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Old 04-04-2005, 10:01 PM   #1 (permalink)
Crazy
 
Location: East coast of Canada
short prose

Most of what I write is very short prose, I don't know if it has an official classification. Most of it means nothing, most of it is unplanned and made up as I write it. Don't try to find anything new or deep in it, it's just writing for writing's sake, I guess. Let me know what you folks think.
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Old 04-04-2005, 10:01 PM   #2 (permalink)
Crazy
 
Location: East coast of Canada
Jeff knew for sure, but Slim just wanted to relax. I was keen to follow either or both of them around all night, but it was starting to look they were about to part. Slim said somehting along the lines of: "Hey man, just about two, you want to have a seat and help me finish off this Merlot?" Jeff, of course, hated wine, and Slim knew it. Slim wanted Jeff to get pissed off. Not that he didn't like Jeff, I'd say he probably loved him more than his own brother, but Slim's favorite person to see angry was Jeff. Jeff took his hat and walked over to the window.

"How 'bout you?" he asked, indicating me with his middle finger like he always did. I thought about it, and I admitted that a walk would be pretty good right now. I wanted to immerse myself in the city, I guess, just sort of slip into the sounds of the sirens and homeless lunatics and street messiahs. I wanted to hear a brilliant conversation between two fools and I wanted to scream at the top of my lungs only to be drowned out by the unstrained shouts of wild men with their hair knotted and unkept and their brown jackets with one large hole in the back and their baggy trousers and shoes that don't match. They carry their lives with them in small velvet sacks and thick canvas bags. Their eyes, you're sure, don't show them anything, because they see through their hands and their ears and their mouths. I wanted to find something so moving that I would have to cry. Something that was more than a mere miracle, because you can find them all over the city. It had to be heartbreaking. I wanted something to break my heart. And I sure as hell wasn't going to find it in this god damn basement.

"Oh fuck off, Jeff, I'll go with you." said Slim. "I just wanted to wait a couple second, that's all. You're too excited, you need to stop expecting you're missing something." And with that he got up and put on his tweed coat and grabbed the wine bottle between hisindex and middle fingers. We headed out the door and found the street was ablaze with sort of common chaos I was so tired of seeing. I tried to get them to head towards the river but they insisted on watching this one pair of zealots shout about some rule or something. I felt like running, so I took off.

I didn't find anything that night. I ran through the city for four hours, but couldn't find anything but bums and drunks. When I got home I fell into the big green chair in the living room and stared at the window for another two hours. I thought my head was going to fall right into my lap. I thought I was surely going to die that night. I was almost hoping for it, to get away from this city wich felt like it was already dead. I wanted to see the city the way I had a year ago. I was so excited about it then, everything was so powerful and special and mad, like a dream that turns words into music. I was in love with the city then, but now I had to look too hard to find anything new. I fell asleep that night crying and thinking that my heart was broken, but no the way I wanted it to be. I wanted it to be blown apart, shattering with a resounding Crash! Instead, it had been broken slowly and with no hint of wonder, not a sound. How was I ever going to live when everything around me was dying?
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Old 04-04-2005, 10:01 PM   #3 (permalink)
Crazy
 
Location: East coast of Canada
This was their secret meeting place. They had so many little secrets, it was absolutely hilarious. I was so confused, I didn't understand why I was so shocked to find it. After so many years of looking at her and knowing that I was going to lose it one day, it freaked me out to finally realize that I was right. I went home and broke ever dish in my cupboard and then spent hours gluing as many of them as I could back together. I went back to their meeting place the next day, and it was full of butterflies. I loved it this time, and decided that I'd steal it from them. And there you have it, it was my new spot.

Not so bad after all, eh?
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Old 04-04-2005, 10:02 PM   #4 (permalink)
Crazy
 
Location: East coast of Canada
Isn't it a curious circumstance that we should have to deal with such things?

I knew she was in trouble the moment I saw her, but I could not, no matter how hard I tried, figure out a decent way to ask her what was wrong. She was sweating and slouching and her eyes where very confusing and all I could do was stand there and try immensely hard not to stare at her and poke the grass with my foot and crack my jaw as though I were planning on saying something, although I was really just trying to look like I had a plan to speak. I had nothing to say to her. No, that's not true at all; I had a million things to say to her, just no idea what those things were. I was so lost in my inability to communicate that I managed to say only a single thing. I was sniffing, to try and keep myself busy while I thought of something to say, and all I could think of was: "Jesus, this frigging cold."

"You've got a cold?" she asked, pleasantly.

Oh crap, I thought to myself, that's not what I meant at all. If I tell her I've got a cold, not only am I lying, but she's going to be afraid of me, I'll be just a massive wad of disgusting germs and mucus. If I tell her that that's not what I meant she'll feel dumb for feeling sorry for an ailment that I never had and I'll feel guilty for saying anything to upset her and then I'll panic and say something so dumb that she'll probably barf with the sheer horror of my ridiculous lack of social grace. I'm such a god damned mental case, I ought to just check myself into some asylum and have them take care of me, keep me where I can no longer do any harm. What a fucking mess.

So anyway, I stood there for about ten seconds trying to think of what I should do, and eventually, she just looked at me funny, looked around to see if anyone else was there that she could get some help from, and then turned awkwardly around and left me there. I stayed standing there staring at the back of her head until she was out of view, a good thirty more seconds, and then I also turned around and proceeded to stare at that side of the room for another thirty seconds. Then I screamed so loud that, although this may seem extremely preposterous and entirely unbelievable, I tore something in my throat and began coughing up blood. I was sick for the next four days, coughing up the blood I didn't swallow and barfing up the blood that I did swallow.
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Old 04-04-2005, 10:02 PM   #5 (permalink)
Crazy
 
Location: East coast of Canada
Five miles from Newport and already I'd broken my toe. What a shitty way to start my supposedly wonderful journey. I sat on the side of the highway, a mere few feet from the passing transport trucks, not even bothering to try and stop one of them, screaming as loud as I could and cursing with as much variety as I could manage. I think I managed to go about five minutes without repeating a single word. The worst part was when one of those damned trucks did go by, I'd be screaming at the top of my lungs, and then it would get completely drowned out for the amount of time it took for the truck to pass and then it would ease back into the scream. It was very difficult not to burst into laughter at that point. It sort of makes you feel, in a bit of an odd way, that your extreme pain and unbleivable suffering (ha ha...) mean so little that the expression of this pain is lost whenever a truck goes by.

So, I gave up and fell onto my back and laughed for about ten minutes. And then I started to cry, becasue my toes was honestly really hurting. I know now that it wasn't a really big deal, but for a little while there was no deal, no matter how big, that was more important than my wretched little toe. Left foot, by the way, next to the big toe. Mine sticks out a fair bit past the big toe, so it's open to that sort of injury. Man, was I ever tired, though. I hadn't even been out here very long, just a few hours. I felt like such a wimp, tired after only a few hours, screaming and crying over a little broken toe, giving up after the tiniest of mishaps. I was the worst traveller ever. Well, fuck it, I was going to spend this night under the summer stars, listneing to the faint whisper of nature's wind. Not that damned city wind, real, open range-type, wilderness wind. Pretty neat, if you ask me.
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Old 04-04-2005, 10:03 PM   #6 (permalink)
Crazy
 
Location: East coast of Canada
When I got off the bus at Westford, I noticed three things immediately.

First, I noticed the smell. It was a smell I had never smelled before, and at that point I could only guess what it was. I know now that it was, in fact, the collective odor of 7000 hideous people, 2000 weird looking people, 12 good looking people, their awkward and unnappealing houses, their stale and stained office buildings, their ridiculously identical cars of colours varying from light brown to tan to beige to taupe to one bright green, their desolate and dreary elementary schools, their brand new yet filthy high school, their thousands of pounds worth of discarded coffee cups and beer cans, and their staggeringly confusing bus station. I had a headache about twenty seconds after my first whiff, and it remained for the entirety of my three week stay, no matter how many tylenols or ibuprofens I managed to cram down my swollen throat.

The next thing I noticed was the sounds, which, I swear to you, was the most depressing thing I have ever heard, and hopefully ever will hear. The sound was one of a constant sigh of unaccomplishment mixed with the moan and pitiful whimper of the lost and confused, with just a touch of slight psychosis and minor shock. Oh, and there was also the faintest hint of dying ninety year olds, which seemed to be present not only to one's ears, but to one's eyes as well. No matter where I went there was always a ninety year old man sitting somewhere dying out loud, and nobody seemed to notice him, no matter how much phlegm or blood he coughed up, and no matter how many times he asked if you'd seen his dog or cat or son or house. There was a sort of physical quality to the sound in this town, that made me want to vomit everytime I closed my eyes. I took to sleeping with ear plugs, because I would have nightmares every night about pathetic ghosts who were looking for their house, and all I could do was run away while they bled on me.

The third thing I noticed was the sheer horror one feels when they enter this town and realize that they have no money to leave and therefore must get a job here and work among these people and walk along these streets and listen to these old men and sleep in one of these horrid, ancient beds while the sounds and smells fill up your brain until you wake up crying and sweating from a pathetic nightmare only to realize that the entire town is simultaneously having the same nightmare and always will, every night, for the rest of their lives, until the day that they die. This town was the physical embodiment of pain and sorrow and failure and everyone who stepped within its borders knew it and felt it. It was concentrated depression, and it had absolutely no merit, other than to make one appreciate everything else that they have ever experienced. Westford is the only part of my life that I would like to forget, because while I was there I simply stopped living. Westford is the only truely dead place on earth.
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Old 04-04-2005, 10:03 PM   #7 (permalink)
Crazy
 
Location: East coast of Canada
"Oh, just fuck of, will you!?"

I was so tired that I did just that, I fucked off. She obviously enjoyed his company more than mine, so why should I deny her that pleasure? I took a long walk that evening, around her neighborhood. You know, I always expect long walks to do me good, I always expect that they'll help clear my head or relax me or that it would at least have some favourable effect. The truth is they never do. The only thing they ever do is piss me off, becasue I get cold and tired and I start stewing and fuming and then I just wish I was asleep. The truth is I hate everything. Well, obviously not everything, but you know what I mean. I like warmth and I like clean smells and I like the taste of a tiny bit too much sugar. And I love her, of course, probably more than even I fully realize. I suppose if I thought about it I'd probably have to admit that she's really the only person I even like at all. It's not that I really dislike everyone else, it's more that I just really don't think I'd have a lot of trouble without them. But I know that I wouldn't be able to manage without her.

"Oh, just fuck off, will you!?"

Alright, I'm gone, don't worry about it. Hey, everything's going to be great. Okay? Are you okay? Everything is going to be just fabulous. I promise.

Hey, can I ask you one question?

"Oh, just fuck off, will you!?"

Yeah, you're right. I'm sorry. See you around? Oh, right, I guess not. Well goodbye, then.

"Oh, just-"

Yeah, I know. Don't worry, I'll be gone soon.
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Old 04-04-2005, 10:04 PM   #8 (permalink)
Crazy
 
Location: East coast of Canada
- The lights were driving me mad.

- "I only had a tiny bit to drink!" I shouted, but there was nobody left to listen to me.

- "There's only a few days left before you'll have to move out," they told me, "You'd better find someplace to stay." How could I argue with that?

- You know, I thought this would be a good day. Why does everything have to upset me? Why am I so difficult?

- "Hey, you hear the one about the two cats in the bank?" he asked casually. "I hope you die and burn forever in the fiery lakes of hell." I replied without enthusiasm.

- Somewhere, about ten or fifteen miles out of Masston, they lost all of my clothes and lit my car on fire.

- "I was thinkin' about the other night," she said, wincing, "and I really don't think you should be here. In fact, I don't think you should come 'round here for a while, you know? I don't feel real comfortable 'round you no more, alright?"

- It took me seven hours to find that glass, and when I finally found it I filled it with scotch -- and I mean filled it -- and I stayed up all night watching the drink disappear.

- "Don't you dare try to tell me that you love me!" I shouted, outraged. "I can't believe you'd say that to me! You're not allowed to love me, I have to love you and sit here and cry and bleed because I know you'll never love me! How dare you say you love me! You're ruining everything that I've ever known!"

- The guy was already insane, I just told him that he'd been right all along.

- And with that, the whole party of twelve took their coats and trew them into the fire. it was a brilliant blaze, and I wept at the sight of them leaving it behind.
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Old 04-04-2005, 10:04 PM   #9 (permalink)
Crazy
 
Location: East coast of Canada
And it was so amazing, the way the wind was screaming as we shot through the cool desert night, and the way the sound of your voice was stolen away from you as soon as you let it out, no matter how loud you shouted. From the back of the truck we yelled at the sky and the rocks and the night and the cold and the road and we yelled and yelled and we lived wildly for a night. We were overflowing with passion and laughter, and every word was a whole story, every sight was a dazzling display, and every sound was a symphony. Our hearts were so full of love and excitement for everything, and all we could do was explode with it, shower it and scream about it. We had to try and fill the empty spaces of air with our energy, so we let it all out, and we were happy. Everything was working out, and I've never felt that way again. It was pure magic, and when I think about it I feel chilled and quietly wild.
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Old 04-04-2005, 10:05 PM   #10 (permalink)
Crazy
 
Location: East coast of Canada
He could only assume that it was late enough by now. Dark clouds and lazy dogs, and really big slugs, were everywhere. He took four last sips of a weak and over-sweetened tea, and grabbed his coat.

"Jesus fucking Christ!" yelled the first passenger.

"Wait a minute, where exactly do you think you're going?" inquired the next.

"Hey, man, I didn sign up fer this kina shit, man. Hey, FUCK YOU, MAN!" exclaimed the third.

He took two steps out the door and then turned left. The sidewalk was the most pathetic and depressing shade of grey that he's ever seen. If only they could have had a bit of sun, but then again, he supposed that the sun would only have made him tired and relaxed, which was not what he was looking for at all.

At three o'clock, he took the book out of his pocket and began to read. It was damp, by now, and the rain was threatening to jump upon him at any moment. He could feel the cold black clouds shoving the rest of the sky down, closer to the earth, filling his lungs with a chill and an excess of thick stale air. He had to keep spitting, the taste of dead grass and wet cigarettes and early morning breath. He was just about to let loose another wad of chewy mucus when a crow, a great black beast of a bird, dropped an extremely large shit right on his head.

"Oh boy," he said, coolly, "I was so hoping to be shat upon this afternoon. Thank you, kind mister crow, I am ever so glad you could drop by. Come again soon, will you?"

That's when the bus drove into the wall of the liquor store. Thirteen people died in the crash.
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Old 04-04-2005, 10:05 PM   #11 (permalink)
Crazy
 
Location: East coast of Canada
Old man with a grey wool hat, and he walks right up to her and starts to cry. Young woman, pretty blue eyes, sweet smell of fresh mornings, plain brown dress, poorly dyed blond hair, she doesn't quite feel right holding the old man, so she suimply tries to tell him it's alright, looks around for help, finds no one at all. One gentle touch on his heavy shoulder, "Please don't cry, sir. Please, I'm sorry, please don't cry." Old man turns away, Oh what can he do, really? Fisherman face and woodcutter hands, swollen knuckles, aching joints, tender toothless mouth, bent and worn, tired and spent. But Oh! the mind behind that fallen face! Only the eyes, quiet and clear and worn boot brown, there is still a life inside. That poor mind, trapped in a body that it can no longer use. Age makes prisoners of the greatest men, oh there is such pain in his soft eyes. Why won't this young woman save him? "Don't you see? I am dying. I am not a man anymore, I am a vessel. I am a living mind trapped inside a dead body." She is young, she is fresh and able, she is quick and strong. Ah, and youth is wasted on the young, for that mind does not, can not, see that she will die. She will die.
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Old 04-04-2005, 10:06 PM   #12 (permalink)
Crazy
 
Location: East coast of Canada
"Well shit," replied Jeff, anxiously.

"Yeah, shit," piped in Winston, apologetically, "But hey, at least the car's still here, right?"

"Hey, fuck you, Winnie! That's my fucking car, alright!?" Jeff was not feeling very easy about the whole situation. Winston thought he was overreacting a bit, but he let it go; he knew Jeff was having a bad week.

"Hey, let's just go find Ewan and Jess," pleaded Winston, "We'll fix this whole...situation tomorrow. Seriously, it's going to be fine."

"You know what? I think you should stop talking. I mean forever, man, just never say anything ever again. I'm serious, I don't think I'll be able to keep myself from ripping your arms off if I have to hear another word out of you mouth. Fuck, man, I've probably got a needle and thread in the car, I could do you up right now. Sound good?"

Winston could see that Jeff was clearly upset by the whole affair, so he left to find someone less volitile.
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Old 04-04-2005, 10:06 PM   #13 (permalink)
Crazy
 
Location: East coast of Canada
"Hey Eric, I think the toaster's broken," called Wendy.

"Hey Wendy, my name's Derrick," came the prompt reply.
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Old 04-04-2005, 10:06 PM   #14 (permalink)
Crazy
 
Location: East coast of Canada
Homeless street cleric, preacher and teacher, grey hair green shirt glass eye garbage can shoes. The louder he screams it, the truer it becomes.

Heaven! Heaven! Lord! Wrath! Thunder!

Rainfall teacup, morning sunshine, dancing for the happy laughs, crying for the broken bottle, screaming for more sunshine, more raindrops, more winter jackets.

Late night, cold bricks, grey puddles. The devil is a huge rat and he stole my english muffin. Curse and cry! Curse and curse, damn and cry and bellow!

Mass at 5:49 am. Today's only parishioner is that thieving hell-spawn, that fiendish rat. God! Thunder! Heaven and Hell! Save us and pray for us, dance upon our grave.

Cold and quiet, the death of a nameless vicar. God's last transmission: Don't touch me, I'm far too acidic for you!
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Old 04-04-2005, 10:07 PM   #15 (permalink)
Crazy
 
Location: East coast of Canada
It's a scream and a hollow moan. Heartbreak, memory loss, back pain, God damned cold. Winter floors and shallow pools of limestone tear drops, soiled paper napkins and heavy slush grey boots, little rocks irritating callous toes in damp cotton socks. Mother died angry, father died on a Tuesday, sister sits in a quiet room with a patient nurse and a window that doesn't open. Outside rainy days, oily hats and chilled to the knees. Run off a bridge, run onto the highway, run into a bank and scream, scream and shout and cry and stomp on the floor with both feet.

Secret sunrise, silent door prize. Happy Monday.
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Old 04-04-2005, 10:07 PM   #16 (permalink)
Crazy
 
Location: East coast of Canada
"It smells cold in here," she said, and then kind of shruged with her mouth. She was really good at it.

"I don't know how to fix that," I said.

"Oh no, no, I didn't mean you had to fix it, I was just saying, you know..."

"Oh..." I sunk in my chair, the old cracked leather sighed and groaned, a sound that you can feel in your spine and in the tips of your fingers. It was one of my favorite sounds. It was one of the reasons I loved that chair so much.

"Wow," she said, "that's such an ugly chair. It kind of smells, too. You should really invest in some new furniture."

"Mhmm..."
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Old 08-09-2005, 08:08 PM   #17 (permalink)
Crazy
 
Location: East coast of Canada
Strange teardrop grin, empty hands, empty boots, empty napkin. Long cold tea drinker, gangle and dangle, dance and swing, frown and bow down and sip sip sip. Glass top table, wrought iron heavy handled deep dish fish, cakey flakey and dry. Oatmeal skin and tattered taupe toupe, tumbling like tendrils of creeping tyme or a midnight mime, just so so quiet and quaint, and a tad sad, but certainly not bad. Long nights and grey grey morning and rain and clouds and pavemant and cigarette butts and wine bottle and rye bottle and crystal and silver and heavy canvas and delicate linens and pots of heather and phlox and white astlibe and blue sweet peas, creeping and sleeping and falling falling, leaving sleepy piles of pretty petals and sweet smells of summer and breezes trough apple trees. Mice and rice and lice, and vice grips fix slight drips, and windows and ceilings and uneasy feeling, nap times and simple rhymes and crumbly cookies.

Four in the morning is the emptiest hour.
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Old 08-14-2005, 02:46 AM   #18 (permalink)
Insane
 
Location: Where You Live.
Do you intend to develop any of these? They're all quite engaging, and the style that emerges is defined, but they all seem like excerpts rather than pieces of writing in their own rights. The stream of disgruntled consciousness that is your last piece does feel self contained, and for that reason it's my favourite.
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Old 08-22-2005, 09:03 AM   #19 (permalink)
Crazy
 
Location: East coast of Canada
I might do something with a few of them, but most of them are as finished as I'll ever make them. Mostly what I write is a reflaction of my mood or what I'm feeling, so if I stop and leave it for a day or a week or something I usually can't get back into it, since I'm usually not in the same mood. So I guess a bunch of it isn't really complete, but I'm never going to do anything else to them so they're finished.
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