Twitter Weekly Updates for 2009-06-28

• Troyt Coburn x Lee Jeans – CULTCODE: Visual Culture mag http://post.ly/vG0 #
• Creature of habit removes last freaking staple in a cardboard box, as if by magic the tension is released, allowing an idea to bloom anew. #
• Outside a loud crack rumbled through the back door, a laughing face pressed it's red bloated self against the screen, then vanished darkly. #
• Can't find the switch, have a hole in my pocket, could be where it went, maybe I never had it, never had the switch, and will never change. #
• Faded awning, weathered and torn, resembling little what once had been, a storied entrance where only those with clout dared to enter. #
• Intrusive thoughts, bouncing inside, banging memories, dulling creative pursuit, clinking then clacking, momentarily inducing distraction. #

Hearty Burgundy

I wretched with aplomb, spewing my guts out upon newly mowed lawn, mixing toxic with the summer smells grass and blossoms give up. More then cheap burgundy spewed forth as I leaned on the quiet elm for support, anxiety attached to shattered dreams convulsed desperately, joining the wine exiting my body. Again and again my stomach twisted itself trying to reverse another night of drinking. All I cared about was the nightly ritual ending  and getting some sleep, the elm just watched in silence not passing judgment not leaving me, alone.

A few hours earlier, I had been sitting at a local dive listening to Billy Joel or maybe it was someone else, I didn’t care. I only wanted the bartender to keeping filling my glass with a hearty burgundy, I was hungry to feel the grapes slide down my throat sending alcohol shivers throughout my body,  anesthetizing me from myself, erasing the cheap chalkboard my life had become.

“Another round Joe”? The bartender said, a tooth pick balancing on his cracked lip, I looked straight through him without answering , gazing at my own reflection in the mirror behind the bar, wondering who I was looking at or maybe wondering what I was looking at. “Another round Joe” the bartender said placing his hand on my shoulder and shaking me just a little. “Sure” I said, “fill it up.” the bartender topped off my glass and took two bucks from the pile of ones laying in front of me. (more…)

Dreaming Flash Fiction

I was hiding high up in a tree earlier this afternoon when this huge gust of wind sent me tumbling to the ground. I woke to finding myself in a purple building surrounded by discount books for sale, and feeling no worse for the tumble I got up and perused through the books, stacked to the ceiling in the purple building.

I walked out into the afternoon sunshine with my new purchases and wondered, if I buy books at a steep discount are they flash fiction? Realizing the thump on my head must have scrambled my brains more then I thought, I sat down to catch my breath and ponder what does it mean to writer when one of their books is sold for 70 or 80% off list price. Of course the writer does not make money off such steeply discounted books but they do get their work read and maybe the next book will sell more, though I really have no clue if that last statement holds water.

So I wanted to connect to the wrtiers by using a little link juice by adding a link to either the writers web site or to Powell’s, thus giving a little boost to their endeavours.   First I bought a promising book called Brownsville by Oscar Casares, next I picked up The James Deans by Reed Farrel Coleman and lastly I bought King Bongo from Thomas Sanchez…

8.98 for three books…. a nice find and even though I have yet to read any of them, I’m sure they will turn out to be worth the tumble from high up in the elm tree. And if you buy a discounted book give the author a link back to their web site as a way of showing your support for their work.

Early Summer Breeze

She touched me, the early summer breeze, wafting across my bare shoulders, cupping my ruddy cheeks with her gentle fingers. She touched me, the early summer breeze, coming from sunshine to shadow, from outside to inside till she wrapped me in her memories. Her touch was silence, filling me with grace and gratitude, filling me with her solitude teeming with life.

I swiveled in my chair expecting the fan to be turning, broadcasting invisible waves in my direction, but it was nature presenting me with a quiet gift, an early summer lover, she touched me. Gazing past the idle fan, past the weathered wooden sill, past the rusted screen and out into the deep green waving to me high in the trees, the breeze kissed me and I kissed her back, welcoming her and her quiet ways into my moment, welcoming the vast feelings of serenity she imbued in me, as she engulfed me in her soft arms. She touched me with generosity, this early summer breeze. (more…)

The Little Monk

Spanky wondered aloud “ how can people be so clueless,” it was an age old question, one pondered by generations long before Spanky came on the scene and, one Spanky generously acknowledged he was not the original thinker of, still Spanky questioned, why do people need to believe the unbelievable and the indefensible. How is it he thought, that people can spit on empirical evidence and call it opinion, again he spoke for all the creatures in the wood to hear, “how can people not see what is front of their face?”

A little chipmunk nose wiggled out from under a bright green leaf, then eyes and mouth became visible and with one seemingly impossible jump, she was on the stump across from the pondering figure of Spanky. “The answer is easy and it is not easy” she twitted in a sharp chippy voice. Spanky was not surprised at all by this talking chipmunk, he just lifted his head and gave her the same rapt attention he would with anyone who addressed him. He asked with excitement and humility, “please tell me more Ms. Chipmunk if you will.” The little monk smiled back at Spanky, and after turning around three times, found her spot and sat down. (more…)

Iced Grease

On soft cotton sheets, fresh with spring air, Franny dropped her robe, edging herself onto the bed.
With her finger tips she placed warm bacon upon her inner thighs, letting juices dribble to the sheets, letting the grease adherer each slice to her skin. Using her salty fingers Franny massaged the bacon with ice cubes, turning it translucent white, like her skin. Laying back upon the crisp sheets, Franny enjoyed the mingling of odors, the touch of meat. Beckoning me, she softly commanded, “Be my Trojan Horse, make me sizzle, devour me.” I emerged breathless, from the dark corner.

Plexiglas Wish

Prying himself loose from his plexiglas prison, Ollie jumped off the burger joint’s sign and sauntered toward the restaurants front door. For the first time in his life he felt alive and full of possibilities, no longer a mere two dimensional figure living the life of a cartoon.

At the front door Ollie struggled to wrap his hand around the brass door handle, he had never used his hands before, he turned plaintively looking for help. “Like this” said a little seven year old, reaching out she pulled the big imposing door open, she then smiled at Ollie, knowing what it was like learning to do things for the first time. Ollie gave her a big Ollie J. Burger salute and headed inside.

At first Ollie found himself disoriented, his new surroundings were a-jumble with clinking glasses and jabbering people. Everyone seemed to Ollie, to be talking at the same time, doing very little listening. Ollie had mastered listening, something he was very proud of, having lived for twenty three years on a sign, doing nothing but listening.

Waiters and waitress scooted by, smiling at his triumph yet frowning at his standing in the middle of the aisle. Ollie was slowing down commerce, the taking and serving of orders. With every whoosh of an employee Ollie would float like a leaf, being two dimensional didn’t prepare him for wind and commotion.

To protect his thin frame Ollie shadowed himself against a nearby wall, he watched the families and friends come and go, they ate and drank, laughed and chatted, all the while ordering and consuming many many Ollie Burgers. Upon seeing all this, Ollie noticed a small little warm feeling starting to grow in his two dimensional stomach, making it feel almost three dimensional. Ollie remarked to himself with great amusement, “why, I have a three dimensional stomach in a two dimensional body, how can this be.”

Not for a second had Ollie ever thought he could evolve into a three dimensional being, he was two dimensional and things like this just don’t happen. Again he remarked, only this time it was out loud and everyone in the restaurant heard him, “the possibilities be damned, this can’t be happening, it is just too wonderful, can it really be that I, Ollie J. Burger am becoming a real boy.”

Like a blow to the stomach the din ceased, every eye focused on the little two dimensional character shadowing on the wall. Ollie wished he could run away and hide but there was no where to go, he had climbed down from the plexiglas sign of his own accord, he now had to stand his ground, even if the ground was shifting way from his two dimensional existence.

Like all cartoon characters Ollie saw big bubbles above peoples heads containing their inner secret thoughts. What Ollie now saw shook his now three dimensional heart. Everywhere he looked words like outsider, foreigner, and wrong popped up above almost everyones head and then words became phrases and even whole sentences that made Ollie want to cry with dread. People’s thoughts became black with hate as they starred at the little two dimensional character now becoming a boy, they thought he was uppity for thinking he could fit in and worse some of them thought erasing his image altogether was the right thing to do. Ollie coward as he scanned the thought bubbles.

The silence was broken finally by the little seven year old girl who had taught Ollie how to open the front door, now she stood tall. Way far in the back of this Ollie burger joint she started walking toward the little image trying to become a shadow. At first her parents tried to stop her but relented, they knew her heart, they knew she was right.

Ollie could see her walking toward him, he noticed the little girl did not have a thought bubble but instead had a twinkle in her eye. Ollie knew the twinkle meant she was thinking from her heart and not her head, he felt his heart warm once again as the little girl got closer. The little girl reached Ollie, stretching out her hand she touch the little two dimensional character and peeled him off the wall. Ollie rejoiced at the touch and at that moment became a real boy, a real three dimensional boy.

Pandemonium broke out that day in the Ollie J. Burger restaurant as the little cartoon character became a human being with all the rights, privileges and responsibilities that go with being part of the family of humanity. People climbed on tables to cheer, waiters and waitress danced in the aisles and the little girl sat with Ollie as he had his first Ollie Burger with mushrooms and cheddar cheese, “hold the onions” said the little girl “there will be plenty of time for spices in your new life.”

Ollie smiled and knew that cartoon characters everywhere now had more then just possibilities to point to, they had Ollie J. Burger, a real boy.

Parrot Tirade

Hat snatched from her head Delilah spun around hoping to find it on the ground but, screeching with delight the parrot flew off with its cargo bobbing between sharp talons, colorful wings grabbing attention from tourists and locals deep into the park.

Delilah flushed red, anger and embarrassment danced inside with a gurgling taunt. Abruptly she turned spitting on the walk nearly hitting the shoes of her companion, Her hands in the air wailing, demanding action.“Did you see that, I was assaulted by a filthy bird.” Henry edged around the spit nearly touching his shoes and, deftly fit his words between the spaces in Delilah’s tirade, “yes I did see, assaulted to be sure, should I call the police?”

Her hands holding her warm flushed face in mock horror squinted at Henry bursting out into a full belly laugh, at the bird, at her tirade and at how masterful henry was at defusing such situations.

Plastic Seat

Stiff from riding all day, plastic leather seats sticking to my clothes on the dirty city bus. Exhausted from grinding brakes filling my ears, diesel fumes filling my nose and selfish people jostling me like cattle. Stop after stop looking for something, anything that might give me a clue as to why.

Stop after stop Vagabonds pressing their faces against the windows, I wonder if we share the same longings or are they but animals looking for something to steal, looking to feed a primal need far divorced from what I seek. The bus driver guns the engine sending a shudder into their bodies, they shuffle back with only their plaintive gaze intact.

Day passes into night with every stop becoming the same, no recognition in anyones eyes. I ask the same questions as people board, each bus driver shakes their head no, no they have not seen me before, no they can’t help me. I sit down again in the back watching each passenger get on then off, watching crowds rise then dwindle with each new bus coming and going.

Something turns into nothing as my hope melts into the plastic seats on another city bus, no longer seeking recognition or clues, now only hoping for a place to lay my head, maybe a place with the vagabonds and their eternal primal urges.

Twitter Weekly Updates for 2009-03-29

• I walked through the toy store, past mothers dragging their charges away from lives of gluttony and mirth, past quiet toys with much to say. #
• One single finger connected to the universe, scrolling through tweets, refreshing human call outs, tweet tweet little finger tweet my sweet. #
• Open and receptive to feelings buried deeply within our self’s, longing to be part of some away far happy ending, it ended, the movie ended. #
• red lamp shade casting deep emotional shadows in my coffee cup, things from youth surfing curled within heated shadow, extolling possibility #
• How can it be that I sit and work for hours without music playing, I should be shot. radio day today..from Vermont http://www.pointfm.com #
• Circling the brown yellow grass, a spot beckoned to my weary self, I sat flat, breathing in that which I had ached to mainline, spring time. #
• Blue light casts a cosmic donut, deeply within the black hole of my mind I gasp and prevent any feelings from escaping and giving up a clue. #
• editorial about Nicholas Hughes suicide, son of Sylvia Plath http://tinyurl.com/cn9s77 #
• I opened one eye shyly, the room was illuminated by a lone ray of sunshine peeking out under the shade, I smiled behind pillows and blankets #
• it wouldn’t stop, the demonic knocking, I stood up from my meditation to answer the door, as I expected it was another cantaloupe, I ate it. #
• girl fingers crawled with spider guile, touching the soft flesh, imprinting fingers into her thighs, so softly receptive to her bare touch. #
• tv haze makes milkshakes dance in my head, drifting on clouds pinwheeled with hazel eyes, transported in whipped rivered cream #
• She insisted, I twisted the Saran wrap tightly, immobilizing her before she changed her mind, entombed in plastic her breathing ceased. #