flash fiction friday #7

i'm keeping the trigger-requirement loose again, to be used anywhere within the piece, cause i like and want to use this one but want to keep us free from being stuck with 1 of 2 narrative structures. this week's trigger (remember, use anywhere within your fff):
the only word the voice on the phone said was...

rules of engagement:
you will send in your suggestions for fff triggers (starter sentences, closers, titles, inclusion clauses, etc.) anytime during the week up to 11.55am friday, trinbago timezone; i will post the new fff trigger by noon friday trinbago timezone.
if your trigger is not chosen and you think it is too wonderful not to be chosen, you will send it in again the next week.
you will write an anecdote, short story, or novel length prose poem using the trigger provided.
you will add comments and appropriate linkage to my trigger-post indicating your desire to participate and the completion of your story (don't need a blogger/gmail account to comment on my blog).
you may join in at any time prior to the deadline.
you will display your story as a post on your own blog (or as a comment on my trigger-post or fasbook note or whatever, once we can all read it- please make sure we can all access the link to read it, not just those who are your friends on fasbook; there's a way to create public links for that, right?).
you will be done by monday noon trinbago timezone.
write fresh!
walk good.

deadly flash fiction

gave flash fiction friday #6 a looser trigger, in that it was the eighth deadly... could be used anywhere within the piece; curious to see how many of us still used it as a starter...

always look for the ulterior motive, he reminded himself, always, no matter who you dealing with or why. regardless of how well you think you know somebody and their wants and needs, always be on the lookout for something under the obvious, especially when things don’t quite add up to four. he tried to never underestimate the lengths people will go to for even a miniscule fulfillment.
so taking the scenic route on a leisurely sunday drive home from the beach was an excuse to pass by the icecream shop, which was all the excuse necessary to go in. it was the eighth deadly sin, this brand of subtle manipulation, especially since he knew somehow it would become his fault before the evening was done. he would be somehow responsible for breaking her get-ready-for-carnival-diet – fast, really, was the better word for her approach this rounds, in his humble opinion – once the pastelles and black cake finish, she say she was only eating once a day, proper breakfast, then some health-drink at lunchtime, and as much water as she wanted until 6pm. in his humble opinion she was better off not having so much pastelle and ponche a crema in the first place, but that wasn’t his place to say and he knew it. he knew better than to suggest she didn’t know best, and was already regretting the disagreement they’d have in a short if he couldn’t refrain from objecting when he was blamed for the icecream weakness.
he enjoyed his rum+raisin nonetheless, using that to settle himself into yes-honey mentality in preparation for the inevitable flagellation about this dessert, especially as it was preceded by a bake+shark that should have been a veg+shark to fit her costume requirements.
he watched her ravage her cookies+cream+cone and knew the fuss would all be worth it come carnival tuesday when her perfect round ass was bouncing and pushing back on him in the road in fuschia bikini+beads+feathers, but right now, in january, it was just a pain in the ass.

walk good.

self-edit?

so glad i took the attitude that i'd only see how useful a blackberry is if i expand the way i use the phone and really take advantage of its capabilities. so i fell properly in love with it the other night when i finally used it to edit text i wukkin on while killing time outside the house (big step for me, who, after all these years, still getting used to a machine over paper+graphite/ink, and that only because of editing ease) then emailed it to myself (also from the phone) so i had the changes via multiple access-options until i was back @ my machine with the original document to edit. sweet.
on the negative end of editing, this week i saw tv ads for a concert @ our local "centre of exellence" and received mail from our local ministry of planning, housing and the environment communications unit, bearing an inkstamp saying it was "despatched" october 9, 2009...
meanwhile our local ministry of health has thoughtfully created a webpage on becoming an organ donor that starts its "basics" with:
Q. What exactly does being an organ donor means?
and follows with:
Q. If doctors know that I have agreed to be an organ donor; will they still do everything to save my life? YES! Your doctor’s first priority and everything possible will always be done to save your life.
then poor writing continues:
Q. If I am in a coma and declared brain stem dead how do I know I won’t eventually recover? Being in a coma and being declared brain stem dead is not the same thing. You can be in a coma for a variety of reasons but you must be considered brain stem dead. In such cases, you cannot be considered for organ donation. Brain stem dead is final and irreversible.
and all on the same page as:
There is NO CHARGE to either organ donor recipient under the Ministry of Health National Organ Transplant Programme...Recipients for deceases donor are chosen through a matching systems...Fill the card out and carry it with you all the times!...it may be very difficult for your loved ones to consider organ donation unless you have made your wishes know before...there are approximately 500 nationals who need kidney transplant and...highest oh humanitarian ideals...
clearly my phone should be ringing off the hook with pleas for editing assistance, but when i consider how many people the ministry website probably passed through for approval before making it online in its current (horrific) state, coupled with the state of our local media (doh lemme even start!) it seems silly to hope they even recognise how bad it is...
sigh.
walk good.

fff #6

trying something different- instead of a starter/closer i want to free us up to use the trigger anywhere (not sure if this will make it easier or harder, so feel free to provide feedback). so this flash fiction friday's trigger can be used at any point in your piece:
it was the eighth deadly...

rules of engagement:
you will send in your suggestions for triggers (starter sentences, closers, titles, inclusion clauses, etc.) anytime during the week up to 11.55am friday, trinbago timezone; i will post the new fff trigger by noon friday trinbago timezone.
if your trigger is not chosen and you think it is too wonderful not to be chosen, you will send it in again the next week.
you will write an anecdote, short story, or novel length prose poem using the trigger provided.
you will add comments and appropriate linkage to my trigger-post indicating your desire to participate and the completion of your story (don't need a blogger/gmail account to comment on my blog).
you may join in at any time prior to the deadline.
you will display your story as a post on your own blog (or fasbook note or whatever, once we can all read it- please make sure we can all access the link to read it, not just those who are your friends on fasbook; there's a way to create public links for that, right?).
you will be done by monday noon trinbago timezone.
write fresh!
walk good.

review/trigger

so while updating sidebar linkage i discovered notices on our(continuum's) coco dance festival performance of strange tale of an island shade the other day. this review @ pleasure mentions all my favourites of the festival plus uses a photo of our piece, which i'm all pleased about because it was the 1st time we ever did it with a set (i guess 'cause the piece now officially complete and qh is a grander space than we've performed it in before) and i love the photo of me used in the set; truthfully, i find all its images fun (big up sonja dumas + simone phillips). check us out...
...and send me flash fiction friday triggers, nah...
walk good.

broken fff?

this one was hard- the trigger somehow wasn't taking me near what i felt like writing, but i figure that's part of the point of flash fiction friday, right? so, inclusion trigger: flake, rake, break, stake, snake:

he scratched his head and a shower of off-white flakes cascaded onto his bare brown shoulders. she snickered at the irony that in another context, especially in this tropical place in this wining season, a tiny snowstorm might sound beautiful, but this version was simply gross.
she drifted while he continued scratching desperately to articulate something she didn’t have time to study. his words provided no solutions but he didn’t know it yet, self-centred as he was, had always been, she realised now. how the hell she could overlook that for so long? amazing, what the human mind can become acclimatised to…she abruptly brought herself back to dreams of sequins, feathers and beads – no point belabouring something already done when she had plenty to look forward to.
he was still trying fruitlessly to explain things she knew bore no relevance and she mentally shrugged him off – all that mattered now was how to finish paying for her costume. she apparently had the house to herself and paid up for the next 3months, her life back for as long as she chose to stay single, and snake in d balisier to play come monday+tuesday.
but even the costume picked out and waiting to wear since last year couldn’t stop her mind from coming back to wonder if that same self-centredness was responsible for what seemed to be the longest, most unnecessarily extra break-up speech ever delivered to somebody who couldn’t care less; carnival friday, she was unexpectedly free to wine on anything passing, free to get on how she feel with whoever she feel nice enough, free to fete as long as she want with nobody dragging behind her ready to go home when party now starting, and he busy bouncing his gums about his life’s work at stake and why he need to go? she didn’t give a fuck why, unless his justification had the rest of her costume money in it.
she tried to maintain her composure, tried to keep her tail quiet and let him work his words out until he felt good enough about himself to finally leave so she could call the girls. she watched him still scratching and wondered how much scalp he had left to spare, wondered if he had enough to get him through the momentary guilt and out the door. she started thinking up jouvay costumes based on dandruff-related puns, and as she despaired of his ever getting over himself enough to ride out, he raked his hands through the curls that would never leave crap under her nails again, and stood. still apologising, he moved to the door and she tried not to look visibly relieved. he tried to keep apologising in the doorway but she was done even if he still needed to talk himself into it. she held the door open and gestured outside.
“babes, the road eh only make to walk on carnival day…”

walk good.

whatchu talkin' 'bout, willis?

everybody needs to read nicholas laughlin's post, no license, no registration (link to draft bill included).
excerpt: "With a few simple manipulations, this bill could essentially give Caricom governments the power to determine who can and cannot practise journalism. And it leaves citizen journalists — who the Caribbean mainstream media still don't quite understand or respect — in limbo. Would I be legally required to apply for registration and a license to continue writing on this blog? I don't "cover" "news" per se, but I have reported and commented on current events in the past, and insist on the right to do so in the future. Does that make me a journalist under the terms of the bill?"

walk good.

fff+apologies

this time the late trigger not my fault, for real- i was ready @ the machine well before noon, but the internet and the machine itself were not interested in cooperating with our desire to fff- things had to be shut down, rebooted, troubleshot...my apologies on behalf of technology, and feel free to take back the extra hour on the deadline...
this week we have an inclusion trigger:
flake
rake
break
stake
snake

rules of engagement:
you will send in your suggestions for triggers (starter sentences, closers, titles, inclusion clauses, etc.) anytime during the week up to 11.55am friday, trinbago timezone; i will post the new fff trigger by noon friday trinbago timezone.
if your trigger is not chosen and you think it is too wonderful not to be chosen, you will send it in again the next week.
you will write an anecdote, short story, or novel length prose poem using the trigger provided.
you will add comments and appropriate linkage to my trigger-post indicating your desire to participate and the completion of your story (don't need a blogger/gmail account to comment on my blog).
you may join in at any time prior to the deadline.
you will display your story as a post on your own blog (or fasbook note or whatever, once we can all read it- please make sure we can all access the link to read it, not just those who are your friends on fasbook; there's a way to create public links for that, right?).
you will be done by monday noon trinbago timezone.
write fresh!
walk good.

coco dance festival; continuum dance project

almost forgot to say it here: we (sonja dumas' continuum dance project, proud "we" for me) performing strange tale of an island shade @ the coco dance festival tomorrow+friday 8pm. strange tale... is the work we showed still-in-progress @ cottontree and ttw (little stuff + big stuff) earlier this year, it's now done and one of my favourites i been in, up there with noble douglas' why bach, why not? (totally different reasons). i love the movement and the text we explore, love the music used, and think it addresses shit we should all be thinking about...

COCO dance festival 2009
Contemporary Choreographers' Collective
Featuring the choreography of Rachel Lee, Elvis Radgman, Makeda Thomas, Dave Williams, Abeo Jackson, Nicole Wesley, Sonja Dumas, Anika Marcelle and Northwest Laventille
Thursday, October 15th at 8:00 pm
Friday, October 16th at 8:00 pm
Queen's Hall, St. Ann's
All tickets $100
Available from participating groups and Queen's Hall

walk good.

tiny hilarity

had to repost from txts frm lst nght (sidebar):

(910): i should start naming my morning wood
(201): great idea but wrong number

walk good.

under-the-gun-fff

funny how i write+post this flash fiction (friday) the same way i wrote+posted the trigger (italicised below).
tried something with this one, so please leave a response to my little experiment, explained @ the end of the story...thanks.

freakishly large hands reached out toward the tiny vial, almost visibly trembling. even now i couldn’t believe they were mine. i clutched it as gently as i could, cradling it against my soft bits, what was left of them, anyway. i couldn’t afford to let it slip through those clumsy fingers, fingers i barely controlled.
i lurched sideways, hearing a noise – mere hours ago i had no idea how much we take the ease and smoothness of basic movement for granted – i didn’t want to be seen. i fell back into the shadows, thanking all that was still holy for my senses not being dulled in this strangely altered state.
i waited for the sound to come into view, breathing more heavily than ever before, hating how audible it was, feeling like an animal, panting, hating the sweat i felt trickling down the centre of my chest, hating what i’d become, stiff and hard, sticking out like the proverbial sore thumb, no longer able to blend in when desired then make my prescence felt with a simple smile. could i still light up a room without a word?
the sound became flesh, entering the dark room to the immediate and barely hidden salute of my new flesh – at least, that’s how it felt, like there was no way anybody could possibly miss this physical reaction. unseen in the corner, it felt like a beacon announcing my weakness with my panting as alarm, announcing my inability to control what was supposedly mine – this body was not mine to manage, it had a mind of its own, if ‘mind’ was the best description of this involuntary rise.
she came in clearly looking for something, quickly becoming more agitated, her movements becoming faster and more aggressive until moments later she was tearing the room apart, somehow not noticing another being huddled in the corner. she worked methodically as i watched, my foreign flesh somehow responding even more to her frustrated condition. she dragged open everything in her path, ripping into every possible hiding place, starting at the entrance and coming toward my corner. my breathing got heavier, again, involuntarily, and now i had to fight my hands’ itch to reach out and touch, grab, grope, feel. i couldn’t even think about what to say when she inevitably got close enough to realise i was there.
moments later it was too late. she jumped, ever so slightly, but instantly, instinctively, covered her reaction with an unexpectedly gruff, “what the fuck?!”, dropping back into what tv and film had taught me was a fighting stance. i looked at her in amazement- she was going to take on the massive hunk of meat i was currently trapped inside? again, the forbidden flesh rose to the bait – how could any body be so dense, so insensitive to the situation? this woman was clearly intending to at least try beating my ass. how could that be a turn on? ‘mind of its own’ seemed more oxymoronic by the second.
finally my own mind, the one unchanged part of me, stepped in. i told her i wasn’t there to get in her way, already had what i came for, had been about to leave when i heard her coming and hid not knowing who she’d be. she relaxed, somewhat, although her body language and constantly shifting weight said she was still ready for the fight but had sized me up and decided that talking was safer – which was fine by me since i had no idea how to use the bulk i was temporarily (i hoped) blessed with.
i asked what she’d come for and she hesitated, and it suddenly made me question what seemed obvious – was she what she appeared to be, or was she like me, in an altered state? finally the flesh relinquished its hold on my mind. i discreetly (as discreetly as my unfamiliar mass would allow, anyway) checked my pocket for the vial, and, assured that my salvation was intact, told her that she didn’t need to tell me her business, i could just leave.
i made for the door, giving her a wide berth as i passed, noticing her alertness, noticing how she turned to keep her eyes on me the entire time i was moving, noticing the tension in her body, her readiness. i didn’t want to care whether this was her natural state or not. i had my own problems to resolve.
i wasn’t sure if she’d let me leave without a fight or at least a question (how could she not question?) but confidence is everything and i turned it on high and hoped the flesh wouldn’t betray me – weakness still lingered in my nether regions, but i no longer wanted to test drive this equipment.
i cleared the room and it took everything in me to not dance my relief at release down the hallway. i escaped as fast as i could, no longer caring how the bulky body might seem, no longer even caring how it worked, why i’d ever wanted to try it on long forgotten...

when i started writing i didn’t know what the hands were reaching toward. a few paragraphs in i thought the piece was called altered states by the end i thought it was called penis envy but didn’t title it at all because i was experimenting with giving as little info as possible to encourage reader-imagination, understanding+enjoyment, so please tell me if it worked.
thanks.
walk good.

late-ass fff #4

sorry dudes, wasn't able to get to a machine earlier than this- i'd add an extra half-hour to the deadline but don't think it'll make a difference with this group, i seem to always be last done anyway- however, if you want/need the half-hour, feel free; whatever it takes to get it writ.
before we begin, wanted to let people know that both chrissy+crazyfool are on my sidebar for future reference, and if anybody has a preference about where they receive comments on their fff, lemme know in the comments here (i think i'm the only one with direct online contact to everybody participating).
please mind the rules of engagement (below); and now, without further ado, the trigger for fff #4 (starter):
freakishly large hands reached out toward...

rules of engagement:
you will send in your suggestions for triggers (starter sentences, closers, titles, inclusion clauses, etc.) anytime during the week up to 11.55am friday, trinbago timezone; i will post the new fff trigger by noon friday trinbago timezone.
if your trigger is not chosen and you think it is too wonderful not to be chosen, you will send it in again the next week.
you will write an anecdote, short story, or novel length prose poem using the trigger provided.
you will add comments and appropriate linkage to my trigger-post indicating your desire to participate and the completion of your story (don't need a blogger/gmail account to comment on my blog).
you may join in at any time prior to the deadline.
you will display your story as a post on your own blog (or fasbook note or whatever, once we can all read it- please make sure we can all access the link to read it, not just those who are your friends on fasbook; there's a way to create public links for that, right?).
you will be done by monday noon trinbago timezone.
write fresh!
walk good.

think i like this fff

i find that being the one who selects or creates the trigger makes me want to not write until the last minute so that whatever impetus pinpointed the trigger fades and i have a (hopefully) fresh response to it and can write something with no preconceptions. so far this monday morning writing not too bad; i think i like this one...
flash fiction friday #3 trigger and rules of engagement here:

They never could get that right…
she wondered why, what about the human voice makes it so hard to recreate. after lifetimes of trying the only way to sound lifelike was still to record words and phrases as well as syllables for contextualised playback; no amount of technology had made it seem right otherwise. they’d been trying with telephones and computers from the beginning but the closest they ever got was recording a vocabulary of syllables for software to string together in response to contextualised input, which still sounded choppy at best, alien at worst, especially without full words and phrases for aural padding.
why would language-developers add to the potential confusion due to physical proximity and related function of the words by endowing ‘aural’ and ‘oral’ respectively?
and always, why, with all the other technological advances in artificial humanity, visually, texturally, functionally, why is voice the thing that betrays the lack of true life?
she sighed. try to get comfortable with it, accept that there’s no replacement for the real thing…
the real thing- oddly oxymoronic when the real “thing” in question is a living, breathing person being compared to an artificial one…
she sighed again, then looked around the kitchen and realised she had no idea why she had come there – how could she suddenly not know?
how human.
she nearly laughed out loud. nearly – having a conversation with herself and commenting on it at the same time, while simultaneously realising how amazing her ability to do that simultaneously was – so much happening, all inside her – was it always like this?
she left the kitchen and went back to the bedroom, tossing her mental space for reasons for the sojourn other than escape to the hum of appliances that know themselves for what they are, don’t pretend to be more elevated, don’t have a concept of ‘aspiring to be’. she repressed a sigh as her eyes flicked over the object of her avoidance, taking in the smooth brown complexion, charmingly decisive facial expression fronting a head wired for high intelligence and humour, strong but delicate hands and physique, all “beautifully sculpted to match built-in preferences of partner”…
perfect match?
she finally released the thought she’d been harbouring into the air as sound, sucking her teeth long and loud, not caring if it prompted uncomfortable questions.
steups!
intellectual gymnastics weren’t fair trade for the warmth of life.

walk good.
ps: may have been too influenced-by to not big-up my favourite reading of the past week, 2 short stories found courtesy lise (her fffs on the mainpage in the comments of trigger posts):
http://windupstories.com/pumpsix/the-fluted-girl/
and
scanners live in vain
and jj, not just for being my introduction to fff and my obliging pusherman but also for writing some of the best words i've ever had the pleasure to read. if you read this babes, i still wish you'd continue your fff sir thomas rand kbty...but i'll settle for anything you write...

trouble

just got home (true timestamp) from a saturday night partying in the dress i wore the 1st time i took my soon-to-be-ex-husband home, 8years ago; not only does it still(again?) fit beautifully in my humble opinion, it garnered many compliments (girls+boys both) and multiple phone number requests- guess i feel somewhat better...walk good.

fff #3

love that we actually doing this, people! thanks for joining and please remember to read the slightly tweaked rules of engagement below and to check for and comment on others' flash fiction fridays. if new and interested in the previous 2 attempts, here's fff#1 (starter trigger) and #2 (inclusion clause).
this week's trigger's a starter, and i hope the contributor will forgive me for making a slight adjustment to open up its possibilities to a wider demographic (so wonderfully, temptingly scandalous in its original form):

they never could get that right...

rules of engagement:
you will send in your suggestions for triggers (starter sentences, closers, titles, inclusion clauses, etc.) anytime during the week up to 11.55am friday, trinbago timezone; i will post the new fff trigger by noon friday trinbago timezone.
if your trigger is not chosen and you think it is too wonderful not to be chosen, you will send it in again the next week.
you will write an anecdote, short story, or novel length prose poem using the trigger provided.
you will add comments and appropriate linkage to my trigger-post indicating your desire to participate and the completion of your story (don't need a blogger/gmail account to comment on my blog).
you may join in at any time prior to the deadline.
you will display your story as a post on your own blog (or fasbook note or whatever, once we can all read it- please make sure we can all access the link to read it, not just those who are your friends on fasbook; there's a way to create public links for that, right?).
you will be done by monday noon trinbago timezone.
write fresh!
walk good.

i'm wayne brady, bitch!

i know the rick james sketches are major contenders for many but my all-time hands-down favourite from chappelle's show has to be the wayne brady. when he says "is wayne brady gunna hafta choke a bitch?" it still feels like the 1st brilliant fall-down-laughing time, and as somebody who admits liking whose line is it anyway? and brady in it, the chappelle piece is the perfect counterpart. chappelle's the perfect straight man, brady dead on, not under- or overplaying, unsurprisingly hilarious dexterity with a surprising character (kinnah like seeing bob saget[sp?] standup for the 1st time after seeing full house) since timing+delivery are what whose line... pushes. very bes'. go watch if you didn't know. that shit is fuckin funny.
walk good.
ps: i suspect i like it enough i may have blogged it before, felt familiar...if so, sorry for the redundancy.

trigger me this

time to email me trigger suggestions for upcoming fff (and future fffs), and yes, i have a non-fff-post in the works, so non-fiction sooncome. meanwhile...
rules of engagement:
you will send in your suggestions for triggers (starter sentences, closers, titles, inclusion clauses, etc.) anytime during the week up to 11.55am friday, trinbago timezone; i will post the new fff trigger by noon friday trinbago timezone.
if your trigger is not chosen and you think it is too wonderful not to be chosen, you will send it in again the next week.
you will write an anecdote, short story, or novel length prose poem using the trigger provided.
you will add comments and appropriate linkage to my trigger-post indicating your desire to participate and the completion of your story (don't need a blogger/gmail account to comment on my blog).
you may join in at any time prior to the deadline.
you will display your story as a post on your own blog (or fasbook note or whatever, once we can all read it- please make sure we can all access the link to read it, not just those who are your friends on fasbook; there's a way to create public links for that, right?).
you will be done by monday noon trinbago timezone.
write fresh!
walk good.