Friday, October 31, 2003

 

Something Wicker This Way Comes

by MisterNihil 3:40 AM

Thursday, October 30, 2003

 

Count the number across... Looks like about 16. Calculate the number in one circular layer--that's pi*r^2. So, pi times (16 divided by 2 equals 8; 8 squared is) 64. Pi is about 3, so 64 times 3 is (60 times 3 is 180; plus 4 times 3 is 12, so) 192. Round up to 200 to take care of that .14159265358979 you ignored.

So, 200 in a disc.

How many discs? Count the number in one vertical column... Um, call it 25. Number in a disc times number of discs is (25 times 2 is 50; tack on two zeros for) 5000.

5000 is too neat a number, so scrawl 4986 on a small slip of paper and tuck it furtively into the festive box.

I never, ever win. For all that work, so many disappointments. I should just write my birthday or something. Hm, but 2276 is too small. Maybe Jon's birthday, then. 3571 sounds much more likely. Mom's would be way too high, with the October month and the two-digit day putting it into the hundred-thousands.

Or, I could simply walk away from the candy corn jar, with my curiosity unfulfilled but my dignity intact. I think I take this stuff too seriously.

by Sharon 6:03 PM

 

equations

or...

candy corn

by Fred 12:56 PM

Wednesday, October 29, 2003

 

It was supposed to be just a quick trip to the store. But the zombie attack quickly laid rest to that idea. It's not that I don't like zombies. They're fine, really. And heaven knows, some of my best friends are brain-eaters. It's just, whenever they gang up together and get it into what's left of their heads to attack, it's hard to get anything done. Even a simple trip to the corner store for milk and eggs becomes a hassle. The undead usually keep pretty much to themselves -- I've actually only spoken with the reanimated corpses of my friends Bob and Sarah through e-mail -- but every now and then I guess the hunger gets to be too much, or whatever's on TV that night is a repeat, and they go out looking for fresh brains. Which makes getting around in the city all but impossible. I spent almost fourteen hours barricaded in the Quickie Mart with three other people, fending off zombies. And, of course, the power went out -- doesn't it always? -- and the milk spoiled before I could get it home. I mean, it's one thing to go rampaging through the city, devouring human remains left and right, killing people in an unholy thirst for brains and blood, but some of us need milk in our morning coffee, you know? The living are people, too, you know.

Friggin' zombies.

by Fred 3:56 PM

 

a quick trip to the store

by Sharon 12:59 PM

Monday, October 27, 2003

 

What I remember most is the feel of the drill.

Jonathan and I are law enforcement agents, subduing two criminals. I tackle one man and pin him to the floor, kneeling on his biceps. He has an electric drill in one hand, and he keeps bringing it dangerously close to Jonathan. I wrench the drill out of his grip. With his free hand, he digs a finger into a wound on my leg. I warn him to stop it, or I will drill a hole in his head.

He persists. I place the eigth-inch drill bit against his forehead, off to one side, and reiterate my warning. He laughs cruelly and digs at the bullet hole in my leg. I turn on the drill. It vibrates against his skin before it bites and begins to bore. When it whines against bone, I give him another chance to relent. Then I press the drill, grinding and smoking with a sound like a dentist's office, until it punches through into mush. I am angry now. His body goes limp.

Jon asks, aghast, "Did you cut off his hand?"

"No," I reply with satisfaction and revulsion, "I gave him a lobotomy."

I wake up and can't convince Jon to wake up enough to hold me.

by Sharon 11:47 AM

 

I'm not scared of you anymore.

by Fred 7:22 AM

Friday, October 24, 2003

 

I know my place.
I guard it well.
They used to call it a chain,
Or maybe a pyramid.
Lately,
Certain liberal elements
Would demote us
And call it a web.
But I know where I stand.
I eat vegetables.
I eat meat.
I stand at the top.
And when you waggle your finger,
To tell me there are decomposers,
That what eats what we once were,
That we who eat all
Are eaten in turn,
You'd better snatch it back quick--
I'm dangerous.
I eat fungi, too.

by Sharon 1:59 PM

 

Smell the ozone from my mind
burning oil, burning time
giving milk and drinking pain
There's a dust storm in my brain

Calling out from massive stink
Awkward stare, I cough and blink
Better dumb and happy than
killing time for killing friends

I'm a snake chewing on my tail
Eating the love that devours me
I am many I am frail
Eating the love that devours me.

Glassy eyed, the killers stare
buys balloons at my state fair
"Can johnny please come out to play?"
the story ends the same old way

I'm putting on my socks alone
the downcast stare, the fall of rome
the pall of happy evil mice
the pull of wicked paradise

Sucking down my lonely soul
Eating the love that devours me
cold and Evil day unfolds
Eating the love that devours me.

Given time and plenty rope
I choke alone on wasted hope
shiny, happy worlds away
cold black evilove seems to say

It ends tomorrow starts right now
the fallen crest the sacred cow
the end begins the life anew
life eats life I grin and chew

by MisterNihil 12:10 PM

 

eating that which eats me

by Sharon 10:08 AM

Thursday, October 23, 2003

 

I'm a little tired,
but my eyes are still open,
but one thing's desired
by my body; it's hopin'
for sleep, for sweet dreams;
it's keepin' its schemes
in plain sight where it seems
that I'm wired and roped in,
quite all right but I'm gropin'
for the light switch and knowin'
that the night which I'm fightin'
will win in the end;
and the dreams that it seems
against which I've tried to defend,
that I've staved off for so long
'spite their sweet siren song,
I'm hopin' won't hurt me
too much when they're gone,
when I wake up and open
my eyes to the dawn;
when my body's not tired,
I hope I'm inspired
to realize those dreams
and to plan my own schemes
with my body and I
thrown on the same team,
but right now it's sleep
and those uncertain dreams,
'cause my eyes may be open,
and I may be copin',
but I know what's required
and my body's so tired,
and my eyes're now closin' it seems.

by Fred 3:06 PM

 

She has a head full of fluff, (Yeah)
But I tell you that's just the stuff! (Yeah)

White fur, black eyes, and a little black nose,
She tags along wherever I goes.
She loves me a lot.
I'm glad for what I've got.
And she keeps the secrets that only she knows.

She's my best teddy bear, (Yeah)
And what you think, I don't care! (Yeah)

Husbands are silly and prone to frets.
They think about allegiance, and they think about debts.
In her glassy-eyed stare,
There's innocence there.
There's nothing to worry; stop imagining threats.

She has a head full of fluff, (Yeah)
But I tell you that's just the stuff! (Yeah)

She's my best teddy bear, (Yeah)
And what you think, I don't care! (Yeah)

by Sharon 1:57 PM

 

I'm a little tired, but my eyes are still open.

Or, if you don't like that, try

Head Full of Cotton

by MisterNihil 9:53 AM

Wednesday, October 22, 2003

 

I am watching a movie trailer on my computer, on the television, all around me...

A webcam in the park shows an empty trail at 6 AM. Cut to 6:15, already there is activity. A jogger runs by. Cut to a webcam farther down the river.

Voiceover: "Rescue workers retrieve two bodies from the river after a car crash."

A woman in a rain slicker and hip waders, with a light on her helmet, wades carefully in the waist-deep water. It is still dark morning; dawn has not risen yet. She reaches over a log to wrangle with a body floating face-down in the water. Its hand bobs on the surface, very white.

The local sheriff wades awkwardly, closer to the center of the green, murky creek. He is not as competent as the woman. He maneuvers the other corpse with less confidence. Suddenly it stands up, coughs once, and begins to scream, ripping terror deep from his belly. The sheriff tries to calm him, get him out of the river.

"They flew!" screams the drowned man.

I picture a leather kite suspending a bulbous body, maybe like a mynock. I look downstream, in the growing light, at hairy, vine-heavy trees, and search for a leather wing about to alight.

I say to Jonathan, "Oh, Jon, Jon, Jon. I'm scared. I don't want to see this movie."

He is covered in thick, red ropes, only they are not ropes, but swollen blood vessels, thicker than a thumb, and purple. They run up his arms, up his neck, over his face. He does not look at me when he says, "Are you the whip?" He means, am I the instrument of my own destruction, do I create my own grief?

I realize that the fear is just a feeling in my belly and my head. I could, if I choose to, enjoy the sensation. I don't need to avoid fear.

I wake up and go to work.

by Sharon 11:59 PM

 

There’s new blood in my veins, rosy and red;
It’s all that remains of me that’s not dead.
I thought I’d crave brains or be out of my head,
But a zombie mundane I’ve become instead.

by Fred 4:00 PM

 

This is a fun exercise. I don't have an instrument with me, and I'm makin' up songs. Another First Drafty Song for eventual public performance:
I don't need a place to sleep
words to speak or food to eat
I just need New blood.
I don't miss your curvy hips,
your laughing kiss, your sharpened wits,
I only miss your blood.

Your cry roars in my ears
Your voice roars in my heart
Your words roar in my brain
Your blood roars in my mouth.

I won't be your lover dear,
your wasted year, your biggest fear,
I only want new blood.
I don't have a thought today,
a role to play, a place to stay,
My only thought: new blood.

by MisterNihil 3:38 PM

 

It's after noon, so I'm gonna post a topic, but there just aren't enough of us writing. Maybe what we need is

new blood

by Fred 12:30 PM

Tuesday, October 21, 2003

 

It's a first draft. I'll play with it more and complete it later. No really. Actually, I may sing it tonight, in public no less, if I can come up with a bridge...


I'm so very tired of running away
I didn't sign up, I'm quitting the game
but I'll keep running
until I run back into you

I won't stop running until I'm nowhere
I'm taking my ball and (pause) I'm out of here
but I'll keep running
until I run back into you

(Bridge)

by MisterNihil 6:03 PM

 

keep running

by Sharon 2:04 PM

Monday, October 20, 2003

 

Technolust is not an uncommon condition. I know this. I accept this. But I still seem to get odd reactions for the tech I lust after.

For instance, for a very long time, I wanted an AT-AT. I mean, think of it! You could walk anywhere, and crush your enemies. Who wouldn't want that?

Whell. Then I saw the Wild, Wild West movie with Wil Smith and Kevin Kline. Why should I struggle with four rickety legs when I could have eight high-tension ones?! Ah, bliss.

I'm not sure where my desire for a defibrillator originated. They've always been kinda fascinating ("Clear!"), but I think the tour of Ceton Hospital, where the nurse zapped a piece of meat with a first-aid, idiot-proof, talking model ("Charging... Administering shock...*bzzt*"), honed my desire into full-bore lust. The fact that Jonathan is unsettled by this simply sweetens the deal.

Did you know they have defibrillators in the airports? I mean, right there, on the walls! Yeah.

A recent insight has brought my attention to more traditional instruments of mayhem. Careful reflection reveals that a low-tech solution might provide even more viscerally satisfying revenge on all-night car alarms, SUV-driving yuppies, and small, annoying dogs. What precipitated this change of heart, you ask?

I saw Kill Bill on Sunday. Baby wants a katana, bitch!

by Sharon 5:29 PM

 

This replaces my wish for a Home Defibrillator Kit!

by Sharon 12:09 PM

Sunday, October 19, 2003

 

"I'd rather be in bed."

by Fred 2:26 AM

Thursday, October 16, 2003

 

...went to that LARP. Because at that LARP, I met Dax. Through meeting Dax, I went on a few dates with Dax. Through dating Dax, I met Dax's friends. When meeting Dax's friends, I met Jonathan. Upon meeting Jonathan, I was not impressed. Because I was unimpressed, I was able to be friendly with him, chat with him. From this friendship grew more friendship. That friendship resulted in the discovery of pierced nipples. This discovery cast Jonathan in an entirely new light. This favorable light caused me to be intrigued. Being intrigued led to spending more time with Jonathan. Spending more time with Jonathan allowed me to learn of his wish to move to Texas. Sharing this wish inspired me to follow through on my own. Moving across the country together helped us to get better jobs. Having jobs that paid better but didn't always include benefits prompted us to start marriage plans. Setting plans in motion can often feel like grabbing hold of a passing locomotive. Grabbing a passing locomotive seems to precipitate most of the best things in my life.

by Sharon 11:59 PM

 

Faith says they're like table topics, and I agree. So here's a table topic from last Saturday:

I'm glad that I...

by Sharon 6:51 AM

Wednesday, October 15, 2003

 

I sleep like a spoon
each morning and night,
wrapped in your arms
and curled up so tight.

You steal all the covers
and mumble and mutter.
Troubleshooting iMacs,
you sound like a nutter.

You get hair in the sink,
on the floor, in my food.
It's worse when you shave!
You're one hairy dude.

You bug me about eating
veggies and greens.
This stress on nutrition
is really quite mean.

And then there is driving,
straigtaways and curves.
Being a passenger's
hell on my nerves.

Then nighttime again,
being watched by the moon,
when you hold me just right,
my beautiful spoon.

by Sharon 11:59 PM

 

It's a verb. It's a noun. It's concave. It's convex. It's

Spoon.

Enjoy.

by MisterNihil 4:13 AM

Tuesday, October 14, 2003

 

conversion

by Fred 1:19 PM

Monday, October 13, 2003

 

your skin
your hair
your dark, dark eyes
the curve of your back
and how you let me look
your smile
so coy through eyelashes
and your hat
as cute on me
as it is on you
angling and positions
and coincidental happenstance
on purpose
your hair
your hands
your funny accent
I can't quite place
your voice
how strange this all is
thinking of you
thinking of me

by Sharon 11:59 PM

 

"I don't freestyle much but write 'em like such (word)..." - Public Enemy

Today, there's not a whole lot on my mind that hasn't already been there for awhile now. I realize that I've been carrying around a lot of the same thoughts for more than a few years now: questions like why am I still here? where else should I go? and how do I work through the hassles of everything that lies in between? I've been trying to finally work through some of these questions and formulate a plan, but let's be honest: I am not a man known for decisive action. I don't know exactly what I am a man known for. Maybe that song I wrote once. You know, about the penis and the blender? It's probably the closest I've ever come to fame, and I do often get forced into performing it in front of others. At any rate, it's more likely that than the decisive action thing, which is ultimately what's left me stranded in this one-horse town writing songs about genitalia and household appliances in the first place.

But I digress. Also on my mind today is the campus sketch comedy show I'm a part of this year. Although I'm not sure if a final date, time, or even channel have been set for our weekly episodes, we tape a live show this Friday night. Somehow, I've been roped into performing a small role in a couple of sketches -- although the producer still hasn't explained why he thought of me when he cast the part, and none of the other writers have to memorize lines. I didn't even write these sketches -- which will probably to be my excuse if my parents ever see a tape of the performance. It's not quite "My penis is as big as a toaster"-style comedy, but the lines about syphilis and masturbation could be embarrassing. It's probably the sort of thing to make my mother wonder when I'm going to finally leave Pennsylvania and get a real job.

Not that I'm not wondering that myself. But I'm working on that decisive action thing. I'm applying for jobs in other states, putting my resume out there, doing some research. In a year's time, I'd like to have other questions on my mind -- even if they're just why am I now here? when can I leave? and does anybody want to hear a song about my penis?

by Fred 3:28 PM

 

Freestyle: What's on your mind today?

by Sharon 1:51 PM

Saturday, October 11, 2003

 

Here's a blank space. Go fill it.

by Fred 3:15 PM

Thursday, October 09, 2003

 

I wasn't going to say anything, but...

by Fred 3:06 PM

Wednesday, October 08, 2003

 

It's all a matter of supply and demand.

by Sharon 9:34 AM

Tuesday, October 07, 2003

 

What do you wish you could say? Why haven't you told them?

by Sharon 12:39 PM

Monday, October 06, 2003

 

an awkward silence

by Fred 1:57 PM

Friday, October 03, 2003

 

My Cantankerous Old Uncle
By Mister, Age 25
I went to the Home where my old uncle lives and he said to me BOY! I Can't do NOthin for myself any more, and I said I didn't understand and he said He can't even piss alone. So I said does a nurse help you with that, and he said yes, and I said that doesn't sound so bad, and he said it's not so bad, except its humiliating. I said what else, and he said he can't feel anything like he used to. He said BOY, I CAN'T EVEN TELL, BOY, ARE MY ARMS TIRED? YOU CHECK FOR ME! So I was confused and I sort of looked and he laughed. When you are old, you think that is a joke, picking on your little relatives. The End.

by MisterNihil 3:05 PM

 

Just flew in late last night after about a week in Texas and...

boy, are my arms tired

by Fred 8:30 AM

Thursday, October 02, 2003

 

With the neat work of his clever scissors, he'd have her. Breasts from Cosmo, lips from Glamour, arms by Sports Illustrated, a snatch straight from Penthouse, and a blush out of Playboy. She would be perfect, and she would be his. He smeared the rubber cement while it was still wet, crooning softly over his woman as he daubed with the brush.

He sat back and pushed his glasses up his nose, fighting the sweat that made them slip. At arm's length, she looked less perfect. Cut together and assembled but also somehow... flat.

He turned back to the pile of magazines he'd collected from the periodicals rack. He needed more reference. His scissors glinted in the hazy light filtering through the library windows.

With a stroke of insight, he added fashion from Vogue. She looked defiant, from New York City. He added intellect from Mensa. She intimidated him.

He thumbed through more magazines. Humor from National Lampoon's. Hobbies from Women's Sports & Fitness. Self-affirmation from Mode. Culture from the New Yorker. Cooking from Redbook. All were snipped and pasted onto his perfect woman.

He stopped to catch his breath. The sun had set; the library was gray and empty. Snippings and scraps floated aimlessly or were trapped to the table by glue. She looked at him. All woman. All magnificent. And in that moment, they both knew: She didn't need him.

by Sharon 1:58 PM

 

He was dating the girl from the magazine. He had to keep reminding himself of this during the doldrums of his day. He told himself this before the dates, and he told himself this after. He was dating the girl from the magazine.
He had seen the issue on the newsstand months before and picked it up on the strength of her eyes alone. He usually didn't read that kind of magazine, but her eyes talked him into it. They seemed to flutter, even on the flat page. They spoke volumes to him even before he dropped the twenty on the counter and waited for change. Her pictures were tasteful and lovely, never dirty. He didn't feel shocked to look at them.
And then he met her at the supermarket. She was alone, buying peaches, and he'd asked her out on the spot. His line was, in retrospect, kind of dumb.
"Hello. I can't not ask. May I take you out to dinner?"
Hell, it had worked. He told her, sheepishly, about her eyes and the magazine, that he owned it. It wouldn't do to have these things come out later and cause tension. She understood. And suddenly, he was dating the girl from the magazine.
Work wasn't so bad that week. Everything seemed wonderful.
When, six months later, they broke up, he was embittered and her good looks had been corrupted by nights spent crying at his hurtful words. They remembered, though, until they died the first few weeks, when he was dating the girl from the magazine, and she had found stability at last.

by MisterNihil 11:43 AM