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.

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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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Wednesday, April 10, 2019

postcarnival post

so much tings a gwan i eh even realise me eh do no carnival post, oui; cyah come back with fff and not remedy that omission.
this year thus far, a revelation. tings i thought i know about myself and my relationships proven beautifully beyond my best imaginings and because i believed in me and my knowledge of self [holy shit, that sound so fucking corny coming from me! so not-me] i made what already-obviously-right choices. so now, my ass happy, productive, relieved...
amazing carnival season+show with the canals [ah love it was a solo moment onstage for me, i get to be so fully in it this rounds, deeply, completely inside my song to the point where everynight i would reopen my eyes and be shocked to realise it had people, audience, band, there with me] and canals start our season with this photoshoot, jumpstarting my carnival in paint+glitter 1time...

not having 3canal carnival show run all the way through carnival saturday as usual was a weirdness+tabanca, but my best boys pull me through that plus them hard choices and everyting else, brilliantly; let the record say: them boys is my champions; months now, all since las' year, restoring my faith and keeping me in ganja+guinness, roti+totie [my life plan, as of 2019] keeping me downright happy...me, happy! so bizarre, plus coupled with the strange phenomenon of me being in season, again, at what becoming a little old for this level of being in season...dread, the tings, and the sheer amount i turn down this year already...
i not used to being happy; my life brings me many much-appreciated moments of joy, but i not a happy person, never have been. i remember being weirded out by how happy i was in the earlies of me+grims, and right now weird like that. i happy being single, happy with the choices i making for meself, happy with the work i making, water more than flour already get picked up for something very cool [details later], i do a nex' ting for bbc radio again the other day, happy with my boys, starting to get  a handle on life, tings coming to come maybe...yuhknow? so now i hadda try+learn to relax into it and not always be expecting disaster because is me, and enjoy being happy [seem so obvious, ent? enjoy being happy...] insteada bringing to it the same melancholy i live in inside in my head...
aaand this shit about to get existential; look, lemme mash brakes one time.
talk soon.
walk good.

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Monday, April 08, 2019

fff#67

gosh, i clean forget how much fun this shit can be!
i know i cheat ever so slightly on the form of 1 of the [inclusion]trigger-words, and the piece might be a little strange for a non-trini reader who may not recognise "she", but i always willing to answer questions and you eh need a blogger account to comment/question here and i like the piece enough to leggo the 1word, so am totally chuffed to present my attempt@flash fiction friday #67; [inclusions]trigger: cold, bold, fold, hold, rolled.

she shiver. the place was like a desert these days, sweatiness of the days belying cold dark nights. but heat sooncome, she remind herself, smiling darkly against the black night. she almost bring something warm to wear outside, then laugh at how stupid+unnecessary the idea was. she make her way through the dark, the route back to herself familiar, easy…
she more bold with each movement, each crossing, exiting through the silence of suspicion shrouding her yard, pushing through the fog of rumour+fear lingering along her path, clearing the edge of the village and cutting into the other world of whispering trees and screaming spirits…
she reach. standing at the top of the rise looking up into the arms of the silk cotton she feel herself rising inside, growing out of herself, getting bigger than her self could contain, reaching, spreading, unfolding her branches to meet those above her. she couldn’t stop smiling now, feeling herself coming into and simultaneously bursting out of her self, and suddenly she was in the tree, delicately balancing in the midst of the magic of undressing her fire…
the silk cotton always stronger than its old age might suggest, always able to hold+protect, to hide+keep safe, secrets, skins, whole selves…
stripped now of skin and the form of her self, pure heat+light rolled up into the sky, all fire+laughter, finally free to feed…

walk good.

2 Comments:

Blogger Adam Andrews said...

now, as an old man, the crossing is the only thing he dreams. on cold nights, when his knees and fingers stab with a pain that traverses his body to then settle in his gut, sleep comes in bursts. he still only ever sleeps on planks of board to this day. so long since he has slept on anything else, not counting the times when he has spent days and nights hung up by the wrists, or the ankles, or both. it has been so many moons that the memory of a softer sleep is not bold enough to present itself to him. he does not dream of comforts.
he dreams of being in the hold of the ship. he dreams of being shackled and rolled, of his buttocks becoming more and more raw from sitting and rocking, his weight, all their weight, pushing down across the waves. he wakes. there is a new pain in his left knee that he rubs hoping that he is somehow soothing more than just a fold of skin. he has to use his palms for this lest his fingers lock up and turn his hands into claws.

3:34 pm  
Anonymous Nickolai Salcedo said...

It was a cold, rainy evening as her car drove up to the block to check her brother. It had become a weekly ritual between them. She never liked going there. She hated the way the men on the corner would look at her; like a group of perverted schoolboys. Nevertheless, she would make the trip. Her brother had been estranged from the rest of the family for years; only she maintained contact. She parked the car some distance from the corner parlour and hopped out. It wasn’t hard to see why the fellas on the corner regarded her so highly. She had a bold and fierce beauty.

She walked up the steps to her brother’s small bungalow and knocked on the door. About a minute later it flew open and her brother stood there smiling. They hugged and he stood aside motioning for her to enter. As she walked in, her nose caught the strong scent of freshly baked cake. She was not a huge cake lover but when he offered she obliged. A small slice was good enough for her. He brought it over and she thanked him kindly. In two bites she was done. She dusted the crumbs from her mouth onto the napkin before giving it a single fold over to prevent the crumbs from falling out.

She looked at him and gave him a gentle smile. “You’re getting much better.” she said.
“He didn’t bake it.” Came a voice from the bedroom. Two seconds later a tall and strikingly handsome man walked out into the living room.
“Hi, I’m Sheldon.”
Sheldon stretched out his hand to initiate a shake. She stood motionless for a split second before slowly putting out her hand to his.

Her shock was evident.
“I didn’t know you were seeing someone.” She told her brother. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Girl,” replied her brother, “...this thing is so new. We met a couple months ago really. Come, let’s take a smoke on the porch and I’ll tell you all about it.”
He walked over to the table and cut three more slices of cake handing two off for his sister and Sheldon to hold. Out on the porch the ashtray was waiting with a cheap lighter and an already rolled joint.

As they sat down he began, “Remember that night I got robbed and called you to come get me after our mother refused? Well...”

FIN

4:25 pm  

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Friday, April 05, 2019

flash fiction friday #67

my apologies! in true trini style i return from long fff hiatus with a late trigger...swear is the mother's fault, though; i had wha's below ready to go then had to stop+lecture her about not telling people where+when she riding out alone. steups. anyhow...
flash fiction friday #67 trigger; inclusions: cold, bold, fold, hold, rolled.

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.

2 Comments:

Blogger sweet trini said...

fff#67 written+posted on this blog immediately above this post, or use url: https://urbanfolktales.blogspot.com/2019/04/fff67.html
walk good.

11:21 am  
Anonymous Nickolai Salcedo said...

It was a cold, rainy evening as her car drove up to the block to check her brother. It had become a weekly ritual between them. She never liked going there. She hated the way the men on the corner would look at her; like a group of perverted schoolboys. Nevertheless, she would make the trip. Her brother had been estranged from the rest of the family for years; only she maintained contact. She parked the car some distance from the corner parlour and hopped out. It wasn’t hard to see why the fellas on the corner regarded her so highly. She had a bold and fierce beauty.

She walked up the steps to her brother’s small bungalow and knocked on the door. About a minute later it flew open and her brother stood there smiling. They hugged and he stood aside motioning for her to enter. As she walked in, her nose caught the strong scent of freshly baked cake. She was not a huge cake lover but when he offered she obliged. A small slice was good enough for her. He brought it over and she thanked him kindly. In two bites she was done. She dusted the crumbs from her mouth onto the napkin before giving it a single fold over to prevent the crumbs from falling out.

She looked at him and gave him a gentle smile. “You’re getting much better.” she said.
“He didn’t bake it.” Came a voice from the bedroom. Two seconds later a tall and strikingly handsome man walked out into the living room.
“Hi, I’m Sheldon.”
Sheldon stretched out his hand to initiate a shake. She stood motionless for a split second before slowly putting out her hand to his.

Her shock was evident.
“I didn’t know you were seeing someone.” She told her brother. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Girl,” replied her brother, “...this thing is so new. We met a couple months ago really. Come, let’s take a smoke on the porch and I’ll tell you all about it.”
He walked over to the table and cut three more slices of cake handing two off for his sister and Sheldon to hold. Out on the porch the ashtray was waiting with a cheap lighter and an already rolled joint.

As they sat down he began, “Remember that night I got robbed and called you to come get me after our mother refused? Well...”

FIN

12:43 pm  

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Wednesday, November 28, 2018

writing/revenge

dread! i finish the wasa-man story-cum-shortplay and it is good and i like it! i done ready to revise and revisions looking fairly minimal plus i have the idea for and ready to start writing the companion piece! i know, plenty exclamations, but is real excitement, dread. water more than flour surprise the fuck outta me, changing up wha' i thought we was about and bringing in ting i never anticipate had any part, and i cyah wait to have revisions done and start workshopping because is jus' so much fun! and gaylord's revenge looking like a good writing challenge; i always knew but overconfirm now, i is not of revenge; might enjoy the idea of, but actual execution, nah. i reading real ting and at every turn just like, sooo not me; is why i hadda dig so hard. the digging yielding some lovely reading, though, so lemme link for future reference
http://www.shortstoryguide.com/short-stories-about-revenge [waaayyy more than i expected, including entire roald dahl collection as pdf, and a gorgeous neil gaiman piece that led me to fiftytwostories.com]
plus! a new series blacker that have me anxiously awaiting episode3...

besides general writing excitement, this 1st episode of podcast everythingisalive is one of the best pieces of work i come across in long and i cyah recommend it enough, all the way to the last drop...
and just because i like wha' this trini youth trying to do: https://soundcloud.com/mikhailgibbings
walk good.

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Sunday, September 09, 2018

richterous

crazy times, these. this year been extrabusy, which i eh complaining 'bout after the personal-finance fiasco that was 2017...postcarnival recovery never happen because i went straight into a vagina monologues performance, then lilliput show weekend included a whole separate show opening night that i emcee, so double-preproduction wuk, double-show in may, also a month of not a single day off and including travel to perform in bim, which [no days off] continue until midjuly, at which point i start having a whole day off/week, right through to las' week...i am facking exhausted.
but under all that, exciting times, too...sweet t+t experience the biggest, longest, strongest earthquake of my life [a 7.1, if i remember right; my desire to write right now mean i eh stopping to go check, hard luck dey; google is your friend] with some also-hardcore aftershocks and at first, it was terrifying...sitting onstage@blkbox, instantly aware of potential danger from possibly hard+rapid-dropping mangoes if i try to run but lighting instruments above if i stay, i right quick ascertain the mangoes holding on for dear life as warrenman run down from the bluestudio and we go stand together in the middle of the blkyard, watching the costume design folks run out the whiteroom to the doorway+interior gallery. shaking went on so long i had time to realise i was safe and start to enjoy it...people laugh@me when i say it, but tha' earthquake was exciting, dread! i glad i experience it, which, of course, easier to say in this case where there was relatively little damage and no loss of life; i figure in venezuela that eh the language they using to talk 'bout it, but still, i feel the whole world was wobbly+wabby for the longest minutes ever, watch the entire house quaking in the yard and impossibly, not fall apart, see the new cracks in murray street after...dread! 'twas someting else, oui...
plusss...new script! i finally realise part of my taking so damn long to finish diablesse diaries is my just being too damn precious because this project is my child; i way too invested and want waaayyy too much from one script and asking it to do too many tings and cyah be satisfied enough to stop deleting more than i keep and i retarding my own process because every word hadda be perfect and there can be no compromise and all the fuckery me and my insecurities doing myself, so, yeah, i rest it for a minute and letting meself enjoy writing other ting. the wasa man story is now becoming a script and i like it :] that is all about that, for now.
also read lead for 2good screenplays-in-progress; shall see if i actually end up getting to do ting...
and this, just because i need to be able to find it again:
CXC EXAMS MADE MORE RELEVANT
SAMPLE PAPER - MATHEMATICS
Answer all questions
1. If 8 people get shoot last Saturday, 3 dead on the spot, one dead Sunday morning still waiting for attention in casualty, while 2 get shoot by police Sunday afternoon and one get stab with a rusty screwdriver, how many coffins were sold by the end of the weekend?
2. Your house is getting flooded in the rainy season at a rate of one 1-litre Klim tin every five minutes and you only have a 200ml condensed milk tin to bail with. How long will it be before you drown?
3. Allah owe Akbar 73 dollars. He borrow money from Kassim to pay Akbar back, but Kassim only has a 100 dollar note. How much money does Allah now owe?
4. When Sonny Boy eats two doubles he emits 5 cubic inches of gas. How many doubles does he have to eat to propel himself from Arima to Port of Spain?
5. Tony has 2 children with a woman in Carenage, one with a gyul in Duncan Street, three with she sister who living Mount D’or, and one and a half with a thing in Petit Bourg. His car gives 4km to a litre of gas. How much gas does he need to pay maintenance every month?
6. If a Cepep contractor takes 20% of each of his gang’s pay in bribe and he makes 2,600 per fortnight, how many members does he have in his gang?
7. On carnival tuesday Sandra’s left bumsie makes 3 concentric circles per second with a diameter of 5 inches each, while her right one jumps 2 inches four times up and down. How many feet will the two together move if she wines for 5 minutes?
8. If your car skids 180 degrees on the churchill roosevelt highway and ends up facing Bamboo No. 2, what direction were you going in when you picked up the skid?
9. If A is a bag of pineapple chow and B is a bag of pullorie and you get 1 bag of chow and 2 bags of pullorie for 100 dollars, how much cuss should you put on the vendor?
10. If one vagrant occupying the hypotenuse on Tamarind Square and 15 others want some space to sleep, how long will it be before fight break out?

all of the above is also to say, i finally writing again, yay!
walk good.

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Wednesday, March 28, 2018

geographical literacy

how fackin' cool is this map of the literal meaning of every country's name?!
walk good

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Friday, March 23, 2018

tabs of inspiration

this edwidge danticat is such a beautiful exploration of the grandmother's condition, of storytelling from different perspectives, of relationships...rereading damn near weekly since las' september and need to be able to reread always so i jus' resting it here where it safe...sunrise, sunset.
same for alexander mcqueen's savage beauty@themetmuseum, because i desperately crave more beauty in this tragic world...
walk good

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Friday, March 16, 2018

"epitaph" by dennis scott

They hanged him on a clement morning, swung
between the falling sunlight and the women’s
breathing, like a black apostrophe to pain.
All morning while the children hushed
their hopscotch joy and the cane kept growing
he hung there sweet and low.

At least that’s how
they tell it. It was long ago
and what can we recall of a dead slave or two
except that when we punctuate our island tale
they swing like sighs across the brutal
sentences, and anger pauses
till they pass away.

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Thursday, March 15, 2018

connecting thoughts around idea; writing tools

filed under "ting i need to be able to find again": teju cole's on the blackness of the panther; writing i real enjoy for doing well something i wanna do, well [plus illustrations i love]...
walk good

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