lolz

the writing of fiction 1

2008-01-05T01:46:00.000-08:00

I admire early 20th century literature and its recognization and respect of form in the face of change. It was an exciting time. Edith Wharton's concisely verbose opinion on the form of "current literature" is my link to the (c)literati of the time; her words are always carefully calculated equations that are aware of their derivation from respectfully noted predecessors. Which is a really long way of saying that she says the shit she means for real real and knows she owes her evolution of vision to the dead and ancient and
the recently dead.

winter reminiscing

2008-01-05T01:37:00.000-08:00

i often speak of stretching long across the marble floors, stretching like the days habitually do across the Equator. the days are much longer at home.

note 1

2008-01-05T00:41:00.000-08:00

i was the second child born to wilhemina brown before the New Year's celebration for the coming of 1918. i fell into the scene, the diminished counterpart in a shuffle note, an unexpected second beat that rang out...

i joined the brother, born minutes earlier.
i remember he writhed furiously in the novel atmosphere.

THE WINDOW.
the snow beat its indecisive gravimetric rhythm this windy wintery New Year's.
the snow made monolithic formations with no indication of dimension or depth on New Year's, the day that I was born.

2008-01-02T12:53:00.000-08:00

I remember two days from 1988, when I was two years old. These days are my 2nd birthday and the first day I was brought to a place known as a 'nursery'. I asked if there were going to be plants there in the latter situation and my mother said no this is a different sort of nursery than the ones we read about in the encyclopedia. This kind of nursery grows children instead of plants.

And thus sprouted the image of children growing in rows of pots in a warehouse environment.

real-time romanticism

2007-12-18T11:42:00.000-08:00

in stead of the newtonian flow of poetry came a conga line of chunky girls
dancing in fluorescent shirts, dolphin watermarks
and they came tumbling into the tub.

her face was a practice of unimpressed expression.

2007-11-24T19:37:00.000-08:00

i'm a comic book panel, the one where they go "zap! pow!" fists a-flying. flip it to see option #2.

2007-11-17T21:38:00.000-08:00

Rudder picked himself off the floor, where he had remained inert for the past 2 hours. He liked to listen to the soothing whine of the dentist's machinations below the apartment.

2007-11-16T11:57:00.001-08:00

the potatoes staged a revolution
they tried to eat me but i'm not irish

2007-11-15T13:51:00.000-08:00

how pallid and grey the familiar skin

2007-11-11T21:34:00.000-08:00

then everything fell quiet. the hyperthermophiles were churning deeply fluorescent neurons of the volcanic vents - but the eyes had long since disintegrated into a brief diffusion of humour, completely invisible at these aquatic depths

fugue

2007-11-09T04:00:00.000-08:00

my dreaming mind was assailed by nights of puffer fish falling from the sky
the fugu haunt my sleep;

i am done, dry and on land

2007-11-09T03:50:00.000-08:00

i withdrew my support from the house
all the time i sat in it still and discreet

i withdrew my support from the house
and it collapsed for want of a beam

i sat in it still and discreet
til it was but a splinter

IN MY EYE

caprice

2007-11-08T18:17:00.000-08:00

i am walking, i walk and walk. the wind it is winter wind the nature of which hustles every step as if time is dear. i am not falling, but i am overcome with the sensation of falling.
it is, to my great and unrelenting misfortune, a great and unrelenting misfortune -
this neural network rewired by caprice that allows a reality defined by colour
copious colour in the sensation of falling that is shocking in its constant unfamiliarity

there is a gash on the page that has just hit me in the face. it says i used to be a dot but my eyes swinging left-right left-right while i yellowed on the shelves
darkly scowling it has ruined my perfect circumference
and now i am a gash on a yellow page i thought i'd see the world

eyes swinging left-right i made a fist with paper filling and
threw the page
into the garbage

the mining pool

2007-11-07T18:15:00.001-08:00

Every time the cue hits the billiard table, gold scatters
Everyone is pissing where it is green
The grass on the other side is wilted by way of ammonia

2007-11-05T19:54:00.000-08:00

When times are hard, I think about all my brothers and sisters that have diffused through tampons only to be flushed down the toilet until there is a huge clog,
there is shit shit shit floating everywhere with my mother standing in the middle, a perpetual shrug of confusion as a postural bias.

I think about all my brothers and sisters that have spun ingratified into the spermicidal vacuum of a prostitute's vagina.

a mitotic determination flung me onto land, a mass defined by random chance whereupon this undertaking:
the perpetual search to regain prokaryotic destiny, the attention to detail so minute you can hear the RNA whisper its announcements when you are watching T.V. and it is the annoying commercial interlude

2007-11-05T11:28:00.000-08:00

"To learn is to admit defeat," said the bleary-eyed bum I found under the bridge.
Meanwhile, a little bird flew away with a secret left careless hanging from my hat.
I shook the homeless man senseless. I shook him bloody senseless
- I've paid my rent. And I refuse your motto, sir.
You re-use my motto, my dear.
You re-use the refuse.

the fact

2007-10-29T20:27:00.000-07:00

it was a cuckoo clock that was the pride and joy of her life. a made in switzerland unoriginal - but originality escaped the grasp of this cubic space. the invalid burgeoning from the center of the room above atmospheric pressure.

it was the way the non-existent eyelashes had somehow left scar marks on the underside of her eyes that made me stare while she was sleeping from
the cube within a cube where i lived and dreamed for intervals marked by that faint mechanical twitch.

bald bulbous eyes that liquified with love, the veinous twist of wrists
the bare bones that lobotomize the night

long-range submarine

2007-10-28T14:49:00.000-07:00

scroll down the brain stem
academia like poetry

mercaptans and hydrazines
water in toluene
but
a strand of hair continually degrading
neurochemical confluence

a cellular stanza interruption

2007-10-21T15:22:00.001-07:00

Budaya semacam batu
Budaya merejam mata

Kemajuan diri adalah penghapusan bangsa
Apa makna evolusi ini

osmotic pressure

2007-10-20T23:32:00.000-07:00

My head was swollen from the effusive restraint emanating from the eighteen adults and three small children crouching in the dim space. The floorboards were aged and leaking
reeking a faint scent of urea
(cow piss, complemented with a butane bouquet.
The only ornamentation was a red shrine - a centerpiece - acknowledging the death of the patriarch some 20-odd years before. The electric candle bulbs carelessly flickered against a thin veil of dust.
'Temporary petrification,' I would think, at times when I looked up at the others. 'No digital display. Power supply disrupted.'

I sat with a dying woman laying around the corner. I remember I fell asleep in front of the window, the sensation of breeze translating into a half-waking purgatory. I fell asleep and dreamt that I was not near the Thai border waiting for my bulbously ill grandmother to turn bulbously deceased. I dreamt I was in London, riding a bus and having sex with an estranged aunt I had not thought of in years and have not thought of since.

absentism

2007-10-20T23:27:00.000-07:00

back then,

back then,
back
then.

wait. hey,
hey guys, how did it go again?

molarity

2007-10-17T15:16:00.000-07:00

You could feel tension,
all along the buccal cavity. The teeth, they are
restless
restless
restless
ly sessile

2007-10-17T08:13:00.000-07:00

Fugu went about its way in the water. Sometimes it leapt out of the ocean and adjusted its specific gravity to crest on the tenuous equilibrium of the aqueous membrane. It watched ships pass in the day and in the night.

time travel

2007-10-15T16:30:00.000-07:00

Months after Ron had entered the wormhole, he began to feel a certain discontent tumourous in the pits of his arm. The vision of a death now far away did not now seem a good ambition. Every time he looked into a face presently familiar but long-ago, he would say, "Who are you".

conjunction sets the stage

2007-09-25T07:38:00.000-07:00

"And, you," he says. "You, sir, are an entity. An entity as strange as the sun."

As strange as the war-wizened sun spun piles of years in a dusty trail
The products of fusion dim and gray

He watches it from the observation deck
A minute craft on its minute voyage flung further and further away.

2007-09-04T20:47:00.000-07:00

Some time in the novocaine of November, Dryt had felt herself not to be a strong person. This emotion came upon her quite suddenly with respect to her entire life - not quite long but not quite short.

lessons

2007-08-06T09:42:00.000-07:00

J23 had yet to settle her tab at the pizzeria two blocks down from her house. She avoided it through a one-block radius, the borders of which grazed the bare-bones outhouse that disguised a stylish shower apparatus, utilized by one Mr. Grango who ran a neighbourhood circus fortnightly. This was fueled by his pension and ambiguous love for children.

Mr. Grango was standing in his camouflaged bathroom when J23 passed by. This made his hands, by reflex, convulse and contract around the nearest tangible material, this being a certain ivy in the family Anacardiaceae, and wrapping it around his penis, as if to staunch the inexplicably expanding perversity. He had found this to be a most effective method of warding.

At the same time, J23 had left her door unlocked, having lost her key at the circus last weekend. Alone, her cellphone shivered. 'Shit, incoming,' it thought and rang.

When J23 returned home, she'd been robbed.