sorry: another super-speedy fff

so this was the closing weekend of caribeana imperia, and i'm @ the radio station as of 9am today, post-5am-airport-run with the canals ("5-5-5 in the mornin", jouvay warriors) so this fff has suffered even more than the last few; but i couldn't let myself slide...
regular posting should resume shortly, and in the meanwhile, we can thank jj for what little i've managed in the past month.
here's my latest fff attempt, with my promise that my fff's will improve as my posting frequency should:

I had never seen one before except on television...but i'd known to myself for as long as i could remember that they existed. i always knew that one day i'd be able to explore the space-time continuum as i wanted.
the naysayers were about to be proven wrong- i just needed to figure out whether it would take me where i wanted, or if i'd have to take what i got with regard to destination...but even that, i didn't care too much about. any wormhole's a good wormhole. any place it spat me out would be somewhere and sometime other than here+now, which was the point...right?
perhaps i was a little more scared than i anticipated.
could i possibly be faltering now, after years of working toward the materialisation of this moment's torn fabric? i stared at the shimmering air- it looked like the heat waves that rippled the air above the highways on hot days, but deeper. this shimmer had body; it contained another dimension, and all i had to do was step in.
i kept staring at it, willing myself to walk over, and in.
what was keeping me here? no family, few friends, not even co-workers existed in this life of boundless discovery i'd created for myself- it was hard to find people who wanted to work on this project indefinitely, especially when i could only pay them in hope.
my wormhole beckoned, as much as a pool of wavering atmosphere could. i stepped closer, and it was the stickiest move i'd ever made. i suddenly wasn't sure if my body+mind could handle any further motion toward the great unknown.
but i tried again. i mentally pushed my left foot along the floor- i couldn't lift a digit right then, my heart was racing too fast for that kind of control- and found it wouldn't go. the command was sent, the signal went from brain to foot, but the foot refused- sometimes lesser parts of the whole seem to instinctively know what's best, and sometimes it's best to listen.
but i kept trying. this was the opportunity of a lifetime- or several, depending on what travels the wormhole could provide- so i needed to get those feet moving while the window was still open...
as i tried to drag my fearful, reluctant, traitorous body to the destiny my mind had called forth, the shimmer became more of a quiver. the quiver became a tremble, the tremble became a quake, and the whole room was suddenly shaking. i steadied myself against the edge of the counter, hoping nothing dangerous was happening- after all, a wormhole wasn't something my reality was accustomed to, so who could say what the effects might be?
i clutched my pencil and hastily scratched notes of the genesis of this miracle, and wondered whether this proved or disproved god.
i finally managed to bring myself closer, but that might have been the pull of the opening more than my own volition. i got close enough to see the swirling dark and light, and feel the magnetism of the chasm, and just as i was finally ready to take my notes, my pencil, and myself into another world, with a final shudder, the wormhole sucked itself shut, leaving me standing there with nothing but regret and a few pieces of paper scrawled over with now-meaningless symbols.

walk good.

by the way...

...grims has posted about the 3canal show we been wukkin so hard on. pictures and everything. he's a better blogger than i.
caribbean free radio's also got a buncha stuff on the canals latest exploits, including a podcast about caribeana imperia, and here's lisa's article for the guardian (lise just told me that her article's link will expire this saturday, so go now).
walk good.

fff, way past deadline

well, blogger was shitty, and i had to leave home and internet access before it was all solved, so now i'm back and trying to slide this in, way late.
but jj inspires, so here's this week's flash fiction, which i couldn't bear to not post.
we had to include:
A Girl
A Whirl
A Curl
Something that unfurls
A Hurl
the girl stepped into the light, wings unfurling from the loosened harness. she didn’t bother taking it off – freedom was already achieved. the wings had a life of their own, stretching and flexing, curling and fluttering delicately, belying the force necessary to power flight. they seemed light, ethereal enough that she was only a child playing dress-up, not a woman with the strength and determination of atlas.
she shrugged. the wings amplified the motion, rippling the air around her like heat visible.
she backstepped slightly to push off, and took 3 quick steps, ending with feet barely dangling into the small dustcloud the first one had stirred before she lifted off. she hovered easily, gathering her thoughts to propel her, carefully weeding out the negatives – efficiency was paramount for a journey like this and she couldn’t afford to waste time and energy on vibes without potential for forward and upward motion.
she’d been planning this since she first realised it was possible – everything she’d done from that moment to this one had been with the singlemindedness of a person obsessed. this was her only goal, and she didn’t want to mess things up now, especially over something as simple as mind-direction.
once the girl felt comfortable, she allowed herself drift higher. she looked up, facing where she was going, cheeks kissed by sun – it was time.
her wings, warmed up now, began working in earnest. to say they flapped would be to deny the beauty of the movement, the depth from which it was generated – this was no mere muscular exertion – this was motion derived directly from her spirit.
she let her thoughts fuel the feathery beating, flying higher and faster than she had before. every other flight had been practice for this one, and she was confident that she knew how much she could push before enjoyment ceased and she fell.
the limitations of her ability never escaped her, and she considered it a necessary part of the gift that she had to enjoy it to perpetuate it. she had to love this journey the whole way, and today had to be the day.
she was all the way up now, flying full out, dipping and soaring again, one with the air currents that buoyed her, thrilled with her personal rollercoaster. she tried a few tricks just for the fun of it, smiling to herself at the knowledge that it could only feed her mission.
she made a big loop across her patch of sky, then pulled up short and used the momentum to go into a spin – her new favourite trick – she liked to imagine herself as a blurry whirl, all colour and movement when she did this, dress flying up around her, wings smoothing themselves into their most streamlined shape, then reopening to slow her turn and glide into another big loop. she loved to curl into her wings and know they’d keep her safe, even while spiralling through the atmosphere, almost out of control…
she came out of her 2nd loop with that thought, and before she realised what she’d done, it was over. as fast as the word “almost” cleared her mind, before it could qualify “out of control”, she lost it.
the girl’s focus was gone, and she felt herself plummeting.
she tried to marshal her thoughts again, tried to pull it together and communicate good vibes to the wings, but it was too late.
she fell, as if hurled down by an angry god, jealous of her talents.
icarus; melted.

walk good.

fff, rushed

big-up jj because he's my man with the plan.
for this week's flash fiction friday, we had to include:
A Rope
A Dope
A Grope
Hope
A Slope

i pelted downhill as if my life depended on it, tempted to drop and roll in the hope of going faster – shouldn’t it be easier going down than climbing up the slope? what i needed was a grappling hook and a really long rope to make use of that huge rock near the peak with the gorgeous view i was unceremoniously leaving behind, but without that i could only hope that i’d get there in time on foot.
i tried to remind my feet that downhill was faster, but they pretended not to know what i was talking about.
when i’d started down, i knew that the first part would be slowest, but thought that this long slow drop would be quicker to navigate. by now i was more than a little anxious about making it back in time.
“this is why they call it dope,” i muttered, “because it makes you stupid…i am officially a dope.”
no time for self-pity, though. had to get there.
i tried to pick up the pace, scared that gravity’s advantage on the downhill would pull my feet faster than my body could keep up, and simultaneously that it wouldn’t.
i needed to get there.
just as i thought i was about to be a right mess, just when i thought i’d end up embarrassing myself after all efforts to the contrary, just when i thought i’d never try this type of adventure again – i saw the 1st car.
i knew i’d been one of the 1st out in the morning, so my car couldn’t be far away now. i could hold on just a few moments longer and get there, but i had to get there. the pressure was increasing at an alarming rate and the sense of inevitability that accompanied it was mounting exponentially.
i finally got to the car, fumbling for keys well before i was in range. i popped the doors, leaned into the backseat, and groped around until i found it.
i grabbed it triumphantly. i'd made it!
i don’t think a roll of toilet paper has felt so soft and welcoming since that moment, just before i ducked off into the bushes.

walk good.

girls gone wild

it must be very awkward to stash dvd's in your breasts and "censored" signs in your snatch to pop out on camera...
walk good.

what a time

so the trini posse reach, and i have no time for blogging between the wuk and the limin' (doh feel shame, trini dictionary, sidebar). but this is an experience not to be missed, so i trying to make time to say something about everything happening around me right now.
3canal flew in from trini about 2 weeks ago (just in time for some limin in between d.c. carnival fetes- between them and machel, it was a weekend and a half- and you wanna check out the music @ those links) so is dionne in the guest room, jeff (grims' boy, who, for all interested parties, is that "younger brother") on the couch, plus the canals, dave (choreographer), michael (actor), and robbie styles (music+remix master) liming by us on a regular and world cup to keep us bawling- everything is everything.
but at the same time, some shit has hit the fan in a way that seriously fuckin' with my vibes- is like making magic in the kitchen while the drain backing up stink in the bathroom.
maybe that was a poor analogy, but you get my point- working on something exciting (and exhausting- when it started i was still in the children's hour, so it was 2 shows) while battling to control something threatening to upset a fine balance and possibly my whole life, and not letting everybody around me see it. because, of course, is the last thing i wanna talk about when there's so much else to thrill me. but shit must be dealt with, so i can't just avoid it until the fun is over. i trying to enjoy something i been looking forward to, but waters muddy.
but what is to is, must is, so i trying to see this as just one more experience, and learn from it and get past it- but i don't know if i'll recover. it might be past the point of no return, and i just don't know yet. all i can do is give it time and hope that hurt feelings and anger dissipate, leaving no traces of resentment or lingering trust issues. i been riding this rollercoaster for over a week, and quite frankly, is more drama than i ever allow into my life so i don't even know how to handle it, it's been so long since i had to. i usually eliminate problems like this with the quickness but this time is not so simple. i have to work through this one, even if my instinct is to cut+run.
so if i seem scarce, is just busyness combined with not knowing what to say- i'm consumed right now, with one thing that excites and exhausts me too much to write about, and another thing that i don't wanna talk about.
i'll be back when i can say something, or when caribeana imperia makes its desire to be blogged about an imperative.
walk good.

the last 2nd-act joint

this is actually my current flash fiction friday piece, but i'ma also take the opportunity to observe the passing of the children's hour from my life- since the run began, me+jay quickly realised that since we weren't on in act2/scene2, we had enough time to share a joint then lollygag while others onstage melodramaticised and killed themselves and suchlike, before we had to go back on for curtain call. we'da gone home if we could, but it woulda been strange if we didn't return with the cast to bow...so my past few fff's have all been at least partly written/edited @ my dressing station, under the influence, with people breaking off relationships and a man dressed as a woman killing him/herself in the background, and this one'll be the last- at least for now- so i wanted to acknowledge the inspiration...
so, as jj instructed, here's my piece about:
A Thong
A Gong
A Pair of Tongs
Someone named Wong
A Bong

suzie bent over, and wong smiled his appreciation for the gesture. she knew how to deliver – unobtrusively. she picked up the ice tongs, all delicacy and self-deprecation at her clumsiness, and got back to the task at hand. she wondered @ his insistence on these small details – why did smoke need to be chilled? wasn’t the silky ravaging of the throat with each puff a vital part of the experience?
she leaned over the bong she was filling @ just the right angle to most compliment her figure, already stunning in matching thong+camisole. and unobtrusive.
there was a reason wong always came back.
suzie was a rare talent. a keeper. possibly perfect.
but that was the furthest she could go. possibly perfect, but no better; not perfection. they all had the same limitation, no matter how much potential. they were human.
suzie was destined to fail, eventually. matter of time.
wong rapped his knuckles on the small gong on the end table to his left and she brought him the tray. when it arrived at his eye level, in a swift and seemingly choreographed move he snatched the icepick from the bucket and rose, burying it in her ribcage.

walk good.

new favourite oxymoron

"always fresh!"
seen on a pack of barcelona unsalted (99cent) extra large peanuts.
walk good.