Flash, nonsense, poetry

Haïkus of a failure

 

 

#3
oh in ten years time
you might very surely be
the love of my life

or the dream i never chased

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Flash, fragments

Seasons in the abyss

The headlines read : “world peace at stake again”.
We had no idea what it meant, except for the fact that we had to wear the uniform a little bit longer. Duty had been replaced by necessity, and war had become some sort of strange routine. I for one lost count of all the people that had fallen. There was blood on my hand, almost too much to contemplate. But they never said anything but congratulations, you did what was required, what we expected of you. You’re a good fellow, captain citizen, general respectful, mister everything’s-in-order. We all laughed about it for a long time, but deep down we knew we had been screwed. Life screws you once, and then they get to you. Endless screwing, nights spent screaming in pain and agony. Continue reading

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Nolt

La Petite Mort

We skipped work that Friday and directly went to old Aberdeen street. Number 42 still looked like crap and the funny thing was, anyone would tell you that it had always felt that way. There just was something about that street that felt awkward, eerie, and that even before Nolt settled there. And number 42 was the worst. The first thing you saw as you came in was that strangely shaped bush which reminded me of a chimera. I had no idea why or even where that came from, but it somehow seemed logical that a guy like him should end up in a place like that. And he never did take care of his place anyway.
We knocked on the door three times and Jimmy wiped the window to see if he could spot the old man passed out inside. Every six months or so, Nolt would serve us that trick. He’d disappear for a time, playing possum as he’d say, and then we would have to get him back on his two feet. He generally passed out from too much booze, and most of the time it had to do with some crap he had done way back when. That was how he dealt with stuff, and I’m guessing how a lot of people from his era did too. He drank and drank and drank, and somehow it made him believe things would turn out for the best the next day. And yet over the course of twenty plus years, he never learnt his lesson. All he had the next day was a terrible headache, the overwhelming sensation of dying and being born at the same time. They got it wrong when they called cumming La Petite Mort – getting hammered was what it meant. Continue reading

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Flash, fragments, nonsense

Heart to heart

I didn’t see it coming. She was standing there, in front of me, green eyes huge smile and all, and it struck me hard on the head, as if some baseball player had just taken a swing on me. Luckily for me, baseball had nothing to do in the equation, but I did take a pretty good shot from the guy behind me. I fell down in what seemed to be a single movement. I felt my body shiver and tighten at the same time, my legs unable to move. Someone laughed over my head, a high pitched cacophony. Continue reading

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expletive, Flash, fragments

Conspicuous

“After all these years, you’d think I woulda learned something.”
“Who, me? No, never. You a moron.”
“Thank you. Always nice to kick a man down.”
He necked his drink, and John poured him another one.
“What is it this time heh? Is it politics? Favoritism? Society as a whole?” John asked.
“Fuck you.”
“You delicate flower you.”
He grinned heavily, enjoying the situation. Over the past twenty years, they’d come to develop this sort of push-your-buttons relationship. But they never allowed anybody else to do it. I knew I couldn’t, so I kept to myself and to my seat and watched the whole scene. John grabbed another bottle and put it on the bar. Walt didn’t move an inch. Continue reading

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Flash, Non classé

Turgidity

I have never said a word about any of the secrets people have shared with me over the years. Not one, even when the secrets were out, I never told anyone that I was aware of anything. I’m like a tomb that way. And many other ways too. But to me it is highly ironic; most people seem to relish the fact that they can center their conversations and thoughts, or lack thereof, around my doings. Not that it should bother me as much as that, but the whole thing began to worry me a few weeks ago. Continue reading

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