Thursday, October 03, 2019

my play on the beeb; 2+half weeks left!

dread! i now realise like a ass i eh come here and share the link to my play on bbcradio3! so with less than 3weeks left, go+listen before it gone; is 3halfhour plays back-to-back, mines 3rd:
water more than flour.
enjoy!
walk good.

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Wednesday, September 18, 2019

homeclothes+coconutoil

bringer of orgasms
champion of my pussy
king of the nether region
master of all he survey
not god but man
making universe tremble
shiverquiverquake
beneath his fingers
on the tip of his tongue
warm breath
sweat
sweet
fistfuls of sheet
stretching reaching climbing
fighting ecstatically
for the impossible

[work-still-in-progress; august2019]
walk good.

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Thursday, June 20, 2019

bes' duet; jealous t'ing...plus some kink...

i wish i coulda see this live plus wish i coulda be in this, so fucking bad. choreo hard like concrete plus he win me when he giddem wings followed by the knock-knee courru...


Excerpt of BANDA with Carmen de Lavallade and Geoffrey Holder (1957) from The Glass Group on Vimeo.

yuhknow what? because i like it, bonus video, found during research for my maybe-[jouvay]choreo...

and while i bandying 'bout bonuses, i suppose might as well rest this supposedly complete list of kinks+fetishes here for future reference...walk good.

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Tuesday, June 18, 2019

fff#76

my [later-than-ever-before] flash fiction friday #76; trigger: write [of] emptiness.

this like addiction, this never-ceasing need? addiction or obsession? both.
ritual taking to satisfy constant craving never fulfilled ever desirous of manifestation that evades, eternal, they say.
but who even know? they say i don’t exist and i here.
wanting.
with every breath.
the only thing i know is must-have.
so i take what i need. try to make what i need.
but destined, they say, to never succeed.
cavernous inside, abyss of melancholy, hole unfilled for eternity, creature created to fail, to seduce but never fully obtain, take but never gain, infinity of little deaths, never a single spark of life…
diablesse.

say my name.
call it for salvation
when you come
and i consume
your seed
wasted
mind broken
my heart, shattered, again
as if i somehow
didn’t know
what i am...

walk good.

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Friday, June 07, 2019

flash fiction friday #76

sometimes it doh come when you want it...flash fiction friday #76 trigger: write [of] emptiness.

rules of engagement:
you will send in your suggestions for flash fiction friday triggers (starter sentences/phrases, closers, titles, inclusions, structural/thematic challenges, etc.) anytime during the week up to 11.09a.m. friday, trinbago time; i will post the new fff trigger by noon friday trinbago time.*
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, song or novel length prose poem using the trigger provided.
you will add comments and appropriate linkage to this/my trigger-post indicating your desire to participate and the completion of your piece (don't need a blogger/gmail account to comment here on my blog).you may join in at any time prior to deadline.*
you will display your piece as a post on your own blog (or as a comment on this/my trigger-post or fasbook note or instastory or whaever, 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 time.*[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.

1 Comments:

Blogger sweet trini said...

post story since yesterday but clean forget to say, it directly above this post on blog, or@ https://urbanfolktales.blogspot.com/2019/06/fff76.html
walk good

10:00 am  

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Thursday, June 06, 2019

story to tell

once upon the other day i cold-read the lead for a screenplay-in-progress. it went excellently well because i literally a perfect fit for the role; i knew the director would audition me if/when it reach production. coupla weeks later director hail; she like me for it and will i audition on-camera?
absolutely no problem; i know i's the one. script read like she write the lead and the whole damn flim just for me. so i go in. great audition. i cry, make them cry, mash up the improv, mash up the dance. this role perfect for me; i know is mines. hadda be. which shoulda be my 1st clue, right; why i eh see was carnival medea and this love come back again? when i go learn it have no perfect fit for me?
so at the time i stupidly go about my life knowing i go get the call when time come because this role, this flim, make for me. right. she auditioning male leads. me+she done talk that we both think the same person make sense for male lead; in my opinion, strong male actors of a certain age pickings real slim here, but this one dude seem a sensible fit even if he eh necessarily prove himself a good actor yet (which i done tell he long time; too many here equate getting cast with being good and being different with being good, and that cycle of assumptions of talent dangerous). i knew he wanted it and we woulda work well together. he read+agreed. director love him for it, as expected. then outta the cut, the unexpected hit.
when i work, when i make/art/wuk, no matter the project, once i engaging it my goal is always to make the best product/ion possible, even if that affects my opportunity to do wha' i want on/for the project. onstage or on the page, i always trying to make the best product/ion i/we can. but this director, apparently she doh wuk so. after she audition and cast he as male lead (from among limited options, remember) she then cast somebody else as female lead even though we all know this person will come nowhere close to the wuk i woulda puddown, and strictly because, i shit you not, it most important to her that the male+female leads be of differing ethnicities and me+he are not. she would rather cast an inferior actor in spite of having access to better both in terms of talent and natural fit for the specific role, and do her story that injustice, than allow her lead actors to be the same ethnicity, even though we look nothing alike and are different types. the person she cast not believable as a dancer (massively important to story) even to nondancers, male lead included. i would never do my work that.
but the flim eh mines so it is what it is, which, like this love and carnival medea (now realise, because i doh come here to pong i may never have said what a hot fucking mess each was and maybe i should formally review, sometime) will be nowhere near as good as it coulda be. and after spending whole day on a shoot with same director for somebody else's project i mad vex; whole day in the back of my mind i jus' wanna oppose this woman under, how you could treat your wuk so?! but then, tha's the point, right? is she wuk, she script for she to direct as she see fit and who the fuck is me? if she find making statement about racial unity (not at all a theme in her story of differing personalities+lives coming together; race have no part, isn't mentioned and this just about the visual of different ethnicities coming together) more important than making the best flim possible from her idea, who's me to say no?
so i vent here, recognise the reminder that casting often have nutting to do with talent, continue wuk on my own scripts where creating+telling the best story in the best way possible is wha' matter, and tell meself, one day one day congotay...wha' is to is must to is, ent?
make/art/wuk. always.
walk good.

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Monday, June 03, 2019

fff#75

my very late (and, apologies, mostly unedited, not because i doh care but because, paying deadlines...) fff#75; [inclusions] trigger: seed, feed, weed, bleed, greed/y.

from since i small it had a woman up by we they say was mad because she always used to talk to she garden. i eh mean when she come out to water the plants she tell them morning or evening; i mean full conversation for hours everyday, she outside in she garden in she big, floppy hat, drink in hand, liming with she plants. and at first it was no scene. for years she tend she garden, lime with she plants and mind she business and she eh bother nobody and nobody eh bother she. but yuhknow people fas’, and wha’ they cyah explain they make story about to make less frightening. so wasn’t no surprise to me that when the first person turn up not-quite dead with the mark on they neck already turning black+blue everybody was quick quick to call she name; not that nobody actually know it, or actually have evidence of what they talking but yuhknow in small communities sometimes rumour is all it take for something to get treated like fact.
the second+third persons attacked fare somewhat better; they turn up all the way dead, at least, which considerably easier for all+sundry, logistically speaking. and people realise by the third one, too, that they could (mostly) rest easy; it was clear that victim-selection favoured the least favoured among us. even not-quite-dead morris was better than the morris mrs.morris was trying she bes’ with for donkey-years prior, especially once she figure out not-quite-dead morris eh need a damn thing except to be positioned out of she way when the day come and now she really only hadda mind sheself, and nobody mourn the end of blakie big son who had done nothing but drink and terrorise neighbours since he get big, or sour ms.wylie with she evillous ways.
it was what happen with the 4th+5th victims that first sow seeds of discontent with the “arrangement”. a night mabel decide she had enough of the stupidness and follow bolo when he say he was going and fire one with the boys, to see where she man was really going everynight so.
she say, in a mess of snat+tears nex’ morning, that she follow he to by desiree, and when she see tha’s the door he gone in, was going to turn+go back to she place one time to cry and burn candle, but then something tell she, see for yuhself. so mabel apparently gone round by desiree bedroom window, expecting to catch the two of them in flagrante delicto, and instead get a whole different eyeful. mabel claim she see what look like a small fire blazing in the middle of the room all by itself, with desiree fling to one side, and bolo stand up staring at the fire like he in a trance. mabel claim she see the plants-lady face in the fire, and then the fire move toward bolo and was engulfing him until she cry out from by the window. mabel claim when she bawl out the fire stop swallowing bolo, and she see the plants-lady face again before it rush straight toward her, out the window, knocking down mabel in the dirt, and fly up into the sky. mabel say she run inside, grab bolo, and drag he ass back home.
she call meeting in the morning to tell everybody what she see, and that when she reach bolo home she realise he have puncture-mark turning black+blue, and like he cyah talk, he so out of it she cyah even tell if he understanding when she talk to he. when they check by desiree, they find she just like mabel say, dead in the corner of she bedroom, and of course, puncture done turn black+blue.
one time mabel start: how clearly the plants-lady is a soucouyant, just as she say from since morris, and because bolo had the misfortune to interrupt when she come to feed, even though he’s a good man he get bite too, and how this mean nobody safe, how this mean people cyah afford to sit back and let no soucouyant operate like this because soucouyant judgement not to be trusted, and how if it could happen to bolo it could happen to any of we. and of course mavis answer back that how mabel know that, how mabel so sure bolo wasn’t suppose to get bite too, maybe bolo eh so good as mabel think, after all he was by desiree in the first place, because mavis still vex since she get leave out for mabel years ago. and that start one big fight and nothing get resolve and nobody make no real plan to deal with the situation besides people talking about rice for the floor around their bed, and some declaring certainty in their safety as good people but whispering similar rice-stocks shopping intentions to immediate family members.
me, i was curious about how everybody so sure they know the true identity of we friendly neighbourhood bloodsucking fireball when i know nobody ever even talk to she. so i pick up meself and i gone.
i find she, naturally, outside in the yard, in deep conversation with the plants, discussing the merits of plant- versus animal-based diets for humans and relative impact on the environment, while tending a particular patch of what i swear was the same weeds my mother always had me spend saturday mornings clearing from in-between everything else that manage to grow in our yard. but this woman was minding them, letting them grow huge+tall, already bigger than i had ever seen, bigger than she self. it was like a bush and like a tree at the same time, stretching vines up+out, sprouting flowers all over, finding itself big+strong+beautiful, and i swear it was turning+leaning into her as she move around it, talking, checking leaves for signs of trouble, stroking like she would a loved one.
i didn’t know what to say or do. i had no plan beyond curiosity carrying me to her garden, but standing in the lane watching her communion with plants i suddenly know what i come to do, what i have to do. and i tell her, in a rush, words tumbling out faster than i could control about what people saying because i realise, without knowing why, i on she side. i want she to fight the oldtalk. but instead she just smile. she smile and say, people is people, yuhknow what I mean…
i leave, confused about everything except the sense of dread building when i think about how this go play out.
nex’ fortnight was kenwyn. me eh know if he was just so sure nobody know it was he thiefing from people all these years because nobody brave enough to oppose he massive, drunk ass, but kenwyn take no precautionary measure at all; no rice, so salt, no sand, they find nothing of the sort set out when they check home for kenwyn after he miss work. they find he same way like morris and bolo, but this time the whole place mash up, he things pelt all about, furniture break down, kitchen in a disarray, and kenwyn, already-black+blue bruises all over, not completely drained+dead just emptily staring into an open cupboard with a 5pound bag of rice sitting, unopened, watching he right back.
they say it obvious what went on, that the soucouyant come to bleed kenwyn and he fight back. they say maybe it have something in that. now the planning start in earnest. so i went back by the plants-lady.
this time she smile as she see me, like she was looking out for me, even. she ask if i want to visit with her garden. i say, yes but no, that i come to tell her she have to go, to hide, to fly, to flee, that they coming for she, they know she is soucouyant and they mad vex, more than they frighten.
she smile again and ask if i see she baby, how big the baby getting, and when my confused eye follow her gesture i see the weeds in the corner patch reaching, magnificent, up into the sky, even farther than sun letting my eye follow. and as i looking up, trying to wrap my brain around this plant i accustom seeing as no more than good-for-nothing rubbish to pull out the earth as fast as it sprout, become this incredible tower of foliage, she say she understand, that is her own fault, she shouldna be greedy, shoulda know kenwyn was more than she could take down by sheself and while his bad behaviour was plenty reason, she shouldna let she eye get longer than she belly.
and i still looking up, now trying to reconcile her words with my idea of how soucouyant is, how soucouyant should be, supposed to be, she start to climb. by the time i realise was because the plants-lady climb she way into my upward field of vision and as i keep looking up she keep climbing up and up and up like some jack and the beanstalk madness, except what could actually be more madness than a real live soucouyant climbing into the sky on an overgrown weed to escape…
i stay the rest of the day+night and into the next, looking out. she never come back down.
we never see she again.

walk good.

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Friday, May 31, 2019

flash fiction friday #75

dread. i now jump up, grab a mango, gone by the kitchen sink, bite+break+peelback skin, sink my teeth into this delightful, edible piece of sunshine...and as i greedily sucking back the 1st mouthful, chasing juice down my lip with my tongue, all the tension leave my body in a rush and my knees get weak weak like a tiny orgasm, oui...
thus come flash fiction friday #75; [inclusions] trigger: seed, feed, weed, bleed, greed/y.

rules of engagement:
you will send in your suggestions for flash fiction friday triggers (starter sentences/phrases, closers, titles, inclusions, structural/thematic challenges, etc.) anytime during the week up to 11.09a.m. friday, trinbago time; i will post the new fff trigger by noon friday trinbago time.*
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, song or novel length prose poem using the trigger provided.
you will add comments and appropriate linkage to this/my trigger-post indicating your desire to participate and the completion of your piece (don't need a blogger/gmail account to comment here on my blog).you may join in at any time prior to deadline.*
you will display your piece as a post on your own blog (or as a comment on this/my trigger-post or fasbook note or instastory or whaever, 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 time.*[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.

2 Comments:

Blogger Adam Andrews said...

searching for soul in the receding luminescence of twilight
a film of dusk
raises off my skin
like powder from a moth's wing
shimmering,
dancing in the air
gold, purple, emerald,
burnt oranges and yellows
and rich light browns
all while the day
bleeding itself out,
stutters and stumbles to the west
a bad actor, greedy for stage
refusing to die
on time.

the sky darkens, the night-blanket is on us
a lighter flicks
a spliff is lit
weed as incense,
libations for twilight
and endless times of change.
for those who were here
and are not
and yet to come,
for seeds planted
and yet to be sown.

ritual
touching of self
hand to head
spliff to mouth inhale
exhale
repeat|repeat
while repeating, recline
and find
the oldest tapestry, the slowest motion picture
eyes feed on spot after spot
night-blanket and its holes.

3:00 am  
Blogger sweet trini said...

my fff#75 posted right above this post on this blog, or@ https://urbanfolktales.blogspot.com/2019/06/fff75.html
walk good.

2:43 pm  

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Tuesday, May 28, 2019

fff#74

my extremely late (but because of bbcdeadline-meeting, so i find you could 'llow me) flash fiction friday #74 trigger: write of [a] being stuck in space and/or time...[trigger wording does not indicate specific personal beliefs about spacetime continuum and/or possibilities available to non/sentient beings but simply provides, hopefully, the most storytelling options possible within given constraints.]

when sky blue so deep it almost black is time to go back. i obey the rule of lore. i do not test its fallibility. i do not risk daybreak.
straight to silkcotton tree, to my hole, to my self, to reluctantly relinquish this feared- my favoured- form, i fly, lighting up blueblack sky with the saddest moment of my every fullmoon feeding+freedom. there is never a time i do not wish with every flicker of my being to stay this way. but still i obey.
rule of lore.
go back. back to my skin, to the cage i keep me in, to contain myself as the lore demand, abandoning fire+flight before daylight, i slip into my self and…
“skin, skin, you nah know me?!”
words of lore come before i catch what going on
torn from throat unable to reclaim its form
fiery piercing pain like cellular injection
no thought pure sensation of skin insurrection
salt grains burning flesh dna rejection
human flame trapped soucouyant extinction
shrivelling dying in perpetual slowmotion
shrivelling dying in perpetual slowmotion
shrivelling
dying
perpetual
slowmotion


walk good.

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Friday, May 24, 2019

flash fiction friday #74

flash fiction friday #74 trigger: write of [a] being stuck in space and/or time...
[trigger wording does not indicate specific personal beliefs about spacetime continuum and/or possibilities available to non/sentient beings but simply provides, hopefully, the most storytelling options possible within given constraints.]

rules of engagement:
you will send in your suggestions for flash fiction friday triggers (starter sentences/phrases, closers, titles, inclusions, structural/thematic challenges, etc.) anytime during the week up to 11.09a.m. friday, trinbago time; i will post the new fff trigger by noon friday trinbago time.*
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, song or novel length prose poem using the trigger provided.
you will add comments and appropriate linkage to this/my trigger-post indicating your desire to participate and the completion of your piece (don't need a blogger/gmail account to comment here on my blog).you may join in at any time prior to deadline.*
you will display your piece as a post on your own blog (or as a comment on this/my trigger-post or fasbook note or instastory or whaever, 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 time.*[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.

3 Comments:

Blogger Adam Andrews said...

PART 1

It have certain things dat de shape of ah mango allow it to do an' not do.
Dat is physics.
Mango doh know like how ah woman or man know.
Mango only know like mango could know.

But mango know enough to be real surprised when it leave de stem and never hit nothing.

Mango confuse. In terms of what mango know, when it leave de stem, it supposed to hit ground. Mango didn't call it ground, or hit, or stem.

De way it should go is, if mango not on de stem, then mango have one mission now, and that is to throw root into ground and grow into tree. Mango don't know root or tree either, and it don't know grow.

Mango is just really a slave to chemical responses triggered by physical stimuli, such as, a middle-bearing-aged mango, refusing to make de necessary lifestyle changes and thus becoming too heavy (the inherent paradox being that fuller mangoes are more desirable) to hold on to a stem. Said stem giving way, releasing mango into free-fall, and as mango spin it begins to release new chemicals. Cacophonies of peel, flesh, seed and amber sapblood, and de pale milky tear forming where it was attached to de stem, all combine to make a scent dat must attract, flies and birds, cattle and people. Mango need help, to strip away de flesh and de skin so dat de seed could now, naked as it born, return to de earth, back to mother.

1:45 am  
Blogger Adam Andrews said...

PART 2

Outside of physics, a nex' ting mango doh know is probability. Dis itself, not too far fetched, given mango total lack of any mathematical knowledge, and not limited to de computational level but even if we just talking basic numeracy, mango and maths is ah NO. Like dat shit so understood it capitalized...we digress.

Mango and probability is ah NO.
Mango just releasing chemicals and advertising itself for consumption so dat it could survive.
Mango, surprisingly, more and more sounding like a sex worker.

Mango, releasing chemicals, advertising and spinning, don't know, but know dat it suppose to hit ground, ignorant of maths and anything math related, and is off de stem, in free-fall, making little mango-type revolutions through de air, and what den, are de odds?

What are de odds dat mango spin in a way that no mango ever spin before.
Is not so much dat mango spin out of existence, is more like mango spin right into existing.
On de way down, after leaving the stem, mango never hit ground.
De perfect, mango-type revolutions, as executed by, now off de stem, free-falling mango, excite up molecule in de atmosphere and, de molecular activity lead to, unknown to mango, a build up of energy as un-witnessed by humanity and a resulting wormhole completes the cliche and appears, just large enough and appearing instantaneously long enough to swallow mango, and only mango. It eh take no ground, no nothing else. It was, just a blip of something looking like it become nothing. Like it was never dey.

Mango with de perfect mango-type revolutions is now in an ascended state of nirvana and has gone from being an unregarded collection of universal material, to de centre.
Mango, by entering de wormhole while performing perfect mango-type revolutions triggered two things.

First, which was triggered by de wormhole but, de wormhole really create by de spin of Mango and thus causation can be attributed to Mango, but de wormhole led, not through time but rather to an eternal moment.
Dis moment led to de second thing which was Mango becoming sentient.
Dis sentient, still spinning, free-falling Mango, immediately understood how it came to be.
De wormhole dat it generated took it to a dimensional plane where it is forever trapped in its act of perfection, de perfect mango-type revolutions that it randomly fell into, while falling from de stem.
Having been transported to dis eternal moment while embodying mango-type perfection, Mango also acknowledges dat it is not only sentient but is in fact transcended. Mango now, lives in de moment, has no judgement, is fully enlightened.

Mango's first and second to last thought as an enlightened being is
'Now dat I sentient and enlightened and understand wha transpire, I could head back earth and show dem people de scene.'
Mango's last thought is
'Nah. Fuck dat. Fuhs man try to eat mih go geh through.'

Which is very much an un-enlightened sentiment, the realization of which causes Mango's rotation to wobble ever so slightly from the axis of perfect mango-type revolutions but it is enough to immediately reverse the whole process.

Back on earth, two hundred years had passed.
De tree mango fell from has long gone.
De field the tree was in, gone, a small city in the general area, but only pavement and road in the like, de exack spot where de tree was.
This hungry vagrant now shuffling off to find some shade from de hot sun.
He forget that the mango tree he know from small, done gone. He walking off pondering this when a full, juicy mango hit him on top his head, like just drop outta nowhere.

1:45 am  
Blogger sweet trini said...

my [extra-late]fff#74@ https://urbanfolktales.blogspot.com/2019/05/fff74.html or the post immediately above this one on this blog...walk good.

2:00 pm  

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Thursday, May 23, 2019

all the vibes

wine low.
walk good.

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Wednesday, May 22, 2019

vent.

sigh. i's try, eh. i's honestly try. but i evidently do not play well with others. i feel like i even say this here before. i's make every effort but my way is not the way for anybody but me, it seem. and that would be fine, i good with that, except fuckers keep coming 'round, asking, begging, wanting me to play. and i say no. i say so much no. but they persist. and when i say, experience is why i say no, they still persist, each convinced that he so different, he will be the one to make it work. and everytime i say, i hear better cock than you crow and still end up in the pelau...and still they insist+persist. and thus far they have each+every one all been the same in this particular regard, in spite of the plethora of protestations. not that they can bear to hear that either, any more than my no. this is a man ting i have had decades to observe: each one of them convinced that he is the one to hold me, contain me, keep me for heself and heself alone. they are each+every single one wrong. everyfuckingbody need to understand:
i am not and will never be your woman.
walk good.

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Monday, May 20, 2019

fff#73

almost feel like cheating with it being sooo short, but it actually saying xackly wha' i wanted and no attempt to draw out more create anything i like better than this, so, welcome to my flash fiction friday #73; title trigger: the end.

gooey droplets of
truth
is beauty
raining
spurting
squirting
gushing
blushing
fountain
of youth.

walk good.

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Friday, May 17, 2019

flash fiction friday #73

apologies; my belly send me in the kitchen in a bad timing for fff. but better late, as i always saying...flash fiction friday #73 trigger; title: the end.

rules of engagement:
you will send in your suggestions for flash fiction friday triggers (starter sentences/phrases, closers, titles, inclusions, structural/thematic challenges, etc.) anytime during the week up to 11.09a.m. friday, trinbago time; i will post the new fff trigger by noon friday trinbago time.*
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, song or novel length prose poem using the trigger provided.
you will add comments and appropriate linkage to this/my trigger-post indicating your desire to participate and the completion of your piece (don't need a blogger/gmail account to comment here on my blog).
you may join in at any time prior to deadline.*
you will display your piece as a post on your own blog (or as a comment on this/my trigger-post or fasbook note or instastory or whaever, 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 time.*[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.

2 Comments:

Blogger sweet trini said...

my fff#73 shared directly above this post on this blog, or@ https://urbanfolktales.blogspot.com/2019/05/fff73.html
walk good.

12:02 pm  
Blogger Adam Andrews said...

Jasper people come to Moruga from America, this much he know. He doh know where in America they come from. He doh know who was Buffalo Soldier from who was old slave. Who was field hand from who was house nigger. He raise in the Baptist faith. Shouter Baptist who take Jesus and baptize him in Yoruba and Igbo. Loving the white man god, not knowing they guilty of spiritual miscegenation with their faith mixing and douglarizing of doctrine.

The old testament confuse Jasper. All the tracing of lines, lineage, make him think.
He is Jasper, son of Robert.
Robert was the son of Stephen.
Stephen was a Meriken and he was the son of?
He is Jasper, son of Annette.
Annette was the daughter of Veronica (Vero) and Vero meet Stepehen on the boat to Trinidad.
She was Meriken too but she know that she is Vero, daughter of Nathaniel and Venus.
Right there it stop. Jasper can't go back no more. Stephen on his father side. Nathaniel and Venus on his mother side. He reach the end.

Lying in prone position, dorsal to the ground, staring at the sky, Jasper feels surreal. The evening sun is almost fully crossed to the west and he is watching clouds roll by, feeling wind on his skin. Strong gusts that shake his body a little and light gusts that make him conscious of the hair of his arms and legs brushing lightly against his skin. His mind full of Abrahams and Issacs and Adams. Davids and Sauls and Josephs. A whole sea of ancestors. When he thinks of himself, though, he feels like he can only swim in a fishbowl.

9:07 am  

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Monday, May 13, 2019

fff#72

flash fiction friday #72 trigger was brought to you by 3big hardback man in a taxi singing along lustily to, "if you don't like girls that are smarter than you, well, then you might not like me..."; inclusions: unexpected, trio, off, surround, odd.

the knife was unexpected. trio of heart, hoof, head thudding too deep, too hard to think straight, i couldn’t get past what the…
then something take over, push him off me and use his moment of surprise at my strength to snatch the blade. press it against his jaw and shock him with the strength of my other hand squeezing his throat.
“so you like danger eh,?”
no answer from the nearly-departed now at my mercy, just terror in his eyes at my smile, not understanding my glee at his demonstrating just how much he deserve his fate this night. not merely an unfaithful man, attempted violence too, and who knows what end he intend; but now violence is mine to enact this night. he will no longer get to enjoy his final act. i go use his body, take what i want, and once i relieve him of his seed, end him. and he might still get treated better than he had plan to treat me. at least, until his ghosts surround and carry him with them into eternity…man like he must have plenty.
i whisper, “i know you must be confuse. you move so easy, confident, i could tell you get away with this plenty times before so it must be odd to find yourself on the other side, so easily disarmed. but before this over it go get stranger, still; you have no idea who+what you choose to fuck with tonight.”
knife still at his neck, i undo and push down his pants with my other hand and start stroking him to readiness.

walk good.

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Friday, May 10, 2019

flash fiction friday #72

flash fiction friday #72, brought to you by 3big hardback man in the taxi yesterday afternoon singing along lustily to, "if you don't like girls that are smarter than you, well, then you might not like me..."; [inclusions] trigger: unexpected, trio, off, surround, odd.

rules of engagement:
you will send in your suggestions for flash fiction friday triggers (starter sentences/phrases, closers, titles, inclusions, structural/thematic challenges, etc.) anytime during the week up to 11.09a.m. friday, trinbago time; i will post the new fff trigger by noon friday trinbago time.*
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, song or novel length prose poem using the trigger provided.
you will add comments and appropriate linkage to this/my trigger-post indicating your desire to participate and the completion of your piece (don't need a blogger/gmail account to comment here on my blog).
you may join in at any time prior to deadline.*
you will display your piece as a post on your own blog (or as a comment on this/my trigger-post or fasbook note or instastory or whaever, 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 time.*[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.

2 Comments:

Blogger sweet trini said...

my fff#72 posted immediately above this trigger post on blog, or@ https://urbanfolktales.blogspot.com/2019/05/fff72.html
walk good.

12:08 pm  
Blogger Adam Andrews said...

old man on the pavement
day and night
rain and shine.
when he doh sleep
he walk or beg
until he have to sleep again.
wrinkled skin folds
surrounds,
lines of the journey.

he sleep
he wake
he beg
existence, a trio of need
defined by craving.
when he waking
he send words out
"lil help. lil help here"
hoping money come in return
the "fuck off" eh really
unexpected

12:10 am  

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Thursday, May 09, 2019

all tings frida [plus humans are weird]

when i tell you i adore this woman! just running in quick quick to make sure i never forget this archive of frida kahlo's life+work out there, and to rest down this link to some of the loveliest alien/humans-are-weird fiction ideas i come across in ages [:
plus, as this clearly become a creative resources post, this my dearest, imposter have someting in it i like percolating, so lemme make sure i eh lose that link, neither; we go see what come...
enjoy.
walk good.

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Tuesday, May 07, 2019

fff#71

sooo very extremely late, but still, always, better than never, my flash fiction friday #71, in honour of the ongoing bocas litfest; [inclusions] trigger: mouth, heart, illuminate, transport, transform.

who in the known universe saying no to something like that, right?! so nex’ thing i know meh mouth suddenly being ever-so-gently exhorted by a tingly, tickly, not-quite-fingery feeling…
being engaged by the proboscis as creepy as you expect, just thankfully offset (kinda) by lightness of touch, not nearly invasive as greeting one of them from gallifrey9 or from baitellejoos0 or anything so…but then come the foot-thing. nobody had tell me ‘bout that part before, and i wasn’ ready, oui. was. not. ready.
i know i had was to go in barefoot and that, in+of itself, was a scene with me, but i wasn’ trying to turn down this rare frigging moment so i tell meself, foot could wash after: jump in…
saying to meself, them needing me barefoot come like how some humans shake hands and where that originate from, ent? saying to meself, everybody have they ways, not so? saying to meself, them probably find slamming fists together a bizarre frigging way to show solidarity, too…and with all them thing i tell meself, still, just…was. not. ready.
meh heart reach in meh mouth right behind the pullback of the proboscis when this 9foot shadow of dark matter and plasma collapse from in front meh face into freeflow form and jus’ so, jus’ so, winding all around+between meh foot! all under meh arch and between meh toes and wrapping meh ankles, this cold-but-not, slippery-but-not, slithery-but-not…cyah even explain how this could possibly be stranger, more intrusive than the proboscis, but trust, was definitely the weirdest thing i ever feel in any of meh lives so far. almost make me leave outta there one time, but i couldn’ bear to not let meself get wha’ i come for after reaching so far; i mean, i done let them push proboscis all the way to soft palate, cyah back out now…i tell meself just be still…be still…breathe…
and with my nex’ deep, deep breath, the whole space behind meh closed eyes, and outside, illuminate.
everything go from greyish murk to indigo to bright light in 3blinks and it was like the first time i ever transport from outer into original space all over again, except this still feel so expansive i could tell my thoughts extending, could feel my brain growing to accommodate all this newness, could sense meh senses feeling theyself…
if you ever get offer chance to bond with a indigood, doh stick; it will transform you…

walk good.

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Friday, May 03, 2019

flash fiction friday #71

flash fiction friday #71, in honour of the ongoing bocas litfest; [inclusions] trigger: mouth, heart, illuminate, transport, transform.

rules of engagement:
you will send in your suggestions for flash fiction friday triggers (starter sentences/phrases, closers, titles, inclusions, structural/thematic challenges, etc.) anytime during the week up to 11.09a.m. friday, trinbago time; i will post the new fff trigger by noon friday trinbago time.*
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, song or novel length prose poem using the trigger provided.
you will add comments and appropriate linkage to this/my trigger-post indicating your desire to participate and the completion of your piece (don't need a blogger/gmail account to comment here on my blog).
you may join in at any time prior to deadline.*
you will display your piece as a post on your own blog (or as a comment on this/my trigger-post or fasbook note or instastory or whaever, 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 time.*[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.

2 Comments:

Blogger At Jones said...

Your feed my mouth with silence, killed my heart with fear. I guessed that's what I needed, because my blood ran cold with stares. You lluminate me, showing my dark side and with my need for pain should I be a shamed? transport me to a new destination where my dimension transforms me, and gives me hope that no matter how much you feed me silence ill speak.

2:28 am  
Blogger sweet trini said...

extra late, but still, my fff#71 shared on this blog immediately above, or@ https://urbanfolktales.blogspot.com/2019/05/fff71.html
walk good.

6:11 pm  

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Thursday, May 02, 2019

even more cowbell

had a veeerrryyy useful script workshop for bbc commission yesterday and now even more excited about water more than flour! between that+bocaslitfest+lilliput+carifesta, though, my arse too damn busy for the post i wanna write, so meanwhile lemme just make sure i rest this thread here, because explaining a joke without unfunnying the entire enterprise so damn impressive, but also because this make that cowbell sketch even more hilarious...enjoy!
walk good.



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Monday, April 29, 2019

fff#70

late, and thus not as tightly edited as i'd like, but not terrible, my flash fiction friday #70; starter trigger:
i/she/he/they never wanted to forget anything more in her life than the last 3minutes. she had an instantaneous headache and a revelatory understanding of the expression “ignorance is bliss” when she see it because of how deep she feel in that very moment that nothing could ever be the same again. she was shook.
she eh ask for this. she eh come out for this. she come out to make some mischief, yes, but not looking for this kinna trouble when she leave the house this darknight. she want to refuse the sight, to refuse the knowledge, but cyah unsee, cyah unknow, no matter how she try to retrieve the naive belief that she know anything at all out here.
when she sneak out the house, was just to meet up with the neighbour boy she stringing along since mid-secondary school as convenient filler between suitors. her recent discovery during a passing-the-time petting session that he happen to be hung like a real-life gros lolo bring a certain extra thrill to the sneaking out this time and she thought herself in for a night of wonder, but couldn’t know how wrong she was about what kind.
you think you know the world by the time you think you big. you know what is a skyscraper, a cat, the wind, a desert, a performance…love. you understand the universe and that you cannot know all of it or even of the world, but you know enough to think you know the world enough: the sun will rise in the morning; death+taxes. until you see the unfathomable…
when she sneak out the house was just to engage in a night of what the young+free do and have always done, whether they can under their own roofs or not; a lack of obvious location never stop the inevitable. she did what the young+free do and make her rendezvous but before she reach the remains of the abandoned, derelict house, as she was cresting the small slope up to the empty doorway, she and all her intentions fall to pieces.
she feel the heat as she was walking up but, of course she would feel a slight heat; she was walking up. the night was so full of frogs+crickets she eh notice the snap, crackle, pop-popping. her mind was so on the pleasures she imagined awaited, she eh study the strange light…
when she sneak out the house she swear the wonders she would bear witness to that darknight would be of the human penile persuasion. she wasn’t expecting to see a self-contained fireball hover above the ancient tree, the tree behind the old house long before the house was new, so much just a part of the rising landscape she didn’t even think of it when she thought of the ruins. she wasn’t expecting blazing light to so clearly illuminate the tree that she could see in the vee of branch and trunk what could only be an empty skin, coiled, waiting for its owner’s return, and in the gaps of crumbling, broken walls, the neighbour boy, already waiting for her, now looking up through open ceiling to open sky in shock+awe. she wasn’t expecting the universe to expose such secrets, but how could she go back to believing only in the ordinary when she see the imaginary manifest?
she stop walking, rooted by the horror of her reality shattered. as she try to refuse the vision of eyes too aghast to process frantic messages to close, the universe eliminate all room for denial. the fire flash right through where used to be roof and was at the neighbour boy side in a second. then it seem to hover right over him and she hear him cry out, sharp, and then it was gone, up+away, trailing eerie, scandalous laughter through the night.
not a eyelash on the neighbour boy even slightly singed, but the bruised bite-mark bloom immediately.
later, she reach him home with strict instructions to forget she was ever there or the night even happen, and only later still she realise, that sharp cry was the last sound she ever hear him make.

walk good.

1 Comments:

Blogger Adam Andrews said...

They never wanted to forget.
After they had been border-controlled, immigrant-status-refugee branded. After they had been categorized, de-humanized, de-nationalized, they emerged to find, against what everyone was telling them and opposed to how everyone treated them, they emerged to find that they were still people.
Most of them were strangers, alone, some were families or friends. They had been harsh-white-light lit, questioned with and without legally required translators, fed and not fed at regularly scheduled times, and were still people. Processed, registered, counted, re-counted and assigned numbers. Names did not matter.
It was both the body and soul that suffered. Both the eyes and the ears too, and after three days of being packed together, as if of one body, the nose also suffered. They heard screaming babies, the whimpers of children of different ages, some soprano, some alto and a few tenor, older, spoiled boys. There was also an aural monotone, the moans of the old and those injured, some before the journey some during. They could also see nearby, in the whiteness of the light, a young man with a tooth that shook. It was one of five left in his mouth. He spoke rapidly and paused only for brief, greedy inhales of air, almost like he was ingesting it, and to use his tongue to push on his last incisor. They couldn't help but feel that he should perhaps be a little more careful, as this was almost his last one. His breath was sharp and so acrid that it pierced the overall stink enough to make an impression. Yet this game, with the tooth, made the children laugh, and it is this sound they tried to remember. They held on to the freedom of laughter even in the middle of a stench that threatened to choke not just the breath but the thought of breath. The little things amaze. After all of it, a young fool could still find a way to use his misfortune to make children laugh.

2:24 pm  

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Friday, April 26, 2019

flash fiction friday #70

flash fiction friday #70 trigger; starter: i/she/he/they never wanted to forget...

rules of engagement:
you will send in your suggestions for flash fiction friday triggers (starter sentences/phrases, closers, titles, inclusions, structural/thematic challenges, etc.) anytime during the week up to 11.09a.m. friday, trinbago time; i will post the new fff trigger by noon friday trinbago time.*
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, song or novel length prose poem using the trigger provided.
you will add comments and appropriate linkage to this/my trigger-post indicating your desire to participate and the completion of your piece (don't need a blogger/gmail account to comment here on my blog).
you may join in at any time prior to deadline.*
you will display your piece as a post on your own blog (or as a comment on this/my trigger-post or fasbook note or instastory or whaever, 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 time.*[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.

1 Comments:

Blogger sweet trini said...

clean forget to say since earlier, my fff#70 posted immediately above on this blog, or@ https://urbanfolktales.blogspot.com/2019/04/fff70.html
walk good.

9:24 pm  

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Wednesday, April 24, 2019

shoulda knewn it couldn' last...

story of my blasted life. 2weeks after foolishly announcing here, i fucking happy, it falling apart around me. and is i do it, to my own damn self. probably starting with announcing it here; years now i saying, anytime i finally mention somebody here, they's promptly start fucking up and relationship crash+burn. so i's doh do that again. in theory. but when somebody make their way to a certain level of intimacy+involvement then maintain over time, i eventually get to a point where i feel confident enough that we good and our understanding deep and it feel weird to consciously avoid mentioning them so when it come up, i do, figuring they go be different because we so tight and, sure nuff, as fast as i drop the word, they drop the fucking ball. or rather, pelt it so far outta bounds they break connection...
and so said so done. and i let it happen, ent...i choose to, like a damn ass. and of course, it wasn' only that, i let tings happen in the las' 2weeks because letting somebody that close that they could fuck me up is its own little folie a deux that i's stupidly doh recognise until too late, but i cyah even unpack the hurt+rage right now...all i have is disappointment in myself for letting him lead me astray, again.
sufficeth to say i picking up what the universe putting down and will be laying low; focus on make/art/wuk.
stay tuned for news of water more than flour's bbcradio3 broadcast...
walk good.

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Monday, April 22, 2019

fff#69

this is the 3rd installment of this current rounds of fff and my 3rd fff in a row written between 9am-noon monday, pelting toward deadline. before, i always tried to have something written or at least started before monday morning because i like time to finesse my flow; didn't always work out, but was a useful enough way to proceed...but i kinna liking this monday morning, start the week by fffing ting, and eh hating the results [thus far] neither...
without further ado, my attempt@ flash fiction friday #69; trigger [inclusions]: gorge, tingle, throb, bathe, trouble.

last thing i see was a grin of desire, fulfilled, filling my field of vision.
before that was all wonderment. sweat and gasping and moaning and juicy contorting…
before that was weeks upon weeks of hard work and not enough rest and promising myself this reward. i deserved something to look forward to, and after the work i put down, deserved to get it. all. i promised i would gorge myself on his big, beautiful…but that part didn’t happen.
before that could happen, before i could fully ready myself to receive this gift i had promised myself, as i finish bathe and before i could finish buttering my skin, he was at my door, and then at my ear the moment he was inside. as fast as i register the tingle of his words against my neck and the throb as they register between my legs his hands and mouth were on me, all over me, all at once. all my plans flew out of my head with every last thought i ever thought and i could only feel. amazing. the only thought left after he touched me, once he was inside me was, this man is trouble
and that was the last and only coherent thought until the shock and incredible pain as earring, nosering and dreadlocks came together, connected, entangled, didn’t let go as his tongue withdrew…incredible, alarming pain…and then nothing…

walk good.

2 Comments:

Blogger Adam Andrews said...

Tuesday morning meet Vero in a state. It wasn't Tuesday fault. It eh come late, or early. It come right when Tuesday morning supposed to, after Monday night, still though, Vero in a state. If Nanny Pearl come back from the dead and look at her, not even she go read any thing on Vero face though. She know how to mask everything, but if she in a state again? She leave him in her house, towel round his waist and her eyes burning into the muscles along his back and down to just where the towel tied. She could see the dimples right above his backside and all her ends tingle and her stomach flutter and flip. While she out getting doubles and condoms and cigarettes and ice cream, he supposed to bathe. She sorry to have to wash him off, sorry that he washing her off too.
They lock up in her place whole weekend and more. She never do this. Meet a man in a bar and take him home, worse yet keep him home. They forget each other name already, whole weekend is only babes and baby. She never had a want for a man like this, like she lose all sense. He make her feel like she didn't know her self, her own damn self. She gorged on him. She had mouth-fulls, cunt-fulls, spread his sweat and his cum on her skin with her own sweat and cum. She think about that in the line buying doubles and had to admit to herself that, yes, they needed to bathe, and the flashbacks were delicious.
She in traffic now, almost back home where he might be asleep, or awake and waiting. She plan to feed him, to watch him eat and watch him smoke. She want to see what he look like, what his satisfaction look like. Finally, the whole run take a little more than an hour but she back now. Her heart skip a beat because, like he was looking out the window for her, because he leave the door to the apartment open, inviting her in. She grab doubles bag in one hand, everything else in a next bag in the next hand, walk up the flight of stairs, break the doorway, and Vero mask come off. She conscious of her grip loosening on what she holding and know by the time she let go totally and they hit the floor, she might be right behind. She TV, gone. No fridge, no stove, no couch. Dining table gone. No laptop. She fraid to go in the bedroom. In the middle of the emptied of living, living room, the towel that was around his waist is crumpled on the floor, still dry. She go to pick it up and see a paper under it with a lil note.

Tanks fuh de pussy an all yuh shit

Look trouble now!

9:32 pm  
Blogger sweet trini said...

@adam i thoroughly enjoyed this read; tenx! but is "throb" in there?

12:21 am  

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Friday, April 19, 2019

flash fiction friday #69

#69 on a good friday feel like a good omen, heheheh...
flash fiction friday #69 trigger; inclusions: gorge, tingle, throb, bathe, trouble.

rules of engagement:
you will send in your suggestions for flash fiction friday triggers (starter sentences/phrases, closers, titles, inclusions, structural/thematic challenges, etc.) anytime during the week up to 11.09a.m. friday, trinbago time; i will post the new fff trigger by noon friday trinbago time.*
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, song or novel length prose poem using the trigger provided.
you will add comments and appropriate linkage to this/my trigger-post indicating your desire to participate and the completion of your piece (don't need a blogger/gmail account to comment here on my blog).
you may join in at any time prior to deadline.*
you will display your piece as a post on your own blog (or as a comment on this/my trigger-post or fasbook note or instastory or whaever, 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 time.* [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.

2 Comments:

Blogger DAHLIA said...

DISTANT DRUM by Dahlia Fernandes

I heard the drum throb far in the distance.
I was certain that it was trying to have a conversation with me. Steady was its beat. Hollow was its sound.

Its pace and precision reminded me of a metronome. I slowly started to feel more grounded.

A strange yet interesting dialogue began between us. I threw my shrill voice into the navy night sky. In return, there were drum fills and booms. We found synergy.

In a few minutes, it was apparent that we were somehow moving in perfect rhythm and melody.

Back and forth. Back and forth. Synchronized in a natural crescendo and decrescendo. It felt like we knew each other for centuries prior. With only my ears to trust, its sound resembled that one of a large African djembe.

I imagined the curvature of its dark wooden shell. I started to conjure up ridges designed into its body with both an aesthetic as well as a spiritual purpose to tattoo markings of the ancient world.

Just then, as our exchange escalted, I felt a cool breeze from my tiny toes to the roots of my brunette locks. My olive skin started to tingle. All the trouble stirring in my weighing heart began to fade. The sweet wind was most definitely a timely gift from the depths of the gorge that was in close proximity to my tiny wine-coloured brick home.

I thought to myself, “How are we in such percussive perfection?”

Its pulse and my calm breath harmonized. I could not help but move my lanky limbs and wide child-bearing hips. Mesmerized in a beautiful madness, I swung my arms one at a time. My wild hair took life and direction from my limber neck toss. My chants and vocal melodies were joined by the rustling palm trees in my front yard.

The louder the barrel resounded, so did the volume of my voice and the swing of my hips.

A few more minutes of untamed musicality between strangers passed. Thoughts of the rope that held the skin of the drum head started to fill my curious mind. I knew that the deliberate tightness of the rope controlled its pitch and tone. I felt sad that it took the skin of the drum being bound to create its glorious tonality. Ironically, it evoked in me a sense of freedom and movement. My voice shifted to what now sounded like short cries. It was a cry of happiness. I felt understood. I felt seen. Boom! Right then, there was a sweet adrenaline rush to my head and an apparent immobilizing weakness in my knees.

I dropped to the ground and panted heavily. I slowly opened my crinkled shut eyes and tried to focus on the unusually bright stars. I tried to regain my composure. I could still hear the throb of the night drum ever so faintly.

I laid there on that lime green earth for hours as I bathe in pale yellow moonlight.

Left with only the magical echoes of that distant drum resonating through every inch of my body, I cradled myself to sleep.


8:21 am  
Blogger sweet trini said...

my fff#69 posted on this blog, directly above this post, or@ https://urbanfolktales.blogspot.com/2019/04/fff69.html
walk good.

11:56 am  

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Monday, April 15, 2019

fff#68

finish writing/editing@noon-on-the-nose so i suppose this post technically late, but we reach still, imperfect, but i think the idea there; flash fiction friday #68: write of vengeance.

fingers flying over keys, blood thundering in her ears, brain rushing same way, she wasn’t debating anymore. the avalanche of memories, everything she had been holding back, pushing down, squeezing, compressing between the folds of her mind, forcibly forgetting, the weight of all of it made further debate impossible. the evidence was undeniable and something had to happen.
memory: schoolyard, late, almost dark…she, young, alone, waiting…she waited like that too much, in dark, lonely places. nobody else in her class would get leave back so late, so often. she wondered if her mother loved her. she knew her father didn’t.
Looove working out those daddy issues…
memory: sweating in the car, waiting outside the bar, wondering what went on inside that was so great it was worth her wait. later, years later, still waiting, now reluctant designated driver, nearly resigned to her fate as a captive enabler, barely holding onto an idea of escape…
BDSM fetish…
memory: her own words she thought safe in their leather binding, brandished like the rod of correction breaking the glass over her emergency extinguisher, her flight plans shattered like the childhood piggybank plundered to stop her executing them.
Rape fantasy, don’t ask, just come+take and if I resist, force me…
starting all over, saving from scratch again was going to take many months and she couldn’t do it like this, this vex, this resentful. she couldn’t live waking up feeling this way every day, that would send her mad. she needed to release the frustration that was steadily building and seemingly boundless…releasing that pressure would give her room to breathe…
glad she was smart enough not to hide all the secrets she was saving in her invaded journal, she uploaded the carefully selected photo of her mother, added her mother’s digits, social media handles, email addresses, every item of contact information she had, to the fake profile she created. And only when she had shared @fuckmeMILF across multiple platforms and knew the barbarians would soon be storming her mother’s gate, ensuring she would be left alone to make her eventual escape, could she think clearly again.

walk good

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Friday, April 12, 2019

flash fiction friday #68

flash fiction friday #68 trigger; instruction: write of vengeance.

rules of engagement:
you will send in your suggestions for flash fiction friday triggers (starter sentences/phrases, closers, titles, inclusions, structural/thematic challenges, etc.) anytime during the week up to 11.09a.m. friday, trinbago time; i will post the new fff trigger by noon friday trinbago time.*
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, song or novel length prose poem using the trigger provided.
you will add comments and appropriate linkage to this/my trigger-post indicating your desire to participate and the completion of your piece (don't need a blogger/gmail account to comment here on my blog).
you may join in at any time prior to deadline.*
you will display your piece as a post on your own blog (or as a comment on this/my trigger-post or fasbook note or whaever, 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 time.* [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.

1 Comments:

Blogger sweet trini said...

my fff#68 done+posted immediately above on this blog, or use: https://urbanfolktales.blogspot.com/2019/04/fff68.html
walk good.

12:15 pm  

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