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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Flash

Raw Material

Dinger downed his drink and burped loudly. No one ever dared say anything when he did that, he simply was too much to handle. It was true that, when he was keeping himself far from the bottle, he could be quite the nice fellow. But most days he essentially was a douchebag on wheels. His big greasy hand was still seizing Nadia’s arm and she, although smiling broadly, looked rather worried. There had been rumors about how he treated girls making the rounds, and each and every girl in the neighbourhood had sworn some kind of secret oath to avoid him at all cost. In reality, the fact of the matter was, some of them really needed the money, and however abusive he was, he always paid more than enough. Nick had heard all kinds of stories about Dinger, some bad and some worse, and he damn well knew that there was nothing else to do but wait. So everytime he saw the giant enter his little joint, his jaw tightened and he prayed internally for an impending apocalypse. Continue reading

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music, prose

Damage Case

The door shut in a loud noise, and the members of the jury were chatting about something vague. George came in with his Rickenbacker, introduced himself politely and tried to smile. He was not nervous, he rarely ever was, but to say he felt impressed would be an understatement. Not that any of the members of the jury were known to be great players or anything, but they had that particular power that could turn you into something, or put you down, sending you right into oblivion. Continue reading

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fragments, nonsense

Choreverie

There’s order in doing housework. Whether it is vacuuming, doing the dishes, cleaning up the sofa or folding clothes. There’s something sensible about it. Almost tangible. You put socks up to dry, boxers, wonder if the clothesline will manage to hold. There’s nothing more than that; weight, strength, time. You take another, a pair of jeans. Upside down, and you grab them by the ankles, or where your ankles should be. Even like that, there’s something meaningful. Logical. You wonder if someone should do the same for you; grab you by the ankles and put you up somewhere to dry out. But you’re not wet. You’re not. This is where sense leaves; the clothes need their place up there, they’ve deserved it. You haven’t. Continue reading

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fragments, Non classé

The old college try

“Did you get anything?”
“Not much. He isn’t much of a talker.”
“What d’you get?”
“He failed the first time he tried the whole thing. Was convinced by other people to try again. It took a toll on him and he went mad. That’s how he puts it.”
“Mad? That’s the understatement of the year. He nearly blew the building up and killed everyone around.”
“The old college try.”
“What?”
“That’s what he said : he convinced himself to give it the old college try.”
“Yeah well, we’re lucky he didn’t try harder.”
“Kind of ironic, don’t you think?”
“Let’s focus on him, and not on that, shall we?”
“Right.”
“Right.” Continue reading

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dialogue, nonsense

IT!

But darling, can’t you see what you’re doing? she asked.
No, what’s that? he answered.
You’re idealizing me, she stated.
The hell I am. You’re ideal, he stated back.
I’m not. I’m nothing like you imagine, she said.
The hell you are. I know you, we’ve talked, he said.
No, we haven’t. You talked, I listened, she responded. Continue reading

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