CuiousPages - fiction and nonfiction
CuriousPages - fiction and nonfiction
I wanted to scream or raise my arms to stop her but I was paralyzed. Then the woman had gone and all I could hear was the sound of fabric being torn, which grew louder and multiplied; the shreds of sound poured down on me like rain, filling my head as a migraine does. Then the storm passed and I was naked and cold. I moved to another tree, this one barren and leafless. I began studying its skeleton of branches and twigs and thought I could see them transforming into a picture, a three-dimensional line drawing whose shape, as it took form, began to create a feeling of nausea within me. I watched its form and thought I could recognise its message, but the nausea took over and I had to get out of there. I felt sure the picture was of myself holding a child amid a harmonious family and glowing with happiness, contentment and health, but I could not watch if for long enough to be sure; I cold not stand the discomfort of its formation. I felt my body was about to begin the convulsive actions of vomiting and I had to go. I turned and heard traffic noise, then the sound of seagulls circling overhead and swooping by. I followed them and was then back in childhood.
I was playing on a beach. There were two, indistinct figures sat nearby on deckchairs. Neither of them had voices, it seemed, for they were occasionally making mumbled noises like the barking of beached seals. Their faces, though, I could see clearly. My mother’s and father’s eyes looked out helplessly from the faces of these forms. Occasionally they glanced at us, and less frequently at one another, but mainly they seemed harassed by the fear of falling back down into the formless bodies that surrounded them, as though those very bodies were their graves. Sat around me were my siblings, though again they seemed not to posses a voice. I could stand the silence no longer and ran off to play alone. I felt the sand beneath my feet, first cold, then warm as I ran out into a more sunny area. I slowed to a stroll and felt liberated; I could see no more pictures and as I looked about me, I found I was outside again in the blinding sun. I glanced back at that yellow and green poster and resolved to never again eat chocolate.
As I walked along the street, there was a dim image at the back of my mind, a picture glimpsed from somewhere inside that gallery. It began quickly fading in the dazzling sun until I could no longer see myself misshapen by the burden of indulging in illicit pleasures. And then the image had gone and my mind was clear. I strode on, feeling the warmth of the sun on my face.
Peter looked angrily down at his basket and told it, “I’ll decide that. I think there is a need, otherwise I wouldn’t have said it,” and started shouting at the basket, “Obviously. Ob—vi—ous—ly.”
The dog‑walker looked up, gaped for a moment, then jerked the dog along the pavement while the dog hopped on three legs and continued stubbornly waving its fourth leg at the wall. As the dog passed the garden’s small, iron‑work gate, one final jet squirted out from beneath its leg, sprinted along the garden’s path and tapped the tip of Peter’s right shoe.
Peter frowned down at the three glistening beads on his toe, as if they were a cryptic message he were trying to decipher. He heard the door opening behind him, turned and saw Lily Smithe’s face peering round the door at him.
Something about her face seemed familiar. And something about it also seemed disturbingly real, as though he were in a dream and this face were trying to pull him back out into the real world.
The feeling filled him with fear, but at the same time also made him want to throw his arms around this woman, to run to her for refuge and give up his struggle. But all around him he could sense those monsters closing in on him and he knew what he had to do. He smiled at the woman and told her, “Hello; I’m your MP.”
Lily examined his face, then his blonde wig, his shopping basket, his woman’s overcoat, his hairy legs, his socks and his men’s black shoes. She then watched his face blankly for a moment, shook her head and withdrew, making to close the door.
Peter pushed against the door but she pushed back, then he pushed again and shouted, “I’m Peter Softly.”
The door went slack and she peered round it, saying, “Peter—?” frowning at his face and saying again, “Peter—?” She watched him blankly, then said, “Oh yes—I didn’t recognize you.” She stood aside and waved him in.

Nonfiction

Secrets of the Hidden Vessels

Secrets of the Hidden Vessels

Nonfiction. This book clearly explains Chinese acupuncture. It describes which parts of the Nei Jing are fact based, metaphorical, or untrue; identifies the conflicting Nei Jing theories on metabolism, and which are true or untrue; and key concepts such as the Chinese medicine organ functions are also clearly explained in relation to contemporary physiology.

The book provides students or practitioners with an indispensible guide to properly understanding the Chinese medicine of the Nei Jing. And it also enables Chinese medicine to be explained to patients using terms they can understand. Read more>> 

The Trouble with Conversation

The Trouble with Conversation: Nonfiction. Understand what it is and is not possible to communicate about and why unpleasant people are an invention of our own mind.
A fascinating read for anyone who’s interested in everyday communication and the related relationship problems. Read more>> 

Traditional Chinese Medicine

Sketchbook
Nonfiction. My notes on the writing of fiction, on Chinese Medicine phenomena, on travel, people, dreams, and other topics. Read more>> 

 

 

 

Traditional Chinese Medicine

Traditional Chinese Medicine
Nonfiction. Articles and Essays on various aspects of Traditional Chinese Medicine, mainly focusing on acupuncture. Read more>> 

Sawing up my sofa
An account of... well, sawing up my sofa. Features a series of step by step photos on how to saw up your sofa. Read more>>