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Saturday, February 06, 2010

Open-Mic at the Shit-Mag

Consider this your stage or if you prefer, a kumate arena. Anyone can post on this thread, SO LONG AS THE WRITING IS LITERARY! Verse, prose, etc. Any topic. If I like any of the posts, I'll ask the author to give me permission to put it up on a separate thread, under its own post-heading. So consider it open-mic at a lit-mag.

It will be interesting to see what the time constraints do to any of the participants.

Suggestion: if you go first and nobody wants to go after you, just revise and post it again--the faster the better. We like time-lapse photography. Seeing a composition come to life is another type of time-lapse photograph.

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Anonymous said...

Version 2
Title: A My Name is...

A little girl bounces a ball on the pavement in front of a row house.

The house has a green and red-striped awning above a porch not much bigger than a bathtub. It’s the family pride, only awning on the block.

The cement paving is divided neatly into squares. The row of houses and the orderly march of squares continue as far as the eye can see, both courtesy of 1944’s GI Bill.

People notice the girl as they drive by. She makes a charming picture. Her perfect sausage curls bounce up and down on a crisp pinafore dress, in perfect timing with the bright yellow ball.

She was playing the game called A My Name is Alice, which continues "and my husband's name is _____.” The ball bouncer fills in all the nouns, proper and common, such as ‘A my name is Alice and my husband’s name is Al. We come from Alabama where we sell apples.’ This is all uttered aloud in a sing-song fashion.

it was her favorite game until one day, it caused trouble with her mother and father. In the game that day, Abby and Abe from Albuquerque sold abortions. A neighbor overheard. The girl was down to Freda and Frank in Florida selling farts when her mother shot out of the house like a cannon, blowing up Babs and Ben, Clara and Chauncy, Darla & Dan. Chunks of Butt plugs, puddles of Cum and fragments of Dicks were found everywhere for weeks, though not always identifiable as such.

After that, the girl gave up the game because she didn't want to endanger her alphabet friends or their livelihoods.

Instead, she made up stories while she bounced the ball, about a brave little girl who continually battled a mean old witch. The witch looked like her mother.

Meanwhile, her mother hunted for - and eventually found - the pornography her husband had hidden away unsuccesfully.

The house with the awning was sold to Gail and Gabe from Galveston who sold garden supplies.

Khakjaan Wessington said...

A gauntlet has been thrown. Riposte?

meme in motion said...

He wakes up in darkness so utter it seems there are thousands of tiny lights dancing, swimming, looping around in tight little circles wherever he looks. He remembers nothing. For a brief eternity he simply is, watching the lights move with his gaze.

His first thoughts are questions: Are these angels? What's an angel? It doesn't occur to him to wonder who he is or where until he remembers he's supposed to be home early tonight. Home?

He tries to move. It's like there's nothing to move. Don't Panic; he can feel his mouth parts, grittiness in every part, grittiness in his eyes, a hard grittiness pressing into an ear. He can swallow, dryly.

Closing his eyes, the lights remain, though he notices them shift position as he does so.

Anna. His wife's name is Anna. Anna with dark brown hair and down turned eyes. Anna with a little smile when he talks. Anna wants him home early tonight. Anna wants a divorce.

He starts to cough—not having realized he was breathing all this time, and the pain takes him almost back to his initial state of nonness.

It's getting stuffy. He—his name is Paul!—hears dirt fall. There is almost as much gritty dust as air in what he's breathing now. Paul feels another urge to cough and manages to not let it spasm his diaphragm this time. Once was plenty.

More dirt's falls. She's right. He's not good enough for her. She wants a family. She wants to live a child friendly life. He thought he did to when he married her. But it was boring. What he had to do to keep a job was humiliating.

A thud overhead and a heaviness of dirt lands on his face. There is nothing to breathe now. Anna the widow. She can get social security benefits for herself and their son.

The lights dance brighter now. Memory fades and for a brief eternity he simply is.