him like a rabbit in his headlights, but he didn’t care to catch her out, no more than she thought she might be found out. He averted eye contact just because, he knew her wiles though they were not strictly his own.

He became the source of her interest until she sorted out what she kept from herself and others, from a kind of coquettishness, not as brazenly stoicin a defiant look at her own qualities. He was on an even keel, whilst she was stirred by the slightest interruption. Although she was very attentive, the pint sized character.

She always considered what she liked from her sizing up of others where the criteria and measurement didn’t work for the whole world, her people. She was thirty years his senior.

She got it right about people but there was a kind of deferral to others that wasn’t always necessary in creating her own style and mood, she would need to pay attention to what she was thinking and writing in her diary, not others’ perceived thinking.

When she got imbalanced she would completely forget herself and read into others to the less of her own sense of self, in a phrase she was easily influenced by others by her perception of others, it was still all very subjective though her thought she was looking and sizing things up, it wasn’t objective. She would blow things out of proportion.

There were intelligent people in all walks of life, but no one knew this woman like Ajaz – they hadn’t met her.

He would peer from his glasses he wore, half way down his nose, wearing an honest silver chain bracelet and ring, thick in it’s earthiness and plainness.

Ajaz in his youth had been notoriously jealous of Michael, a middle aged man who was pleased with himself, or perhaps it was the joyous equanimity that he sought in his tumultuous youth, where he was emotionally out at sea and dissatisfied with himself more than his lot in life.

He wanted to futher himself without really positioning himself in what he currently was. So he leaned inside a dream of Michael’s life, his footing in life steadfast, deliberate over deliberating, with patience and and quickness of wit and a certain poetry of meaning.

1. Mustapha
2. Actor Dude
3. Boy from Bath
4. David
5. Imitiaz
6. Agnieska
7. The Workplace
8. Jack and Joseph
9. On Motivation
10. Angela
11. The Deep Sea Diver
12 After The War
13. Nigel, Samantha and Luke
14 James Changzhu
15. Ali and Some Books
16. Joe Bloggs
17. Naveed and Rupesh
18. Lionel
19. Abdul
20. Ajaz
21. Mr Jameson
22. Little John
23. Adventures of Zhi Xin
24. Dave and ‘Jim’
25. Timothy

The EaghamsWRITER BIO: Zubyre Parvez (BA hons) studied English Literature at Hertfordshire University. He writes song lyrics, poetry, short stories, reviews, and articles for The Eaghams Blog. His poetry won runners up in a competition judged by Simon Armitage and Margaret Atwood. His poetry has been published in Kobita. His articles have appeared in The Epoch Times as a journalist for the newspaper. He has worked for New Tang Dynasty Television as a journalist. You can catch up with his tweets @theeaghams

© Zubyre Parvez 2017. All Rights Reserved.

Prospect Calendar

ARTIST BIO:The Eaghams aka Zubyre Parvez is an Urban Indie singer songwriter from London. His song The Roots was played on BBC 1Xtra by DJ Excalibuh. He has collaborated with artists such as Mr Hectic and Jason Air formerly of Island records. He has played at The Garage, and various open mics.

The Eaghams Weekly: Short Story No.23 Mr Jameson

Mr Jameson

By The Eaghams

Note from the author: Two friends,  Mr Lawrence was born and raised and originally from Forest gate, Mr Jameson from West Hampsted, hang out in Central London. The themes of class, career, and manners are explored in this short story.

To continue reading the interconnected short stories simply click on the characters hypertext in the body of the blogpost. Agnieska. Enjoy!

Mr Jameson was sparring with his best friend Mr Lawrence, and as it happened, they were out at an independent cafe drinking great coffee. It was near their workplace in the City, where they worked as paid interns. They were friendly with the waitress there, who introduced herself as Agnieska. There was a statue holding a balancing scale entitled ‘Science’.

Source: http://www.alondoninheritance.com

Greg passed by the window, carrying a newspaper in hand. He peered in briefly to wave hello, before resuming his morning walk to the papershop on Saturdays. Both Mr Jameson and Mr Lawrence wore casual blazers seen in Esquire magazine, designer label jeans, and boots. Mr Lawrence would say things to him that would make sense in the years to come, he had known him for hers to come,  he had known him for hers and it was such. There was a gap in their ages, Mr Lawrence, aged 25, Mr Jameson, aged 20. Their pay brackets correlated with their age and experience Mr Lawrence earned per year, and Mr Jameson. Mr Jameson was on 20 grand, and Mr Lawrence 25 grand.

Whenever they met up Mr Jameson would come away with some new ideas making his mind his own, he would reiterate what Mr Lawrence had said as if he hadn’t acknowledged what Mr Lawrence related in the previous week’s chat over coffee. Mr Lawrence was obliged to nod approvingly, ‘yes…I see what you mean…’ He had added the words ‘know what I mean?’  to his words: Mr Jameson was not the same class as Mr Lawrence, or else, his turn of phrase was a touch more elegant. He related to his friend in his fairly acceptable manner, and the two mainly got on.

Occasionally, Mr Jameson would be slightly sly but Mr Lawrence looked at him knowingly and let it pass. However, one day, Mr Jameson crossed the line, and Mr Lawrence asserted in his usual brutally direct ways which once in a while.

Mr Jameson when he was young used to not assert himself, and smile more often than not. Running over what was said. He even ascribed anger deferring over to others, blacks, whoever, anyone but himself. Now he learned when to let it go and hen to speak his mind. He was brutally honest only occasionally. He had learned to accept that he was not the perfect nice guy, just like anybody, the perfect manners required honesty, self control and poise in measure.

They were professional, that is they were calm and benevolent and they were enterprising. They ran through the crowds, at a speed, bolted through the doors. They were in business, precise with people, so they all know where they stood, their objectives so clear, so defined. They had strategy and ingenuity. They had philosophy. They had wit and they had a strong though intimate circle of good friends. Who they corresponded with everything comes together, birds of a feather flock together, they were Londoners, where they were born and raised since the good old days, looking back and rounding up in the conversations, all they used to know.

1. Mustapha
2. Actor Dude
3. Boy from Bath
4. David
5. Imitiaz
6. Agnieska
7. The Workplace
8. Jack and Joseph
9. On Motivation
10. Angela
11. The Deep Sea Diver
12 After The War
13. Nigel, Samantha and Luke
14 James Changzhu
15. Ali and Some Books
16. Joe Bloggs
17. Naveed and Rupesh
18. Lionel
19. Abdul
20. Ajaz
21. Mr Jameson
22. Little John
23. Adventures of Zhi Xin
24. Dave and ‘Jim’
25. Timothy