[Destitute Genius]
With a dash of cunning!Here's to you, Bruce.
2007-05-25
I've been working on a novel for 5 years now. I was finally able to get all of the characters, (and there are many), the plot, timeline and setting to all work together and start putting it into a written form a year ago. I had close to a quarter of the first rough draft completed on my laptop. I have a pro-bono editor/beta-tester. Things were in a good spot. My laptop's motherboard died 3 weeks ago. Luckily it was only 6 months old, and that got replaced for free.
I'm an idiot. I didn't back my shit up. I lost all of my work in a fell swoop. Luckily, K, my editor had a printed copy in a binder, so not all is lost.
She was on vacation for this disaster, and I saw her for the first time since she came back today. We talked about it. I mentioned I was thinking about tossing the entire idea in the can. I was done. We sat in silence for about 5 minutes in my car, the only audible noise was the 80s mix my friend made me. She told me to keep going, that she liked the idea and loved the characters. That I couldn't just let it drop. Silence grabbed hold again. We were doing some half-assed humming along with Bruce Springsteen's "Dancing in the Dark" When I heard this:
"I'm sick of sittin 'round here trying to write this book."
I paused, and asked if thats what she heard. She laughed that "Oh, my insane friend Mitch" laugh. I rewinded the song. Indeed, he does sing that.
True, you can't start a fire without a spark.
And everything I've worked on until this point, that sweat, that blood, the entire quarter of my brain spent mulling this over and ensuring this all lives until it is transcribed, is that spark .
Ready for some arson?
Imitation of Strife.
2007-05-23
For the past couple of years, I'm had a monopoly on bitterness, despair and morbidness all served with a whip of the acid tongue. People were either instantly turned off, or they were at least amused by it. The people turned off, I thought, Fuck them, I don't need them if they don't get me. The amused ones stayed. I love audiences.
When boys didn't like me, I blamed myself. Tormented myself for not being good looking enough, not being charming enough, etc. I had my heart broken 2 years ago. I wallowed in that for the past two years. Wallowed in him, thinking, at the age of 20, that no one would ever compare to him. Whatever I couldn't blame on him, I blamed on my parents. Sure, I was ugly and un-charming, but the bitterness and shit, their fault.
And I think I'm so over it now.
I think.
I've met guys who excel in everything Jupiter could have or would have been. Things didn't work out, but oh fucking well. At least I know now that I can still have the hope that people do in fact compare to what he was. That I can still find it in myself to reach out like I did to him. Good. Lesson Learned. I'm mending all the damage from that now.
And My parents? People fuck up. If they are good people, they keep going. My parents are good people.
And I've really stopped loathing myself. I can't see why I should anymore. I still don't know why I ever started in the first place. I thought it made me unique.
Well, fuck bitches, I be as unique as I want to be and I should be happy about that shit, not despair over it.
And if someone doesn't want me, Oh well. Somebody will one day. Life moves on, and so do I. I'm so over hating myself and life. It distracts from anything and everything that can make it enjoyable.
As I begin to wipe away all that bitterness, despair, and negative shit, I see something beautiful underneath.
And I like what I see.
What an oogy mess.
2007-05-15
A man who hijacked the teachings of Jesus to skim a neat profit off of hate and oppression died today.
I am not odious enough to crack open a bottle of champagne, but I do know I will sleep well tonight.
I don't feel good about it, but I don't feel bad either. Just "eh". Thanks to him, many more people who have never met me hate me, and think they can judge me. Thanks to him, and the people of like minds that run this country, I am a second class citizen. And, oh well, thats how things roll in the land of the free. Opressing others makes people feel better about themselves, So I am at their service. I'm not even sure if this post belongs in "Religion & Beliefs" or "Politics". He wiped the line between the two as if it were drawn in sand.
Don't get me wrong. I don't hate him, or anyone who follows in his train of thought. I don't have the emotional capacity to waste on such trivial dribble piss. I just find it sad that so many miss the "Love Thy Neighbor as you love Yourself." part in the Bible. Or maybe it's really not missed.
Maybe Jerry Falwell loved gays, jews and Tinky-Winky as much as he loved himself.
Limbo
2007-05-10
I'm still floating around in Limbo, and I really am kind of hating it.
I don't know one way or the other.
Oh pretense, how I fucking hate thee.
Liberation
2007-05-09
I thought while I was still up, I'd go ahead and post my second short story, Liberation. This one happens to be my favorite because I felt the characters came though much clearer in this one. Again, I read it over 5 million times but those tricky errors always escape my notice, so again, try to over look them. Cheers.
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Liberation
The white wallpaper played with the noon sun, casting monolithic shadows about the room. A large bed was centered in the room, and lost in its white sheets, lay a frail elderly woman. The red spots on her arms shone in the sea of white like buoys. Her brown eyes never left the small television in front of her. Nothing could have stolen her rapt attention away from the set.
There was a tiny insistent knock at the door that sounded more like a polite woodpecker than a fellow human being. The old woman never lost her focus; she continued to watch the television, refusing to give her visitor any attention. A feminine voice afflicted with a light southern accent floated between the wall and the open door.
"Miss Nadine?"
Nadine's eyes stayed on the television. She couldn't afford to miss a second.
"Miss Nadine? It's Nurse Marge. I'm coming in."
Nadine continued to ignore the intruder. A young woman with too-bright red hair and a too-bright smile came in.
"It's time for your sponge bath Miss Nadine."
Marge could see the old lady's body cringe at the thought, but Nadine remained obstinate, not giving Marge the benefit of recognition. Marge motioned with a chubby arm to someone standing outside the door.
"Miss Nadine, I'd like you to meet our newest nurse, Mingmei."
A young girl of Asian descent entered the room, her long black hair contrasting with the bleached and starched nursing-home issue uniform that was much too large for her. Mingmei nodded a silent hello to Nadine. Mingmei felt awkward in the large room that was otherwise silent except for the television and the rhythmic clicking of Nadine's oxygen machine. Marge pointed to the machine and turned to Mingmei.
"That's what you gotta keep your eye on dear, Miss Nadine couldn't survive without it."
Mingmei nodded, making a mental memo of the machine's importance. She turned to see what was so tantalizing on the television, and at the moment a young man was talking to a skull in a graveyard. Marge also glanced at the television and her thick plastic smile widened on her face.
"Watching Macbeth again I see?"
"Hamlet." Mingmei corrected.
"Excuse me?"
"The movie...It is Hamlet, not Macbeth.
"No need to be technical darling, it's all the same anyway."
Mingmei furrowed her brows in frustration. Marge moved in front of the television to catch Nadine's attention. Nadine craned her head around the obstruction to continue watching the film. Mingmei stepped to Marge's side, blocking the television from Nadine's sight completely. Nadine sighed and looked at her captors, finally resigning her attention to them. She looked at both of them, and cut her eyes at Mingmei.
"Get out of my room, you murderer."
Mingmei blinked, unable to respond to the accusation.
"I told you to get out." Nadine commanded with a leathery index finger.
Marge turned to Mingmei.
"I'm sorry, I forgot she doesn't take well to your kind."
Mingmei stepped back, unsure how to respond to the blatant racism.
"Excuse me?" she managed.
Marge lowered her voice to a stage whisper.
"Her brother died at Pearl Harbor."
Mingmei laughed nervously "I'm Chinese-American."
"Oh well" Marge's smile widened, baring her white teeth again. "Y'all look the same anyway."
Marge moved closer to Nadine's bed.
"Today's Monday, and you know that it's your bath time. Don't get ugly with me this week."
Nadine sunk under her sheets, trying to disappear from her predator. Marge looked around the room, and saw that she had forgotten the tools needed to proceed with the sponge bath. She cursed under her breath.
"Mingmei, watch her while I go get the bucket and sponge."
Marge left the room in a flustered rush. Nadine continued to watch the television unhindered. Mingmei moved aside to watch with her. A young woman with flowers in her hair was singing gaily as she walked down the banks of a river. She kept singing nonsensical phrases as she lowered herself into the water. The flowers floated to the top as her head went under, and the singing stopped. She never came up again. Mingmei turned as she heard the oxygen machine pulsating faster, and saw that Nadine was fitfully moving her body with her eyes closed. She looked to be in utter agony.
***
Nadine could taste the memory with her mind's tongue. She could almost identify it, but it wavered, unattainable. She could hear the harsh rain pouring onto the pavement of the road, feel her pumps get caught in the mud of the riverbank, the bundle in her arms screaming. Always screaming, screaming for something, something that Nadine could never give to it. Screaming that would only last for the next five minutes, then Nadine would never hear it again. Except in her unsettled mind.
***
Nadine came back with a start to find Mingmei looking down at her with her face twisted in absolute fear. Nadine reached for Mingmei's arm and patted her tiny hand.
"Are you married, dear?"
Mingmei had no idea what to think, except that maybe she should have been transferred to a hospital instead of a retirement home.
"Yes...Yes I am."
"Does your husband support your choice to work, dear?"
Mingmei nodded.
"That's good, dear...That's very good."
Marge came back into the room and Nadine shuddered at the sight of the bucket slopping the water over its brim.
***
The next morning the sun and dark clouds competed over how to light the small room. Marge entered the room without knocking this time, a large book in her left hand. Nadine looked up to see Marge standing over her bed, the smile large enough to devour her.
"It's Tuesday, Miss Nadine."
She patted the book.
"It's time for your Bible reading."
Nadine nodded, and propped herself up with her pillows to listen. She never went to church; this was her weekly chance to absolve herself of sin. She felt she was almost cleansed. Mingmei came into the room and sat down quickly.
"Sorry I'm late."
Marge shrugged and flipped open the Bible.
"Here we are."
She coughed dramatically before starting.
"When she saw what a fine baby he was, she hid him for three months. But when she could not hide him any longer, she took a basket made of reeds and covered it with tar to make it watertight. She put the baby in it and then placed it in the tall grass at the edge of the river. The baby's sister stood some distance away to see what would happen to him."
Marge took a drink from the glass of water nearby and continued in a monotonous tone. Nadine faded in and out for the rest of Exodus. She wondered why it was always the men who got saved, who were chosen by God. She could hear the screaming again in her ears. Screaming for life, but for freedom at the same time. Nadine could only grant one of those. How unfair that she could never give both. Marge coughed and took another drink of water. She looked at her watch.
"Oh my, we went for three hours this time."
She clicked her tongue, chastising the waste of time that should have been spent with other patients. She closed up the Bible and stood up to leave. Mingmei also rose, rubbing her eyes to make it appear as if she had not been napping. Nadine looked up at Marge.
"Has my daughter called to come visit me today?"
Marge flexed her trademark smile. "No. She hasn't Miss Nadine, I'm sure she will tomorrow."
Marge started to walk towards the door. "You have a good nap now. Mingmei will be back to check on you tonight."
The two nurses stepped into the hall, and Marge took great care to make sure she shut the door before speaking.
"The old fool thinks she has a daughter. She only has three sons."
"Do they ever come to visit?"
"No, I don't even think they know she is here"
"She must be very lonely."
"Her and everyone else in this home."
***
The sun lost later that afternoon to the dark storm clouds. The rain came down and refused to stop. Mingmei was sitting in the break room. She had finished her rounds and had decided to look something up before she began the night rounds. She took a sip of her coffee and opened the large withered manila envelope in front of her. She heard a tapping and looked up to see Marge sticking her head through the door.
"I'm heading out. They say the Tombigbee may flood, and I best get home before it does."
Mingmei nodded and kept flipping through the folder.
"What are you doing?"
"I'm trying to see if I can get in contact with Miss Nadine's sons. Try to come get them to visit her."
"Good luck with that; they'll probably laugh or make some half-ass promise to see her."
Marge paused and stared at Mingmei.
"I keep forgetting you're new here. These people are very lucky if their family comes to visit them, you'll find that out very soon."
Mingmei wasn't listening. She had stopped at a paper that caught her eye.
"Not enough conclusive evidence to press charges, suspect released after the mandatory seventy two hours." She read.
She glanced at the attempted charges and her eyes widened. Marge was still talking.
"I really better go before they try to make me stay due to possible flooding. I'm glad you realize your duty to stay overnight so the older ones can go home. Most of the new ones gripe about it."
Mingmei nodded. She knew exactly what her duty was now.
***
Nadine heard about the Tombigbee flooding before she turned the nightly news off. The rain hit her window like bullets, each decimating the barrier she placed around her memories. It was all flooding into her mind now.
***
She had read that during the Holocaust, Jewish mothers had drowned their infant children to prevent them from being taken by the S.S. That's where she had gotten the idea, from Time magazine while she lay in the hospital bed after giving birth to Elise. Her husband came everyday to see if she could come home yet. The house needed to be cleaned and he couldn't work and take care of the three boys by himself. She needed to come do her job. How dare she abandon her duties as a matron? Her duties as a woman. She too wanted a job, she too wanted to do something. But that wasn't allowed. It was frowned upon because her husband made enough for them to live, and that ought to be enough for anybody. She waited until the nurse was gone and visiting hours were over before she hobbled out of her bed. She walked over to the closet and pulled out the clothes she had worn before giving birth, a smart tweed suit with heels. They were huge on her now but it didn't matter. She couldn't get very far in a hospital gown and slippers. Nadine walked out of the room and towards the infant ward. She looked through the large glass window and saw there were no nurses present. This was her only chance.
Her only chance to save Elise from a life of indentured servitude, a life serving men, a life not worth living. She took Elise from the hospital and walked through the rain. She walked all night, stumbling through the mud in her pumps, the tweed skirt torn long ago on a tree trunk. Elise was screaming in her arms, she was hungry. Nadine had nothing to feed her with, it had all been wasted. Wasted on her sons. She heard the sound of water hitting water. Nadine knew she had reached her destination. She trudged to the banks of the Tombigbee River and slid down the side. Elise was still screaming, that scream that demanded life and freedom. She lowered Elise into the river and everything became a blur. The police found her fifty miles away the next day -- asleep in a train station. She had no idea how she got there.
The memories were so clear now, after years of evading her. She breathed a sigh of relief, and then gasped for intake. Everything became a whirlpool in her mind, and began to fade. The white walls of the room shone brightly in her eyes and everything went dark.
***
Mingmei's hand let go of the oxygen mask and it fell to the floor. She turned off the lights in the room, closing the door behind her. She had other patients to attend to.
Electric Light
2007-05-09
I first wrote this story a year ago, and it really was the first short story I wrote. Since then, it has gone under some hafty editing, including some tonight before I posted it. It isn't perfect, and despite all my efforts some terrible and very dreadful typos and/or errors will shine like beacons in the night, they only hide from me in the editing process, so please be kind in that regard. They always slip in there. I'll maintain editing on the post as I notice them (or as they are pointed out). Please, enjoy. If any of you recognize the allusion in this sordid tale, you'll be my best friend for life. Cheers.
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The Electric Light
The blue aura of the electric light pulsed from behind its wire cage on the wall of the tiny apartment, casting a dull glow into the mirror of a worn vanity. Staring out of the mirror was the reflection of a sallow face, its green eyes sunken into bruised pillows. Faded red hair hung from the sides of the face like a ragged curtain. Slender ivory hands with nicotine stains played with these drapes, attempting to make them useful once more, to no avail. Lorelai sighed as her hand reached for her brush to smooth out her hair. He liked her hair down anyway and she lived to please him. Parting her hair down the middle, she began with the rigorous task of brushing each side a hundred times, with swift accurate strokes.
It was Friday night, the night John usually came to visit her. She was expecting him tonight, even though he still had yet to call to confirm. Her chapped lips curved into a smile, revealing crooked teeth that the blue light made a shade of sickly yellow. John was the best man she had known in all her life. Tall, handsome, he was perfect in every way and better then any of her numerous past relationships. John was a very important man in New York City, at least this is what he told her but she never watched the news to find out. His position allowed her to live in what she thought was a state of luxury. He paid her rent, utilities, and anything she could want - or need. John pulled her out of her wretched past and made her a future. He had made clear to her numerous times that there was no way to repay him. She grimaced as she thought of breaking today's news to him. Her stomach turned at the very thought of his reaction. She wasn't sure if it was nausea or the ‘news' itself.
Lorelai set down the brush and tried to open the top drawer of the vanity. The wheel of the drawer squealed in defiance, refusing to work properly. The electric light flickered in tune with the drawer's resistant groans. Lorelai pulled on the handle harder, the drawer always came loose on the second try. John was always telling her he'd buy her a new vanity, but she refused to part with the one she had. She bought it at a thrift store, along with the electric light, at a time when she really had no money to be purchasing anything that was considered property. Both items had been with her as long as she could remember. They were an integral part of her very being. John couldn't understand her attachment to them, but she never expected him to. There was so much John didn't understand.
Lorelai rummaged through the opened drawer, searching for her lipstick. Pulling out her blush and powder along the way, her hand continued to search absent-mindedly. Even though she had gone through this process almost every night of her adult life, she refused to have any organizational method. Not only did that require too much forethought, it also would force her to accept that she was a wreck. She felt the elusive tube of lipstick under her hand and grabbed it victoriously. She opened the powder case and began to whiten her face, hoping it would fill the wrinkles that had begun to crease her once perfect face. Her eyes glanced between her reflection and a tattered photograph tucked in the corner of the mirror. She had found the photo in a discarded, ancient magazine. Not even pausing to take a second glance, she had decided at that moment that was how she ought to look. The caption under the photo told her that her ideal model of perfection was named Grace Kelly. She had never heard of Grace Kelly before and had yet to see a movie with her in it, but she thought she was so pristine, and had class. She later read somewhere that Grace Kelly had fallen in love with a very powerful man and was a princess or something like it now. Lorelai wanted all of what she had, an immaculate appearance, the fairytale life, the effortless grace she just exuded from one photograph. She wanted to be Grace Kelly.
She set down the poof and tediously began to apply her blush. She could be Grace Kelly if John would finally propose to her, like he always promised. He incessantly talked of leaving his wretched wife, to help Lorelai discover a world of luxury she never thought existed. The electric light began to flicker behind its metal cage, casting it light with tired perseverance. She picked up the tube of lipstick, blood red, her favorite shade. As she twisted the bottom her mind returned to the problem with John. He always told her that a child would only complicate matters and that she was never to get pregnant. He had made that crystal clear to her. She had been pregnant before, many times in fact, but she remained childless. She had never wanted one, until now. She decided to keep it after her visit to the Doctor today, she found she was already three months in, and it was almost too late to rid her womb of it. Not it, she corrected herself. Phoebe. Lorelai knew it was a girl, and named it Phoebe, a name she had always loved. Once it was given a name, it was given life. She knew that John would love Phoebe as much as she. Phoebe was the ultimate symbol of their love, and she was proud to bear her.
The blue light turned off completely and darkness covered the apartment. The phone rang its shrill call like that of a lone Siren in the night. She took a deep breathe before answering the telephone's summon.
"Hello?" she quavered into the receiver.
"Hey baby." It was John. "I'll be there in an hour."
Lorelai pressed her back against the chair. She took the dive.
"Good, we have something we need to talk about."
An unbearable pause.
"Yes we do...Lorelai." He purred her name like a lion on the hunt, his voice reiterating a fierce threat. "Dr. Sibanos called me after you left his office today, he told me it was a very....fruitful visit."
Of course the Doctor would have called him; he was one of John's old friends. She bit her lower lip, how foolish to think she'd be the one to tell him the news; she clamped her free hand on the armrest of the chair, digging her nails into the soft wood.
"Yes...it was." She managed to stammer.
"Well, before you can come up with a defense, I know it's not mine."
"She" Lorelai corrected.
"What?" stammered John, his voice dripping with abrasive confusion.
"Her name is Phoebe, and she is ours."
John dropped all attempts at his weak façade, he was now shouting at her.
"You told me I was the only one Lorelai, I have paid and given you more then ten of your...clients ever could at one time. How could you do this to me?"
Hot black tears streamed down her face, destroying the last two hours work like acid rain.
"I stopped that John. I promised I..."
He halted her, "I'll be there soon."
A click, then silence.
The ticking of the black clock reminded Lorelai of every minute John was late. Three hours to be exact. The electric light turned back on and startled her; she had never noticed the pitch black darkness after the phone call, she hadn't even tried to move from the chair. The photo of Grace Kelly smiled from the corner of the mirror, her seamless beauty refusing to falter. Lorelai picked up a handkerchief from the top of the vanity and began to wipe her face. She had no idea how much time she had to prepare herself. A sharp knock at the door startled her and she jumped in her seat. John must be angry with her, he always let himself in. The knock continued, this time louder. She rose and walked to the door, her tiny hands fluttering to unlock the deadbolt and turn the knobs. She opened the door to find a large, bald man in a large black coat. This wasn't John.
"Lorelai Kelly?" He asked in a voice as rigid as raw ore.
She frowned. "I'm sorry, I don't take calls anymore."
The man flashed a smile, revealing a set of gold teeth that shook her with a wave of unease.
"Are we done? I'm expecting someone at the..."
His response shattered her eardrums and womb, harmonizing with the silent scream of her unborn child. She fell to the ground and felt Phoebe shift one final time. The pool of blood that matched her lipstick glistened in the blue light, staining the white carpet. Her eyes, now listless, sunk into their deep purple pillows one last time. The electric light, the solitary witness, flickered off for a brief second, then back on. A minute passed and its azure glow ceased permanently.
Virgin Post!
2007-05-01
So, I'm new to this community, but I was hoping to begin using this blog to post general ramblings and to display my short stories, so Hello! and more to follow later.Created with ShoutPost
