May 7 2014

I miss reading books instead of blogs when I am at the bar.

Trying to Make Up for Lost Blog Time

On Being Yourself

Sexual satisfaction comes with the ability to let go. The ability to let go is established when you as a singular person feels comfortable enough to truly be yourself and let the things that happen to you happen on their own terms in their own time.

So maybe:

If one has less sex now than what was average I their past they are either:

A) totally satisfied emotionally and get physical release elsewhere

B) Love, appreciate and feel comfortable with your partner as well as comfort in yourself to the point that masturbation is more satisfying.

----------------------------

"Have you ever met someone who reminds you of you and wanted to fuck them?"

"That is the most deliciously narcissistic sentence I have ever heard."

"No, let me clarify - you're me."

"I'm you."

"And you - in example, work at a place where you have to talk to many people every day."

"Okay."

"And as you have done this over and over for years and years you began to realize that you are good at your job because you are good at being you."

"So you love yourself so much you want to fuck you?"

"No. You end up weeding out the people who aren't influenced by your personality and from there it narrows and narrows and narrows...the one day you are face to face with your mirror image and wet with desire."

" I dunno. I understand the similar personalities getting along but..."

"You ever kiss yourself in the mirror for practice?"

"Sure."

"It's that. But reciprocal. And fucking hot."

------------------------


I gotta get back on the writing train. I hate how much being an adult sucks the time and life out of me.

Classy Biped

April 30 2014

Glass Houses
Find their own
Way to break.

And we -
Find a way
To justify why

April 28 2014

Writing Attempt: Free Writing


There was something else Liv had in mind to say but with the noise and the eyes, the feet shifting, the reflection of his sequined jacket lifting magenta up up up and the liquid falling down her throat fill fill filling her empty stomach in until her insides would slush side to side - she the vessel that holds the ocean - and what now? Liv choked quietly on her thought until it finally passed and it's remnants drowned themselves in her internal sea.

"Were you going to say something?" The sequined man said.

"No, I'm fine."

April 25 2014

Trailblazers lost.

I went to an art store this morning looking for the perfect materials for my booklet. Unfortunately I was not able to get the right paper. 
My plan for tomorrow is to get to the store that will have what I need and then print out the "guts" before I screen print the cover.

After I am done with the first copy that will secure my certification,  I am absolutely going to take a poll to see how many of you are interested in buying it for a measly 10 bucks.

So exited.!
HONESTLY I AM

Classy Biped

April 24 2014

What I have been up to:

I've got the guts of my publishing project DONE. On to the cover Nd the inserts. Gotta buy the paper and decide on colors and then make.a couple mock ups before I commit, but you guys-

IT'S FUCKING HAPPENING.

And once I get my initial book in to qualify for my.certificate, I will be making more and will most definitely be shilling them out for anyone who is interested.

Eeeek.

Classy Biped

April 22 2014

Writing Attempt: Final Draft

I worked on my edits today after getting some wonderful last minute help from my friend Sarah. It took me much longer than I thought for a few reasons. The biggest one being an anxiety attack over what it is I'm attempting to accomplish. But once I took a nap and calmed myself down, the editing process focused me well. Here's a tiny taste.


---------------------------------

“I don’t want you to do this again.” Dahlia said.

“That’s what I am paying you to say.” Said Chelsea.

“Yeah. It is. But I usually don’t mean it.” Dahlia flipped the vomit smattered strand of hair away from Chelsea’s face. “I don’t want to take the money. I rather you be safe. I rather you stay alive.” She brushed the skin under Chelsea’s wet eyes with her ring finger then placed it in her own mouth and sucked on it. “Let me take your sadness.”

--------------------------------

Tomorrow I MUST TRY to get the pages formatted for sensible printing...pray I don't have a heart attack.

-Classy Biped

April 21 2014

Writing Attempt: Poetry

Today my chest is comprised of the mud that fills the Swamp of Sadness.

 Its weight pulling me down down, fusing my above as one with my below.

Then I am asked to walk.

I absorb my darkest clothes,

(Taking on the Gothic persona that reflects my state)

Imagine my lips painted a shade of mourning,

And flop out into the world around me,

Each movement forward a blobulous smash against the earth.

 

I am slow

I am sad

I am slipping into a space that I fear I may not escape from.

_______________

Hard day. Tomorrow is my big personal work day where I try to get my writing into InDesign. Wishing myself luck and focus. (ha - we'll see)

love

CB

April 19 2014

I have been working so much. I wish my bank account reflected as such. But I hate cooking dinner, and require after work beers, so I am therefore terribly unable to keep myself in an above "just getting by" financial status.

In the writing world: I am considering materials for my required project and will be taking Tuesday to acquire the right pieces of paper.

D.I.Y. is fucking difficult because it is D.I.Y.


here's a bit of something:

---------------

All the other people traveling with you  have the same expression. Sentient mannequins. This increases your anxiety. You check your watch for the third time. The numbers are gone. Replaced by the floating shapes that drive themselves into your eyes.

------------------

Classy Biped

April 18 2014

EDITING STILL

The next two hours were routine for Dahlia. Hector cried and tried and tried and tried to commit suicide but with every circumstance he though out, she found a way to thwart his logic. When he sobbed about his monetary loss and impending trial, she took his hand and slipped it inside her while telling him he was worth the struggle. She talked him into revealing his true self then talked him back out of it so he could feel stable. So he could feel his physical body was his true home.

When she left, Hector was asleep in his bed. Dahlia took her payment off the kitchen island, made sure his apartment was free of plastic of any kind, and dropped a bottle of Xanax and her business card on his dresser in case of a relapse. 

-----------------


Only a week or so until all is printed.


Classy Biped

April 17 2014

Today.

Next week.

I have come to the point where I have been working on something for a period of time that has suddenly become something akin to gibberish.

--------

Not proud of anything

ClassyBiped

When they first began, Dahlia figured using his hair as kindling would suffice. “Hair burns quickly, so we’ll begin there.” Dahlia had said. Jacob was unconvinced. To prove her point, she started small. A tiny match to his wrist. A fireplace match to the forest surrounding his groin. A burning newspaper to his chest hair. Poof. Nothing. Once the two were finished sneezing out the smell of burnt hair and newsprint, Jacob suggested she use something chemical to assure he could be lit up as planned.

7 parts ethyl alcohol

7 parts water

Salt for color

Candle for flame

Now that the flames were fueled and dancing nicely up his arms and torso, Dahlia took her mug to her lips and gulped in her cold anise tea, appreciating the work she had done. Observing the obscene scene in front of her made her feel like a director of an absurdist play; staging strange performance art. She smirked quietly at that thought while the man in front of her screamed a scream not unlike one she made herself while in labor.

--------------------------------------

Still hacking through the weeds. Anyone available and willing to do some editing for me this weekend?

Classy Biped

April 15 2014

Writing: Revision for my self published piece

“Don’t worry, Hector, I understand. Understanding is what I do. It’s what this is all about.”

Hector grabbed the end of the garbage bag in Dahlia’s hands and pulled down heavily.  “Sweet Caroline. I want to die.” He said.

“I know. But I want you to live.” Dahlia pried the white plastic from his tightly gripped fingers.

“Prove it.” Said Hector.

“I can’t.” Said Dahlia.

“Then I’m beginning.” Hector opened the cupboard that he had been leaning against and pulled out another trash bag and placed it over his head.

“Go ahead.” Dahlia said softly. “But since you put that over your head, you won’t be able to see what it is I’m doing now.”

“And what is that?” Hector’s response moved the bag deeply in and out.

“I can’t say. I can only do.” Dahlia’s voice was just above a whisper.

“I want to see.”

“Then Take it off.”

“I can’t.”

“Then talk to me.”

“I can’t.” Hector pulled the yellow ribbon ties tight around his neck.

“Then I’m leaving.” Dahlia took two loud steps backwards.

“Wait.”

“Yes?”

“I’ll talk.” Hector breathed in so deeply the bag took on the sad shape of his desperate mouth.

“Why are you doing this? Why are you so sad?”

“Life has just been – life has dealt me a bad hand.” Hector put his hand to his chest.

“That’s a bullshit answer and you know it.”

-----------------

There's so much more! I'm getting even more anxious and excited about my project. I really hope it turns out well. I've been so critical of myself my whole life that I worry I'll give up before accomplishing anything, like I have in the past.

ClassyBiped

April 13 2014

HERO (INTERMISSION)

 Hero was not a bad dog, even as Bailey. He never was. His major flaw is that he was a trusting being while also technically being a wild beast.

 

Jillie launched her anti-Hero campaign after the icky feeling that started in her stomach raced up her spine and hit her brain. She was too young to understand that spite coupled with her mother’s lack of answers was the true culprit. By lack of answers, Jillie meant it was unacceptable for her own father to be kept from her like a secret. Jillie knew that he was out there. Jillie knew Dahlia spoke to him and made him silent. Jillie knew it was all a conspiracy and the stupid dog was a distraction. In turn, to Jillie’s rational, the stupid dog, was a replacement, and a poor one at that.

------------------------

Still working. Next day off is Tuesday, so that is the next day I will truly be able to work, edit, format and put my Part 1 of this story into In Design.

Worried.

Classy Biped

april 12 2014

Today I worked eight hours then came home and figured out the outline for my published piece.

It may change. It most likely will change. But I'm getting closer to the end.

***

For being a day that revolved around unfortunate events, It had turned out to also somehow be a good one. It had been three years since Kyle had left and in that time, Dahlia could count the good days between she and the girls on one hand. Watching them take to her in their own ways gave her a small sliver of hope that things were finally ready to move on.

***

ClassyBiped

April 11 2014

I've been working on my first publishing project ever and I realize how incredibly detailed it all is, and also how "self publishing'' also means ''self reliant'' (duh?). I have a more actualized grasp on the structure of my project, but I am still unconvinced that my writing is good enough or ready enough to be printed on even just one copy. I've struggled with my need for perfection for decades. It's the reason I never get anything truly done. And also the reason I became a great storyteller (liar). If I just use my imagination and my social sense, I can work my way out of anything if it means that much to me to do so.

I want to better myself through art.
I know I am a good artist.
I wish I could stay focused enough to do so.


-classybiped/coward

April 9 2014

Writing Attempt: ....attempt something.

Her mouth dried out an hour previous
Or at least that's how long it seemed to have been devoid of any cushion between itself as a functioning object and itself as a vessel for expressing the thoughts of the brain it had been sewn to.

Her fingers pruned themselves after a sly comment from the intriguing brunette occupying the cushioned bar stool next to her asked for a sip of her water. This reminded her of a study she had once been told about while sitting in this same exact spot.

"You know how your fingers get all wrinkly in water?"

"Sure."

"It's evolutionary, you know?"

"No I don't. "

"It's traction.  It's because you gotta get outta the water and fast. It's like unnecessary nowadays but you gotta admit it's cool to think about." The stranger had then felt his way to the bathroom and she never saw him again.

She looked down at her textured finger tips and smiled. Time to run.

April 7 2014

I have reprised my role as mom #2 since I arrived in San Diego.  I'm not hating it. Not at all.

April 6 2014 (AKA I'm horrible)

Writing attempt: Actually posting to the blog.

I've been in CA visiting my family, attending my brother's wedding and meeting my second niece for the first time. Suffice it to say, I haven't had time to post on here but-- except for yesterday--I have written every day like I've promised. I just have had a hard time getting around to getting online.


NOT EXCUSING MY BEHAVIOR, just honestly freaking out about the deadline I have for my class and worried that I'm 'catch-up writing' instead of directly writing and designing my piece of work.

I have decided then, to publish a Part One of at least Two. I think it will be best for my sanity and most importantly, the product. (maybe I should visa versa that)

sigh.

***

 

Jillie launched an anti Hero campaign not purely out of spite, but spite coupled with her mother’s lack of answers. By lack of answers, Jillie meant it was unacceptable for her own father to be kept from her like a secret. Jillie knew that he was out there. Jillie knew Dahlia spoke to him and made him silent. Jillie knew it was all a conspiracy and the stupid dog was a distraction. The stupid dog, was a replacement, and a poor one at that.

 

***

 

I hate to say that things are still in progress....

 

 

but such is life.

 

 

Classy Biped

April Fools Day

I have no idea why April Fools Day exists. I do know I am terrible at it. I guess I never really felt the need to pull one over on someone else. Which in many ways goes against the personality most people equate with me.

After living through this particular April Fools, here's what I've learned about myself:

Because of my ability to be hilarious every day - I am given a pass.

Because of my sense of humor and natural skills at acting - I am able to lie my way out of anything.









-----------------
did some more editing on my novella today. Worried it's not going to be ready on time


Classy Biped

march 31 2014

HAPPY NEW YEAR

Ginger knocked on the door. “Miss D? Can I come in? Miss D?” She waited a moment, then turned to leave. As her back turned, the door opened.

“Everything ok?” Dahlia had a flat head in one hand and a two fingers of Laphroiag in the other.

“Oh totally cool, Miss D. It’s the girls, they wanted you to watch the ball drop with them.” Ginger tucked her one long strand of hair behind her ear.

“They’re watching that shit?” Dahlia took a sip from her glass.

“Sorry, I didn’t know you had anything against it.” Ginger looked away from Dahlia.

“Shit. I. I don’t really, I just think it’s garbage. Famous people are garbage, at least that type of famous, anyway, what time is it?”

------------------


Shit happens. like writing.

CB

March 29 2014

For once, she hadn’t been completely honest. She had for all intents lured the woman on her couch here with a lie. Although the woman she worked with was technically a friend, they had in fact had three conversations that contained subjects not pertaining to work, she knew she had over stepped her boundaries.

                “You don’t have to stick around. But you should.” She said. “You haven’t even read the pamphlets.”

                “You must have spent a lot of time on these.”

                “I care.”

                “I see.”

What time she had spent making the literature, printing it, folding it, handing it out, inviting the people around her was so unimportant to her and she wondered why it was that everyone else seemed so concerned about how long the process was when the actual outcome that she intended from it was far from beginning. She watched her friend gently turn the pages and unravel the pamphlets’ meaning in her head, while she nervously bit the same corner of her pinky nail. When she was finished, she turned it back over to the beginning and looked at it as a whole. She placed her hand on top of it like she was comforting the paper in its restlessness and spoke in a very smooth tone. 

                “Teresa, I didn’t know you felt this way. In fact, I’m sure none of us knew you felt this way.”

                “Us?”

                “All of us. You know, at the shelter.”

                Something about her friends tone was worrisome, was she sad? Was she concerned? Was she confused? People never seemed to be able to truly say what they mean, instead they liked to use inflection for subtext. It was a stupid copout. She took a moment to think about how most social interactions were in fact, a stupid copout.

                “I misunderstood our relationship.” Even though this was a grand statement, she didn’t move one bit.

                “Teresa, I…this is just very…radical. I mean, we help animals for a living, or at least try to and this is just a little antithetical to our beliefs.”

                “No it’s not. It’s completely in line with what our beliefs should be. But aren’t. Think about it. I’m right.”

                “Beliefs are sacred, T, I hold that very close to my heart, but this is less about beliefs and more about the deconstruction of a societal mainstay, of a societal need.”

                “Don’t call me T, it’s strange.” Three forgettable conversations and an awkward home visit were proof of that.

                “You’re right. Sorry. I’m gonna go. Your house is very lovely. I admire your D.I.Y. attitude towards everything. See you Thursday?”

                The question was stupid because seeing her Thursday was inevitable, that was the next day they both were scheduled to work.

                “Thursday.” The co-worker left with a smile and a delicate wave that involved only her fingers.

*************

I'm working hard on my piece I'm gonna self publish...a bit worried, a bit excited, mostly worried that I'm gonna fail.


Sigh

ClassyBiped

 

 

Musings March 27 2014

My dreams have always been fodder for my writing for me. I think it's because my dreams have always been
visceral,
 epic,
cerebral,
 inventive,
dystopian,
magical,
terrifying,
arousing,
experimental,
experiential,
world building,
tactile,
metaphoric,
literal,
repetitive.


Last night, I had a dream wherein every person I came across at some point asked me:

"Are those you real eyebrows?"

Let the Pulitzer Prize writing begin.


-ClassyBiped

March 26 2014

Writing: Excerpt:

I've been looking a lot at form and I'm trying to find stylistic framing devices to move the story along in a more 'Flash Fiction' manner. One of the devices I have been playing with is lists. Here's the end of one I wrote today.


****

·         Don’t let them suck you in emotionally – You are good at this! You got this! Help comes with distance not involvement. (Intimacy is a whole different thing, don’t forget that.)

·         You are NOT at fault if they choose to die.

·         You are NOT at fault if they choose to die.

·         You are NOT at fault if they choose to die.

·         You are NOT at fault if they choose to die.

·         You are NOT at fault if they choose to die.

·         You are NOT at fault if they choose to die.

·         You are NOT at fault if they choose to die.

 

****

There's more, but you'll have to wait to find out.

-Classy Biped

March 25 2014

Each day for a week I have ridden over the same squirrel.  I imagine the squirrel running into the street, enjoying the day and feeling fine,  suddenly there's a quake of.earthly proportion and the rodent freezes. Eyes dilated,  the last thing it sees is the round rubber wheels poised to crush its tiny brain.

March 24 2014

Next door Natalie’s lips fell into a quivering frown. Hero’s ears popped erect. Jackie lifted her head from the sharp grass.

“That’s mean, Jillie. Don’t be so frickin mean.” Jackie and Hero got up and approached Natalie. “We’ll do the play with you. Hero’s a good actor. I seen it.” Jackie placed her hand in between Hero’s ears.

“You are NOT doing my play, Jackie. Especially not with a stupid broken dog like Hero.” Jillie kicked a clod of dirt at the dog. Natalie gasped. Hero barked. Jackie screamed the loudest scream she could muster.

“Take that back Jillie!”

“No.”

“Take that BACK!” Jackie beat her feet into the dry soil. Hero positioned himself in front of her, a canine shield.

“Fuck you. Fuck your dog.” The calm in Jillie’s voice made Jackie’s throat tighten.

“But. Jillie. It’s your dog too.”

 

*******

 

Everyone! I'm HAVING FUN!!!!

 

love,

CB

March 23 2014

Writing: Still Working on My Story To Publish (Excerpt)

***

From the outside, Chelsea’s yellow craftsman was a lighthouse guiding ships to safety. Inside it was the shipwrecked boat that had been discovered after 30 years marinating in sea salt and coral. And Chelsea, the skeletal captain clinging to the helm, with hope that she could take a turn and right the ship out of its destruction.

----------------

Classy Biped over and out

March 21 2014

Writing Attempt: Editing a piece from last summer

 

Maple Street

Part 1

                The card stock of the flyer she gave him was thicker than he had expected, which in turn made him hold it with a particular reverence he had never even considered existed until this moment. He flipped it over in his hands to seem cordial, but didn’t want to read it. He reconciled that it was as good a time as any to try osmosis.

                “What do you think?”

                Her voice was much softer than he expected and made his skin bubble. A little fear. A little arousal. ”Nice paper.”

                ”I know. I care.”

                “I can tell.”

“You should read it and come.”

“Right.”

“It’s an important cause. People seem to forget that...” Her emphasis on the word ‘people’ had a strange and distant twitch coming out of her mouth. This drew his eyes to her lips and watched them move. There was no greater meaning to this except fascination. She was talking and making sounds and they were important sounds, unfamiliar and important sounds, unfamiliar and important yet distant—no, foreign—another language. Yes, that was it. “…Do you know what I mean?” She asked. He didn’t. But somehow he assumed questions were not allowed. Instead, he turned over the card in his hands three more times and studied the way it felt. Its composition was unsettling and it took him a moment to find any useful information. Then a set of numbers caught his eye. Finally some relevance.

“I have to work.”

“Then?”

“Yeah. And now, actually. That’s why I’m here, I’m working now.”

‘’What do you do?”

“Sell Alarm systems for Safe ‘n Secure. Like the one you have.”

“Me?”

“You have a sticker in your window.” He pointed to it. It was old and crackly from the sun.

“This was my grandma’s house. I’m still getting used to it.”

“My condolences.”

“It won’t be that difficult, I just gotta get more comfortable furniture. I think that’s the trick.” She scratched her forehead then wiped the small patch of skin above her mouth with the back of her hand. He traced these motions with the tip of his nose. Fascinating. Like her words, her presence was far away, on another plane just in front of her physical self.  “And get rid of all the fucking dust. Welp. Have a good day.”

“You as well.”

                She shut the door, he checked his watch and walked down her driveway. He noticed an oil stain, but no car. At the end of the drive, he turned and walked up to the next house. These are her neighbors, he thought. He rang the doorbell and a dog barked, then two, then three. He took a step back.  It was a very nice house.

***

I need to get writing more! I  have been everyday and yet I feel so behind.


ClassyBiped

March 20 2014

 

Writing Attempt: excerpt from what I worked on for a few hours today.

 

***

 

Hero’s head rested on the small of Jackie’s back as she splayed out stomach pressed to the crabgrass in the side yard. Next door neighbor Natalie pushed the secret broken fence piece to the side and psssst psssst psssst until Jillie acknowledged her.

“What do you want?” The week previous, Ginger introduced Jillie to whittling and since then, Jillie took every opportunity she found to sit on the side yard stump – paring knife from the kitchen in hand – and carve the shit out of something. ANYTHING. As long as she had the knife, she had the creative power.    

***


Getting nervous about how quickly the deadline for my project @ IPRC is due. I hope I can get my shit together enough to finish & print.

Damn.

ClassyBiped

March 19 2014

It's the way of the way of the way of the way of the world. 

We're the way of the way of the way of our word.

They're the way of the way of the way of their will.

I'm the way of the way of the way of the way of my way.

March 18 2014

Writing Attempt: Writing is Writing and OHMYGOD I'm Just Trying To Do It Right Now

We’re the ones that go out, fuck a bunch and fuck a bunch more, separate, date around, realize that our separation was stupid, decide it’s best to live together, then get married after a drunken brunch at city hall. I like that about us, even though that isn’t what has actually happened.

What happened was this: An amazing man fell in love with an absolute mess. Said man had no way of knowing. Said man was actually just a large boy. I was a tiny woman who had not learned how to say what I wanted for fear of judgment. Fear of judgment ended up corrupting the relationship said man hoped to have. Fear in general, clung to my chest and almost gave me a stroke before I was 25.

I had always wanted to be different. This was a ‘’goal’’ I had set for myself at an age that did not come with understanding past memorizing bible verses and singing in the school choir. So I tried and tried and tried to do things differently, which translated to a chubby teenage girl living and breathing just one step ahead of clichés that would be later represented by corporations like Hot Topic and Urban Outfitters.

If you can relate, you understand.

-------------------------


fuighscnekghighneighneoicguhelicmhoefajpx.plcf,pvsmkfgoer, RIGHT?

Classy Biped (the weird)

March 17 2014

Writing Attempt: A nice segue

 

We’re the ones that go out, fuck a bunch and fuck a bunch more, separate, date around, realize that our separation was stupid, decide it’s best to live together, then get married after a drunken brunch at city hall. I like that about us, even though that isn’t what has actually happened.

----------------

Just having some fun

 

Classy BIped

March 15 2014

When her body hit the carpet, her razor blade shoulders clipped quickly across the looped fibers, shifting her weight in a way that checked her neck and popped off her head so it could roll and roll and roll under the bed.


------------


ClassyBiped

March 14 2014

“Years down the line, tonight will either make you laugh and reminisce or it will be the catalyst of a lifetime of hating and blaming your only sister. You decide.” She kissed each of their foreheads, “Choose wisely. It’s time for bed.”  

-Dahlia


--------
ClassyBiped

 

March 13 2014

Writing Attempt: Character Description/Inner Life

Heinrick hated the sound of his cane against the sdewalk. Heinrick hated the sound of his cane against carpet. Heinrick hated the sound of his cane on the bathroom tile but most of all,  Heinrick hated the sound of his cane against his mother's crab grass outside her ramshackle of a home.

"Do you know?" Heinrick said as he tightened the knot. "Do you know what I've heard since I've had to use this rod of shame?"

"I understand that the struggles you're going through-" she cleared her throat,  "but you cannot, cannot blame me."

Heinrick found his fingers on his eyes and pushed his lids inward so not to weep.

March 12 2014

Writing Attempt: Dahlia's story (An excerpt of what I wrote today)

---

The adolescent screams made Dahlia’s head ache and feet twitch. Why tonight? Dahlia thought. Why the fucktonight?

The girls flanked Dahlia in her bed. On one side: Jackie, so hot her tears evaporated upon escape. On the other: Jillie presenting Architect Barbie with a licorice noose around its neck.

“Girls.” She said. “What in the fuck are you doing?”

“Making her pay!” Jillie snorted.

---

I know it's short. But finding the perfect story within a story is hard. I'm trying to let the daughters be their own entity as well as useful tools for the storytelling process. I'm getting there...

love
ClassyBipedontheMend

March 11 2014

Writing Attempt: description / show not tell

The skin on her knees stretched and stretched and stretched until they lost all form.

Now they hung with a drape like quality and rippled slightly while she would float in the water. This feeling disturbed her just as much as the sight. But the baths helped. She had spent almost three decades using her body to live off of and now it was fighting back.

In this particular evening soak, she her eyes focused on her breasts. They seemed to be pointing in a new, less buoyant direction.

"Guess I'm not calling you tits anymore." She splashed the tepid water and grabbed her glass off the chair propped next to the tub. It's contents, more tepid than the water, but at least still held some alcohol.

She gripped her toes around the drsin and opened it up, letting a rush of water out. With the free foot, she flipped on the hot tap. The rush of hot and cold made her whole body tingle.

"For all your fucking faults, body, you sure still know how to make me feel good."

She kept the flow of water going as she slipped slowly under the water and towards the spout.
-

RecoveringClassyBiped

March 10 2014

WritingwritingwritingwritingwritngOUCHcryingcryingcryingcryingSTOPachungachingachingachingDAMNITangryangryangryBREATHINGwalkingwalkingwalkingwalkingBARELYtypingtypingtypingNOTENOUGH.

WHAT'S WITH TODAY, TODAY?

-CLASSYBIPED

March 8,9 2014

Writing Attempt: Editing and Continuing the Untitled Story.



So: I am posting a couple more teasers from what I've been working on. I want to share it all, but I also don't want to put it all on the internet because I hope to sell at least a few copies when I'm done!

I'm merging yesterday and today because last night, I stupidly got into a bike kerfuffle wherein I split a decent part of my chin skin open and didn't have the wherewithal to type what I had scribbled down during the day. Now that I'm less freaked out and shaking less, I am working on the continuation and edit of what I've been working on. I hope it continues to intrigue you!

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WORK

His fluidity of movement while on fire impressed Dahlia and reminded her of the first live performance she ever saw, a re-enactment of the crucifixion of Christ at Reap and Sow Church. The man who played Jesus, a.k.a. Jenni Gonzalez’ father, replaced the prop crown of thorns with a crown of barbed wire unbeknownst to anyone ‘backstage’ and almost bled to death in front of 267 God-fearing men, women and children on a Sunday afternoon. Dahlia liked that day. Dahlia liked his passion and sacrifice for the role. The man in front of her, Jacob, was giving the same dedication to the show and it made her wet with desire and shiver with fear.

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Ouch - NotSoClassyBiped

March 7 2014

Writing Attempt: The Tease


 

The pain was sudden and excruciating. Dahlia let herself fall against the concrete and slide down, down until her ass was planted and her legs bent and splayed. She growled and grabbed her chest – something was going on, but what, she did not know.




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Only giving you all a few sentences of what I've been working on today.

Classy Biped

March 6 2014

Writing Attempt: Revision

WORK

His hair was perfectly lit by the fire. Dahlia took her mug to her lips and gulped in the cold anise tea. Taking in the scene in front of her made her feel like a director. A stager of strange art. She silently laughed at that thought. The man screamed, absolutely in pain. Dahlia reminisced about the first ballet she ever saw, Romeo & Juliet, and let the remembered music flow over the twitchy movements of the lit man in front of her.

“Scream all you want. But you know the deal.” Dahlia took in another long sip and smiled. “You want to live or not?” The man raised his hands above his head and stopped his screaming. Dahlia flicked her Zippo and lit her cigarette. “How afraid are you?” She asked.

“I’m fearless.” He said.

Then keep going till you absolutely have to stop.”

“Ok.”

He walked towards her and leaned in, heat and all. Dahlia exhaled on his burning frame. He grabbed his eyes tightly and became hard. Dahlia leaned back in her chair at the sight.  She liked to watch.

 

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Another sneak peek at what I'm working on for my self publication.

 

happy March 6th

 

Classy Biped

 

 

March 3 2014

Writing Attempt: Short Story Continuation

Upon emerging from the bathroom, Dahlia found Hector leaned against the range with a half used box of trash bags in hand. Her heart sank and swelled simultaneously. Asphyxiation was an easy act to stop but it was also usually an indication that the client wasn’t serious enough for her time and expected something more than she offered. Something useless.

“Sweet Caroline. I want to die.” Hector said.

“I know. But I want you to live.” Dahlia leaned onto the kitchen island with an outstretched hand.

“Prove it.” Said Hector.

“I can’t.” Said Dahlia.

“Then I’m beginning.” Hector pulled out the black plastic trash bag, dropping the container on the floor and placed it over his head.

“Go ahead.” Dahlia said softly. “But once you put that over your head, you won’t be able to see what it is I’m doing now.”

“And what is that?” Hector’s response moved the black trash bag in and out.

“I can’t say. I can only do.” Dahlia’s voice was just above a whisper.

“I want to see.”

“Then Take it off.”

“I can’t.”

“Then talk to me.” Dahlia spoke in the lowest register she could.

“I can’t.” Hector pulled the yellow ribbon ties tight around his neck.

“Then I’m leaving.” Dahlia took two loud steps back in her heels.

“Wait.”

“Yes?”

“I’ll Talk.” Hector breathed in so deeply the bag adhered to the shape of his sad mouth.

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This is an excerpt from the longer piece I'm writing tonight............I hope it intrigues enough.


classy bipeddddddddd

March 2 2014

This is my post for tonight.  I just spent 2 hours outlining what I think may be one of the strongest contenders for my self published book.....we'll see....it's going to be a long night.

March 1 2014

Writing Attempt: Dahlia Story Continuation

His hair was perfectly lit by the fire. Dahlia took her mug to her lips and gulped in the cold anise tea and took in the scene. She remembered the first ballet she ever saw, Romeo & Juliet, and let the music flow over the slow, pained movements of the lit man in front of her. Dahlia took in another long sip and smiled. She liked to watch.

***

Hero’s tail had been amputated after he was hit by the Chevy Astro. Which was only hours before his name was changed from Bailey to Hero.  

The kids seemed to take to him more after the whole incident. Jillie was finally happy to seek his affection and Jackie took on the role of caretaker and friend. Dahlia watched the three of them from the car, Jackie throwing the ball for Hero and Jill tackling him as his jaws clamped around the fuzzy green sphere in triumph. It had been three years since Kyle had left and seeing the ease of play in the girls that afternoon made Dahlia finally feel like things were moving on.

***

The phone call came around 2am. Jillie, following a long temper tantrum had just fallen asleep, Jackie had conked out four hours before. Dahlia weighed her options. If she left now, she could be back home before the girls woke up, but since Jillie had devoured a Popsicle only 30 minutes before bed she worried that she would be beckoned much earlier than that.

After the third phone call, Dahlia realized there was no one coming to watch over the girls. Decision time. Dahlia mentally calculated the funds for the month. After rent, after groceries, after the car payment and less the child support…they were in the negative. The call came again. She hesitated to answer, but did.

“Sweet Caroline to your rescue.” She crooned.

“I’m starting in 15. Tell me you’re coming now.” The voice over the phone was intriguingly gruff. The dashboard of the car graced her mind and reminded her that it was almost at “E”.

Dahlia took in a deep breath.

“Postpone for 10 and I’ll leave in 5.”

“You’re toying with me.”

“I’m doing what you want. I’m giving you orders.” She could nearly hear the goose bumps she had given him. Dahlia rifled through her underwear drawer. “Defy me and the cost goes up.” She lit the blunt she was looking for.

“I’ll give you 5.” The voice had changed its tone.

“You’ll give me 10, and allow for 15.” Dahlia exhaled directly into the receiver. “Right?”

“See you then.” The voice hung up.

Dahlia took 3 minutes to check each room. 2 minutes to put on her Kevlar. 1 minute to get in and start the car and arrived exactly on time.

***

Dahlia parked the car across the street from the building and turned off her lights. She checked her mirror to verify the address.

“Fuck.” She said. “Fucking doorman? Are you kidding me? Fuck.” She dialed the contact number.

“Hello?” Said the voice.

“There’s a doorman. I don’t do doormen.”

“What?”

“Let me re-phrase that. I cannot allow doormen. I cannot enter a building wherin a doorman dwells. Make sense?” Dahlia grabbed the knob of the stick shift hard and rolled it in a circle.

“I’m starting.” The voice was definitive.

“What? No. Do not-I’m not going to be there to help-hello?” The voice was gone. “Oh no, no no you moron, I am not saving you like this.” Dahlia started the car and peeled out onto the road. “Fucking moron. He knew the rules. Why doesn’t anyone listen to the GODDAMN RULES.” She smashed her palm against the horn and blew through the red light.

 

  

February 28 2014

Writing Attempt: Continuation

His hair was perfectly lit by the fire. Dahlia took her mug to her lips and gulped in the cold anise tea and took in the scene. She remembered the first ballet she ever saw, Romeo & Juliet, and let the music flow over the slow, pained movements of the lit man in front of her. Dahlia took in another long sip and smiled. She liked to watch.

***

Hero’s tail had been amputated after he was hit by the Chevy Astro. Which was only hours before his name was changed from Bailey to Hero.  

The kids seemed to take to him more after the whole incident. Jillie was finally happy to seek his affection and Jackie took on the role of caretaker and friend. Dahlia watched the three of them from the car, Jackie throwing the ball for Hero and Jill tackling him as his jaws clamped around the fuzzy green sphere in triumph. It had been three years since Kyle had left and seeing the ease of play in the girls that afternoon made Dahlia finally feel like things were moving on.

***

The phone call came around 2am. Jillie, following a long temper tantrum had just fallen asleep, Jackie had conked out four hours before. Dahlia weighed her options. If she left now, she could be back home before the girls woke up, but since Jillie had devoured a Popsicle only 30 minutes before bed she worried that she would be beckoned much earlier than that.

After the third phone call, Dahlia realized there was no one coming to watch over the girls. Decision time. Dahlia mentally calculated the funds for the month. After rent, after groceries, after the car payment and less the child support…they were in the negative. The call came again. She hesitated to answer, but did.

“Sweet Caroline to your rescue.” She crooned.

“I’m starting in 15. Tell me you’re coming now.” The voice over the phone was intriguingly gruff. Dahlia took in a deep breath.

“Postpone for 10 and I’ll leave in 5.”

“You’re toying with me.”

“I’m giving you orders.” Dahlia rifled through her underwear drawer. “Defy me and the cost goes up.” She lit the blunt she was looking for.

“I’ll give you 5.” The voice waivered.

“You’ll give me 10, and allow for 15.” Dahlia exhaled directly into the receiver.

“See you then.” The voice hung up.

Dahlia took 3 minutes to check each room. 2 minutes to put on her Kevlar. 1 minute to get in and start the car and arrived exactly on time.

***

 _____________________________________

I know.
I apologize.

-Classy Biped

February 23 2014

Writing Attempt: New

His hair was perfectly lit by the fire. Dahlia took her mug to her lips and gulped in the cold anise tea and took in the scene. She remembered the first ballet she ever saw, Romeo & Juliet, and let the music flow over the slow, pained movements of the lit man in front of her. Dahlia took in another long sip and smiled. She liked to watch.

***

Hero’s tail had been amputated after he was hit by the Chevy Astro. Which was only hours before his name was changed from Bailey to Hero.  

The kids seemed to take to him more after the whole incident. Jillie was finally happy to seek his affection and Jackie took on the role of caretaker and friend. Dahlia watched the three of them from the car, Jackie throwing the ball for Hero and Jill tackling him as his jaws clamped around the fuzzy green sphere in triumph. It had been three years since Kyle had left and seeing the ease of play in the girls that afternoon made Dahlia finally feel like things were moving on.

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I wrote from one of the first lines I wrote the other day. I missed yesterday because of my show - I passed out tired when I got home. Since we had a matinee today, tonight I got a little more time and got to eat some 'za with the mr. biped and drink some terrible wine. I hope everyone is well. I am...getting there.


Classy Biped

February 20 2014

Writing Attempt: Writing a bunch of good first lines.

 

Children were the only commodity.

 

 

After the fourth click, the revolver finally shot a bullet.

 

 

“These bones are proof that Hock was not killed here.”

“How?”

“How? How because they are not the bones of Hock, they are the bones of a coyote.”

 

 

When I was five, I was given a new name. Crystal. I would have loved it. If it hadn’t been given to me by the man that took me from my own home.

 

His hair was lit perfectly by the fire.

 

“Stacy?” She said. “Why is it exactly you are out to kill me?”

 

 

 

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just some fun. :)

ClassyBiped

February 19th 2014

Writing Attempt: Editing (Nate and the Tooth)

 

RACHEL

***

Dr. Oulette stared at the pile of intake forms on his desk and muttered one word over and over: fuck. He called Rachel into his office. Her slow approach was accented by her signature gum snap sonata.

“David?” Rachel’s hip opened the door and kept it open. “What’d you need? I got through the call list. Only four pick-ups. Joaquin Jackson is finally paid in full.”

“Surprising.”

“Only took 6 years. Pretty sure he lost the fillings by now.”

“Rachel, don’t judge. You know-“

“I know, sorry.”

“No you’re not.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“No you’re not.”

“So what’dya want?” Rachel pillaged her pocket for her pen.

“This mandatory healthcare act is fucking fantastic until I have to intake 34 patients in three days and decide who to make priority. I need some front desk intel, if you will.”

“Okay?”

“If I’m going to make this work, while in turn making us a living, I need to find the exact right order to accept these patients in.”

“Okay?” Rachel hit her pen against her teeth three times, then scribbled, ‘riGht Order – PAtients (?) WTF Mr. O’ on her notepad. She touched the end of the pen to her temple. “Maybe something as simple as alphabetical order could work just as well?”

“No. I need the long vs the short term. Who, from what you could tell, is a long-term over a one off? We need to get the one/two visit customers first so we can collect the funds, while slowly courting the possible new relationships.” He pushed the intake mountain towards Rachel. “Just sift and organize – first calls top, descending from there down. Make sense?”

The snap of Rachel’s gum echoed through the closed office. The squeak of Oulette’s sneakers made Rachel’s blood pressure rise. The chill outside made the Dr. thankful that he could afford a car with remote start and seat warmers. The draft from Oulette’s exit shifted the intake mountain from the desk to the floor. Rachel sighed angrily and picked up the only form left on his desk. It read Nate Gowarski and had a large ‘x’ over one of the teeth in the intake diagram. Diagnoses: his lower left molar was good as dead. Oulette’s written suggestion was to simply remove it. In - out a couple hours and one prescription for Oxy.  She looked through his status. Job - decent. DOB – not surprising. Health Care - new. Rachel smirked the little smirk she spent every day behind this desk hiding, placed Nate Gowarski’s file at the top of her list then resumed her front desk duties for Dr. O.

One by one, she hunted for good leads. Good insurance, good jobs, bad teeth. The image of bridges, braces, dentures and reconstruction filling her head as if it were a tooth and her mind a cavity. There was the lawyer that found her career more important than her health. The Single father of four with ten cavities that recently got a hefty insurance check from his wife’s death. The former meth head with SSDI benefits and 20 years of enamel destruction to replace. These were the people who were going to buy her a new car. With seat warmers, of course.    

***

The goddamn phone at 7am? Nate threw his pillow straight up into the air so it would land on his head. Once it did, he immediately regretted the uncomfortable feeling of the action but applauded the result. The phone rang out. Silenced. Then took a moment to beep its stupid beeps that Nate had chosen for it to beep. He looked at the screen. VM. He looked at the schedule printout for work he kept on his side of the bed. Today was not a work day so he deemed this call irrelevant until he decided to get up and make it relevant.

***

Please, please don’t pick up. Rachel thought. She counted rings. One, two, three, four – it felt like waiting for a tree to mature. Suddenly - VM – perfect. Rachel left a cryptic message. As she spoke, she tried to mirror the sort of corporate speak the Dr. had instilled in her so as to uphold her presence as a representative of the dental profession. After the final beep, she hung the phone on its cradle, exhaled a sigh of relief and moved onto the next patient. As she dialed the number, a tiny twinge of guilt made her right eye twitch. It wasn’t right to let this poor man’s tooth get worse. It wasn’t right to hope that if he just didn’t pick up the phone to schedule an appointment that in even just a month, the tooth would become a little toxic warrior and take down a row of teeth. The eye righted itself. Rachel snapped her gum and dialed the last number for Mrs. Johnston.

“Hello?”

“Hi, is Mrs. Johnston in?”

“This is she. May I ask who’s calling?”

“Mrs. Johnston, this is Rachel from the front desk at Dr. Oulette’s office. I understand you may need a few root canals. Why don’t we set up a second consultation for you and begin healing some of that excruciating pain you must be going through.”

 

***

For some stupid reason, my computer got weird and shut down and so my post didn't post last night, so today I continued what I was doing and am posting that as a combo. I'm going through tech week so my hours with work and that are looooong. Making it through though...barely.

 

Classy  Biped