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short story writers, journalists, painters, and poets
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Author Topic: short story writers, journalists, painters, and poets  (Read 89245 times)
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milly balgeary
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« Reply #25 on: Mar 08, 2005, 10:41:03 PM »

thanks nat, ipod shuffler!

names i'm keeping them close to my heart. they are a repugnant lot and i am not fond of any of them. they tend to be about incurable sexual diseases and trolls. thanks jeb. i got smashed over my poetry a while back by my friend's girlfriend who was a "poetess". she called my poetry awful. the only funny thing is that my other friend when describing her ethnicity called her "u.n." because he couldn't tell.

so what are y'll processes? let's be extremely lame and talk about how and why we write what we do, draw what we do, etc.

i have to do it in final draft and then copy to adobe indesign, and draw pictures to tell myself what is happening, and then export as adobe pdf's and set the size to 100 magnification. its totally obsessive and slightly creepy. what you do?

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« Reply #26 on: Mar 08, 2005, 10:55:48 PM »

i have to write a paper on poetics for my poetry workshop, so i have to start thinking about my writing process, which i never really think about at all.  usually i just get inspired and i write, and that's about it.

I'm not racist, I've got lots of black Facebook friends.
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« Reply #27 on: Mar 08, 2005, 11:02:44 PM »

i'd like to read more of your poetry.  and the idea of stories about incurable sexual diseases and trolls is an appealing one, so i think you should share.

I'm not racist, I've got lots of black Facebook friends.
Cowboy Dan
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« Reply #28 on: Mar 08, 2005, 11:15:04 PM »

So I just registered and here are some pictures.

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« Reply #29 on: Mar 08, 2005, 11:39:04 PM »

i really like the landscape or whatever ones.  i really like that style of photography.

I'm not racist, I've got lots of black Facebook friends.
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« Reply #30 on: Mar 09, 2005, 01:31:23 AM »

This is one that I sort of had to crank out at the last second, but it didn't turn out too shabby.  I can't seem to get it to let me indent, even if I use spacebar instead of tab, so don't fret 'bout any unclear speaker change

__________________Blurry and Oblivious.
                 Where were you last night?  He thought to himself.  He rolled over on his mattress that lay on the floor, it didn,Aeot have a bed frame.  His head was spinning, his whole body ached, and his thoughts were blurry and unfocused.  His mouth tasted like vomit and there were little red crusted spots on the jeans he had slept in.  Damn.  I wonder what happened to me, he thought.  He was suddenly worried and reached into his pockets.  He found his cell phone, his keys, and his wallet.  Good, he thought, I didn,Aeot lose any vitals.  He also found a receipt, so he pulled it open and tugged at the tiny wrinkles until it was legible.  It contained these four items: Cigarettes, I don,Aeot smoke; two cases of Steel Reserve tall cans, that explains the amnesia; and a six-dollar container of smoked almonds.  Why the fuck would I buy smoked almonds?
   He was sitting upright on his mattress, pondering that very question when his thoughts were interrupted by a loud, irritating beeping noise.  His mind was still unfocused and it took him a few moments to realize that the noise was coming from his cell phone.  It was ringing.  He didn,Aeot recognize the name that popped up on the caller ID.  It was female.
   ,AeuHello?,Aeu he said.
   ,AeuHey!  What,Aeos up?,Aeu  The girl,Aeos voice was annoyingly chipper.  His head hurt.
   ,AeuOh hey,,Aeu he said, pretending to recognize the voice, ,AeuI just woke up.,Aeu  He had no idea who was on the other line.
   ,AeuYeah, you had a really rough night last night.,Aeu
   ,AeuReally?  I must,Aeove blacked out or something,,Aeu he told her.
   ,AeuWhat like, uh, you like, don,Aeot remember anything?,Aeu  Her voice sounded less chipper and increasingly embarrassed.
   ,AeuNo, not really,,Aeu he said, then thinking quickly in spite his hangover he added, ,Aeubut I remember you.,Aeu  It was a lie.
   ,AeuWell,,Aeu she said, sounding less embarrassed, ,Aeumy friend Ashley and I met you at this party.  You were pretty drunk by then.  You came back to my apartment and you and Ashley and I . . .,Aeu she trailed off.
   The tension grew thick and stale in the copper wires between their ears.  His head was still too fuzzy,Aeihis mind too clouded,Aeito determine the significance of the chain of events.  
   ,AeuYou don,Aeot remember any of that?,Aeu
   ,AeuI,Aeom telling you.  I don,Aeot remember a damn thing.  I,Aeove never blacked out for that long before.  I sure must,Aeove had a good time last night,,Aeu he said, oblivious to the situation.
   ,AeuUh, well, you could say that,,Aeu she said smugly.
   ,AeuWhat do you mean?,Aeu  His inability to grasp the situation was starting to annoy the girl, but her embarrassment kept her from being blunt with him.
   ,AeuIt,Aeos just that, well, I don,Aeot know.  You came back to my apartment with Ashley and me, and then.  Well, we,,Aeu she paused, ,Aeunothing, never mind.  I was just calling to make sure you got home safely, Bye.,Aeu
   She quickly hung up and didn,Aeot wait for him to interject.  He thought for a moment.  His head hurt and he was confused by all the things the chirping girl had said.  He looked down at his cell phone and called the number that had just called him.
   ,AeuHello,,Aeu she sheepishly answered.  Her timorous voice shook with fear and worry as she wondered what he might say in regard to the lurid events of the previous evening.
   ,AeuDo you know why I bought smoked almonds?,Aeu

Quote from: Heathcote
I'm in with Greg Nog, IT'S FUCKING FAFFLE TIME!
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« Reply #31 on: Mar 09, 2005, 02:35:55 AM »

That's hilarious, Fred.

I've got this homeless bit of fiction here.  Homeless cos I don't have a larger story to insert it into yet.  It's a good reading piece for open mics &c.  Here goes...

Tracing a finger around the lip of her can of beer, she sat on the sofa across from me and soured.  She'll do this.  I'll follow.  We'll arrive at a party around the same time, chatting with everyone but each other,Aeithen, as the crowd thins out, we engage in a sort of intoxicated being-distracted match.

We've been formally introduced on five separate occasions by about as many people who never seem to know either of us.  David, this is Charlotte.  Charlotte, this is David.

The rules for being distracted are simple: act,Aeibut don't be,Aeidistracted.  Shift your weight, nurse a beverage, twiddle your thumbs, but never take your focus off the other person.  Don't let them make for the open bar without some sort of complimentary action like asking the guy next to you for the time.  If she's talking up the host's nervous-looking cousin, you have to put forth the effort to be equally or more sociable.  Make sure you can see her and,Aeimore importantly,Aeimake sure she sees you.

This is how bitterness plays out.  Getting good at Being Distracted requires about three months: one to get over your fear of running into each other in public, one to regain your composure (leaving early is an automatic forfeit and could endanger your status on the playing field from then on.  Remember that the earlier that you leave, the more people will be there for her to warn about you).  By month three, you should be callous enough to be able to feign casualness without actually engaging in any other meaningful social interaction (also a risk to your game-status).  With the proper skills, simple breakups and other spats can become full-fledged cold wars.

Whoever talks first loses.  Extra points if the interaction is loud and socially damaging.  Emotional meltdowns are acceptable as well.  If any endgame activity kills the party atmosphere, winner (if any) is declared at the host's discretion.  If either opponent winds up in a casual tryst with any other partygoer, the unlucky other has 24 hours to...catch up.  Whoever sleeps first, wins.  BUT, if opposing parties wind up sleeping together in some act of drunken compassion or truce, a flag is thrown and mutual forfeit is called and contestants must either (a) start over or (b) resume relationship until it falls apart again.

Truces are unacceptable and inappropriate.  Whilst in the breach, soldiers do not lie down their arms to fraternize with the enemy; to break bread at their tables.  All cities are to be razed and fields to be sown with salt.

I didn't write the rules, but I have to play by them.  I sour back at her and ask the guy next to me for the time.

I need anne the man lessons
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« Reply #32 on: Mar 09, 2005, 07:52:05 AM »

I wish I could get back into writing fiction, but I just can't do it.  I'm too aimless and in love with non-sensical ramblings to ever really write anything worth a damn.  The last fiction I wrote was the beginning of a story about a country musician who never made it, and his son who was kidnapped by his lone obsessed fan.  Didn't get very far with it, though.

I'm not racist, I've got lots of black Facebook friends.
milly balgeary
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« Reply #33 on: Mar 09, 2005, 10:14:00 AM »

names, this is kind of crack i am apparently on. i am never going to finish writing this. i just started writing it at work. it was originally about a nanotechnology weapon called a bug house with microbes that embed themselves in flesh and turn people into giant bugs. it was about like, former drug addicts turning into bugs and was somehow going to deal with how they were giant drug addicted bugs. it went haywire and got boring somewhere through. i don't edit. actually reading back through it is quite possible i wasn't sure what i was writing. note to myself.

The bug house came from Beijing. From that angled and beautiful city, to New York via United Parcel Service, then to Madison, Wisconsin, where it hung out in lost and found and then was sent back the way it came, was rerouted to New York again and then went missing again, only this time, it was not discovered in lost and found. It went missing but no one called with the routing number so it was just missing, not even forgotten because no one remembered anyway.
Agent Jane Bridges with the NSA called it a ,Aeudisease-maker,Aeu and when she met with her superior, the imminent former natural history professor, Dr. Greenlee, she referred to it as such. ,AeuThe disease-maker,,Aeu she said.
,AeuThe disease-maker is MIA,,Aeu she said.
Jane had a deep fondness for acronyms.
Dr. Greenlee, who did not share Jane,Aeos enthusiasm for acronyms put it more succinctly: ,Aeushit.,Aeu
,AeuThe package is out there hanging lose,,Aeu Jane said.
,AeuYou have no leads?,Aeu
,AeuIt went to New York then to Wisconsin, back to New York, then it disappeared.,Aeu

Through mischance the bug house ended up in the receiving bin of Bridgehouse halfway house. Bridgehouse was a community who adamantly said no to what they had once acceded, whether alcohol, cocaine, or something worse, the house had strict guidelines on receiving packages. Darlene Saunders was working the front and perused the unaddressed package which was stamped with colicky postal stamps, effluvia in the center of an ever widening horizon of purple and red and gray official federal writing.
She snarled as the phone rang. She dropped the package in the in-box meaning to get a look at it later. It was the state auditor again. Brian Conner, a middle-aged little man with officious lips and a way of speaking that raised Darlene,Aeos red flag. Darlene knew, just Knew, Brian was the hatchet man on a program of state cutbacks. Bridgehouse did not have near the room to adequately care for the number of residents the prison had been funneling their way. They were already at capacity, with not enough counselors. Darlene slumped in her chair and turned the receiver to her ear.
,AeuMs. Bridgehouse,,Aeu Conner said. ,AeuMs. Bidgehouse I was simply calling to inform you..
Darlene grunted and slammed the receiver down, shaking her desk, and overtipping a vase of summer flowers one of the residents who had a crush on her had given her.
Darlene was still trembling when Hiram Arroyo, resplendent in a pastel yellow sweater, gnawing at his pipe, found her.
,AeuDarlene!,Aeu Hiram said. ,AeuOh Darlene.,Aeu
He shook his pipe at her:

Darlene, loveliest of lovely flowers,
Sweets that bloom with laughter,
Scent of willow and bark hereafter,
Will you marry me Darlene?
Will you set this old duck free,
By saying yes, this very hour!

Darlene rubbed her eyes.
,AeuHiram,,Aeu she sighed. ,AeuQuaint.,Aeu
Hiram was an old man in the way a recovered alcoholic is old. He was attractive, Darlene admitted to herself. In the way an aged Errol Flynn as Captain Blood would have been attractive, had he ceased his marauding, piratical ways, and settled in a drug and alcohol halfway house.
Hiram had a crush on Darlene.
,AeuShe might be twenty years younger Bruce,,Aeu he told a wild haired shabby man who was at back at Bridgehouse for the third time in two years. ,AeuBut I think she,Aeos warmin,Aeo to me.,Aeu
,AeuIt is the poetry that does the work,,Aeu Hiram continued. ,AeuI just sit back. A new poem everyday.,Aeu He trailed off.
,AeuIt is Bobby, man, not Bruce.,Aeu
,AeuAh,,Aeu Hiram said.

The bug house ended up mixed in Rodger Stringfellow,Aeos mail. He was eighteen and court ordered to hang up his spurs and his addiction to speed. Rodger spend most of his days working in the kitchen. He discovered when they assigned him kitchen duties that he had a talent for cooking. At meetings, as one of the youngest addicts, he rarely spoke out, not having the decade spanning tragedies older addicts shared. The rare times Rodger stood up and addressed the group he thanked God and Jesus that he could cook.
He set his mail in the kitchen on a long stainless steel table. He received a lot of mail. His high school friends, freshly graduated, planned to throw a big party for him when his time was up. Rodger did not notice when things came out of the bug house. Things was an apt word. Agent Jane Bridges called them ,Aeocarrier bugs,Aeo. The carrier bugs, about the size of a flake of skin each, embedded themselves in a ham Rodger was preparing for the Bridehouse farewell dinner. Rodger washed his hands as the bugs busily nested in the ham. When he opened the package the bug house was empty. He was disgusted. Some of his school friends were pranksters, but why would they send a glistening honeycomb? He began meal preparations as soon as he had tossed the bug house in the garbage.

Just when you thought things couldn,Aeot be any worse, Agent Jane Bridges thought. She sat next to Dr. Greenlee on a commercial flight. Dr. Greenlee was raving drunk.
,AeuSitth,,Aeu said Dr. Greenlee. ,AeuRelax Agent Bridges.,Aeu
,AeuSir, I have grave concerns.,Aeu
,AeuYou always do,,Aeu Dr. Greenlee giggled.
,AeuSir we picked up the carrier bugs in active mode. Don,Aeot you think it would have been wise to take a military flight instead of embarking and debarking on this hunk of metal three times?,Aeu
,AeuThe airline shortage you know,,Aeu Dr Greenlee ordered another drink with a lavish gesture to the male steward. He beamed.
,AeuWe,Aeore pumping money back into the system Agent Bridges by taking this hunk of metal! They buy more airlines!,Aeu
Dr. Greenlee bumped his head on the way to the bathroom.
When he did not return a short time later, Agent Bridges sighed, unfastened her seatbelt and went to find him.
She found Dr. Greenlee bent over the cocktail cart. At first she thought she was witnessing a bizarre sexual encounter, between her boss and the steward from earlier. Then she saw Dr. Greenlee was nursing a bloody nose.
,AeuAgent Bankth,,Aeu Dr. Greenlee shouted when he saw her. ,AeuArrreth thith man. He hath broken my nose.,Aeu
She sighed and looked to the steward for an explanation.
The steward shrugged. ,AeuToo much too drink,,Aeu he said.
Jane manhandled Dr. Greenlee back to coach.
,AeuYou stay put,,Aeu she threatened..
Dr. Greenlee sputtered and held a napkin Jane gave him to his bleeding nose.
,AeuFucking hunk of metal,,Aeu he spat.

milly balgeary
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« Reply #34 on: Mar 09, 2005, 11:08:42 AM »

my obsession with trolls and orphans. this is a part of a rather larger part of my obsession finding a home. - edited-
yo, that was way too long and robbed of context; i do enjoy porters though! leaving that..

The afternoon James turned into a white moth and flew further away from Seableby than any other orphan had ever gone before, was the day the Porters decided to destroy the garden. The Porters, large men both, giggled as they tore out the roots of flowers and disrupted the sod and bird nests secreted away by lovely red birds of the sea, of the species Hymophoius Binzariums. They trampled grass. One porter climbed on the back of another and swung on a tree branch, the other porter reaching up to grab his ankles and lifting his own feet off the ground until by the combination of their weight the branch came crashing down. They planted swamp nettles. They laughed uproarishly when a Hymophoius Binzariums
attempted to protect its nest. It finally launched off bearing its young to a safer haven. The Porters behavior was inscrutable. They worked without rhyme or reason destroying it seemed, just for the sake of causing harm. Perhaps they were bored, but they did not look it. The Porters never looked bored. They always seemed to be sharing a joke between them. A cruel joke, although open cruelty or outright cruelty seemed too tame for them. They indulged in mysterious cruelty.

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« Reply #35 on: Mar 09, 2005, 02:04:52 PM »

i can't read this kind of stuff online; i'll have to print it out.

I'm not racist, I've got lots of black Facebook friends.
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« Reply #36 on: Mar 10, 2005, 10:34:43 PM »

Sat on a plank bench in the dim musty artery that runs the length of the probate court and officer's office waiting with mother for father as the soda machine flickers shadows against the restroom door and serious men in dark colors and bright wingtips move in patterns circulations ebullience, rich vital blood of courthouse and bureacracy and he is safe and fine here, tells mother and she frowns, the deep lines and creases around her mouth fuzzy with the fine dust, she says no, no child, this is a horrible place and he makes a conscious decision not to believe, watching and believing instead the steady upward flow of tailored receptacles in widening gyres to the head to collect orders and thoughts and descend again, disseminating nervous impulses to twitching extremities and jaundiced humors, precipitating the codified life functions, the rank and file of modernity a chemical reconciliation, fluctuations, peaks and valleys plotted on an indelible line, the line strung between (cause) and an inordinate number of variances and he sees, knows, the patterns are ancillary and above, at once, the end result, the product being singular and independent of its process but beautiful, still he watches, waits for father as mother lights cigarettes with long blue-tipped kitchen matches popped alight against thick broken thumbnails and bailiffs passing blowing kisses, disapproval out of lips puffy and delicate from whiskey lunches and cigarettes taken in the blistering, howling cold beyond the barred windows; father's screaming behind them and the probation officer is screaming back, voices raised to shrill pinnacles, father shouts epithets and calls the man bourgeois, a tool, a vessel (of course, of course, why wouldn't he be?) for the distribution of repression to common men like him, common decent family men just trying to make a buck in such a shitty world and what hope does he have against the mouthbreathing horde of officers and officials, dumbed-down soulless corporate lackey scumfuck bastards with pensions and retirement benefits who pass down their judgments from a height so removed that they've forgotten what the small people below look like up close and still they drag their bloated cocks out of their Dockers to wag in the high winds and loose their contempt in thick, viscous streams and now the probation officer is telling father to shut. the fuck. up. before he shuts him up himself, follows this by saying he's only trying to help, that father is making things needlessly difficult because of pride he can't afford any longer and father shrieks that you can't ever help anyone if you don't know them from the inside, he screams, rapist, he screams and bursts through the door and its single pane of stenciled glass shatters into gleaming thick shards against his face, blood from a thousand wounds wells and soaks up over his skin like cranberry juice to a napkin and he presses hands to his eyes, cheeks, ruby droplets oozing through his fingers, fat commemorative rings along his knuckles; mother screaming runs to his side, wipes at the blood viciously with a wet rag, peeling back long scrolls of skin but no hidden musculature is revealed, only more skin, darker, tanner, pocked and brown and now she rubs his nose right off his face, brown eyes roll in on themselves and back around to mottled gray and it's Enid there, shirt collar slick with blood, clumps of false face curdled at her throat like stringy, pallid cheese; Enid-father pushes mother aside and comes to its full, terrible height, grabs him by the forearm and twists with knurled hairy fingers sinking into his flesh, marches him down the artery away from mother toward the lower stair and the lights flicker by turns, each darkness advancing them another flight, each illumination sparkling on piles of gold and silver heaped in every corner, ducats and dubloons and crowns and scepters, Enid-father says that we'll never know one another, and that helping the ones you love is impossible so long as you refuse their disparity and separateness; he is mewling, snot seeps out of his nose and mouth and dries against his face and his Spiderman sweatshirt and he is being beaten from behind about the neck and shoulders while Enid-father drags him lower and lower toward the bowels, he looks back and sees his mother clutching the Oxford Unabridged, waiting for him to turn once more that she might lunge and pummel his soft head with the awful weight of knowledge, but Enid-father opens a hatch in the floor, scattering krugerrands, pearls, tumescence straining against acid wash jeans as it points into the hole where strange scents are born and he is flung into wet darkness, smell of yeast and flowers as he scrabbles blindly beside Enid-father and it is slicking his hands with greasy gel and the opening in the soft wall initially resists before warming beneath their prodding fingers, smeared with chemical lubricant they tease and knead the folds and crevices and there is a yielding, a soft inward sigh of submission as the great edifice quivers and parts to a bright gray morning, the penetration becomes an expellant with a groan and a push and they are ejaculated together, mired in afterbirth, suspended in the placental jelly and the look upon Enid-father's face is one of shock and horror as it kick-thrashes through the crimson murk to reach the surface he grabs it about the waist and holds it close and as they sink, tumbling through the flotsam and detritus toward the unknowable lighless bottom, they do so together.

think 'on the road.'
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« Reply #37 on: Mar 11, 2005, 01:17:53 AM »

fuck it.

here's a very small piece of chapter two of the novel i wrote last may. it's first draft, and i haven't done shit as far as revisions. a friend did editing for me and i've barely looked at the manuscript he scribbled all over. i think that this project will be my next one, however--to get this whole thing finished and start schlepping it around to potential agents/publishers.

but yeah, here you go. don't kill it too bad.

The first day of my senior year of high school began with a novelty,Aeifor the first time in my life, I was actually driving to school. After being old enough for a good six months, my parents had finally let me get my driver,Aeos license that summer, and I was even given the use of the old station wagon that had been the family car before my dad had gotten my mom a new car two years before. It had barely been driven during those two years, but my dad hadn,Aeot sold it, I suppose because he was keeping it around for me. It was a pretty crappy car, but it was better than nothing, and it had a tape deck in it, so there was that.

   My younger sister was also starting high school that year, so the deal was that she would ride to and from school every day with me. This wasn,Aeot as bad as it could have been,AeiAlicia was almost 14 now, and not nearly as annoying to me as she,Aeod been as a little kid. It was kind of hard adjusting to the idea that she was actually not a little kid anymore, but we,Aeod ended up getting into a few serious conversations over the summer, and she actually had some interesting, halfway mature things to say. So I figured sitting in a car with her for a half hour every day wouldn,Aeot be all that bad, as long as she didn,Aeot start making fun of the music I played.

   However, the idea of having her in the same school building with me for the first time since I was in eighth grade was a bit scary. ,AeuYou,Aeore not gonna try to hang out with me and my friends out in the courtyard or anything are you?,Aeu I asked her on the way to school that morning.

   ,AeuOh whatever, like I want to hang out with you and your asshole friends anyway,,Aeu she said, rolling her eyes.

   ,AeuDude, my friends aren,Aeot assholes. Well, not all of them.,Aeu

   ,AeuOK, no, Jason,Aeos not an asshole. And I guess Matt isn,Aeot an asshole either, but that,Aeos just because he never talks. It,Aeos sort of scary.,Aeu

   ,AeuMatt talks, he just has to be comfortable with you. And there aren,Aeot many people he,Aeos comfortable with.,Aeu

   ,AeuIf you say so.,Aeu

   ,AeuYeah, I do. And besides, you haven,Aeot seen any of the other guys since you were like 10. They,Aeove grown up a bit since then.,Aeu

   ,AeuI,Aeoll believe it when I see it.,Aeu

   I let that one go by. To be completely honest, she was more than half right about my friends, and I knew it. It was mostly just typical teenage insecurity, but most of the guys I hung out with got through  all that stuff by being mean to everyone around them who wasn,Aeot part of their small, trusted inner circle. And really, they weren,Aeot that nice to us either.

   My fears about my little sister hanging out and bugging me were unfounded, however. As soon as we showed up at school, she ran over to a nervous-looking group of young girls that I didn,Aeot recognize. Freshman girls, I assumed. I myself walked much more slowly towards a group of guys standing in a corner in a loose circle. There were about a dozen guys in my group of friends at school, some of whom were more integral parts of the group than others. I,Aeod gotten to school with about 5 minutes left before homeroom, and most of them were already there. I took my place in the circle next to Jason, who was probably my closest friend in our group. He was ranting to Chris, the guy I liked least out of everyone, about a record that Chris just had to hear. After a few seconds I figured out that he was talking about the second Rorschach album, ,AeuProtestant,,Aeu which had come out that summer.

   ,AeuThe guy had to get most of his larynx removed, so instead of being all deep-voiced and death metal sounding like he was on the first LP, now he has this fucked up high pitched banshee scream. It,Aeos way more raw than the first record, and the riffs are better too.,Aeu

   Chris shrugged. ,AeuI don,Aeot know, man, I wasn,Aeot all that into that first record.,Aeu

   ,AeuI,Aeoll tape it for you, dude. I,Aeom telling you, it,Aeos worth hearing.,Aeu

   ,AeuYeah, Chris, I agree with Jason on this one,,Aeu I said. ,AeuIt,Aeos an excellent album, I think you,Aeod like it.,Aeu

   Chris sneered at me. ,AeuThis from the guy that loves Superchunk.,Aeu I rolled my eyes. This was the kind of shit that made Chris hard to be around. It was just better to keep your mouth shut. I looked around at the rest of the group. Chris was on Jason,Aeos left, then next to him was Jon, a skinny sarcastic kid who loved Sonic Youth and was really into computers at a time when most people only used them to type papers for school. On his left, almost directly across from me, was Andrew, who had the same name as me and was a lot louder and more well-known around school, to the point where I was often referred to as ,Aeuthe other Andrew,Aeu. I didn,Aeot blame him for it, but it kind of sucked nonetheless. Next to Andrew was Travis, who was the most cynical person I,Aeod ever known at that point. Travis was a good guy who,Aeod go the distance for his friends, but day to day interaction with him could be hard. If you disagreed with him, he was almost impossible to win an argument with, and you were not smart to ever let him catch you using a wisecrack that he,Aeod come up with. But when it really mattered, it was obvious that he cared about his friends, even though it always seemed like he was just waiting for us to turn on him. He was currently in a debate with Jon and Andrew about something, but I didn,Aeot pay enough attention to really be able to tell what it was. Then next to Travis, and on my immediate right, was Matt, the quiet one, who looked asleep on his feet.

   ,AeuMatt, did you get any sleep last night?,Aeu I said

   He looked up at me from between his shoulder length dreadlocks. ,AeuBarely,,Aeu he said. His eyes looked red and bloodshot. ,AeuI,Aeom not exactly happy to be here.,Aeu

   ,AeuYeah, me either,,Aeu I said. ,AeuI have all these college classes this year too, shit is gonna be hard.,Aeu

   He grimaced and shook his head. ,AeuGlad I don,Aeot have to deal with that.,Aeu

   ,AeuYou,Aeore only taking 4 classes this year, right?,Aeu

   ,AeuThree. English, Government, and Algebra II. I,Aeove got everything else I need to graduate, so I can go home after half a day.,Aeu

   I looked up from the patch of grass I,Aeod been staring at. ,AeuI thought you had to have a job to do that.,Aeu

   ,AeuYeah well, I sorta do,,Aeu he said. ,AeuNot many hours though, thank god. It,Aeos a shit job.,Aeu

   ,AeuWorking for your uncle like you did during the summer?,Aeu

   ,AeuYeah.,Aeu He sighed. Matt,Aeos uncle owned a meat distribution company. He,Aeod spent the summer hauling boxes of pork and beef around to local restaurants in a box truck with a refrigeration unit. Rather a cruel irony of a job for a vegetarian to have, but there you were. ,AeuI,Aeom coming in on some nights to load up the trucks for the next day. Sunday through Thursday, in fact, and it takes about two to three hours a night to do. I would rather have just kept driving a truck all year and not come back to school, but my mom really wants me to have a diploma.,Aeu

   ,AeuAt least you,Aeoll still be free to do shows on the weekends. And dude, your mom is probably right about the diploma thing.,Aeu

   He laughed for a second, mirthlessly. ,AeuWhatever.,Aeu I knew Matt wasn,Aeot going to see my point on this particular issue, so I just let the conversation die.

   To my left, Jason and Chris had stopped disagreeing about Rorschach and were now agreeing excitedly about the merits of Man Is The Bastard. I still wasn,Aeot sure how I felt about that particular band, as I,Aeod heard very little of their music, so I decided not to jump back in. At about that moment, Andrew, Jon and Travis apparently reached an impasse in their discussion. Andrew looked across at me as if seeing me for the first time. ,AeuAndrew! How,Aeos it going, pal?,Aeu He greeted me loudly, as was his wont.

   ,AeuPretty good, I guess. I mean, as good as can be expected on the first day of school.,Aeu

   ,AeuWhat are you talking about, man?,Aeu he exclaimed, grinning. ,AeuCollege classes this year! English composition! Biology! Calculus! I,Aeom excited!,Aeu

   I shook my head, also grinning. It was hard not to be happy around Andrew, which I guess was why I was ,Aeuthe other,Aeu Andrew. I certainly didn,Aeot have anywhere near the infectious, upbeat personality that he did. All the same, I couldn,Aeot get excited about all these hard classes.

   ,AeuDude, I seriously think Biology II and Calculus are gonna kill me,,Aeu I replied. ,AeuEnglish sounds cool though, I,Aeoll admit. I like writing.,Aeu

   ,AeuI,Aeom glad I didn,Aeot sign up for Calculus,,Aeu Travis said. ,AeuYou guys are crazy.,Aeu

   ,AeuWhatever, it,Aeos easy enough,,Aeu Jon said. ,AeuI,Aeom really looking forward to my computer science class.,Aeu

   ,AeuWait, Jon, are you admitting there,Aeos something you don,Aeot already know about computers?,Aeu I said. Travis and Andrew laughed.

   ,AeuNo way, I never said that at all,,Aeu Jon countered. ,AeuI,Aeom more looking forward to having access to the school,Aeos network. There,Aeos no end to the trouble I can cause once I have that. These people have no idea what they are in for.,Aeu

   Just then, our friend Roland walked up. He also looked rather sleepy. ,AeuHey dudes.,Aeu

   ,AeuRoland! Good to see you, pal! Ready for school?,Aeu Andrew gave him the same enthusiastic greeting he,Aeod given me, as Matt looked over at me and rolled his eyes before looking back at the ground. I chuckled.

   ,AeuMan, I haven,Aeot been up this early since June,,Aeu Roland said. ,AeuHow many fucking pots of coffee did you drink this morning to be this upbeat?,Aeu

   ,AeuCoffee? Are you crazy?,Aeu Andrew gave Roland a shocked look that was probably more playacting than anything real. ,AeuI,Aeom high on life, man! I,Aeom high on school! One more year, then we can get the hell out of this town! Start our lives! And hey...,Aeu here he glanced around, as if to make sure no one outside of the group was listening. ,AeuI have barely seen any girls of any description all summer,,Aeu he finished, in a more subdued tone.

   Travis sneered. ,AeuMan, whatever, who needs girls? Lame.,Aeu

   Evidently Jason and Chris,Aeos conversation about records had wound down, because Chris picked this moment to jump into the general conversation. ,AeuTravis you grouch, girls rule. Especially my girlfriend.,Aeu Chris was dating a girl named Linzy who was two grades below us. Secretly I suspected that her name was actually spelled Lindsay, but she preferred the rather unique spelling, so I let it slide. I wasn,Aeot above the occasional affectation, especially when I was only 15, as Linzy was.

   All of us rolled our eyes at Chris. For an unmitigated grouch and smartass, he sure was almost painfully sincere about how much he liked his girlfriend. It made you want to tease him about it, but most of us were usually not ready for the fight that attempting such teasing would start. Not a physical fight, more like a battle of wits. Intense arguments were Chris,Aeos forte, and he was really good at taking things to a personal level, if you could call such a skill good. Getting into an insult match with Chris was draining and not worth the effort.

   Then again, maybe Travis was just feeling grumpy since it was the first day of school. ,AeuI swear to God, Chris, if you start going on and on about Linzy again I,Aeom gonna hang myself.,Aeu

   ,AeuThen do it, fucko, because she rules and that,Aeos all there is to it.,Aeu

   ,AeuHere we go...,Aeu muttered Matt, under his breath. Travis opened his mouth to reply, but fortunately that,Aeos as far as he got.

   ,AeuDudes, not this early in the morning, OK?,Aeu Roland spoke up. ,AeuI haven,Aeot smoked any weed in like two days. I,Aeom not emotionally capable of this. Besides, in a half hour I,Aeom going to be in fucking Calculus class. That,Aeos stressful enough.,Aeu

   Travis and Chris might have gotten into it anyway, but just then the bell rang. Most of us groaned.

   ,AeuWhat,Aeos wrong with you dudes? This is gonna be great!,Aeu Andrew,Aeos excitement was definitely his idea of an elaborate joke. Jon punched him in the shoulder.

   ,AeuJon, where,Aeos your positive outlook?,Aeu Andrew protested, then cracked up. We all laughed then, and walked inside to our lockers. Most of us didn,Aeot have anything to put into or take out of them though, since it was the first day of school. I dropped off my lunch in my locker and headed to homeroom. I already knew my schedule: Calculus first period, followed by Spanish III, then study hall, where I,Aeod probably do my homework every day for the classes I had after it. I had first lunch block, then English (which was actually a community college class, taught on campus, that we,Aeod get college credit for), Biology II, Art III, and Government. I knew I,Aeod see Jason in Spanish and at lunch, and figured that most of the other guys would end up in all my other college prep classes, and therefore probably also in my Government class. It wasn,Aeot too great of a schedule, but not too taxing either. But with a whole year of it looming ahead, graduation seemed incredibly far away.

I just want to be myself and I want you to love me for who I am.
milly balgeary
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Posts: 11512

« Reply #38 on: Mar 23, 2005, 10:36:53 PM »

hey andrew. can you send me your entire novel. i'd love to read. i made a few changes to show you what i'd edit out. its tough because i want to REMOVE you. to turn you into an 'I'. to turn you into fiction. so i'd like to read the rest. plus, the copy your friend edited. send both please.


The first day of my senior year of high school began with a novelty: I was driving to school. Being old enough for six months, my parents finally let me get my driver,Aeos license that summer. I was given the use of the old station wagon that had been the family car before my dad had gotten my mom a new car two years before.
It had barely been driven during those two years but my dad hadn,Aeot sold it. I suppose he was keeping it around for me.
My younger sister was also starting high school that year, so the deal was that she would ride to and from school every day with me. This wasn,Aeot as bad as it could have been,AeiAlicia was almost 14 now, and not nearly as annoying to me as she,Aeod been as a little kid. It was hard adjusting to the idea that she was actually not a little kid anymore, but we,Aeod ended up getting into a few serious conversations over the summer, and she actually had some interesting, halfway mature things to say. So I figured sitting in a car with her for a half hour every day wouldn,Aeot be all that bad, as long as she didn,Aeot start making fun of the music I played.

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« Reply #39 on: Mar 24, 2005, 10:00:28 PM »

milly, it's going to be WAY different in final form, so keep that in mind, but i will email you the manuscript in the next day or so. i can't send you the copy my friend edited though--it's an actual printed out copy with stuff handwritten all over it.

I just want to be myself and I want you to love me for who I am.
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Posts: 11629

« Reply #40 on: Apr 11, 2005, 11:44:29 PM »

Have any of you guys ever tried to write a sestina?  that shit is hard.

Here's my attempt at a sestina:

Silent Walk
Brilliant moonlight shivered across the snow.
Rivers of footprints rippled from door to door,
imprints of children,Aeos feet, only inches deep.
Air between our shoulders; thousands of frozen flecks.
Never did we say a word, as we blindly walked to fate,
nor could I look at you.  The air froze my every word.

Everywhere they dropped and shattered. Word after word
splintering on the sidewalk, unsoftened by the snow.
And with our destination fast approaching, our fate
would soon be known. When we finally reach your door,
will I have anything to say? Will I be only a silent fleck
of snow to be brushed away? Or will our kiss be deep?

violently I want to shake you,Aeito break from this deep
spell of silence. Yet my steps remain rigid, no word
can yet release our frozen forward motion.  Each fleck
we squash seems to doom us to forever walk in snow.
And every time we pass some friendly old oak door,
I think about how close we are to the terrible fate.

Saturday I,Aeoll leave this place, and my fate
is never to return.  Always I,Aeoll remember this deep
snow, and the dread we felt approaching your door.
This perfect shining moment was not ruined by words,
It was ruined by their utter disappearance, as if they were snow
melting into nothingness, and my love in every fleck.

I can feel my heart disintegrating into fleck upon fleck,
and I know that this bitter end cannot be my fate.
Some expression can be found, in these walls of snow.
My lips start to move, only frozen mist escapes to the deep
night sky.  A groan freezes in my throat, but still no word
is released.  We,Aeore there at last and I move to block the door.

I cannot move, but I cannot speak. An ice statue at your door!
You reach up and wipe the precious fleck
of frozen tear!  But still, we can,Aeot seem to say a word!
It seems we,Aeore doomed to stand here forever! It is our fate!
Suddenly you step so close and you kiss me, softly, then deep
and with power! And there we stand, eternally lost in falling snow!

We freeze there at your door, ice statues embracing their fate.
But into your eye falls a single fleck, and you disappear into some deep
dream. I,Aeom trapped forever with no word, lost in the innumerable walls of snow.

Quote from: Heathcote
I'm in with Greg Nog, IT'S FUCKING FAFFLE TIME!
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« Reply #41 on: Apr 12, 2005, 04:39:53 AM »

two new poems:


I,Aeove taken to critiquing the poetry
written in Sharpie on bathroom
stall walls:

 Tony was here,Aei
 Fuck Tony

So simple, so crude
yet a perfect conviction
of man

Veni, Vidi, Vici,Aeiso what?
Our histories neither malignant nor benign,
the sum total worth of our time spent
equaling a number fast approaching zero,
not even our status as Great Destroyers
meaning a damn

 Jennifer Connely
 has a limp fish pussy,
 it was like fucking a salmon

An astute observation on the part
of some obscene undergrad
who,Aeos never been laid in his life,
unless in great oceanic epics
at the bottom of the sea,
but the salmon only fuck
in freshwater

So much to think about while
waiting for class, shitting your
guts out, no newspapers
in sight


You,Aeore pulling from my pockets
the entrails of small game rotting
comfortably against the warmth
of my hips, staining through fabric
the bleached white of my skin

You were shot
from all the wrong angles,
the aperture was screaming,Aei
You yawned as the shutter

An explosion tore open the sky,
made silent the balconies
and Sections A through G

The stage was not affected

Enter through backdoor,
that cracked and wishing frame
devoid of window,Aei
Exit Stage Left and report immediately
to the infirmary, wash your hands
and take a seat

Skin so brown and smooth,
eyes painted to match,
you lay on the floor waiting
for my attention to detail
that never comes

There are thousands of crates
piled one atop the other,
filled with Egyptian rats
and soft little birds with
clipped wings

On top of the bookcase sits
a Remington 552, safety clicked off,
loaded, action greased and ready

When the nighthawks descend
there will be no terror,
and when  the coyotes circle the cabin,
we,Aeoll clench our yellow teeth
and wait ,Aeoem out

I'm not racist, I've got lots of black Facebook friends.
milly balgeary
Registered user

Posts: 11512

« Reply #42 on: Apr 12, 2005, 11:47:16 AM »

the loathsome list

I write words because i have no art,
They are like dirty cops these words
Piggish and brown and tepid and stark
And wintersome and lilly-white and carnivorious
And buzzard-picked and loathsome
And succubus-heavy and sinking
And during the daylight rains
When the lights from outside gleam and
Send their selves through the latticework
I realize that words are less than brutes
To carve and stand guard at wakes
Ashed faced keening and ranting and
Subdued after all by their chalk-white
Even if hell is the knowledge that
Nothing is going right, then, still
Be still, hell be still with you,
Better hell than the hell of unmeant words
Of words that froze before they could
Lick the eyes and nose and slick like ice
Unfoundered, ships in a bay you think
Before their deadmasts are lapped by fire
And the ice melts,
Words like butter and young fat
And beaten trails, of words,
Inexhaustible, there is always more to say
Down the present and submerge the future, right?
Doctors hands on your abdomen, clenching
And ripping out the soft kin there,
Or with scalpels dotting your marked flesh
Incising the brittle but buttery guts
And marking the entrails with fire;
I am no good at the words, but the way
They come out, to freeze and burn,
With no look-backs in this game,
No rat-infested hallways like words
No mugger in a dark alley or
Galley slave fussing over pots
Or preacher bent with soiled burdens
Or bird biting and cawing
Because none, nor housewife,
Nor first baseman, nor goatherd
Nor used car salesman, nor act of agony,
Nor gated stone cathedral nor latecomer
On saturday night fight time,
Nor gut busted hood in a faded parka
Nor corn husking farm sweethearts
Their flesh merged into one whole
Sweet celled soul with
Fingerpaints and mashed into canvas
By violence,
Words are more dangerous and careless
And that last call before dawn
By the figure up ahead
With the nasty boils and the predictable
Growth of beard
The bear like thighs and the contempt
That bore the pregnancy of words
Out, get thee,
Laced in hoodlum vest and corset tightened
And nail biting and bitter smelling
And bunched, grapevine, stealthy,
And cool, numb, and bent out of shape
Syllables with sticky consistency
Like red dried blood on white over washed sheets
That are they, that are they useful, or should it be
That they are, or a hundred other ways,
To spell their man
His seed, his polygamy kind,
Under the steel spiralling arms of a weighed
Tower, ink black at the top of the hour,
From which gardeners and shillers
To and fro, pass,
Underneath cruel fish pass

milly balgeary
Registered user

Posts: 11512

« Reply #43 on: Apr 29, 2005, 03:35:44 PM »

a friend and i entered into an agreement to do a little creepy children's book. she also promised to teach me how to paint, which i find exciting, because in my life the only successful thing i was ever able to paint was a red gimlet-eyed fox.

everything else was what people do when they CANNOT paint and they heap kraziness atop kraziness to try to convince SOMEONE that they can.

for the kid's book project code-named "kid-alpha", i took an hour last week and managed to write a suprisingly creeply little story for kids. its not successful as a ghost story as there is NO pay-off, but i like it and choose to share it with my good friends at last plane to jakarta.

Lila and the new house
page 1
Lila unfastened the curtains over the new windows. They draped down in pink velvety goodness, making the sun sneak to get in. It sure was sunny, she thought. The new house had a new car smell, she supposed a new house smell, but she was not used to new houses, so she could only think, new car.  
page 2
Her parents were downstairs unloading the stuff. Chairs, tons of chairs, sofa, the big glass mirror her mom loved so much. Her dad was big and strong but he had a bad back so he had uncle Charlie and her cousin Robby helping. Mom mostly stood about, giving orders.
"Don't drop that!"
"Be especially careful with that!"
"That's been in the family For-E-Ver and a day!"
page 3
Lila watched all this progress out her new window. She supposed she should help but her new room was too good to leave just yet.
She jumped on the bed, up, up, and down, down. Her hair flopped over her face and she wondered if she looked like a monster. Lila raised her arms and twisted her hands, monster-like, as she jumped.
page 4
Then her closet door opened. The new closet, still empty, not yet the kingdom of clothes it would become in a day or so.
page 5
"Is someone there," she asked her closet.
"Come out right now."
Lila put her hands on her hips.
"Come out whoever you are."
But no one did.
page 6
She built up courage and then ran in a quick shuffle and swung the door open the rest of the way.
page 7
She yelled!
She screamed!
page 8
There was nothing there.
page 9
She was disappointed
"Figures," she said.
page 10
Uncle Charlie said Robby could stay for the weekend because he had business out West.Lila liked Robby but only a little at a time. There was such a thing as too much Robby but he was alright.
Sometimes he said things she thought were funny, but most of the time he just followed her around.
page 11
But then she had an idea.She was storing away her winter sweaters in a giant cupboard when the idea struck her.
"I could hide in my closet and jump out and scare Robby. He's always following me around and if he followed me to my new room, and opened the closet door, I could jump out with my fingers like claws, like earlier, when I was jumping on the bed."
page 12
She addressed her winter sweaters. "I am not talking to myself."
Then Lila thought that might be even crazier so she stopped talking to herself immediately.
page 13
After dinner on the old table in the new dining room, she told mom and dad she and Charlie were going to play hide and seek. Mom and dad were busy discussing where they wanted to put the piano and they weren't really paying attention.
page 14
Lila grabbed Robby's hand.
"C'mon," she said.
"I want to watch TV," he said.
Robby's favorite show in all the world was on.
Lila did not like Techbots.
"Robby!" She said.
"Okay," he grumped.
"Okay, Okay," he grumbled. "Fine, hmmph!"
page 15
"The one place I won't be is in my closet," she said.
"Hmmph," Robby said. He was looking longingly over his shoulder at the rather large space-age looking television.
"You're it!" She yelled.
page 16
She hid in her empty closet right away.
page 17
Soon the closet would be filled with her things. She imagined them. Big boxes with signs on them reading 'Lila's Things'. But right now it was big, empty, and dark. The only light came from an air conditioning grill. Lila didn't mind the darkness. "Its not really that dark," she whispered.
page 18
Besides, ghosts don't haunt new houses.
Lila heard Robby outside the door.
page 19
She hid behind the door.
With a wild yell, she pounced!
page 20
There was no one there.
page 21
"Robby," she yelled!
Footsteps came running.
Robby looked abashed.
"Your dad put Techbots on for me," he said.
page 22
She marched up to her dad who was still at the dining table talking to mom.
paged 23
"Dad," she said.
"Yes, honey..."
"Dad, Robby is not supposed to watch Techbots."
Her dad laughed!
"Lila, dear," her mom said. "Robby is a guest. If he wants to watch Techbots, that's okay."
Lila wanted to stomp her foot.
"You're the boss!" She yelled.
page 24
She ran, past Robby who was engrossed in Techbots, and up the stairs to her new room and flopped herself on her bed.
The closet door creaked open.
Lila stared at her closed door in surprise. She rolled off her bed and slammed it shut.
page 25
She leapt on her bed in a tight roll.
She stared at the ceiling. It was one of those ceilings that are made of a million billion plaster bubbles. If she looked right, she could see kingdoms and castles and oceans in the plaster bubbles.
page 26
The closet door swung open.
page 27
"That's how it is going to be then!" She slammed the closet door and wrestled her desk over, to block it from opening.
She plopped back into bed and watched the kingdoms of her imagination unveil across her ceiling.
page 28
The light flickered.
She ignored it at first.
"I'm going to just ignore you," she said. "New houses are not haunted."
The light pulsed twice.
"That's it," she said.
She turned the lights off. She stood in the darkness for a moment, and then with a hrmph she turned the lights on again.
"Go ahead," she said. "Do your worst!"
Her purple purse which she had gotten for Christmas floated off the corner of her bed where it had been hanging.
She snatched it.
"Have to do better than that," she dared the house.
page 29
Her bed gently floated up so it was at least six inches off the ground!
She stomped her foot.
"Unbelievable!" She said.
"New houses aren't haunted!"
Her purse floated right out of her hands. Soon, the room was full of her things, floating. It was a lot like what she saw in movies about space travel.
"I refuse to live in a rocket ship," she said.
page 30
She ran around the room grabbing her things. But it was no use, she could not hold all of her stuff at one time.
"Fine," she said. "I'll go watch Techbots with Robby."
The lights flashed twice.
"Okay, let's talk," she said.
The lights flashed twice.
"Two flashes for yes, one for no."
The lights flashed twice.
page 31
"I know you're not a ghost," she said.
The lights flashed once.
"You'll say anything!" She yelled.
The lights flashed twice.
She stormed out and sat down next to Robby.
"Can you please turn this," she said.
"Now - honey," her mom said. "We talked about you being bossy."
She sat in gloomy silence.
page 32
Lila said goodnight to the new house when she went to bed. She felt sorry for herself.
The next day they unpacked most of everything and Lila's new closet was filled with her clothes, her rollerskates, her ice skates, her baseball glove, and a hundred other things.
page 32
Lila and Robby watched an action movie on television that involved some cuddly beings called the Gollyglugs.
page 33
They ate pizza.
When Lila went to the fridge to get a soda the fridge light flashed twice.
"I know," she said. She put the soda back.
She was not supposed to drink more than one soda a day.
When Robby asked if she wanted to play hide and seek tonight, she laughed in his face!
"No!" She yelled. "You didn't play last night, why should I play tonight!"
The lights flashed.
"What..was that?" Robby asked.
"The new house," she said.
page 34
They played hide and seek. Robby caught her in the laundry room hiding in a pile of clothes. They both fell down laughing.
That night when Lila went to bed, she thanked the new house.
page 35
During Sunday breakfast, she asked her dad if all new houses were like this one.
"I guess they are honey," he said. He was reading his paper.
"All new houses?" She asked.
"Well this is not a new house," mom said. "It is just a new house to us. This house has been here for a long time."
page 36
Uncle Charlie picked Robby up that evening and she gave him a peck on the cheek when he left.
"Bye Robby," she said.
"Bye Lila," he said.
page 37
She turned back and looked at the house. Something moved in the window of her room.
page 38
"Things are about to get interesting," Lila said.
page 39

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Posts: 49

« Reply #44 on: Apr 29, 2005, 04:06:17 PM »

This is an old short story of mine.

Without considering for a moment the ecological impact of erecting an unsanctioned scarecrow, that's just what Lucinda Jenkins, a retired librarian and novice greenthumb, did. Lucinda Jenkins didn't really think much of the scarecrow as a bird deterrent, just as a cutesy way to spruce up her garden. The A.S.P.C.A. sure did, though, and when they caught wind of the retired librarian's homemade scarecrow, they put a call through to the Department of the Interior, and the Department of the Interior put Lucinda Jenkins under surveillance. A few months later she would be arrested, and a few months after that, she would be convicted, and a few years after that she would be put to death, for creating what she thought to be a perfectly innocent scarecrow. Why, you ask? Because it wasn't doing a thing to scare crows, but plenty to scare a federally protected species, the light-footed clapper rail. This was proven to be the case through extensive monitoring of the vital signs of the local population of the light-footed clapper rail, as presented at trial by no less than thirty-seven expert government scientists, who each testified that upon spotting the scare-creature, the light-footed clapper rails experienced slightly elevated heart rates and blood pressure. At her sentencing the presiding judge declared that the state pay to dress the corpse of Lucinda Jenkins in tattered overalls, gardening gloves, a sunhat, and a light blue plaid shirt. And that she be affixed to two sturdy wooden posts, at a nintey degree angle to one another and placed in front of a local gardening center, to serve as a scare-gardener, so that never again would the horrendous injustices done to the light-footed clapper rail by an inconsiderate novice gardener be repeated.

Did I ever tell you a marine biologist's experiment with amplifying whale songs to fight depression in whales?  Eventually they went deaf.
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Posts: 11629

« Reply #45 on: Apr 29, 2005, 04:12:13 PM »

milly might be the coolest person ever.

Quote from: Heathcote
I'm in with Greg Nog, IT'S FUCKING FAFFLE TIME!
milly balgeary
Registered user

Posts: 11512

« Reply #46 on: Apr 29, 2005, 08:12:11 PM »

(edited) - thanks, freddy, but clearly the coolest person ever is a guy who passed me on the highway earlier today. he had a big modified truck.

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Posts: 11629

« Reply #47 on: Apr 29, 2005, 08:21:47 PM »

-*Yo le detesto!

Quote from: Heathcote
I'm in with Greg Nog, IT'S FUCKING FAFFLE TIME!
milly balgeary
Registered user

Posts: 11512

« Reply #48 on: Apr 29, 2005, 10:52:58 PM »

you're so exotic freddy. are you hot, too

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Posts: 11629

« Reply #49 on: Apr 29, 2005, 11:30:35 PM »

I love milly this much

This is the Original Pabst Blue Ribbon Beer.  Nature's finest products provide its prized flavor.  Only the finest of hops and grains are used.  Selected as America's Best in 1893!

Quote from: Heathcote
I'm in with Greg Nog, IT'S FUCKING FAFFLE TIME!
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