"David, in five seconds a man with a beard is going to get off the bus."
"..."
"See?"
"There were three guys with beards!"
"Yes, but the first one with the brown beard, he was the one that I was speaking of."
"Ok. You're insane."
"David wait! Today, when you get to work, your phone is going to ring!"
"It's a fucking telephone!"
"Please believe me, the bombs are released today if you don't do as I say!"
"Alright magic man, I'll see you on the other side."
"In five seconds a pigeon is going to fly by and rest on that ledge!"
"POLICEE!!!"
"In six seconds a cloud is going to come by that looks a bit like a duck."
"Hey, this guy is following me."
"In eleven seconds a paper bag is going to fall off that garbage truck!"
Sunday, February 28, 2010
After listening to a moron talk about ipods.
I am all.
I hate being one with sound. This is no way to listen to music, it's so unnatural.
I hate this psychic network of pure thought. This is no way to listen to music, it's so unnatural.
I hate these light transmissions from The Hub. This is no way to listen to music, it's so unnatural.
I hate these mental implants. This is no way to listen to music, it's so unnatural.
I hate these ipods. This is no way to listen to music, it's so unnatural.
I hate these cd's. This is no way to listen to music, it's so unnatural.
I hate these tapes. This is no way to listen to music, it's so unnatural.
I hate these eight tracks. This is no way to listen to music, it's so unnatural.
I hate these records. This is no way to listen to music, it's so unnatural.
I hate these wax cylinders. This is no way to listen to music, it's so unnatural.
I hate these concerts. This is no way to listen to music, it's so unnatural.
I hate these instruments. This is no way to listen to music, it's so unnatural.
I hate listening to Jerry hum. This is no way to listen to music, it's so unnatural.
I hate singing by fire over food corpse. This is no way to listen to music, it's so unnatural.
I hate birds. This is no way to listen to music, it's so unnatural.
Thud thud thud thud. Whistle thud.
Gurgle.
I hate being one with sound. This is no way to listen to music, it's so unnatural.
I hate this psychic network of pure thought. This is no way to listen to music, it's so unnatural.
I hate these light transmissions from The Hub. This is no way to listen to music, it's so unnatural.
I hate these mental implants. This is no way to listen to music, it's so unnatural.
I hate these ipods. This is no way to listen to music, it's so unnatural.
I hate these cd's. This is no way to listen to music, it's so unnatural.
I hate these tapes. This is no way to listen to music, it's so unnatural.
I hate these eight tracks. This is no way to listen to music, it's so unnatural.
I hate these records. This is no way to listen to music, it's so unnatural.
I hate these wax cylinders. This is no way to listen to music, it's so unnatural.
I hate these concerts. This is no way to listen to music, it's so unnatural.
I hate these instruments. This is no way to listen to music, it's so unnatural.
I hate listening to Jerry hum. This is no way to listen to music, it's so unnatural.
I hate singing by fire over food corpse. This is no way to listen to music, it's so unnatural.
I hate birds. This is no way to listen to music, it's so unnatural.
Thud thud thud thud. Whistle thud.
Gurgle.
Almost a submission for a friend:
Wrote this a while ago. It looks like a middle.
I have a small apartment on the sixteenth floor of that brown building. It used to be a tenement building. Immigrant containment. Once my shower leaked and it splashed the wall, and the wall got soft and moldy and fell away after a while. Behind there you could see the brick, and all the brick was black and burnt. Still. Still black and burnt after all these years. It went down beneath the floor, and if that got moldy and wet and fell away, you could see to the basement and that's probably all old scorches and scars that came up from the basement where it started. That's a long way. Sixteen floors. My landlord said it was water damage, stuff I had to pay to fix. I told him to go to hell.
I'm the only one up here anyway. Everybody has been moving out. They say it's going to be condemned. There's still a lock on the front door. I figure that's good. The elevator creaks. There's a sign inside above the buttons from the landlord that says "I know it's loud. It's fine." It works. It's loud. It screeches, like it's scraping against the sides. I told him to grease it, grease the sides, grease something, you can hear that thing screaming all night. People need to get upstairs. Lots of people here work late. But you wish they'd take the stairs after ten. And now that I saw those scorches. I can't ask him to grease it no more. What if it caught fire. What if that metal scraping caught the grease. Pilar of fire running up the side of the building all over again.
The windows still open. The wind whips. It makes this place feel bigger. It's one room. Everything in one place. I can almost touch either end of it. I told my doctor that's why I got so fat. I got noplace to walk. I can reach the fridge from the chair. The tv from the chair. But the wind whips. Pigeons come by. Ms. Renata is convinced they come by because it looks like a nest. Brown and messy. The walls match the carpet match the tv match the chair. Newspapers get down when they get down. She brought over a painting she did. It's good. She takes a class. Does fruit bowls. Apples all over.
Pigeons come when they come. I moved the chair nearer to the sil so when they leave I can watch them spiral down to the street. There's a food cart guy they bother.
You're allowed to beg. That's something you're allowed to do. Might as well.
I have a small apartment on the sixteenth floor of that brown building. It used to be a tenement building. Immigrant containment. Once my shower leaked and it splashed the wall, and the wall got soft and moldy and fell away after a while. Behind there you could see the brick, and all the brick was black and burnt. Still. Still black and burnt after all these years. It went down beneath the floor, and if that got moldy and wet and fell away, you could see to the basement and that's probably all old scorches and scars that came up from the basement where it started. That's a long way. Sixteen floors. My landlord said it was water damage, stuff I had to pay to fix. I told him to go to hell.
I'm the only one up here anyway. Everybody has been moving out. They say it's going to be condemned. There's still a lock on the front door. I figure that's good. The elevator creaks. There's a sign inside above the buttons from the landlord that says "I know it's loud. It's fine." It works. It's loud. It screeches, like it's scraping against the sides. I told him to grease it, grease the sides, grease something, you can hear that thing screaming all night. People need to get upstairs. Lots of people here work late. But you wish they'd take the stairs after ten. And now that I saw those scorches. I can't ask him to grease it no more. What if it caught fire. What if that metal scraping caught the grease. Pilar of fire running up the side of the building all over again.
The windows still open. The wind whips. It makes this place feel bigger. It's one room. Everything in one place. I can almost touch either end of it. I told my doctor that's why I got so fat. I got noplace to walk. I can reach the fridge from the chair. The tv from the chair. But the wind whips. Pigeons come by. Ms. Renata is convinced they come by because it looks like a nest. Brown and messy. The walls match the carpet match the tv match the chair. Newspapers get down when they get down. She brought over a painting she did. It's good. She takes a class. Does fruit bowls. Apples all over.
Pigeons come when they come. I moved the chair nearer to the sil so when they leave I can watch them spiral down to the street. There's a food cart guy they bother.
You're allowed to beg. That's something you're allowed to do. Might as well.
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
Yesterday, during a situation where I was over-excited about making an important point, I said the wrong thing.
Them: "Right, but there's an order to it."
Me: "No, you're not thinking about this the right way. All of this is gone in a week, so it doesn't matter. Not that it ever did. What I mean is: your title is even more meaningless than it was in the first place. It's not like Title Thunderdome - we're not going to lose our jobs in order. We're just gone. It's nothing. It'll be unverifiable even though nobody ever wanted to verify that in the first place. You could literally call yourself The Imperial Grand Wizard of Traffic and it really woulnd't make a difference.
Well no wait. I guess that would make a difference. That'd be a giant difference. That'd be really weird. They'd want to know about that. That's not a good...
Them: Isn't that the Klu Klux Klan thing?
Me: Yeah, but -- I didn't mean to use that as -- the point holds if I didn't pick the one single title that would...
Them: Yeesh.
Me: No no no. I mean that you can call yourself anything. Except that. Or Furher of Traffic. That's similarly off the table.
Them:....
Me: No. Now I'm making fun of myself for the -- earlier. I just --- look, the point holds. The point holds!
I can't let go of a good point.
____________________________________________
Tuesday, February 02, 2010
Hilobrow Contest
SHOCKING UPDATE: I DID NOT WIN THIS CONTEST.
Saw this today:
http://hilobrow.com/2010/01/26/hilo-micro-fiction-contest/
Wrote this in response:
In Europe, I toppled tanks and burned holes through reenlisted castles for this country. I was made to murder young men. Brave young men died screaming at me, a monster. They are no longer on this earth because I am.
This country turned me red. Radiation of some kind. There were 12 boys in an empty steel room before the flash. I thought I was reflecting the red hot walls. I left smoldering foot prints in ash as I was ushered out by billowy plastic men. They'd only asked for volunteers and I blindly gave myself to them. They never said why. They created this.
I became rumors and blurry photos. Then I was unlikely newspaper clippings. And, suddenly, I am a ticker tape parade, a brief moment where I am only real enough to call a hoax. Just a moment. And then the ticker tape landed on my shoulders and smoldered and curled behind me. I am pulling a trail of smoke through the downtown silence. I stood stunning the celebration of frightened onlookers. A grand celebration transformed into the serenity of a snow globe. I felt shame. It was my first moment. My first act upon this world. Shame had shaken you from me.
Power is living the way you choose. I gave it away willingly and then had it taken from me. Now I will take it back. I am sorry for what I must do. Prepare yourselves. I am no longer yours.
---
Neat experiment - I've never written any scifi. Tried to write that as if it were a fifties type villain. Also - hard to write only 250 words, but useful. I write too many usually. I wrote that and then spent a few hours tinkering with word choices and trying to express as much as I could with as little as possible. Reads a little stunted. I don't think I'll win, but it was fun.
Saw this today:
http://hilobrow.com/2010/01/26/hilo-micro-fiction-contest/
Wrote this in response:
In Europe, I toppled tanks and burned holes through reenlisted castles for this country. I was made to murder young men. Brave young men died screaming at me, a monster. They are no longer on this earth because I am.
This country turned me red. Radiation of some kind. There were 12 boys in an empty steel room before the flash. I thought I was reflecting the red hot walls. I left smoldering foot prints in ash as I was ushered out by billowy plastic men. They'd only asked for volunteers and I blindly gave myself to them. They never said why. They created this.
I became rumors and blurry photos. Then I was unlikely newspaper clippings. And, suddenly, I am a ticker tape parade, a brief moment where I am only real enough to call a hoax. Just a moment. And then the ticker tape landed on my shoulders and smoldered and curled behind me. I am pulling a trail of smoke through the downtown silence. I stood stunning the celebration of frightened onlookers. A grand celebration transformed into the serenity of a snow globe. I felt shame. It was my first moment. My first act upon this world. Shame had shaken you from me.
Power is living the way you choose. I gave it away willingly and then had it taken from me. Now I will take it back. I am sorry for what I must do. Prepare yourselves. I am no longer yours.
---
Neat experiment - I've never written any scifi. Tried to write that as if it were a fifties type villain. Also - hard to write only 250 words, but useful. I write too many usually. I wrote that and then spent a few hours tinkering with word choices and trying to express as much as I could with as little as possible. Reads a little stunted. I don't think I'll win, but it was fun.
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