Tuesday, July 9, 2013

Language Is Dead

4
Every Book In This Room

If I could read every book
In this room
And figure you out
I’d know the person I once was
And will be.

If I could unfold the pages
Of you
What words would seep
Out and be written
My skin
In fine spidery script?

And if I could know
Your ugliness
Will I shy away or
Face it, turning into the
Light of your anger
Like the sun.

And if I could read every book
In this room, will my learning
Be in doubt and what I thought
I knew, I did not
Know.

Or will I believe in your truth
The way birds believe the truth
Of the sky. 

Tuesday, November 20, 2012

2x/2L calling Sake Hill.

I, Remember

I remember holding your hand

Walking down Ludlow Street

The city warmed by alcohol and summer air 




I remember the mound of your cheek

Rising from the amber plane of your pillow

As sunlight crossed your room 




I remember telling you "I love you"

For the first time, to your sudden

barking laughter 




And I remember holding you

And how good it felt

to be in love.

Tuesday, September 25, 2012

Breath Thorough Your Teeth

This is a writing exercise I did. I'm trying to see what I can come up with a time limit. This I came up with in 2 hours, and it completely shows. Enjoy:




Everything stops at the moment of impact. There is a sheer, eternal moment of weightlessness then reality comes down like a wave and smothers the world.

She was aware she jerked the wheel, about second before she heard the sheik of the tires skidding across the ice, followed by a hiccup in time. The car crash was like a skipping disk in a C.D player. Blink, terror, blink, rolling, blink, silence.

She came to with the sounds of the automated distress system dialing. The operator on the other side sounded weirdly panicked, but professional.

"Ma'am, are you alright." She said. "Ma'am, your on-board emergency system has registered a car crash. Ma'am, can you hear me? Help is on it's way."

Elaine wanted to speak, to tell her everything was alright -- that she was alright -- but she couldn't. The seat belt around her chest was too tight and she found herself choking. She lipped her hand under the strap to pull it free. That's when she first felt the blood. Her blood, a rivulet of red coming from her throat.

She felt up her neck until her fingers grazed the jutting obstruction in the side of her throat, where the clavicle met the gullet. She was surprised to find the point still maintained it's sharpness. As she laced her fingers carefully around the edge of the cold metal sticking out from inside of her, she felt the sting of the blade edge as it slit open her finger.

Elaine took in her breath in ready swallows and she looked at her head now painted burgundy with new blood and she made peace with herself. I'm going to die here in Iowa, she thought to herself.

There are worst places to die.

Elaine closed her eyes and waited for the rest of her death.

--- 

"You'll never speak again." The Doctor said. He was a Pakistani man with moosed black hair and bristling mustace. He held a clipboard in his hand and he spoke in a pursed, accented English.

"Your vocal chords were damaged beyond repair by the piece of shrapnel that punctured your larynx. The surgeon removed all they could, but it wasn't enough to save your vocal cords. You can still ingest food orally, but you have to be careful for the next months when you eat, drink or swallow saliva. You will have to learn a lot of things because of your new condition. It will be best if we start with your rehabilitation right away, have you drinking and eating again. We've scheduled an appointment with your physical trainer for later today. If you don't feel up to it, we can reschedule of course."

The doctor, call him Kunal but you probably won't see him again, turned to go and then paused.

"I'm very sorry." He said, absently, and then he left.

Elaine's room was the lemony yellow of a starburst. The sun bled in thorough the half opened blinds and she spent a good part of her morning tracking the progress of the light across her bed. Soon, it would be at her toes. She didn't sleep comfortably, accustomed to sleep on her side, but what with a grievous neck injury stymie old habit, she found herself coming awake at intermittent times during the night. Since sun up, she watched the life, wondering where her life would lead.

She had survived, which was certainly as a surprise, but now she was a crippled kind of. She couldn't talk, but she could gesture and make motions and be understood, though with some difficulty. Already she was adapting to it, letting gestures do the talking and taking liberties with the nurse call button. She began to think back on her voice and if she'd ever really used it. After a while, she came to the conclusion that "No. She never actually need to speak in her day-to-day".

She was an accountant by trade and practice. All her business was conducted by email. She rarely talked on the phone. Most of her socializing was done via text and IM chat. She wasn't much at parties, being always uncomfortable in groups of more than three. She didn't sing unless she was drunk and even then her voice was awful. She had ran the problem of No Voice thorough her mind-filters and came to the idea that it was no real problem at all.

Despite this, the depression had set in bad. She was missing a part of herself, a part she would never get back. She imagined all new hassles; the difficulties of carrying around pens and paper everywhere she did, the stumbling thorough learning sign language, the unspoken worry of something happening and her being unable to speak. She would be the perfect rape victim, now that she thought about it. She wouldn't be able to scream.

When she felt herself about to cry, she noticed the man at the door. He was small and not handsome, but he wore a visitor badge and a confused expression. He held flowers in his hands and looked around the room expectantly. Eventually, he looked at her and he smiled nervously.

A moment passed where they stared at each other.

She thought You must be lost

He said "Excuse me?"

She looked at him and then she thought Okay, that's strange.

"Uh...what's strange? I'm sorry, did you say something?"

I can't.

"I can hear you. Are you talking?"

She thought No and then she realized she was wrong.

I'm thinking, I think. I can't talk anymore.

He moved into the room and across the bed and he looked at her. "Say something."

Like what?

He said "Oh my god. Your lips aren't moving. How are you doing that?"

I don't know, she thought and then she watched the man leave, his expression more bewildered than before.

She laid in bed for a while, thinking about what just changed about her and decided whether or not to let this bit of madness continue.

As the sun settled on the peak of her foot, she reached for the call button.

Friday, March 16, 2012

Good One, robot.

Setting: Classic fantasy setting with a logical framework. It’s a detailed textured land where fantasy tropes make a kind of sense and isn’t just some stuff thrown together for flavor. The setting needs to be weighty. It needs to feel real. It needs to be a situation where it needs to have some semblance of history; Not all reflective but definitely allegorical. It needs to feel like a place. The way Gotham feels like a place. The way Westeros feels like a place.

So where do I star? Let’s start with the beginning.


The World
Iyr is the third planet in the solar system, orbiting a mid-sized yellow star named Moonson. It is orbited by one one-half moons, Salitte and Loun. It is nearest celestial neighbor is Orbatian. It is composed mostly of iron (32.1%), oxygen (30.1%), silicon (15.1%), magnesium (13.9%), sulfur (2.9%), nickel (1.8%), calcium (1.5%), and aluminium (1.4%); with the remaining 1.2% consisting of trace amounts of other elements. Due to mass segregation, the core region is believed to be primarily composed of iron (88.8%), with smaller amounts of nickel (5.8%), sulfur (4.5%), and less than 1% trace elements.

About 70.8% of the surface is covered by water, with much of the continental shelf below sea level. The submerged surface has mountainous features, including a globe-spanning mid-ocean ridge system, as well as undersea volcanoes, oceanic trenches, submarine canyons, oceanic plateaus and abyssal plains. The remaining 29.2% not covered by water consists of mountains, deserts, plains, plateaus, and other geomorphologies.

There are three central continents ranging east to west: Roole, Kanth and Pai’Mekan. The three continents are divided into a range of diverse climates, topographys and indenious plants and animals of all shapes and sizes.

The Four Kingdoms take place in the eastern continent of Roole on the southeast portion of the northern hemisphere, past the World’s End Mountain range.


The Land
The continent of Roole is found in the eastern hermisphere, running north toward the North Pole and southeast past the equator. Roole is a continent marked by different topographies, climates and peoples-- ranging from the frosted tundra of the Frostcaps to the arid desert of Shambole.

The Four Kingdoms are found in the southeastern portion of the continent, separated by the rest of the landmass by a great chain of mountain known as the World’s End.

The southwestern portion of the kingdom is covered by a lush forest connected by inland rivers and swamplands down to the equator. The rainy low-lands attaching the forest to a land-bridge is uncharted and unknown

The East and South are home to rolling hills and fertile planes that are crossed by two large rivers, the Euclid and the Frond (The Westgate and the Donorans Vein in middlespeak)

The northeast is home to craggy rough terrain beneath the shadow of the Hood mountains. These stone plateaus, knotted hills and towering landscapes are known as the Raidlands.

Beyond the shores of the southeastern coasts are a cluster of islands collectively known as the Dragon's Bones. To the north are the islands of the Frostfathers and the Sitter. The forbidden land of Kanth sits across the great Marinius Oceans, as of yet undiscovered.

I Came To Hold You

This is an unfinished story. I think I threw out the books for this that hand the ending, but I can pretty much tell you that it involves the reveal that he's a stalker. Enjoy:



He presses his hand against the frame of the door and gently guides it shut. It makes a satisfying click as it closes and when the deadbolt’s affixed he hardly makes a sound. He is an expert of so many nights in the dark. He knows just how to move across the living room into the bedroom, silent like a shadow crossing the floor.

He takes his shoes off next, leaving them behind the door. He knows where everything is even in the pitch blackness. He travels his path, the sounds of her breathing waltzing out of the bedroom. Merrily, he marches in time with the rhythm of her dreams, in thorough the mouth and out through the nose.

She worked hard and sleeps heavy now. A retail job takes her morning. A security job cannibalizes her afternoons. Her evenings are given over to short hours of serene unconsciousness in a tiny boxy room.

It’s this peace he fears to disturb, so slowly he moves, slowly he walks, and slowly he slips noiselessly into her bed.

He doesn’t need to undress, a rare talent of his being able to find comfort anyway and anywhere. In this bed there are two goose-downs pillows, twins without symmetry. The right side pillow is pristine, all smooth lines and placid coolness. The left most, her side, is angry and bunched, jagged lines punched into oblivion, molded to the shape of her in profile. It is “her” pillow. Capital H.E.R. The way that the splotches on her nose are “her freckles” or the brand of citrus she shampoos with smells like “her hair”.

God, his pillow is cold. It is like an ice bath against his cheek. His neck cranes down. He slips his shoulder under the edges and props the pillow under the back of his chin, holding it between his shoulder and crook of the neck. He gets settles in, sinking into a groove above the sheets. He corresponds to her shape, fitting himself like an adjunct piece of a puzzle board. Their forms become whole before his arms around her. He closes his eyes and feels her breath under him.

Sunday, January 29, 2012

Wreath

Joan

And as I take my first step
Launch myself across the parapet
Take sword in hand and fill my bones
With a cry that turns my hand to stone
Where now I go to meet her
And though I long to lay her low
A part of me whispers...no.

Later I awake from the dark
She is pleading like a supplicant
Begging me to give my sins
And thanks me for my diligence
So that I may now find piece
As I cross beyond this veil
I have never known such love in life
But I now know it, here in hell.

Thursday, January 5, 2012

Owl Head

The Lump In My Throat

Small and round
About the size of a lozenge
Shaped well to fill

A ball of muscle
Surprisingly firms
Tampers down

Your scent triggers
And when you make eyes
I am stopped

By you, and your mouth
And your lips
And your smile.