Home of the Small Sand Doll
doll diaries
Introduction I
POTTY
   |
POTTY AND THE ORB WEB WEAVER
POTTY AND THE ORB WEB WEAVER
More photographs coming soon
October in Australia is springtime. The warm weather catapults spiders into reckless web-spinning frenzies. The anticipation of catching newly hatched flying insects. foremost in the saliva of the infamous orb 
weaver. This spider marks its web with zigzag silk as a warning to small birds, sand dolls and as a lure for tasty insects.
weaver. This spider marks its web with zigzag silk as a warning to small birds, sand dolls and as a lure for tasty insects.Unfortunately, Potty, the broomstick flying sand doll, is neither conversant with spider behaviour or gives a hoot in regard to their habitat preservation. Her flight route usually takes in the parameters of a straight line, where she bashes down all those in her path.
Despite Helga's lesson about spiders; how useful and friendly they were, Potty preferred to pulp their squishy bodies by jumping on them.
Her favourite, the cheeky Daddy Long legs spider, who hide in the corners of the toilet room. No matter how many she jumped on, the next day the same number were back hanging precariously upside down in their messy webs patiently waiting for a fly, a beetle or another spider to eat.
A silent wind gave the leaves animated motion, flowing up and down, swaying and bouncing, rocking and waving. Striped bodied bees were buzzing, desperately trying to land on newly opened flowers. Potty was the Shrek of this swamp. Like a farting olga, she slit the natural peace, crashed through the delicate bushes, slicing soft coloured flower petals into the air and ramming the long blue handle of her broom into the red lidded garbage bin.
A small dog yapped a high pitched 'yip yip' bark at the shattered silence.
Potty had just returned from an early morning flight up the hill to the local sewerage treatment plant which was hidden deep in the wooded valley. The only hint of its existence to those that passed was the rather tingling sensation of stench, especially on a hot humid evening.
Anything half rotting, foul smelling or dead intrigued Potty. She is a veraciously earthy doll not bothered with the pretty girlie imagine portrayed in the modern Barbiedoll era. If if stinks, she will stick her fingers in it. Should she be able to carry it, will bring it home and leave it near the front steps, like a cat proudly displaying its catch of the day.
Carefree crash landings were the order, as Potty's piloting skills lacked normal boeing text book procedure.
Air space routing and flight path plotting was not her forte either, and on this occasion she managed to hook the now tangled web of a disgruntled Orb Spider. The unsuspecting spider had been tidying and strengthening his stabilimentum, just before the nose of a blue wooden broom speared him like a whirling bull-arrow. Within a second the strawed missile collected the red bin and knocked its contents flying.
Somehow Potty landed on top of him.
" Hey! Get off me you fat goat." He yelled.
Potty was covered in sticky cobweb and had a dead fly in her ear. She was a happy dolly and failed to notice the spider under her or hear its anxious yells for help. It was not till she got to her feet that she noticed the angry fury animal she had pinned down. The spider maneuvered each of its eight legs making sure they all worked while letting fly with a volley of abuse.
Potty didn't understand Araneidae language and immediately jumped on the disoriented and battered spider.
"@#*&)(@!". The sleek orb weaver was used to moving in circles while spinning its web, he engaged each leg and was able to move quickly before the weight of the dolls leg came down on him.
"Naa Nah! missed fatty..." The cheeky spider danced around in a circle poking its tongue out.
Potty was not about to be outwitted by an ugly hairy spider. And began to jump up and down in the spot where the sneaky spider taunted her. Minutes passed. The wheel weaving spider would not stay still like the vibrating Daddy longlegs. Potty soon tired and sat down to rest, the cobweb still stuck to her. She wondered why the spider did not stick to its own web? And why it had not run out of breath?
The desire for analytical intelligence was not a priority for Potty, she preferred action to ability and often experienced situations the average doll could not conceive without drug induced images. Her world was vast and funfilled, and one where her inquisitive nature scarred her butt again and again. She had a tough personality that saw her at the forefront of many competitive activities. Especially car racing games on playstation two.
When her broom took to the air, birds of all shapes and size, stayed clear. Although ducks would trail behind her dropping excess waste, in a vee formation and go 'squawk, qwark'. This annoyed Potty immensely, but by the time she turned around to beat them away, they had flown off in different directions.
Back on the ground near the overturned garbage bin, she was getting to her feet to take another strike at the spider. Without warning the air splintered in a blurry feathery flurry of movement. A brazen kookaburra swooped down in front of her. There a was a loud sharp 'click' and off it went in a wind spray of flapping feathers as fast as it had come. Potty prepared to jump on the spider -it was gone. She quickly looked around and under her. Nothing.
Moments passed before the echoing sound of a laughing jackass could be heard a short distance away on a low overhanging gumtree branch. The giant Kingfisher bird wiping its long pointed beak on the branch with a bang.
Ignoring the commotion, Potty went inside to relax a while in front of the television.
doll diaries
Petite in the woods - coming soonIntroduction I - Potty and the Orb Web Weaver
Introduction II - Lake Baikai to Cicadas at Coppacabana
Introduction III - Haunting Lights of the Seventh Millennium coming soon
Adventure I - Unpacking the Tennessee RedNecks
Adventure II - Pes & Ellen-ly discover the Aussie Way
Adventure III - Part 1 Pes Livingstone does Northern Queensland
Part 2 Basheir to Bundaberg coming soon
Adventure IV - The tuna that turned out to be a chook
Adventure V - A Scary encounter with the hairy Tweed Valley Troll coming soon
Adventure VI - Pes and Ellen-ly meet the Dolly Llama coming soon
Adventure VII - Bugs of the Secret Garden
Adventure VIII - The Opening Ceremony -Vudu arrival
FANTASY of TIME (dolls)
A poem by Doug Chadban )2004
Once upon a time, before the sun was round, before elves and trolls and armoured knights,
before tall woody trees that grew green leaves and funny shaped plants that grew sharp spikes.
Before a human memory remembered what dark was black and what white light was bright.
Before disposable razor blades were needed to shave and aeroplanes had noisy motors for flight,
before sinks with plugs and jugs and slugs and bugs and mugs to fill with hot black frothy coffee
before Freud and dribbling dogs, small sand dolls practiced the theory of weight and psychology.
Despite the void of night and lack of eye-sight - there was always movement you couldn't see -
strange signals of silence, shadow sheer shapes, things, separated by your conscious fantasy.
Fluttering funny fairies spiking rooms of dreams, singing sirens of songs, some conjuring screams
some dancing on their toes on your nose, rowing your glance and trance or so it seems and means.
Soothing sailing spirits, twirling minuets, soft solitary cloud spouts, spongy, still, white and creased
tampering the edge of boundaries, like rusted realms, wired fences, the wicked white witch of the east.
Now, was it deep in the woods, sherwood hoods, arrowed creek running uphill, downhill and free?
Was it high in the hills where the frost ices thrills and sills, where in winter there's no drink for a bee?
In the day could you see them, behind, infront protem, maybe if you knew exactly where they were?
Should you be so close near a post, would they feel so soft and warm and much like Koala bare fur?
Would you know in your heart if it be love at the start, could you raise from the past something to last
to find universal, tangible diagonal, to be small and delight all, to surpass the warm water of the bath.
Sand dolls unmasked speared through the past, surviving down ages of territorial fights and feudalism
with such inquisitive faces of curious places and sparkling odd colours their mischief always arisen.
Family structure so naught, dolls represent all we are taught, of language maths and social science.
The fondness by folk, of friendship evoked, each household engraved, with respect to mass doll reliance.
Enjoin enjoy, soothe and molest the enshrined toy, pull into care the porcelain with hair, mess bellow bolly
sleep soundly at night, suffocate all hate and fight, recast the effete embryo, in the care of a small sand dolly.
