Individual Pages!

Monday, March 31, 2014

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?”
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Shit happens. like writing.

CB

Saturday, March 29, 2014

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

 

 

Thursday, March 27, 2014

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

Wednesday, March 26, 2014

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

Tuesday, March 25, 2014

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.

Monday, March 24, 2014

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

Sunday, March 23, 2014

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.

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Classy Biped over and out