Tuesday, June 29, 2010

duuude...

know how spy game shows brad pitt looks just like redford? less so, but will smith might be sesame street jesse jackson...
and does anybody else think the "w" cookie monster eats into an "n" and then a "v" when kermit trying to give a talk about "w" must be the stuff doozers build from that fraggles eat? doh like the thought of cookie eating styrofoam...
walk good.

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Friday, June 25, 2010

flash fiction friday #25

flash fiction friday #25, and/or-inclusion trigger (ie. use either half or all of the phrase): those who mind don't matter; those who matter don't mind.

rules of engagement:

you will send in your suggestions for flash fiction friday triggers (starter sentences/phrases, closers, titles, inclusions, etc.) anytime during the week up to 11.55a.m. 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 brilliant 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 piece (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 piece 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.*[in light of collective busyness and my general mentality, i not pressed about these deadlines 'cause i'd rather have fun reading late than never, so if you want to fff past deadline, go through hard, just make sure you comment on the appropriate trigger-post so we know which it belongs to, and if is a real old trigger, comment on the most recent post as well so we know something new to back-back+read...if nobody fffs i'll leave the same trigger up until at least 1person other than myself writes a piece]*

write fresh!

walk good.

4 Comments:

Blogger Adam Andrews said...

those who mind don’t matter; those who matter don’t mind.

She wrung her hands together; dryly, nervously. It was almost dark. The traffic was finally lessening, and her first wave of optimism about the day washed over her.

i just may be on time

The light ahead was red. Its bloodiness washed over the wet road, over the wet cars, and into hers. It washed over her dry hands, seemingly reddening them as well. Its redness washed over her optimism. She looked nervously at the dashboard clock, whishing that its green would infect the stubborn traffic light ahead.

those who mind don’t matter; those who matter don’t mind.

She saw her clearly in her mind, almost as clearly as she heard that old voice that was also curiously strong. She had been infected with the old woman’s fear from a very young age. She saw the infection as strength, a cancerous strength. At first, it helped her to cull unwanted ‘friends’. She was empowered. If she felt like blowing off a movie date, she did. Maybe she would have had plans to go to the beach, what plans? She hid from all manner of engagements, birthdays, anniversaries, weddings, funerals, retirement parties, anything and everything. She would never let anyone dictate to her. Her time was her own, always would be her own. She felt that she had to defend it fiercely.

“PWAHPH” Move!

Her horn was very European, her car wasn’t. It didn’t matter. What did was that the blaring horn made the sleeping idiot in front move, in response to the change of light. She glanced at the clock again. Time was not cooperating. It seemed that the more she rushed, the more it rushed as well. And when she tried slowing it moved doubly as fast as before, thus eating away a chunk that she would never regain.

never again

Everytime she told herself it would be the last. Why did she always do it? They were all the same, hadn’t she been warned. At the start they all want you so much. They all promise so much and claim to understand your warnings. To everything they all say “That’s fine.” And then they smile the same smile. She loved teeth, secretly of course because she would never reveal such a weakness. It was the smile that always caught her.

“Those who mind don’t matter; those who matter don’t mind.”

The words drifted out of the corner room to greet her, she winced a bit. She had not yet had the courage to broach the doorway, to meet her aunt’s accusing eyes. She always knew when she had given in to her flesh. Always knew when her flesh betrayed her.

8:01 pm  
Blogger sweet trini said...

in+done, but wayyy above this on mainpage this time, @ http://urbanfolktales.blogspot.com/2010/08/finally-fff25.html
off to read adam...walk good

11:54 am  
Blogger sweet trini said...

adam, very intriguing- i want to reread before commenting but have to run out the door right quick, so if you care, check me back, nah...walk good.

11:59 am  
Blogger sweet trini said...

adam: i like this character, and especially like your transitions- because your mechanism changes it feels more like being inside her stream of consciousness simultaneously with narrator's. thanks, dude. walk good.

11:28 am  

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Friday, June 18, 2010

fff #24

again, not at all what i expected to write.

she bit her lip. that supposed to be sexy, right? she tried smiling with her eyes and promptly felt like a jackass when their crinkling corners crunched with dry yampee. hoping her optic crustiness was less visible than it felt, she provided (hopefully) distraction with a long, languorous stretch, arching her back, pushing her hips out suggestively, toes pointed, eyes closed dreamily in total enjoyment…at least, that’s what she tried to project...

this was harder than she remembered.

she opened her eyes and found herself looking directly into his, his study more intent than she could stand. after only a moment she had to break her gaze from his, unwilling to show but unable to contain the prickles dangerously warming her unwashed mask of casualness. she couldn’t remember the last time a blush overtook so fully, threatening to dissolve her into helpless, hapless giggles. she looked up to find him still drinking her in, and resorted to fixing her sightline firmly on his left earlobe and beyond it, into the safety of empty space where nothing provoked further eruption.

she had no idea what to do with herself, it had been so long since her last morning-after-the-first-time.

gradually, she allowed herself to relax. she allowed herself to look at his face again, reminded herself that intimacy was good and that she liked this person, and suddenly she realised how beautiful he was. she trailed her knuckles gently along his cheek to his jaw and down the side of his neck, traced the curve of his shoulder and down his arm until she tickled the outside of his thigh lacing her fingers into and through his.

she lifted his hand to her lips and kissed the inside of his wrist, its outside, each of his fingers, the centre of the palm of his hand. she put the palm of his hand against her cheek and smiled, with her whole face, her whole self, her whole, warm being. she leaned in and lightly kissed his mouth, leaned her head down to snuggle against his shoulder, closed her eyes, and sighed deeply, finally releasing the tension of these last years.

walk good.

1 Comments:

Blogger crazyfool said...

nice piece, beautifully written.

i'm in+done. trying to amend my absence i wrote 22, 23, 24 in 1. not amazing but its a scratch back in.

5:35 pm  

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Friday, June 11, 2010

fff#23 + flash fiction friday #24 trigger

gettin' too slack, now i not just posting the fff#24 trigger late, i barely making it on friday. but it reach, nonetheless, followed by my attempt @ fff#23: wrinkle, heavy, space, light, time.

flash fiction friday #24 trigger (inclusion): earlobe, wrist, lip, knuckle, eye.

rules of engagement:

you will send in your suggestions for flash fiction friday triggers (starter sentences/phrases, closers, titles, inclusions, etc.) anytime during the week up to 11.55a.m. 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 brilliant 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 piece (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 piece 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.*[in light of collective busyness and my general mentality, i not pressed about these deadlines 'cause i'd rather have fun reading late than never, so if you want to fff past deadline, go through hard, just make sure you comment on the appropriate trigger-post so we know which it belongs to, and if is a real old trigger, comment on the most recent post as well so we know something new to back-back+read...if nobody fffs i'll leave the same trigger up until at least 1person other than myself writes a piece]*

write fresh!

and fff#23 (not at all what i expected): wrinkle, heavy, space, light, time.

mango season’s flies buzz incessantly past, close and plentiful enough to keep you disturbed and swatting; as if the mosquitos not enough while you work. you nearly tear open a thigh with a thoughtless, irritated swing of the hand holding the chisel you use to engrave the lid, and are gently scratching yourself with the blade of the handsaw from time to time by the time you finish, light disappearing almost too fast for you to choose a spot while the space under the trees still visible.

later, after you put away your carpentry kit and wash away the sawdust+sweat, and tears, you gather the tools for the next part of the ritual. less, but heavy, and in spite of your bath, you are too. you leave what you need by your galoshes by the door, not by the box you kept in the bedroom after putting your sadness inside it.

later still, moon high, providing enough light that you unable to deny this act, you put on the galoshes, and shovel in one hand, box hugged tight to your other hip, step into the night.

you dig for what feels like hours; too shallow a grave allows secrets to escape. you hear the sadness inside the box and know it will stay with you forever even with its body locked in a coffin. when you can’t listen to the box anymore you stop digging.

the first wrinkle in a life otherwise blessed, you now know you strong enough to do what you must; you can birth your babies, dirty your hands, and bury your dead. you will survive.

walk good.

2 Comments:

Blogger mystie said...

u call mine chilling? dude....

12:34 pm  
Blogger sweet trini said...

in+done for fff#24, directly above this post on mainpage. i even like this one, i think...walk good.

6:59 pm  

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Friday, June 04, 2010

fff#22 + trigger flash fiction friday #23

selfishness made the flash fiction friday trigger late this week: i was so close to being done with my fff#22 (below #23-trigger, this post) that i had to finish it before i posted the next trigger.
so, with apologies delivered in story-form under this flash fiction friday #23 (inclusion) trigger: wrinkle, heavy, space, light, time.
rules of engagement:
you will send in your suggestions for flash fiction friday triggers (starter sentences/phrases, closers, titles, inclusions, etc.) anytime during the week up to 11.55a.m. 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 brilliant 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 piece (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 piece 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.*[in light of collective busyness and my general mentality, i not pressed about these deadlines 'cause i'd rather have fun reading late than never, so if you want to fff past deadline, go through hard, just make sure you comment on the appropriate trigger-post so we know which it belongs to, and if is a real old trigger, comment on the most recent post as well so we know something new to back-back+read...if nobody fffs i'll leave the same trigger up until at least 1person other than myself writes a piece]*
write fresh!

when i drink i start telling stories and before i even realise i overdid it i struggling to remember which is reality and which is the lie, which is my life and which my possible death.
i keep expecting to get used to being somebody else, to stop having to remind myself of my name, to turn around the 1st time an unfamiliar voice calls. getting used to being somewhere new was easier, by then i’d done it before albeit for different reasons, though now it never happened since that me doesn’t exist…
the aftermath of drinking: nostalgia for the future i’ll never have, copious vomiting, bitterness over the loss of lives+loves, headache…but what else is there?
when the drinking starts it does its job; i forget myself the way i intend, my current and given names equally less important than the handle of my poison. in the attempt to feel less i drink more and more than i should.
when i drink i fantasise about returning to myself, revisiting my old life to see if i left a hole. i have a list of items to bring back, as if reacquiring these things i miss will bring my 2 lives closer together.
when i drink i remember what never had the chance to happen.

walk good.

3 Comments:

Blogger mystie said...

The Black Cat

I am the last of my kind. All others have faded away and left me alone in this solitary space to the job that no one of this time will admit is taking place.
The black cat. I am.
We were once a proud force who walked where there was no light and did deeds the world chastised. But we did what we were trained to do and we did it with purpose and never made a mistake.
Assassins. That is what they called us. Children raised to kill without leaving so much as a whisper of a clue behind. We left no mark, not a wrinkle, no sign, which in itself should have warned us.
Every action has an equal but opposite reaction, a truth, a law of our universe, and though no eyes could ever see the marks we made, the toll was indeed heavy for those of us who made them.
It is why i am the last black cat, i alone carry forward our legacy. Left alone, all alone, waiting willing and more than able to kill any and all creativity.

"Good morning Madame Minister, are you ready to meet with the Culture Coalition?"
"Yes, indeed i am."

10:47 am  
Blogger sweet trini said...

in+done+posted immediately above on mainpage, along with fff#24 trigger...ah gone to read mystie...
walk good.

7:49 am  
Blogger sweet trini said...

mystie: chilling...walk good.

8:03 am  

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