Saturday, June 11, 2011
Saturday, June 4, 2011
Let Me See...
Words for this one: ocean, investigate, polish. I left it on "common" complexity. Maybe these are a bit too common....
Let me see....
In the depths of earliest morning, when only cats and alcoholics are awake, Leonardo found himself awake too. He hated cats and the most ferocious thing he ever drank was black tea. Yet he was awake. He could get out of bed and investigate what woke him but that would require reserves of energy and willpower that he did not have. Not at such an hour as this. Not when the sun had hours before lifting, not when his pillow conformed to his head and cradled his neck ever so expertly. Not when the cotton sheets cooled his desire for anything more than sleep. Or sex. But that wasn't gonna happen. As he lie there thinking about his computer and his secret porn file, he realized he wasn't gonna get more sleep either.
So he got out of bed.
He put on a robe, one of silk with a crest on it, as if he lived in a mansion with a grotto and a sand volley ball court. And babes strewn about the lawn like bouncy balls on a padded floor of a daycare. And Polish sausages on every man--well, except for the occasional Vienna sausage.
In the living room, Leonardo stood and listened. Above him, in the apartment identical to his but with a woman in it, he could hear stomping. He knew this neighbor to be a small woman, both short and skinny. She had never bothered him before. But this was bothering him. It didn't have the regular beat of a sexual encounter and he couldn't hear any moans or other vocalizations indicative of sex. It sounded like she was squashing bugs.
Securing his robe, he left his apartment, climbed the exterior steps to his neighbor's landing, and stood before her door. He didn't have to knock.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she said as she opened her door. She wore a robe, much like his, only short and bright pink. His was red. And long. She wore stiletto heels on her feet and they were dirty, the red leather stained purple or black. Her robe opened at the chest and he could see she wore nothing underneath. His Vienna sausage grew into something more Polish. He looked past her into her living room and saw what it was all about. A potential ocean of possibilities opened before him.
"Is that...a hand?" he asked.
"Yes," she said. "But it's not mine. I mean, it is now but it wasn't when I got it. Will you come in? It's not exactly warm out."
Leonardo stepped into his neighbor's home and she shut the door behind him.
to
be
continued
Let me see....
In the depths of earliest morning, when only cats and alcoholics are awake, Leonardo found himself awake too. He hated cats and the most ferocious thing he ever drank was black tea. Yet he was awake. He could get out of bed and investigate what woke him but that would require reserves of energy and willpower that he did not have. Not at such an hour as this. Not when the sun had hours before lifting, not when his pillow conformed to his head and cradled his neck ever so expertly. Not when the cotton sheets cooled his desire for anything more than sleep. Or sex. But that wasn't gonna happen. As he lie there thinking about his computer and his secret porn file, he realized he wasn't gonna get more sleep either.
So he got out of bed.
He put on a robe, one of silk with a crest on it, as if he lived in a mansion with a grotto and a sand volley ball court. And babes strewn about the lawn like bouncy balls on a padded floor of a daycare. And Polish sausages on every man--well, except for the occasional Vienna sausage.
In the living room, Leonardo stood and listened. Above him, in the apartment identical to his but with a woman in it, he could hear stomping. He knew this neighbor to be a small woman, both short and skinny. She had never bothered him before. But this was bothering him. It didn't have the regular beat of a sexual encounter and he couldn't hear any moans or other vocalizations indicative of sex. It sounded like she was squashing bugs.
Securing his robe, he left his apartment, climbed the exterior steps to his neighbor's landing, and stood before her door. He didn't have to knock.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she said as she opened her door. She wore a robe, much like his, only short and bright pink. His was red. And long. She wore stiletto heels on her feet and they were dirty, the red leather stained purple or black. Her robe opened at the chest and he could see she wore nothing underneath. His Vienna sausage grew into something more Polish. He looked past her into her living room and saw what it was all about. A potential ocean of possibilities opened before him.
"Is that...a hand?" he asked.
"Yes," she said. "But it's not mine. I mean, it is now but it wasn't when I got it. Will you come in? It's not exactly warm out."
Leonardo stepped into his neighbor's home and she shut the door behind him.
to
be
continued
Saturday, May 21, 2011
Friday, May 20, 2011
Let Me Try for "Funny" or at Least "Eww Gross"
Today's words are: relevancy, surfeit, and dolorous.
The relevancy of long pig came into focus on the afternoon when the last can of dog food turned out to be rancid. Mike knew not what caused the dog food to contaminate so utterly but it really didn't matter. He wanted to live, not yack his sweet meats out and die in a pool of himself. Nay, today he would find a way to carry on. He would triumph in the face of adversity because he had nothing else to do.
He'd have to Go Out and Look for Food.
A breeze, of a temperature akin to warm, blew across his bare skin, upon which a rash grew. The wind did not make it feel better nor did the sun. He shot one of them in the head as he came into the center of town. He would have sworn the dolorous face eased a little with a smile as it died. It had a rather nice leather belt around its waist and he tore it loose and hitched it around himself. If he couldn't surfeit himself with proper food, he might have to boil that belt and pretend. He wondered what boiled zombie brains would taste like, toeing a piece of skull as he pondered. He'd seen survivalists suck marrow out of bones back in the Age of Television but he didn't think there was enough left in a zombie to bother putting his lips together.
But then he found something that could entice him to do oh so much more. He found a real life woman. And from the look of her, she'd had plenty to eat. She saw him and walked in the other direction, letting him follow. The waggle of her walk reminded him of pork chops and bacon. He wanted to dip strips of her thighs in barbecue sauce and broil them on an open flame. He could have bit into the flesh of her upper arm while his fingers tore off her ears and stuffed them in his pockets for later.
Then she turned on him. And she shot him dead. From the shadow of an alley came a group of other plump humans. Together they hauled Mike away and made plans for a mighty good time.
The relevancy of long pig came into focus on the afternoon when the last can of dog food turned out to be rancid. Mike knew not what caused the dog food to contaminate so utterly but it really didn't matter. He wanted to live, not yack his sweet meats out and die in a pool of himself. Nay, today he would find a way to carry on. He would triumph in the face of adversity because he had nothing else to do.
He'd have to Go Out and Look for Food.
A breeze, of a temperature akin to warm, blew across his bare skin, upon which a rash grew. The wind did not make it feel better nor did the sun. He shot one of them in the head as he came into the center of town. He would have sworn the dolorous face eased a little with a smile as it died. It had a rather nice leather belt around its waist and he tore it loose and hitched it around himself. If he couldn't surfeit himself with proper food, he might have to boil that belt and pretend. He wondered what boiled zombie brains would taste like, toeing a piece of skull as he pondered. He'd seen survivalists suck marrow out of bones back in the Age of Television but he didn't think there was enough left in a zombie to bother putting his lips together.
But then he found something that could entice him to do oh so much more. He found a real life woman. And from the look of her, she'd had plenty to eat. She saw him and walked in the other direction, letting him follow. The waggle of her walk reminded him of pork chops and bacon. He wanted to dip strips of her thighs in barbecue sauce and broil them on an open flame. He could have bit into the flesh of her upper arm while his fingers tore off her ears and stuffed them in his pockets for later.
Then she turned on him. And she shot him dead. From the shadow of an alley came a group of other plump humans. Together they hauled Mike away and made plans for a mighty good time.
Thursday, May 19, 2011
The First in a Series
Ok, so I'm gonna use Creativity Tools' Random Word Generator (Plus) and get a noun, a verb, and an adjective and write a brief thing. Today's words are: embitterment, begriming, and enfeebling. Gonna shoot for 300 words, I guess.
In the beginning, when Jenny's lust for Rob had yet to fade and her desire to buy fancy underthings grew on a daily basis, she did not see the end coming nor did she fear its inevitability. When she finally bought some lacy teddy thingy at Frederick's and wore it for Rob, he clutched her with feverish fingers, begriming the $50 fabric with KFC grease and something that smelled like rust or blood or maybe even very old garbage.
It wasn't until Laundry Day that the embitterment began. She could not get the stains out of the teddy thingy. It smelled of his hands but worse now, stronger, more ripe, more like garbage now, less like rust. She bleached the item. When she removed it from the smelly bleachy water, it fell apart in her hands. The lace's intricate spacing and fine matter mushed up into balls of slime. The little satin bows fell limp, dejected, ratty along the edges. Small plastic pearls, once iridescent like the real things, faded to chalk white. Gossamer tulle, once her favorite feature of the item, snagged and matted, tangling itself. In that moment, when her fanciest garment disintegrated in her cold hands, she knew Rob's supposed affection was enfeebling, his sex degrading, and his touch corrosive.
In the end, she brought him a bucket of KFC extra crispy, and sprinkled on a little bleach for good measure.
In the beginning, when Jenny's lust for Rob had yet to fade and her desire to buy fancy underthings grew on a daily basis, she did not see the end coming nor did she fear its inevitability. When she finally bought some lacy teddy thingy at Frederick's and wore it for Rob, he clutched her with feverish fingers, begriming the $50 fabric with KFC grease and something that smelled like rust or blood or maybe even very old garbage.
It wasn't until Laundry Day that the embitterment began. She could not get the stains out of the teddy thingy. It smelled of his hands but worse now, stronger, more ripe, more like garbage now, less like rust. She bleached the item. When she removed it from the smelly bleachy water, it fell apart in her hands. The lace's intricate spacing and fine matter mushed up into balls of slime. The little satin bows fell limp, dejected, ratty along the edges. Small plastic pearls, once iridescent like the real things, faded to chalk white. Gossamer tulle, once her favorite feature of the item, snagged and matted, tangling itself. In that moment, when her fanciest garment disintegrated in her cold hands, she knew Rob's supposed affection was enfeebling, his sex degrading, and his touch corrosive.
In the end, she brought him a bucket of KFC extra crispy, and sprinkled on a little bleach for good measure.
Tuesday, May 17, 2011
Resurrection
I haven't been on here in....a very long time. And the reason is simple. I have no direction for this thing. I was thinking some sort of fictiony thing cuz my real life is not worth writing about. Maybe I will find a random word generator and write something brief based on what it gives me. Kinda like Three Words we used to do on Facebook...
If anyone reads this, tell me to go to Hell or to proceed or something. Please.
And thank you.
If anyone reads this, tell me to go to Hell or to proceed or something. Please.
And thank you.
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