| "quiet fire" |
[09 Mar 2012|01:26am] |
So it's raining. I'm a boy waiting for a cab. There's a girl who makes my heart dance, waiting next to me.
"You're beautiful," I say.
"You're wrong," she answers and rides off.
Later, alone in bed, I play it back. I'm not wrong. She's quiet fire to the dream.
20120309 01:14 Fri (50 words)
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| I'm A Nerd |
[08 Mar 2012|07:10pm] |
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I’m waiting for a cab. It’s raining. He’s a stranger who makes my heart skip. He tells me I look like a nerd. I tell him he’s wrong. The cab comes and we don't exchange information. On the ride home I realize that he was right.
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| "stickers on our bumper - arms are for hugging" |
[08 Mar 2012|01:48pm] |
(from our comment to a charloft post about a weapon of choice being the book "The Art of Negotiating")
"Arms Are For Hugging" -- a bumper sticker we saw several years ago in a junkyard, on the rear-end panel of a '60s VW van, leaned against a rusting-stack of other junk. It was like seeing a clear picture of where and when the h. sapes evolution choo-choo went off track.
20120308 13:40 Thu (50 words)
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| I did a 50-word story each day in November in lieu of NaNoWriMo. Except, I didn't actually finish.. |
[07 Dec 2011|10:11pm] |
1.
Working from home brings plenty of luxury but little motivation. I roll out of bed at noon and sluggishly slither to my computer, where social media websites interest me more than work. Coffee shops, with their atmosphere of occupiedness, help - but really, what I need is a looming boss.
2.
Listening to Christmas music on the second day of November. Getting absorbed in sleigh bells and snowfalls, auditorily if not realistically. There is something comforting about how traditional these songs are: heavy, jazzy, and full of entrenched patterns. I feel hopeful at the coda, satisfied at the end. Happy "holidays."
( Several more )
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| Go to your room! |
[03 Dec 2011|06:23pm] |
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You are grounded, you hear me? Two weeks, no television, video games, or cell phone. I don't want to catch you on the Facebook or your Yahoos chatting with your friends. School, homework, dinner, bed. That's your new life, son. Next time, maybe you'll think twice before murdering your stepmother.
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| "economic insanity - question 27" |
[25 Nov 2011|07:52pm] |
27. Which came first: a) the death of the goose that laid the golden egg, b) the death of the golden egg, c) the death of the golden egg futures markets, d) all the above, e) none of the above since "death" is just a natural part of market fluctuation?
20111125 14:40 Fri (50 words)
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| daydream |
[11 Oct 2011|04:46pm] |
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Sometimes I fantasize about asking him out. “This may sound weird,” I’ll say, “but do you want to get ice cream with me sometime?” That’s as far as I get though—never an actual response. The thought churns my stomach with buckets of butterflies, but I kind of like it.
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| "zelman the forgettable" |
[29 Sep 2011|04:24pm] |
Originally cast as the transgender boat mechanic in Loplelard's 1927 film "Hoople Troop in C," Zelman (his only name since birth) left Hollywood for Paris, Oklahoma in 1928, a town he started with three other out-of-work actors and a gas station attendant, Snooty Hood, they picked up along the way.
20110929 12:15 Thu (50 words)
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| Platform D |
[26 Sep 2011|10:40pm] |
She looked up into the rain to hide her tears. The street lights were streaked with it like the grain in old film.
She said it wasn't over, but it was. We had read that book together, dog-eared its pages, and thumbed the edges dull.
The coming train drowned my goodbyes.
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| weather report |
[14 Sep 2011|12:53pm] |
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On my way to Developmental Psychology, I rescued a moth trapped inside the building. Half an hour into class, it started hailing. I watched the downpour from the back of the classroom; some hailstones plunked in onto the carpet through an open window. That moth is dead meat, I thought.
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[27 Aug 2011|12:33pm] |
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mood |
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 calm |
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The phone rings. I do not recognize the number. I pick up, very curious, and introduce myself. It is Dr. Weiner, the woman who interviewed me for an administrative assistant job a week ago. She offers me the job that I wanted. I feel very pleased with this latest development.
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[27 Aug 2011|07:07am] |
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I am toying with the idea of getting a Zipcar membership for myself. It might be a useful thing to get, especially in the dead of winter when it is snowing like crazy and I need to go to the store for food. I saw a deal on LivingSocial too.
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| metaphor for growing up |
[24 Aug 2011|07:47pm] |
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She tells people that she “found herself” in college, and she puts it this way: “Dance to the beat of your own drum, right? College is like a giant music store where you get to pick which drum you want, and for exorbitant amounts of money you get dance lessons.”
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| "bad news floor show" |
[24 Aug 2011|05:37am] |
She sweeps in like a wrapper from a Dove bar, windblown, floating, and scans the room for something that hadn't realized it was dying for her hunger.
"Hello."
She settles at your table, vanilla smile as white as sugar on a snowy pond.
"Buy me coffee and a moofin, pa-leeze?"
20110824 01:28 Wed (50 words)
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[23 Aug 2011|01:26pm] |
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My days are filled with boredom. I yearn to work, to be fulfilled, to feel productive and lick a useful member of society. I wonder what it is that I manage to screw up in the interview. Maybe I am too nervous. Maybe my lack of confidence shows clearly through.
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[23 Aug 2011|01:24pm] |
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I am riding on the oldest subway system in America. My elbows and shoulders jostle the elbows and shoulders of the people on either side of me as the train screeches down the tracks. A baby is crying, fussing, wanting attention. I know how it feels, invisible to the world.
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| "seeing-thinking naked in the world" |
[28 Jun 2011|02:34pm] |
She's online a lot more than she should be. She knows that, and understands in "real life" we talk, and think, and act in social code -- the common-understand that gives definition to our lives.
Still, she likes the feeling of "uncommon" on the web -- of seeing-thinking naked in the world.
20110628 10:00 Tue (50 words)
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| sportscaster |
[14 Jun 2011|10:59am] |
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the draggled mattress hermetically sealed his pulchritudinous face from my prying eyes. "'d never fuck aw'one like this." i'd reanimate the sportscaster after i pulled back the mattress, swatted away spectral dry-ice-steam, braced my leather-booted toes against the tub, returned his HardRockCafe t-shirt, and tongued his empty eye-socket.
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[07 May 2011|08:25pm] |
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mood |
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 anxious |
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They had a huge fight in the car , screaming at each other as if there was no tomorrow . Moments passed so fast they did not see they are in the wrong lane on the highway , nor did they see the car ,it smashed into them , if only they did not fight .
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| "life passing on a wall, 03 - the still life of arousal" |
[07 May 2011|11:59am] |
They're on the boat, on their backs, lying side-by-side, in the middle of the quiet lake. It's 3:00 a.m. and everything's dead still.
Jules turns her head to Boy. "Wanna get off?"
"Sure," he smiles and turns his head to her; as they watch, and slowly fondle and caress themselves.
20110507 11:31 Sat (50 words)
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