July 29th, 2008 at 7:33 am
(Poetry/Prose)
Fresh cut grass, hidden.
A moment within the urban sprawl.
A bit of dirt. Dark, flecked patches,
Along the knees of my favorite jeans.
A pristine place, angelic.
Tangles of moss, green.
Swings creak softly. Back and forth,
Each trip marks time passing.
Faded now, sadly.
Long since taken, buried.
Weeds grow with time. Persist,
Wrapped ’round a rusted slide.
The sun sinks atop innocence.
Light touching bits of glass.
Windblown shards broken. Carried,
Sowing the small field.
And in this moment.
This twilight breath.
The scene snags. Caught,
Between memory and the chipped face of a billboard.
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July 22nd, 2008 at 8:55 pm
(Scene)
Two men, plus Young Timothy, seated in an office
Dad - Fine, whatever, just level with me
Dr - Well, sir, it isn’t going to be easy. There is a great deal we’re going to have to correct before anything gets fixed, gets put back the way it should be.
Dad - Which would be? Listen, Doc, how much is all of this going to run?
Tim - To run? What does that mean dad?
Dr - It means cost, Timothy, I’m sure your father is wondering what sort of fees and equipment will be involved in fixing your teeth.
Tim - Golly, is it going to be a lot?
Dr - Well sure, there is quite a lot of work you need done young man.
Tim - [sniffle] T…too much?
Dr - Now Timothy, just because it’s a lot doesn’t mean it’s going to be too much. You can’t put a price on a good personal appearance
Dad - Hey, not so fast.
Tim - Dad, please
Dad - Now hold on Timbo, just ease up for a second while I talk a little shop.
Dr - Sir, I don’t exactly understand what you’re getting at.
Dad - I’m just trying to figure this all out. Just trying to put everything together, that alright?
Dr - Well I suppose so.
Dad - For you, Tim, is it ok if dear old Dad takes a second to ask some important questions?
Tim - [sigh] Yes, sir.
Dad - Excellent. So then you, Doc, are trying to tell me that you can’t put a price, blah blah blah, on old Tim’s mouth, which is great, but let’s break that down a little bit.
Tim - Break it down Dad? Can we please not break anything down tonight? You promised…
Read the rest of this entry »
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July 11th, 2008 at 11:27 am
(Character Sketch, Unfinished)
Just the intro on a longer piece I’m working on, because I haven’t posted anything since just before the wedding.
Darling didn’t particularly care. The detective looked for work like a man scanned his sink for loose hairs. It was a defect, an ominous sign, his profession necessary as an inevitable series of mistakes. He tied loose ends, tried to at least.
“C’mon God-damnit bar opens at noon!” goes the shakeup, “Christ Tommy, like you don’t know anything.”
“I don’t, shit.” Tommy met indifference, blinking down the barrel of a .45, “like last time, like the time before that.”
Darling should have known better, would have if he bothered to. He knew the tells, the lies, the creases of a forehead. Darling knew calculus, never used it.
“You’re a scumbag Tommy, we both know this” They did, point of fact, “you are therefore fucking privy to a number of things I might find fucking significant.”
It wasn’t a particularly heated exchange. Though their voices were raised, there was little venom. It was rage, to a point, anger and violence, certainly, but only in moderation. They were men going through the motions, doing familiar tasks in familiar ways. Change was pointless, change was hard, better to take a stiff shot to the jaw than worry about where it was all going to end up.
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