Thursday, December 26, 2002

 

(Terfl.)

She was looking at me in that way. You know what I mean. That way. I could tell right away that she wanted to get to know me, and not the superficial me; the real me, the one who lurks just beneath the surface. Today, though, he was right on top. I woke up looking good. I don't know how else to put it. My hair looked good. My skin was clear. My usually wrinkled laugh-lines were strangely, welcomely absent. I felt like I'd lost ten pounds and had a solid, hard workout the day before. I looked good.
So I ambled over to her, she still staring at me. Dead at my chest, you know how women do. I put my purchase on the conveyor belt, way at the back. I am nothing if not flirtatious. I let them sit there for a second until the belt came on, and walked up slowly to the register, following the hand soap and nachos-in-a-box. A bachelor's groceries, clearly and unmistakably.
She was still staring at my chest, but lifted her delicate eyes momentarily to meet mine. She looked away quickly. Ahhh. Shy. I know the type. This should be fun. I leaned on the check-writing surface, and waited for her to scan my items.
"Eight-fif-tee." I didn't like her voice, but that didn't matter. You could always not listen to them. Even the funniest-sounding dame could be forgiven if she looked good enough and was interested enough. This girl had both. I handed her a ten, picked up my bag, and started for the door. Three, two, one.
"Excuse me, sir?" Bingo.
"Yes, little lady?"
"You forgot your change; hee hee hee." Bad laugh, too. Still, she was cute.
I nodded a thank you, and started to turn again. Two, one.
"Um..."
"Yes?"
"Is that a real space pen in your pocket."
Damn. "Why, yes it is."
"Ooooh, i love them." She started off on some ramble about the pen. The pen. I should have known it wasn't me. I bowed out as soon as I could. No sense in sticking around there. I mean, she wasn't that cute, and she wasn't after me.
Next time, then.

by MisterNihil 11:59 PM

 

Sooo... What'dja get?

by Sharon 1:44 PM

Wednesday, December 25, 2002

 

—Hey, Nick.

—Joe. Coffee?

—Two sugars, no milk. How's the back?

—Can't complain. Another year over, eh?

—Or just beginning. I think I gained some ground this year.

—That's sweet, Joe. Keep believing in the human spirit; it warms my heart.

—That's a good cup of coffee; thanks. No, really, people are nervous lately. They're looking for solace. The threat of war is good for spiritualism.

—So is a weak economy, I know. Still, you can't fight the American Dream: Consumerism!

—That's a little harsh.

—Harsher than what they do to each other? Harsher than fighting over land and misunderstandings and money? They're worthless, the whole lot of them.

—I know you better than that, Nick. You still love them.

—Deserve a big lump of coal, every one.

—I brought you a present.

—Me? Heh. Nobody gives me presents.

—I know. Open it.

—What is it?

—A small box with a shiny bow. Open it.

—But I didn't get you anything.

—That's okay; I'm Jewish. Open the box, Nick.

—What's this... "Hope"?

—Hang onto that a little longer, old friend. But don't forget.

—What, Joe?

—Christmas Day is still mine.

by Sharon 10:39 AM

 

Christmas Day is mine!

by Sharon 2:00 AM

Tuesday, December 24, 2002

 

Huzzah! Randomness!

Belligerent children with too much time.

enjoy.

by MisterNihil 9:09 AM

Friday, December 20, 2002

 

We already sort of did this one back in July, but it's late in the evening and I'm not sure if anyone else is out there anyway. So today's topic is:

elves

Christmas, Middle Earth, or whatever. Take your pick. Anyone who wants to take my spot in the rotation next week (I think Friday) is free to do so. I'll be away from the computer for about seven days starting Sunday. Happy holidays, everyone. See you in (or just before) the new year!

by Fred 5:04 PM

Thursday, December 19, 2002

 

Lou Kangaroo and his friend Hugh the Gnu
Bid fond adieu to the Kalamazoo Zoo.
“We’re off to Peru,” said the Gnu-Kangaroo crew,
“To chew on bamboo and get Lou a tattoo.”
“I thought that you two were planning a coup,”
Cooed Stu, the true-blue next-door cockatoo.
“We knew a few of the crew of the Kalamazoo Zoo
Would see through the coup,” said Hugh to blue Stu.
“They might misconstrue and send the cops to pursue,
So after review, we choose tattoos in Peru.”

by Fred 11:59 PM

 

kangaroo

by Fred 2:32 PM

Wednesday, December 18, 2002

 

Today is the third shortest day of spring.
Day after tomorrow, the days will start to get longer and the weather might, given the miracles of the "Season" get colder. On the evening of the Solstice, the high should be about twenty degrees colder than the high today. On Friday, the sun will rise at 7:23. I should be well on my way to work at that time. That same sun will set at 5:35. I will be on my way home from work. There will be no sun on Friday for me, locked away in cube world.
I am walking in the sun, wondering at the warmth, knowing the day will come all too soon when I do not see sun.
I am wearing the shoes I wore the last time my previous car ran. One was lost in the mud and recovered.
I am puzzled by life.

by MisterNihil 1:36 PM

Tuesday, December 17, 2002

 

Topic-schmopic. I wrote another song. (Homework for class tomorrow.)

Pink and mauve, standing tall,
With Spanish roofing tiles,
Optional ceiling fans, balconies in all
To see the view for miles.

CHORUS:
The property value's on the rise.
Oh, the profits it will yield--
A tribute to modern enterprise,
But it used to be a field.

Luxury apartment homes,
So new, so quaint, so swank,
Sprucing up residential zones
To put them in the bank.

CHORUS

10,000 jewels on bending greens
Inviting those who braved it.
Paths to follow after dreams.
Good thing you went and paved it.

CHORUS

Rent was ripe for your collection
Before you even began to dig.
I'm sure you're proud of your erection.
You must feel so big.

CHORUS:
The property value's on the rise.
Oh, the profits it will yield--
A tribute to modern enterprise,
But it used to be a field.

by Sharon 3:02 PM

 

"It's cold outside, there's no kind of atmosphere..."

winter

Brr.

by Fred 7:19 AM

Monday, December 16, 2002

 

“Coming up later on All Things Considered, renowned author and motivational speaker Nyarlathotep reads from his new book, ‘Chicken Soup for the Cthulhu Worshipper’s Soul’, which the New York Times recently hailed as the holiday season’s feel-good answer to the Necronomicon. ‘No home should be without one…’ writes reviewer Michiko Kakutani, ‘lest it suffer unspeakable consequences beyond all human imagining.’ And Maya Angelou will tell us what Christmas means to her. But first, the news…”

by Fred 9:02 PM

 

When I came home, I was shocked.
"This isn't how it looks, I can explain!" My wife was naked. My neighbor was naked. I had no idea what to make of it.
I ran out, crying, into the night. I spent the night at the office and came back the next morning when I was sure she'd be at work. She was there, though, and so was he. And so was that goddamn kettle.
I can't stand the smell of broth to this day. She fed me some lame excuse about the gas being out and a water shortage, but nothing will ever explain what I saw that day.
They had a fire in the middle of the kitchen and stood a giant kettle-pot-thing over it. Like a menudo pot, but probably sixty gallons. I smelled the broth, and there they were, naked and sitting in the pot. She was cutting carrots into the liquid.
I heard about these weird, kinky Chicken Soup things, but I never though my own wife...

Enough of that.

by MisterNihil 3:55 PM

Sunday, December 15, 2002

 

“This isn't how it looks. I can explain. You see, that reflects undiffused light; it forms an image of whatever object is placed in front of it. Where we come from, we call it a mirror.”

“I don’t think it’s working, Professor.”

“Nonsense. They’re highly intelligent. They simply need time to process the information.”

“Those look like weapons they’re pointing at us.”

“Where? Oh. Yes. Yes, those do look like weapons, don’t they? It’s hard to tell without my glasses. I thought you said you locked the shuttle armory.”

“I did. They may have bypassed the code. You said yourself they’re intelligent. And they’ve already proven they’re good with numbers.”

“Yes.”

“Just not with mirrors apparently.”

“Well, in their defense, there’s not much naturally produced glass on the planet’s surface, now is there? They’re hardly in a position to be familiar with its properties.”

“Those are definitely the weapons from the shuttle armory.”

“Well, there’s a safety on each of them, isn’t there?”

click

“Not anymore.”

“Oh. Well that doesn’t necessarily mean they’re going to kill us.”

“Well that depends, now don’t it, Professor? We are the evil space people who came here uninvited. And we do have mirrors with us, which they seem to think can steal their souls or something. So I’d have to say, from the evidence in front of me, that, yeah, they probably are going to kill us.”

“Oh bugger. I told you not to leave your damn shaving kit out.”

“Yeah, and I seem to remember suggesting more reconnaissance before going out to meet the natives.”

“They looked harmless.”

“Yeah, well, as you just tried pointing out to them, things often aren’t how they look.”

by Fred 11:59 PM

 

This isn't how it looks. I can explain.

by Sharon 2:03 AM

Saturday, December 14, 2002

 

Randomness Part 2:

Tropical Brain.

Enjoy.

by MisterNihil 4:30 AM

Friday, December 13, 2002

 

There are dear memories from my childhood that, upon reflection, are awfully weird.

Every year, we had to visit the Lehigh Valley Mall to talk to the reindeer. They were large, animatronic deer heads poking out of a stable in the middle of the mall, and they would talk with us. This was a bit of Christmas magic that I simply could not do without.

(Last time I went, there were big talking teddy bears. Adequate, I suppose, but just not the same.)

As a result of this, reindeer were pretty important to me. They listened better than the creepy guy in red that you had to wait in line to talk to and then sit way too close to. The reindeer would address a gaggle of kids. You could kind of gather about them, and they would grant an audience to any who approached.

My inimitable best friend Tameka tells of going to see the reindeer one year. One of the reindeer asked, "And who is that pretty little girl?" Tameka, never at a loss for self-confidence, knew exactly whom they must be talking about and answered, "It's me, Tameka!"

At our house, on Christmas Eve-Eve (we were in Delaware at Grandma's by Christmas Eve, but Santa has a good personal assistant, and he knew to come to our place early), I'd put carrots and celery out on the front lawn for the reindeer. Everbody left cookies for the old boy, but nobody seemed to do anything special for those hard-working blokes, the reindeer. I always wanted to make sure they were well taken care of.

Looking out for the underdogs, that's me.

by Sharon 2:55 PM

 

Gdaddy2650 You have a chat invitation from GBaby01256:

GBaby01256: Hey Grandad!
Gdaddy2650: Happy birthday! How old are you now, six?
GBaby01256: Yep! Write me an original microfiction about Reindeer,
Gdaddy2650: OK. Is this your bedtime? I get so confused with the time difference.
GBaby01256: Yeah. Dad says you can write good microfictions, and he's tired.
Gdaddy2650: lol : )
Gdaddy2650: OK: Once upon a time there were reindeer they all died the end goodnight
GBaby01256: not SO micro!
Gdaddy2650: Fine, what do you want? That roudilf story again?
GBaby01256: No. its dum. I want original.
Gdaddy2650: Hmm. So like once upon a time there were reindeer they all died the end goodnight?
GBaby01256: NO
GBaby01256: NOT LIKE THAT
GBaby01256: more like a story. witha beginning and end and everything.
GBaby01256: dont be like that.
GBaby01256: I want a good story
Gdaddy2650: Fine. Once upon a time there was alittle red reindeer. it was different from the other reindeer because it was much redder than they were, all up its coat and fur and everything. It was sad sometimes cbecause it didn';t have any red friends to play with. it decided to go to albuquerque.
GBaby01256: whers that?
Gdaddy2650: when he got to albuquerque he was happy because there were lots of elves there and it never snowed. but there was a big bad sandmonster. it said it would eat any littlre reindeer it saw so he hid in the bushes and waited.
GBaby01256: whers that?
Gdaddy2650: its in arizona
Gdaddy2650: whent the sand monster walked past the reindeer he saw the deer hiding and said "NOW I GOT YOU" (cue scary noiz)
GBaby01256: OOH! Im scarred!
Gdaddy2650: the deer grabbed a rock and said "I have faith in Christmas and Satna, and he slung the rock at the sand monster and hit it right between the eyes
Gdaddy2650: the sand monster fell back and died and the reindeer was made king of the reindeer. then when the reindeer was bathing on th roof the queen of the reindeer saw it and fell in love and had the king reindeer sent off to war to lead the charge against the enemies and the king reindeer died
Gdaddy2650: and the queen reindeer was so sad she poked her eyes out with a brooch and was led through the wilderness for forty days and forty nights with nothing to eat or drink. then the devil took the queen reindeer up to a mountain top and said the world can be yours if you bow down to me andthe queen reindeer ate eight pomegranite seeds from a pine tree and the devil ran away and that
Gdaddy2650: s why at hannustmasaturnalia we light eight christmas trees and then give tops to eachother. because of the queen reindeer andt he top of the mountain and the eight seeds and the devil.
GBaby01256: Thanks grandad! youre the bets
GBaby01256: best
Gdaddy2650: Good night. shoot me an email next tiem youre in town and well go ice skating
GBaby01256: goodnight

GBaby01256 Has terminated chat session

Do you need to buy a chainsaw? click on Habbies House Of Chainsaws for Chainsaw Deals like you never saw!
Free email at www.bibbtasticemailzyo.com

Good bye.

by MisterNihil 1:36 PM

Thursday, December 12, 2002

 

He stumbled in, stinking of booze, and clearly with something unpleasant to say.
"I been meaninta tellyou sumthin," he started. He pointed violently with his finger at a point a few feet above my head, and glared angrily at the tip of the finger. Carefully, he lowered it to the level of my eyes, and continued. "I been meaninta tellyooh sumthin. You stink. You know what, you stink the wors'. I hate you."
"I'm sorry to hear that," I replied, not sure what to make of this.
"Doninnerup. You jus waitill I'm done an you lissen and you lissen good. I donlike you, an I won like you an I don wanna ever see you aroun here again. You got that?"
"I live here."
"I tolya doninnerup!" He flew into a rage, and kicked a mahogany table leg nearby, probably bruising his toes in the process. "Now lissen. 'F I see you again in my bar, I'monna havta ass youta step ousside. You gah'me?"
I waited, to make sure he was done.
"Well? You gah'me?" He yelled this, stamping his foot and wincing.
"Yes. I got you," I said.
"Fine! I'll be on my way."
I had never seen him before, nor did I ever, I am glad to report, see him again. Particularly not in 'his bar.' I have no idea how he got into my house, nor where he went when he left. The butler told me later that someone had left a puddle of suspicious yellow liquid by the door. I shudder to think.
Before he walked out of my life as unexpectedly as he walked into it, though, he walked to my wet-bar and did the oddest thing. He poured a perfectly ordinary drink, then reached under it for the cooking wine, and dropped several coins in. Thus tipping the cooking sherry, he was on his way.
That remains my favorite drinking story, perhaps because I had nothing to drink in the course of it.

by MisterNihil 11:11 PM

Wednesday, December 11, 2002

 

They always call me some time between Thanksgiving and mid-December. It's when I get most of my cases. And even those tend to shy away when I tell them there's a minimum of a year of case time and a minimum cost of ten thousand, up front.
But it helps that I know the answer to their question before they call.
I'm not psychic. I'm just good at what I do. They want to know who tangles the lights. I want to keep their lights from getting tangled.
I'm a private dick, specializing in yuletide mischief. It means I tend to get asked the same question over and over. And I know the answer.
His name isn't pronouncable in our language, and sounds like a series of clicks and whistles to the human ear. He works in June; I gave up trying to catch him years ago. Now I just go around to the houses in May and leave cookies and milk in their Christmas boxes in their attics. It keeps him from tangling the lights; it's why he won't come within two months of Christmas. You don't leave them to attract the fat elf, they're to keep away the skinny one.
So I keep a bag of oreos around, and a couple of gallons of moo juice and I wait for them to call. They always call. Eventually it gets bad enough, and they have to throw away the lights.
That's where I come in.

(Yeah, I dunno. I'm rushed today.)

by MisterNihil 12:39 PM

Tuesday, December 10, 2002

 

They tell me that I am sorry for what I did. I do not remember it, or much of anything before I came to be in this place, but I am glad to know that I have made my peace with it and that I have been forgiven for what I have done. It is good to be among those who know what is best for me. I am in no position to make decisions for myself. They tell me that very few are ever offered this chance. They tell me that I should be grateful. They cannot tell me my crime, but only because it is too horrible for words. This much I know. They would not lie to me. I am an enemy of the state, naturally, and they have simply been kind enough to spare me the awful details. They have forgiven me, allowed me to forget, and they ask only that I tell others of their generosity as penance for my crime. They have asked that I inform them when others would speak out and do something they would later regret. How can I refuse them this request? They have offered me so much. They will show the others kindness, I am sure, and the others, too, will learn to be sorry for the crimes. I am sorry for what I have done. I do not know what it was, but it must have been awful for them to put me here in the dark.

by Fred 10:21 PM

 

"I'm Sorry."
"Not Good enough."
"I'm Very sorry?"
"Still not close."
"I'm extremely sorry, and I will take pains every second of every day to make sure it doesn't happen again?"
"Actually worse.
"I'm as sorry as a person who knows he has done nothing wrong can be."
"You ass."
"Ooh. Profanity. The last resort of the jerk-off."
"I hate you."
"You're welcome to hate, and you're welcome to keep dangling there."
"If I ever get loose, you'll be sorry."
"And there you go on the 'sorry' thing again. First, I'll be sorry, and I admit, I am not particularly sorry. Now I'll be sorry again. You need a new catch phrase."
"Sorry. It's what you'll be."
"I see you struggling there with the rope. I assure you, when you finally, struggling, manage to break free, you will fall into the pool below you. You have plans to swim to shore before whatever horrible fish I've put there comes to the surface and eats you, don't you?"
"I might."
"Well, the pool isn't full of water. Smell that awful odor? That's acid. Strong acid. You wouldn't make it to the surface after you fell, much less to the edge of the pool."
"You're bluffing. I'll make you sorry."
"Sorry, sorry sorry. I know that's the code word that's supposed to bring your backup running, and it would, if I hadn't pulled your wire off when you were unconscious. Sorry to ruin your fun. I tossed it into the pool, just for grins."
"You bastard."
"And again, back to the big guns. You poor, poor dear, dangling helpless while your backup wait. That's OK, you won't have to dangle long. I have a devious plan."
"Enlighten me."
"Of Course. Here's the plan: You dangle helpless there, and I'll shoot you." (bang) "See? Then I go off and do whatever villainous thing I was up to just hours ago... Ah yes; world domination."
"...be...sorry..."
"Oh, don't bother."

-with a nod to Ian Flemming-

by MisterNihil 4:35 PM

Monday, December 09, 2002

 

I am a mechanic.
I am a mechanic because I have special training.
I am a mechanic because I have special training in accounting.
I am a mechanic because I have special training in accounting and the real mechanic was sucked out the airlock.
I am a mechanic because I have special training in accounting and the real mechanic was sucked out the airlock because of something I did.
I am a mechanic because I have special training in accounting and the real mechanic was sucked out the airlock because of something I did while doing the books for this crew of losers.
I am a mechanic because I have special training in accounting and the real mechanic was sucked out the airlock because of something I did while doing the books for this crew of losers, under whose employ I am.
I am a mechanic because I have special training in accounting and the real mechanic was sucked out the airlock because of something I did while doing the books for this crew of losers, under whose employ I am asphyxiating.
I am a mechanic because I have special training in accounting and the real mechanic was sucked out the airlock because of something I did while doing the books for this crew of losers, under whose employ I am asphyxiating because of a large hole in the air lock.
I am a mechanic because I have special training in accounting and the real mechanic was sucked out the airlock because of something I did while doing the books for this crew of losers, under whose employ I am asphyxiating because of a large hole in the air lock which I made.
I am a mechanic because I have special training in accounting and the real mechanic was sucked out the airlock because of something I did while doing the books for this crew of losers, under whose employ I am asphyxiating because of a large hole in the air lock which I made while trying to do the taxes for this crew.
I am a mechanic because I have special training in accounting and the real mechanic was sucked out the airlock because of something I did while doing the books for this crew of losers, under whose employ I am asphyxiating because of a large hole in the air lock which I made while trying to do the taxes for this crew under heavy fire from the IRS.
I am a mechanic because I have special training in accounting and the real mechanic was sucked out the airlock because of something I did while doing the books for this crew of losers, under whose employ I am asphyxiating because of a large hole in the air lock which I made while trying to do the taxes for this crew under heavy fire from the IRS because of a return filed a thousand years too late.
I am a mechanic because I have special training in accounting and the real mechanic was sucked out the airlock because of something I did while doing the books for this crew of losers, under whose employ I am asphyxiating because of a large hole in the air lock which I made while trying to do the taxes for this crew under heavy fire from the IRS because of a return filed a thousand years too late due to an unexpected jump to lighspeed.

I am a mechanic because I have special training in accounting and the real mechanic was sucked out the airlock because of something I did while doing the books for this crew of losers, under whose employ I am asphyxiating because of a large hole in the air lock which I made while trying to do the taxes for this crew under heavy fire from the IRS because of a return filed a thousand years too late due to an unexpected jump to lighspeed.

by MisterNihil 2:46 PM

 

Until Jonathan posts a topic:

MAKING DUE WITHOUT

It'll serve in the time being.

by MisterNihil 2:40 PM

Sunday, December 08, 2002

 

Maya shuffled the papers and tamped them on the table, in the hopes that straightening them might improve the information they ruthlessly reported. She laid the stack in front of her on the polished mahogany table and wondered if she might be able to seep into the rich, golden grain and get lost.

Crisp, white, rectangular edges demarcated their territory on the conference table. Maya could see them burning and singeing, becoming suddenly much heavier and causing the table to cave in after them. But they sat, clean, white, terrible.

A thin blue line insinuated itself into the northeast corner of a graph. Numbers were rising. Solutions were few. As the censuses called in their numbers from the districts, the temperature in the war room grew progressively colder. Maya tracked more numbers on the graph. In her head she used with comfort the term that had started as a morbid joke: The dead line climbed higher.

by Sharon 11:59 PM

 

Deadline

“You see that up ahead? That’s the dead line. Everything after that belongs to zombies.”

“And the fence?”

“It’s there to protect us. It keeps them out, keeps us safe. We’d all be dead in a week if it wasn’t there.”

“And do they really eat brains?”

“Only when they’re hungry. And only those of little kids who don’t behave.”

“Very funny. I’m not a kid, you know. I can take care of myself.”

“I don’t think so, sport. We don’t do that around here. Everybody here needs everybody else. We protect each other.”

“They’re just zombies. They don’t frighten me.”

“They should. They’re dangerous. Look, I know you’re the Ambassador’s daughter, kid, but this isn’t like the other planets in the Alliance. I don’t care what they told you. Things went bad here a long time ago. We survived, but there are things worse than death still on the other side of that fence, and you need to be careful.”

“My father says they’re intelligent. They’re going to try and sign a treaty with them.”

“Uh huh, yeah, I know. And I still say that’s a mistake. But who am I to argue with company policy?”

by Fred 11:59 PM

Friday, December 06, 2002

 

ohrwurm —German, "earworm," a tune which infects a population rapidly. From the Memetic Lexicon, something I shall certainly have to blog shortly.

My friend's little brother writes songs that get stuck in my head. For days at a time. Worse yet, my friend's little brother writes songs that I catch myself singing out loud. The clincher is that my friend's little brother writes songs that are really inappropriate in grocery stores, movie theaters, business meetings...

Previously, the most persistent earworm from Seth had been "Drop the Bombs." In addition to being catchy and imminently singable, it is an anthem for a generation tired of being marginalized by the establishment. The only thing that distinguishes it as more "his generation" than "my generation" is the plural. We would have said "The Bomb."

Here's a bit of the lyrics:

I'm so tired of waiting.
Drop the bombs, drop the bombs.
Tired of hearing them saying,
"Here it comes."
Drop the bombs.
When it's time to die, I'll be ready.
How 'bout you?
—Copyright 2002 Brother Machine

It gets you weird looks in the grocery store, but boy, does it make you feel better about being there.

So I received a new Brother Machine album last night. I've been playing it in the car. It contains a new earworm. This earworm ran through my head all during this afternoon's "New Quality Assurance Process Rollout" meeting.

Fuck you.
Fuck you.
Fuck you and you and you.

But it's got such a catchy tune.

by Sharon 5:32 PM

 

earworm

by Sharon 12:57 PM

Thursday, December 05, 2002

 

Independent of this, I wrote song lyrics, but I wrote them all on my own, and they took some number of seconds (though a fair bit more than 600), so anyway, writing:

I believe in a flat earth
and a round sky
today.
Chasing down the highway
With nothing to stand in our way,
Making big schemes, scheming big dreams,
While the radio sings along.
There's nothing I want to do
but drive in Texas with you.

I believe that chores are fun
and work is light
today.
Chasing down the aisles
With produce stands in our way,
Making a home, setting up house,
While riding on shopping carts.
There's nothing I want to do
but shop for groceries with you.

I believe I like broccoli
and maybe squash
today.
Chasing with soda
Or milk or juice or tea or water or lemonade or beer,
Trying a bite, because I should,
While you take the stems off my plate.
There's nothing I want to do
but eat my veggies with you.

[Bridge:]
I believe in today
And a bright promised tomorrow,
With you, my friend, my heart,
To split my joy, my sorrow,
To hold my hand and laugh with me,
To let me hold yours, too.
This life we build, this here, this now,
Is all I want to do.

I believe that we have a chance
if we try
today.
Chasing down peace
With hope to find some way,
Making a wish for a reprieve,
When saner heads hold the reigns.
There's nothing I want to do
but fight for freedom with you.

[Repeat Bridge]

I believe in the sun in the sky
orbiting us
today.
Chasing down meteors
With nothing to stand in our way,
Making big plans, built with our hands,
While wishes streak through the sky.
There's nothing I want to do
but spend my whole life with you.

by Sharon 2:00 PM

 

They're yelling at me on the phone again.
Every time I pick it up, there's somebody there, yelling. No dial tone, no ringing, just a voice that screams about my incompetence, about how useless I am. There aren't any reasons, I just hear the voice.
I tried to turn on the computer, but it just displayed an error message that ended with "Fatal Exception at 1624.72-6 to your Body Odor/Try later when you don't suck."
I have tasks to do. I have things that need to be completed. I know there are, somewhere, people who are counting on me to do my job. I stood up to look for help. The rest of the office is dark.
I got my quick tutorial, and they said "You can manage. All on your own. It's a simple job; a monkey could do it. Just go ahead and get started."
I don't remember anything useful from the tutorial. It was done very quickly by a small mumbly man with something else to do. He kept getting calls, but going on with the tutorial without explanation of what he was doing. Every so often, he'd say "See? Easy," which I assume was directed at me.
I found a help manual, but every page says "Access denied - security level too low."
I apparently don't even rate help.
I tried calling random extensions for help, but that voice just kept berating me. I tried going to another cubicle, but there was a memo pasted outside mine that said any employee caught outside of his/her cube will be executed, and that there was a $600 reward for reporting your coworkers. So I stayed here, and sat at my desk, trying not to mess up anything else.
I tried playing with paperclips, but every time I reach for the box a buzzer somewhere in the dark depths of the ceiling sounds, and I have to pull back. There's nothing to do.
I'm afraid I'll get fired, but first I have to do the job, right?
At least I'm alone.

by MisterNihil 11:18 AM

 

all on your own

by Sharon 2:02 AM

Wednesday, December 04, 2002

 

When you're lost in the rain, in Juarez, and it's Eastertime too
When your gravity fails, and negativity don't pull you through
Don't put on any airs when you're down on Rue Morgue Avenue
They've got some hungry women there and they'll really make a mess out of you
- Bob Dylan, “Just Like Tom Thumb Blues”

It ‘d been raining in my head for days, but outside the city was still weeping from its second week of drought. The local weatherman was predicting rain for Thursday afternoon, a storm front rolling in along the coast, but if it was dark clouds they wanted they were looking in the wrong place. I’d had plenty to spare ever since she walked into my office last Friday, and I was more than happy to spread them around. I was tired of tripping over the puddles.

I’d just finished another big case, and I was dotting the i's and crossing the t’s on the paperwork when she knocked on my door. She was the kind of girl you read about in magazines, and I don’t mean Ladies’ Home Journal either, a leggy redhead in a dress that left little to the imagination and was like a refresher course in human anatomy. I was thanking the stars I’d worn my good rumpled trenchcoat to work that morning.

“I’ve lost my umbrella,” she said in a voice that was like melted butter in all the right ways, “and I hear you’re the sort of man who can help me find it.”

“Maybe I am,” I said, playing it cool. “Have a seat.”

She poured herself into the chair opposite my desk and leaned close.

“It’s my favorite umbrella,” she sighed. “I just don’t know what I’ll do if it rains.”

Not much chance of that, I thought. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky.

“Well then sure, I’ll take the case then,” I said. After all, how tough could it be to find one lonely umbrella?

If only I’d known what I was getting myself into…

by Fred 3:22 PM

 

"The experiment was a success, Doctor!"

Hearing those words creep into my consciousness from the other end of a trans-Atlantic phone call brought my surroundings into focus. I gave an experimental tug with each of my limbs and found them still strapped down to the operating table. The voices in the lab gained volume and color like an old radio warming up.

"Test her reflexes, David."

That was the doctor. His thug shuffled over to my table and stood on tiptoes to peer, too closely, into my face. His teeth were scummy.

The volume was all the way up now, but the static and pops remained. Probably time to get a new radio. It was raining in my head. I shook it to clear it, but Igor took it as an attempt to communicate. He leaned in closer, and his breath smelled of dead things.

"Oh, but yes. Yes, my darling."

My muscles were still too sluggish to make a response. I gurgled derisively. The rain continued to beat against my brain pan, and it was starting to make me mad. The lab assistant, with his mossy teeth, picked up an implement and began to tap against joints, working around the leather restraints. It didn't have much effect, except to make me angrier.

I clenched my jaw. I clenched my fists. And then, and this was surprising, I found a new muscle to clench. I tried it experimentally, and the rain in my head became thunderous. Yes, this was new. I liked it.

I took a deep breath, set my teeth, clenched, and stood up.

by Sharon 1:42 PM

 

Found a good random topic generator. Here's the first topic it spit out:

Raining in my head

Enjoy.

by MisterNihil 3:32 AM

Tuesday, December 03, 2002

 

They say that nothing in the world rhymes with purple,
Unless of course you're maybe thinking gerbil.
It's not a perfect rhyme,
But then when did that become a crime?
I mean, would a purple gerbil really be that t'rrible?

by Fred 5:02 PM

 

Searching her face for a long minute, I could see that I was gone. Deep in her eyes, she was finally over me.

It's cliche, but I don't understand women. Why throw away the one who loved you best, the one who would love you truest and longest, even after your perfect beauty had faded? Why spit on his love? Why rip out his heart and stomp on it?

Women.

But I'm being melodramatic. She did love me. For quite a while, even, she returned my affections. It was bliss. We were perfect, together. But you can't own perfection, can't hold onto it. She was a soap bubble that burst when I grasped it.

I have set her free now. I can see in her eyes that she is free. Free of me and all the misery I apparently brought her. Free of the misery of my kisses and my letters and my flowers and my conversation. Free. That bitch.

She doesn't look troubled now. She looks calm, relieved, maybe even happy to be rid of me. She definitely looks over me. Which is funny, since I am over her.

The purple bruises, developing like a Polaroid, look almost lovely, on her sweet, white neck. Her lips are purple now, too, and they beckon ever so subtly, though she would never admit it.

Perhaps I shall steal one last kiss.

by Sharon 4:19 PM

 

purple

Hmm...if one person writes, maybe more people will write...

by Fred 3:42 PM

Monday, December 02, 2002

 

It started as a long sigh, welling up from the depths of the Trench and climbing towards the sunlight. Eldritch gasses trapped in bubbles marked the end of an era.

And the beginning of the next.

I was there to see it happen. I was one of the divers. I helped place the final puzzle stones in the positions calculated by the eggheads topside, maneuvering cranes and robotics to slide millennia-old markers into their intended crevasses.

Armored in our deep-sea diving suits, equipped with high-pressure breathing apparati, and squired by a Polymer Age diving bell, we felt big. Masterful. Tough. Space was easy--no pressure--compared with the depths. And we had pierced them. Visited, seen the tourist attractions, collected the pamphlets and moved in. Here we were, on the inside of the world, feeling big.

And then we opened the Gate, and "big" became a relative term.

The exhalation that started the tsunami of '31 was simply a calling card. An introductory belch. A "howdy, neighbors," to warn us to start preparing for a new world order.

Global priorities changed, once the dwellers of the Trench introduced themselves to us. United Nations meetings are almost unrecognizable. Petty squabbles that had launched wars have become the differences that unite us. We hadn't expected peace to come at a price so dear.

So I am back into my diving suit, after all these decades. There is a Crust Rights rally this afternoon that I'm not going to miss.

by Sharon 11:59 PM

 

exhalation

I figure, somebody's gotta write something eventually...

by Fred 3:26 PM

Sunday, December 01, 2002

 

They kept him in the hospital for thirty days. They tied him to a bed and fed him through a tube. Doctors would look in on him from time to time, shake their heads, make adjustments to their clipboard. They talked shop with the nurses in the hallway, traded stories. There was nothing they could tell the family. At the end of a month, they let him go home. Sometimes people just die, they said, although this, too, they did not tell the family. His wife and children were encouraged to make him comfortable: his own bed, familiar faces. He was not expected to survive another month. The doctors prescribed drugs, pills to dull the pain, and they said call anytime if you have any questions, if there's anything we can do. They were in an unenviable position. They could offer no answers. They were no better than anyone else. A disease you can understand but cannot conquer, they said, is still preferable to no disease at all. Symptoms without apparent cause, and therefore without cure, are a terrible thing to come across, because to tell a man he is going to die is bad enough without the knowledge that you cannot tell him why this is happening, that you cannot put a name to his suffering. They sent him home to die in his own bed, and they adjusted their clipboard, but they could tell the family nothing.

by Fred 11:59 PM