avant-blog; works from chris, brigitte, and unspar.

A cart of lanterns careening down an aimless track.

2009-12-13T17:18:00.000-08:00

I could see them coming; or rather, I could hear them. And because I could hear them, I was able to visualize that sound in image form: a medium-sized rusty cart careening down a rickety aimless track. It needed to get fixed approximately years ago. I told Ralph, but he didn't listen. In fact, he looked down at his hands much like I am doing right this moment, probably created a mental picture in his mind of what was right in front of him based on the stumbling nervous voice that he was blankly nodding his head to. Except this time the thing I am seeing happening using the movie camera in my brain (craning my head to the appropriate angle to get a good view is not in the cards for me right now) is behind me, not in front, like it was for him.

Really, he had the choice to look, and I don't so much.

Also, he probably correctly imagined the sight he chose not to behold, as I apparently did not. No, the last thing I would have conjured was that the lanterns would be lit. Now, it might have been the impact from the cart into my already-aching body playing tricks on my corneas, but I swear the last thing I remember seeing (or was it feeling?) was a pile of lights, looking like buzzing fireflies, covering every inch of me.

It could have been real; they could have been lit before they were sent down the track. Someone (Gerry? I bet it was Gerry) could have taken their sweet time lighting every single one of those things as they carefully placed them in the trapezoidal metal cart, using the daintiest fingers a miner can replicate to ensure none of them extinguish on the way down. A nice gentle push and--

It's amazing I was able to get all those thoughts in and out of my noggin before the inextinguishable lanterns made their way into my legs and torso, and well, extinguished me.

Untitled

2009-02-16T12:18:00.001-08:00

She took one last deep breath, holding it for a moment before closing her eyes and exhaling slowly. She concentrated on the cold wind against her face, attempting to become one with her surroundings. She opened her eyes and took in the snow covered cars parked across the street, abandoned for the moment, peaceful. She almost smiled in spite of herself—this had always been her favorite time of year. She listened to her neighbors complain about the frosty Wisconsin winters, and she would always nod in agreement (it's the complaining and the sense of having lived through something together that bonded citizens, after all) but she would always secretly relish the first snow fall of the year, the way the snow would glisten under the street lights on silent early evenings, the way the icicles hung from cars all the way to the street below. Something about having to pile on layers of clothing before heading to the grocery store or school felt exciting, like one was preparing for a great adventure. Even brushing off the car and scraping the ice could be comforting, a sort of ritual, a reminder that nothing good comes easy, that we were all in this together, as neighbors scraped off their own windows, cursing the temperature—

"Mommy!" A voice cut through her thoughts and she was immediately transported back to the icy, gray morning. She sighed.

"Mommy! What are you looking at?"

"Nothing sweet pea. Are you buckled?"

It's floating but it's not adrift.

2009-01-04T01:34:00.000-08:00

How did a rainbow fall into the ocean? He was concerned but didn't let it show. Hands tucked in pockets, his shoulders twisted up toward his earlobes in a half-hearted attempt to break the brisk wind from his bare neck. His eyes remained transfixed, though. Gazing off not toward a horizon or a wandering wave somewhere far offshore, but at a piece of motley drapery hovering atop the grey-blue waters. If it weren't for the slight sun peeking in through the musty clouds, the reds, greens, purples, etc. wouldn't have been visible at all.

Of course he knew it wasn't actually a rainbow. It was just too beautiful to not make the comment, even though it lay there a piece of discarded trash from a giant's kite or a gay pride parasail...or something. Really this just proves the point. It couldn't be defined and thus he simply called it a fallen rainbow. Simple as that. Of course it's not like this satiated his curiosity. He continued to look off into the distance like he was about to win something if he waited long enough. Though the expression on his face indicated that regardless of whether he won or lost, he would not have shown any kind of reaction - positive or negative.

This pointless argument tumbled about in his head as she saw his white sinewy breath swirl out of his mouth, his entire body still minus the twitching corner of his lip. She wanted to want to say something, but she preferred silence, the sound of boats at the harbor a half-mile down the bay. But she couldn't help but think that if she had a desire to break the non-tension (they were both perfectly fine the way they were, but were afraid the other felt awkward, thus ironically making them both feel awkward), then maybe they would end up leaving the beach.

To leave was all she wanted. It was a mess, truly it was. Not wanting to say something but wanting to want to speak up, wishing she could just pivot her foot in the sand to the left, begin walking toward the car, and he would follow. But she knew he wouldn't. He would stay there, staring at a piece of multi-colored fabric laying in the water, getting dirtier and dirtier by the minute. When she thought that, she meant to imply that the fabric would get dirtier, but she realized that maybe she also possibly subconsciously meant that he would get dirtier and dirtier, standing there on the filthy beach unshowered with his hands shoved into his surely grime-ridden pockets.

He felt the necklace with his knuckles. He couldn't bare to and yet he couldn't take them away. If he exposed his hands to the air, not only would he have another body part (two body parts, technically, well really a lot more than two body parts, technically) that he would have to worry about freezing to the point of numbness, but he would also have to pretend that he really did only put his hands in his pockets to warm them up. But he didn't of course. He put them in there to sit for a bit, get all cozy and such, and then pull out the jade necklace for her. As soon as he gripped it, though, a few seconds before this very story began, he saw that damn rainbow floating in the ocean. If he hadn't seen the rainbow (once again, we're only calling it this because there's nothing else really for it to be called, and the least we can do in this situation is be consistent albeit frustratingly abstract, maybe even overly symbolic, though even this author (much less our protagonist) isn't sure of the significance of a fallen rainbow), he would have just brought the jade necklace out right away (after getting those hands toasty of course) for her to marvel at in a fit of brave nostalgia and romance.

He thinks so anyway. Maybe that's what he would have done.

She looked at the car for the nineteenth time within a span of four minutes. She didn't count, but he did. His peripheral vision is amazing. Even while dramatically witnessing a fallen rainbow treading water in practically the opposite direction. He also heard her zipper zip up and down furiously (but not too furiously, only enough to subtly imply she wanted to get in the fucking car and drive dammit). She was getting antsy, to put it in a way she would almost assuredly say if she had built up that non-desire enough to actually utter words. But she wouldn't. She would stand there, finding new ways to make noises with her clothing or new things to look at toward the horizon that weren't that infuriating orange, yellow, blue, etc. piece of massive whatever in the bay.

This would go on for upwards of two more minutes.

This would end the only way it could have.

With the necklace enclosed in his fist so tight that not even an x-ray could determine its existence, he gently withdrew his right hand from his jeans and, right before a space between her lips formed, he said:

"Your mother would have wanted you to have this."

So he placed the jade necklace in her palm and she never had to respond. His daughter simply helped him back in the car and drove.

an examination of your toxic vocabulary.

2008-07-07T12:55:00.000-07:00

"modern mystery"
someone still loves you boris yeltsin
pershing
[polyvinyl]

neoteric: why do you utter such nonsense? no one uses language from "the late latin" or "the late greek." maybe they do, i'm no etymology expert, but in addition to your ostentatious use of words i can only google to understand, you also give me the origin language of the word when upon my face arrives that risen eyebrow, that crinkled forehead, that certain je-ne-sais-quoi in my yellow mouth agape, slightly tilted to the left. you've said more than once that this expression i give you so gracefully infuriates you about as much as your "advanced vocabulary" (we're not in high school anymore! you don't do or have "advanced" anything!) exhausts and disgusts me. you comparing my level of offendedness to yours almost makes me rip my hair out my scalp as much as your carefully chosen lexicon does. almost. i began with this word because honestly, i don't even remember how you used it - it was one of the early ones, back when i didn't listen to you very closely. sorry! i had other things to do! i began with this word so that i could go on my introductory rant, such as you often do before you get to any discernible point, without breaking the pattern. also, neoteric? yuck. how could i not mention such a gross fake-sounding word? i know another "-teric" word that i just learned recently: esoteric. ha! how fitting! no, that is not an exclamation point that denotes playfulness. it denotes anger. furious hell-fueled anger. let's go on, shall we?

jacitation: this one i remember so clearly i almost feel my ears burning again from when it dribbled off your sly fingertips. jibberish was all i got from you, so i took the bait - i hated this juvenile trick you always pulled. "what's wrong?" i asked half-genuinely concerned (okay okay my mind was elsewhere this time too, what are you going to do about it now?). "i've been having these odd jacitations throughout the night." i rolled my eyes as hard as i could because i knew you wouldn't notice, looked at the tiny digital clock in the corner, and realized it was only 10 o'clock. i snickered as you went moaning on about back spasms this and can't get comfortable that. i didn't respond immediately, so you followed up your pretentious faux-diagonsis with a, "got any suggestions?" and i was mentally rolling on the floor laughing my brains out. i just imagined you, whiny and self-absorbed as always, "it's 10pm and i haven't the faintest idea if i will ever experience the appropriate number of REM cycles before my 5am wheat grass shot!" i almost said it, mockingly and 100% uncaring, but i decided to delete it. instead, without saying anything, i simply pointed you to a place where you could get some sleeping pills, even though i knew you'd rather just complain and then fall asleep with the bright glare in your stoic sleeping face. then you'll be idle, then you'll be gone. ok, so no conflict with this example, but so much of my hatred for you certainly stemmed from times one of us secretly laughed at the other.

gourmand: so none of these words are particularly long, which i'm sure just makes me look like the asshole, but c'mon. a word doesn't have to have seventeen syllables for it to make you sound like you slick your hair back and wear blue shirts with white collars. "that sounds like half of my co-workers," you obliviously commented when i brought this iconic asshole image up once before. again, here we go with the laughter that incites my completely antagonistic feelings toward you. i switched topics before i could adequately ignore for a sufficient amount of time (my usual defense mechanism). "i'm making homemade mac & cheese tonight. with goat cheese. bet you're jealous." really, the only reason i brought this up was because i couldn't wait to scarf my face full of the delicious baked dish so i would be able to more capably pretend you don't exist. "ooh sounds tasty. you are quite the gourmand, aren't you?" quite the what? i mean, i can figure it out - gourmet, change it into a person by replacing a suffix, bada-bing bada-boom, you get a gluttonous snob. but no one would ever call themselves a gourmand. no no no. why would anyone say, "ah yes, my homemade mac & cheese, i will be quite the gourmand this evening!"? they wouldn't. only snobs with ascots and make believe british accents call their girlfriends a "gourmand." a blind anger hit me harder than a thousand unabridged dictionaries - it rendered me speechless. as usual. luckily, you didn't care; you just kept going on about past evidences of my gourmandness. god that sounds so close to "ginormous." only you would let slip into a dialogue of ours a word that identifies me as food crazy and sounds like you're calling me fat at the same time. the buzzer on the oven went off. it felt like i couldn't get that mac & cheese on my plate fast enough. i wanted to throw some at you. "one for me," i'd plop some on my plate, table for one. "one for you," i'd throw it at whatever i could find that would work as a representation of you. i couldn't throw it at the computer screen after all. flushing 1200 of my own dollars down the toilet just so i could see penne slide across your screen name? sounds slightly cathartic, but no thanks. and this - these words, these anecdotes, carl of hartford, connecticut, is why i am officially done with online dating.

The Foggy Glass

2008-06-25T09:03:00.000-07:00

___________________________________________________
Psalm 33:6
By the word of the LORD the heavens were made,
and by the breath of his mouth all their host.

He leaned forward and put his nose against the glass. The fish on the other side hardly seemed to notice. As he breathed out, the glass fogged up until it was too cloudy to see through. He leaned back and put his finger on the foggy glass. It left a small, clear spot.

His mother touched his shoulder. “Time to go, honey,” she said. He turned and followed her away from the aquarium. They walked through the tunnel together to the next part of the zoo.

“Why does it do that, Mommy?” he asked.
“Why does what do what?”
“The breath makes the glass foggy.”
“Because your breath is warm and the glass is cold. That’s what happens when the temperatures are different.”
“Oh.”

He put his hand in front of his mouth and breathed out against it. The breath felt warm and gentle on his skin. It almost felt like nothing, but it was the heat that made the difference. He put hit hand back down, and it still felt warm.

“Is that why I can see my breath when it’s cold out too?” he asked.
“Yep.”

They walked through a gate into an open area full of birds. He could hear tons of different calls and rustling sounds of wings or leaves, but he could only see the birds when they flew above him. It just looked like a lot of trees.

“Why do they have birds if you can’t even see ‘em?”
She didn’t answer. She probably didn’t hear him.

He remembered when his dad told him one night that there were millions of stars that they couldn’t see. It was a cold night, and he could see his breath. They stared up at the stars that they could see, and he asked why there were so many if they couldn’t see them all. His dad said he didn’t know.

He looked up. His mouth was open, and he breathed in and out slowly and quietly.

you there, with the crazy skeleton eyes.

2008-06-18T16:26:00.000-07:00

"so messed up"

tall firs
too old to die young
[ecstatic peace]

a friend once approached me with a wild look in his eyes, grocery bag nearly falling out of hand. i could have sworn that coffee yogurt peeking out of the flimsy plastic was going to go splat onto the sidewalk. and when it did, i was going to chuckle. emphatically. but still classified as a chuckle. not enough to make him feel bad. what with the frenzied pupils, that probably wouldn't be the brightest move - involuntary or not. hypothetical consequential actions aside, just like i am acting right now as i retell this story, i wasn't too concerned with my friend's almost vertiginous glare at the time. i simply attributed it to the late night sky and the previously mentioned grocery bag full of goodies: it takes a special kind of person to shop for coffee-flavored yogurt at 2 a.m. and morgan was exactly that kind of guy. also, it might have had something to do with the fact that i was teenager at the time.

skateboard and paper-sacked beer in tow, i was enjoying the clean suburban air with casey when i happened upon bumbling 22-year-old morgan. i was a freshman at hopkins when i met morgan's former senior year self and we slowly became what we regrettably called ourselves back in that arrant year of 1997: "best buds." now i was skating through the pitch blackness following my own senior year, morgan just home now after his four years at luther. gliding through street after vacant street, i wondered how long it would take me to skate to the campus i was attending that fall, and if i could just stay there until september. one might think the impracticality of that notion was what kept me from following through, but really it was because i knew when i left for college, i'd have to give up my massive stereo that i had to my older brother petey. "trust me, it'll be too big for the dorm," my mother scowled at me from the bottom of the stairs. petey sucked. still kinda does. he lived with our parents when he was going on 30 years old back then, only working part time at some kind of auto shop . he still kinda lives with them at 36 now...i think. who knows; i haven't talked to any of them in over a year.

casey had no mode of transportation that evening, so i inadvertently shredded too much pavement so that i ended up about twenty feet ahead of her at all times. except for the times when she'd run and catch up, almost instantaneously smacking me in the head with her oversized flannel sleeve to get me to slow down. come to think of it now, every time she did that, she just snagged the beer out of my grip and took a swig. whatever her motive was, it was annoying and all the same, mostly my fault. by the time morgan showed up, however, she had stopped caring enough to even do that. as i watched that yogurt cup intently and waited for morgan to respond to my oh so eloquent "sup morgan?," casey sat down at the curb, clearly not wanting to be a part of my encounter with an old friend. i was fine with that, because if she had walked up to our non-conversation and feigned interest, she wouldn't have been eventually bored enough to divulge her toothpick case from her shirt pocket. of course i didn't know she was doing this until i realized morgan wasn't staring at me with his crazy skeleton eyes, he was staring at casey's toothpicks. late night yogurt shopping + getting excited over a teenage girl's possession of numerous toothpicks in an easy-to-carry plastic case = crazy skeleton eyes, getting more crazy and skeletal at an exponential rate.

"you like yogurt fondue?"

i could feel my eyes widen in response to his question, but i don't think they quite resembled any of the adjectives i've used above regarding ocular cavities. yet.

"i saw you eyeing the coffee one. there's bananas, strawberries, and more flavors underneath. your girlfriend has toothpicks and a curb to sit on. let's get to work."

"she's not my girlfriend."

"ok, bud. ok."

Glow in the Dark

2008-06-12T11:44:00.000-07:00

__________________________________________

This person glows in the dark. He walks down the street at midnight and runs into another person. This person does not glow in the dark.

"Hey!" says the one who doesn't glow. "Didn't you see me?"
"You should have seen me. I glow in the dark."
"Right. You do glow in the dark."
"Then why did I run into you?"
"I was looking down. I didn't see you."
"Oh."

"Why don't I glow in the dark?"
"I don't know," answered the illumined one. "Why don't you glow in the dark?"
"It's not a joke. It's a question."
"Oh. So you don't know."
"No."
"Do you know why I glow in the dark?"
"Were you born that way?"
"I don't think so."
"Did you get covered in radioactive waste?"
"No."
"Then I don't know."
"Oh. Do you want me to tell you?"
"You don't have to. If it's too personal."
"I don't mind."

So he told him how he glowed in the dark. It was more like a story than a piece of information. It didn't make much sense, but it was understandable. It made the one happy to tell it, and it made the other happy to hear it. But then it was over.

"I wish I glowed in the dark."
"Maybe you could."
"OK."
"Do you want to know how?"
"Sure."

Then he told him. Again it was like a story. Only this time it made sense, though it probably shouldn't have. And he learned how to glow in the dark. He stood there like a miracle, but he didn't glow.

"How come you're not glowing?"
"Can I?"
"Yes."
"Really?"
"Then do it."
"But how?"
"You just do."
"Oh."

He glowed. Now these two people glow in the dark.

The Burrito

2008-06-10T13:30:00.001-07:00

__________________________________

He was drunk. He left the bar early and angry when he found out the girl he was hitting on had a boyfriend. He was done for the night. He crossed the street when the light was red, but there were cars that would have hit him. Then, instead of going home, he stopped in the local late-nite burrito joint.

In front of him in line was a grizzled man. He walked tentatively like a midget on stilts. He seemed the most unlikely burrito customer in the world. He ordered quietly and slowly.

"C'mon dude," said the drunkard to the grizzled man.
The grizzled man turned back to him. "What's the rush?"
"I'm hungry!"
"Well you'll get your burrito."
"Not fast enough!"

The grizzled man turned back and finished ordering his burrito. The drunk stayed right behind him, ordering as quickly as possible, trying to annoy the man in front of him as much as possible. They arrived at the register together.

"Put his on there too," said the grizzled man.
"What?" responded the drunk.
"I'm paying for your burrito. Calm down, will ya?"
"I can pay for my own damn burrito."
"It doesn't matter cuz I'm the one paying for it."

He paid in cash, and they each took their burritos.

"Care to join me while you eat?" asked the grizzled man.
Feeling like he owed the man something, the kid said, "I guess."

They sat down at a table by the window. The kid started eating his burrito. The grizzled man took a while to make himself comfortable, then he lowered his head and muttered something before he ate. The kid kept devouring, hoping to get through this awkard moment as fast as possible.

"How was your night?" sincerely asked the grizzled man.
"OK," the kid eked out between bites.
"Doesn't seem OK."
"Well, whatever."
The grizzled man, who hadn't even opened his burrito, looked hard at the drunk kid. "Don't you care?" he asked.
"What?"
"Don't you care what you're doing?"
The kid put down his burrito for a second and swallowed. "What do you care?"
"I just do."

The drunk kid took another bite out of his burrito. This time he couldn't swallow. He choked. And he panicked. The grizzled man rushed over and heimliched the burrito out of his throat and onto the window. The kid couldn't finish his burrito after that. He gave it to the grizzled man and left.

serendipitous is not us.

2008-06-09T14:24:00.000-07:00

"yesterday"
atmosphere
when life gives you lemons, you paint that shit gold
[rhymesayers]

remembering theme songs was never your forte. i was making a valiant effort at leaving work on time (which by now you know means approximately two hours later than i'm actually supposed to leave) and you called just before i locked the door to my office. one hand pressing against my torso with what must have been dozens of manila folders between them, the other hastily pressing 'accept' in my pocket before i even look to see that it's you calling me, then suddenly my limb was jettisoning the phone to my ear. i wasn't trying to be distant, i was just literally contorting my body, digits, and mind grapes to take care of a million things at once. besides, i could have hung up and made up an excuse later. but no, i listened (mostly because you started talking the instant the plastic touched my cartilage). you asked without pause: "which show goes [you're singing now, oh boy] 'it's a rare condition, this day and age...'? that's perfect strangers, right?"

you could have stopped at "rare" and i would have offered you an answer (an emphatic and slightly unnecessary "are you kidding me?") and a confident correction. my eyes scrunched up into my skull in frustration, but i didn't grit my teeth like i usually do. probably because i was combating trying to get out the door and trying to end this phone call with the ultimate cheer-me-up trump card: a mental picture of urkel. and for whatever reason, when i think of urkel, i think of you. that probably doesn't sound as sweet to you as it sounds in my pop culture-saturated head, but i love urkel. i cried when my mom had to explain to my dumb white 8-year-old self why it would be inappropriate for me to go as urkel for halloween. but you know that story already; it's one of your totes faves.

with that instantaneous flash of memory linkage, my eyelids relaxed and there was even a semi-smirk creeping onto the left side of my face. before i could give a proper and calm answer to your initial query, the reception cut out like it always does at work (another smooth move on behalf of my clumsy, awkward, and never thinking enough self). i turned my phone off and planned to call you back later - i wanted to remember you rather than talk to you (sorry if that's insanely rude). shoving all the paper nonsense into my bike's basket and eliminating the outside world's existence with thoughts of you and urkel swirling through my mind, i rode off to the beach, our part of it; home can always wait. anyway, this is the part i wanted to tell you about: remember that cat we named bronson? he was there, on the bench, like he had never left. i couldn't help but think of audrey hepburn--again, this stupid head of mine.

but that's not all, sherry. i thought you were there too. you and your damn flashlight that you always insisted on bringing to the beach. "you never know if we'll stay past sundown." we never did, but you brought it anyway. every time. so there it was, a flashlight shining from the middle of the tide, up into the half-black sky. how preposterous, me thinking you were there on the beach with that same fussy feline (it might have been a different cat, i'll concede, but you know how i like making stories better than they are in real life). of course it was some mildly intoxicated old man who had lost his way (and half his mind - hey, sounds like someone you and i know). i helped him out of the water, bronson following me there and back (maybe it was him after all), and clicked my phone on to call the police (geeze, that sounds like i was calling to have him arrested rather than trying to get him help). wow. i'm looking at this paragraph now and realizing you were right once again about something - i am parenthetically incompetent.

anyway, it felt like forever before it finally booted up and i could dial a number. before i could though, there was that follow-up text from you. here i was, drunk mustachioed fellow to my left, mangy bronson to my right, and i read your text before i dialed 911. "nm family matters duh." it's the only text, hell it's the only piece of you, that i've kept on my phone or elsewhere - you may have disappeared (you'll claim it was me, i know, and maybe you're right about that too) but the history is right here.

a foundation imperfect yet stable.

2008-05-20T15:04:00.000-07:00

"b4 the dual"

benga
diary of an afro warrior
[tempa]

one lives firmly attached to a deteriorating pant leg. five days a week it deals with the darkness of the closet. if he forgets to or chooses not to close the finicky heavy doors one morning, it basks in the waving sparkle of the sun through the bedroom window. it likes basking more than the forced solitude of most days. on one of these light-privileged days, it managed to catch a glimpse of the other pant leg. there were no other safety pins there. it thought for sure there'd be another somewhere in the rack of hole-infected garments, but no luck. so it was left to its own devices, pondering the severity of the tear it helps temporarily repair, the questionable pattern in the plaid-ish pair that gets brushed up next to its head when he wildly and carelessly pushes through the hangers for one of those stiff pairs of unharmed pants.

the weekends were mostly hopeful, though while it felt like it was finally being put to use, it also felt used. it hovered just above the harsh concrete, never quite close enough in range to hear his conversations or to explore other materials on its own. it sometimes got sick of this and came undone in defiance against him, hoping to get away to find others like it. but it was never fast enough. he always felt that breeze across his shin and stopped mid-stride to adjust himself , just to make it feel constricted once again. regardless of this, it never put up a fight when he closed it back up, even when he nearly molested it by readjusting it at a different area on the pant leg rip. in the end, being used was better than being left alone. and still, it wasn't all hurt and ignorance. it felt genuine purpose.

it hasn't happened yet, but one day it realized a possibility on the horizon. "the more i act up, the more the pant leg will rip," it said quietly to itself on one of those shiny light-drenched days when he left the closet ajar. it figured if it kept on reacting to getting used, periodically leaping forth from its home, and still being just useful enough for him that he didn't toss it into the depths of the nearby trash can (usually reserved for mindless tags and price stickers) , someday another one would to have to join it on this odd and frayed brown denim pant leg.

whose brakes stutter, break free.

2008-05-12T17:02:00.000-07:00

"blind"

hercules & love affair
hercules & love affair
[dfa]

"get closer." she dribbled these words out as if they were half-mistakes. as if they didn't go together. nevertheless, she repeated them, louder the first time than the second. her face tilted exponentially as she said them again a third time, until the neck muscles strained to such an extent that she had no choice but to pivot her entire body along with her own sense of embarrassment exuding from her vocal cords. she bit her knit scarf and pulled it very snugly around her chin, never once moving a single digit on her hand. he found it quite impressive, while still put off by her hesitant actions aforementioned.

he tore across the sidewalk, ignoring the camera that had kept him still for so long. at her angle, it looked like a voluntary action - she flinched. the scrape of plastic skittering from fast to slow somehow grew louder, probably due to his face quickly meeting with the stereo responsible for this sound; closer and closer his cheekbone to the speaker, louder and louder the horns bled from the radio into his ears. to her, it was less than a moment, surely less than an event, especially less than a significant event. the cameraman could not be seen, but a splash in the water could be heard.

he opened his eyes, saw two shuttering hazel irises gleaming over him, just barely in his peripheral. she would have examined his breath, but he knew he was already outside himself. the same neck muscles that strained in an attempt to shy away from him began to twitch - this time not because she was trying to look away, but because she was trying to take it all in.

resuscitation improved - sent packing.

2008-05-12T16:52:00.000-07:00

no more poetry slopped together in poorly rendered ms paint creations. no more meandering/improvised scripts with no end/purpose in sight. now we focus on something that has a longer life expectancy. songs for you, linked legally, that are in my head. sudden/flash fiction accompanies each, in an attempt to get me away from the fragmented, the screenwritten. a new challenge attached to an ongoing obsession, therefore less limp and more agile, malleable, and gooey. enjoy.

scene 5: stolen sights from untamed lights.

2007-06-26T13:03:00.000-07:00

fade to:

int. dark room - night

from the blackness, the camera slowly focuses in on james's mouth again, this time it is closed, covered with duct tape. he is awake, but barely, as if he's done struggling. there is only a little bit of dim orange and blue light on james's lower face and the little we can see is hesitantly pushed to the bottom right of the frame as the camera jarringly pans up and to the left.

the camera reveals a pair of twin men dressed in pinstripe suits in line with each other holding pool cues. the twin closer to the camera is wearing glasses, while the other is not. this is their only difference. the twin farther from the camera kneels down out of frame. as the camera gets to them, the twin sans glasses brings his arm down from his ear displaying he had been on a cell phone. the cell phone beeps and he puts it in his pocket.

the camera pulls back to uncover the room they are in, smoldered in the same orange and blue light that glazes over james's face. it is an ancient and partially-abandoned billiards room, complete with pool table, an overly loaded rack of pool cues and much more hovering in the darkness that envelopes the majority of the space.

james's eyes follow the kneeling twin's pool cue as it inches toward him as he sits on the ground leaning up against a pitch black wall of darkness. for the first time, we see that his legs and arms are also restrained, pulled behind his body.

twin sans glasses
there are six of you, yes?

james stares intensely at the pool cue, then at the twin sans glasses, but he neither nods nor shakes his head.

the twin with glasses sighs quietly, walks away, and begins to rack up balls on the pool table.

twin sans glasses
look, obviously something went wrong. you were our in, but then the girlfriend decided to stick around. so, this brings us to an unfortunate ultimatum. you need to tell me whether or not she's one of the six. now wait -- think for a second. there's obviously a high probability that you will lie to me. so if you tell me she's not one of the six, we bring her back here so that she doesn't go off and tell somebody stupid, like the police, and we get to keep her just in case you lied to me. now if you admit she is one of the six, sure it lets us know we've got one more, but i'm going to give you and her the advantage--

the twin sans glasses takes his cell out of his pocket and begins texting.

twin sans glasses
--i will text my contact whose residence she's currently sobbing at and tell him to let her go and allow you to send said message--

the twin sans glasses cautiously and creepily gets close to james, then, at a glacial pace, unpeels the duct tape off of his mouth. he then leans back a little bit and holds up his cell phone at eye level.

twin sans glasses
--it is voice activated. all you have to do is say--

so as not to activate the cell, the twin sans glasses merely voices the word "send," with over exaggerated lips.

james raises his head a little bit, but does not say anything -- yet.

scene 4: brief(ed).

2007-06-18T14:14:00.000-07:00

cut to:

ext. charlie , mary and gina's house - night

the camera follows the aforementioned string of multi-colored lights down a path in the threesome's backyard as charlie and mary help mia walk into the house. there is no dialogue or natural sound during this, only music - the first sound of music in the film.

the camera shakes as they walk up the steps of the small porch into the modest old home, charlie's arm around mia in a fatherly manner. mary opens the door and they walk in.

cut to:

int. charlie, mary, and gina's living room - night

the living room is dark, with a single lamp on. it is cluttered with magazines on the floor, an over-sized coffee table, and a three-piece dusty-looking leather furniture set. charlie sits on a ratty sofa as mary and mia walk into the adjacent open kitchen to use the phone. the camera stops with charlie, but the two women can be seen out of focus in the back.

charlie puts his head in his hands and looks down at the ground - seemingly a combination of exhaustion and reluctance. he looks over toward the kitchen, then slowly bring his head back to his right hand, as his left hand takes a cell phone out of his pocket. he keeps it down by his side, hiding it from view. he punches buttons effortlessly. the music stops.

close up - cell phone screen reads, "safe but running."

cut to:

int. detroit airport - night

a wide shot of the airport terminal in detroit featuring the motorized walkways and incessant chatter/airport white noise. this fades down slowly, and we can hear someone on the other end of a phone using a voice scrambler and james talking clearly.

james
worth it? of course i think it's worth it. why else would i be talking to you?

scrambled voice
i am terrified of what could happen. absolutely terrified.

james
then i'm not doing it. but it is worth it. 100%.

scrambled voice
i'm hanging up now. you make your decision, i'll make mine.

close up: james' mouth, slightly agape, about to talk into the cell phone that is slowly inching away from his face.

cut to black

audio: the airport noise stops almost immediately after the cut, followed by the sound of a cellular flip-phone closing up.

scene 3: settled down, prior to the unsettling.

2007-05-29T21:21:00.000-07:00

the residents look vaguely disinterested in mia's presence. the camera falls aside slowly.

cut to:

int. bedroom - night

a bedside light clicks on as sheets are bustled off and mia gets out of bed in a hurry. as the light adjusts in the room, the scene fades quickly from black & white to color. the camera stays fixed on the bed and lamp as we hear mia pacing from right to left, left to right. we hear mia unlocking a door and opening it.

mia's voice
i don't wanna hear it.

the other voice is female, slightly shaky. this is sam.

sam's voice
i'm not gonna say anything. this is the last night, scout's honor.

there is a brief pause. mia sighs. the camera pans around evenly during this, and just as it reaches mia and sam, it starts back around the way it came, as sam walks in, mia closes and locks the door, and they walk back toward the bed. sam sits down on the bed and is opening a toiletry bag as mia goes into the adjacent bathroom and fills a glass with water from the faucet.

sam
i dunno whether to let him have it or not even give him the pleasure of confrontation. just split.

mia exits the bathroom with glass in hand, not making eye contact with sam.

mia
what? that doesn't matter. and we're not talking about this, are we?

sam
no, of course not. that would be silly (scoffs sarcastically).

sam reaches for the glass of water, but mia (not paying sam any attention) sets it down on her bedside table as she takes her glasses off. sam gets up and walks toward the bathroom as mia tucks herself back into bed. as sam washes her face, mia pushes the blankets back off to flick off the bedside lamp. sam watches mia disappointedly as she does this, but then the scene goes black except for a small mirror light that barely shines on sam's face as she scrubs her cheeks with soap.

scene 2: the dead of night has never been more alive.

2007-04-18T17:41:00.000-07:00

cut to black

audio: mia gasps.

cut to:

ext. street - night

james's back as he's standing in the road, watching the car speed away.

cut to black

james (whispering)
it's just for a little bit...

cut to:

int. convenience store - night

the camera rushes past a frozen mia, to the left of the aisle, and reveals a stairway that lead to an opening door with the same orange, blue, and clear pattern as the windows that appeared across the street as they drove out of the convenience store parking lot.

cut to black

voice on phone (eerily calm)
leave him. drive. there are four more windows.

cut to:

ext. plainfield - night

cu - mia's legs running.

in dark green pants and dirty tennis shoes, she almost blends into the night barring the reflective tips of her old nikes. as she runs, an inset reveals mia's hands taking a spray bottle and wedging it in between the accelerator and the frame of the car. a new inset pops up showing her slamming the door and lying on the street as the car speeds away without her. the insets disappear one by one. during this, we watch as her pace slows more and more, eventually coming to a stop. there is a pause while she is stopped.

the camera slowly pans up to reveal a string of multi-colored lights hanging about a knee-high fence. as the camera raises higher and higher, it reveals a group of middle-aged people (1 man, two women) on lawn chairs in front of a tiny downtrodden house. there are fake tiki torches accompanying the multi-colored lights inside the fenced-in area. the man (charlie) and one of the women (mary) look at mia while the other (gina) is engrossed in a television program airing a television sitting on the ground in front of her.

mia
i'm not here to scare you, but...(catches breath)...crap that's not going to work.

scene 1: gradually accepting one's loss for words.

2007-04-10T16:19:00.000-07:00

ext. convenience store parking lot - night

close up -a brief shot of mia pressing the button that rolls the window up.

james' head falls back, he rolls his eyes, and exhales in barely interested frustration. he crouches down, looks at mia, stands back up, looks again at the convenience store, and then closes his eyes.

mia
this is awkward slash creepy.

james (eyes still closed)
what was in there, mia?

mia
sam. sam was in there and she acted like she didn't even see me.

james opens his eyes and lets them wander around the parking lot. mia has her hands on the steering wheel as if she's ready to go.

james
that sounds about right. and you're affected by this why?

mia
we should probably go see if she's okay. why isn't anyone coming out of there?

james
you look like you're ready to get outta here, not go check on dear old sam. was it just her and the cashier in there?

mia
i thought i saw another guy in there too. at the atm.

there is a brief pause where james stares off into space while biting his tongue, then he takes his phone out of his pocket and starts dialing.

james
well i'm going to call the police and let them know about the weirdness, we'll keep going on our way, and---

suddenly lights beam on across the street and nearly blind mia and james. mia and james turn around to see two large adjacent translucent windows with alternating clear, orange, and blue window panes. behind them, two visible black shadows pour through the lightness.

close up - james' phone saying "connecting..."

mia starts the car.

mia
or we could just leave now.

james gets in the car while still looking across the street. as they pull out of the convenience store parking lot, we hear james' cell phone starting to ring from the call he was making, then a click signifying someone picking up on the other line.

voice on other line
james, give mia the phone.

james' eyebrows begin to rise and he very quickly and nervously tosses the phone into mia's lap.

mia
who did you call?

james
i never pressed "connect"! i never called...anyone.

little slips: an introduction

2007-03-31T15:32:00.000-07:00

black screen. the sound of a door opening, bells chime slightly, footsteps.

fade to:

int. convenience store - night

an out of focus convenience store interior slowly comes to focus as a woman, mia - seen below - roughly 28 years old, wanders down the central aisle half asleep. the camera follows her shakily.

mia (mumbling)
snacks...snackeroos...munchin' muncheroos...

another woman crosses mia's path as she reaches the end of the aisle. mia abruptly stops in a black circle painted on the floor of the store. the camera gets closer to her as she stands still, until it is at her shoulders. her head slowly follows the other woman.

cut to:

ext. convenience store - night

a wide shot of the dimly lit pavement. mia's feet, clad in oversized flip-flops, rush across the parking lot. they stop, pivot, and eventually point back toward the convenience store. her toes rise toward the air, standing only on her heels, then plop back down on the ground. there is a moment of hesitance, and then they turn around and walk calmly in the same direction as before, away from the store.

cut to:

int. car - night

a medium shot of the passenger, james, relatively the same age as mia, with shoulder-length hair and relatively giant in his physique. he is looking down at a tiny magazine, which only magnifies his grotesque size. he looks scrunched in the small two-door sedan. his head follows the pages and doesn't look at mia as she, unseen but heard, gets into the driver's seat and sighs loudly and quickly.

james
they didn't have any, did they?

mia
tato skins, right. yeah, probably.

james looks up from his magazine and raises his eyebrows very calmly, but still not making eye contact with mia.

mia
i know, they're delicious. maybe you could go get them.

james
sure, i'll go in, then i'll come back without having purchased anything and act really weird toward you. cool?

mia
okay okay okay. but seriously, you go. you'll understand once you get in there.

james closes his magazine and gets out of the car with the copy of "tv guide" still in hand. as he puts his arm on the top of the car door, he looks across the vehicle at the store. before he can close the door, all lights in the store and parking lot go dark.

workshopped robbery: we'll swell, pop, swap.

2007-03-05T19:39:00.000-08:00

episodic rocked it, got more engaged (proposed).

2007-03-03T08:17:00.000-08:00

casting this monstrosity will melt your brain.

2007-02-08T18:06:00.000-08:00

grasp the plateau*horizons will smoke green.

2007-02-04T09:02:00.000-08:00

seriesly seriously seen her us leaves: the scenery.

2007-01-29T17:20:00.000-08:00

is it brass -- is it scorching your hand as we speak?

2007-01-27T11:23:00.001-08:00

if you make me take my headphones off one more time, i SWEAR.

2007-01-14T11:08:00.000-08:00

dear you, i downloaded a mega beat. eat it.

2007-01-08T18:10:00.000-08:00

robin hood has problems AND solutions.

2007-01-02T21:19:00.000-08:00

yell Owed, dry sly, get it get it go slow.

2006-12-17T20:53:00.000-08:00

these are forearms: question the forward direction.

2006-12-12T21:40:00.000-08:00

who has plans who has plans whose plans have them.

2006-12-05T20:14:00.000-08:00

the more time you give, the less we've lasted.

2006-11-29T18:56:00.000-08:00

? telling 'post-scripts' de-scripted 'made real' ?

2006-11-27T19:12:00.000-08:00

one cuts and jumps, but always one.

2006-11-22T08:34:00.000-08:00

bignosed ribbons poke too far to be tied.

2006-11-19T20:36:00.000-08:00

fine strength and better than fine lost.

2006-11-16T16:16:00.000-08:00

is this what you would call a whammy?

2006-11-06T19:52:00.000-08:00

sooner rather than sue her. you're toast.

2006-11-02T16:46:00.000-08:00

stabling the staples that bind the blinders.

2006-10-30T20:12:00.000-08:00

hoping for a long and painful (don't forget uncomfortable) recovery.

2006-10-26T16:57:00.000-07:00

her pills and your feet combat the consequential smiles.

2006-10-24T17:16:00.000-07:00

thunde ring unde rings.

2006-10-18T21:53:00.000-07:00

"fragrant" comes to me before the fragrance engulfs me.

2006-07-23T19:20:00.000-07:00

+my split wardrobe/don't drink unless nervous++

2006-07-08T00:32:00.000-07:00

viciously purging: canned, phonedin.

2006-07-05T20:53:00.000-07:00

remember the other? that was the young one.

2006-06-19T17:05:00.000-07:00

a scatstar p.r.a.y.s. like a sun.c.a.r.

2006-06-13T18:32:00.000-07:00

jungian junglian prattling paddling.

2006-06-12T07:16:00.000-07:00

QUALITY TIME WITH THE CRAM[p]S!

2006-05-31T16:11:00.000-07:00

as over[t] as we will ever be[gin]; star[t] over.

2006-05-23T18:20:00.000-07:00

mirror-talk, not talk of mirrors. that's different.

2006-05-21T17:38:00.000-07:00

in an attempt to romance a baseball bat.

2006-05-18T19:11:00.000-07:00

...as opposed to what, cheats can see?

2006-05-14T03:42:00.000-07:00

s'posed to BEEN [on] in THERE.

2006-05-08T19:37:00.000-07:00

Edit _ | Moderate ___ | Status |

2006-05-03T20:13:00.000-07:00

stop pronouncing it like your brain's full.

2006-04-30T10:09:00.000-07:00

CHRISTO is 2 big 4 the internet.

2006-04-26T19:58:00.000-07:00

fencing is a sport, not a game. right?

2006-04-24T19:23:00.000-07:00

[s]hades: a skimmering jade.

2006-04-19T19:52:00.000-07:00

be startled by this non-ness.

2006-04-17T21:45:00.000-07:00

fine D your Self and b-e On Us. [#E]?

2006-04-16T21:13:00.000-07:00

greaving/hieving/believerything.

2006-04-05T19:48:00.000-07:00

dr. philm saying, "NO MORE CELLU-LIED!"

2006-04-01T12:03:00.000-08:00

'I GOT'''' that comes naturalleeEEEeee

2006-03-28T19:17:00.000-08:00

hey, ]]PROLOGUE[[ k eep following me!

2006-03-27T04:06:00.000-08:00

$vacat-e-.ion, or, planning is for planners.

2006-03-22T05:57:00.000-08:00

fnormalities in "TEXTURES OF TIME."

2006-03-20T20:47:00.000-08:00

SnilMerg, I (p)resent to you: my You(th).

2006-03-19T21:19:00.000-08:00

------hubris GRIME-------

2006-03-16T20:25:00.000-08:00

western lesSONS of a loST sUN...

2006-03-15T19:37:00.000-08:00

I T J U S T G OESON \ just enough /

2006-03-13T19:55:00.000-08:00

planksareplacesaretheyclapping?

2006-03-12T20:37:00.000-08:00

a cosmaulogy of predimedication.

2006-03-11T21:47:00.000-08:00

georgia folks sing singles: sulk.

2006-03-10T17:32:00.000-08:00

generousynergy at 30% and dying.

2006-03-09T22:13:00.000-08:00

core pores\\\degrees astray.

2006-03-08T20:07:00.000-08:00

s-s-s-s-september.

2006-03-07T16:51:00.000-08:00

lumberjack = medium. livestock = XXL.

2006-03-06T21:42:00.000-08:00

eggwhites [transloosense] paste.

2006-03-03T23:49:00.000-08:00