Tag Archives: prose

Claustro

Mike-Nelsons-piece-Amnesi-001

There are courses of events or something like them that determine little more than less.  Of course these courses are not always clear to those determining them much less to those traversing.  At the thought of being bound by some such externally determined predisposed path there is shaking as no apparent exit is apparent.  Absence of motion in the stead of every fiber urging motion yields an occasional view from a gap far too small to use, but eat me, drink me, or something or the other might be in play here or there as panic falls to sleep across a bridge.


Ways to go

download

Are these star-crossed lovers organ thieves or grinders.  Robbers of banks or people. Escaping some destiny laid before one of them who only finds shelter from his or her fate in the arms of the other.  A road trip, an odyssey of Ulyssiad proportions.  Lost in a forest, in a cabin, near a lake, on a mountain or burial mound as it may happen to be.  A cave, an abyss or maybe just a cat, a date, a follower of sorts through rain-slicked nightscapes, down alleys and sewers alike to escape the unknown who may or may not be herding them to some destination of malcontent on the edge of a pier with no escape other than the cold dark sea.  More to the one for the other to understand; the decision of course is which would be which and why.  Scars in one cerebral in the other. Scars to the cerebral as the cerebral tends to madness and scars, generally anyway, seek quietude.  A quest of sorts or not, perhaps some meandering, but that probably won’t be the case as some fantastic has already been introduced.  So fantastic quest into a perilous nightscape with one to the other, eventually better, or not, maybe dead, eventually, but with illumination.


Something else

images

A few days had passed with no word from his parents.  It was supposed to be a simple skiing trip.  He assumed that they were simply out of cell phone range, because anything else would require some measure of action, the nature of which would not be unlike carrying the burden of Atlas.  His sister shared his relative ambivalence regarding parent status; she stated what he would not, which was, “They don’t go out of their way to check on us, so why would we check on them?”  He was quite relieved at his sibling’s validation, so much so that he didn’t give it another thought until the police called several weeks later.

His father was the adventurous type and had taken his mother rock climbing instead of skiing.  They had become stranded on a ledge and based on journal entries had lost their minds and jumped into the gorge below.  He was hoping for a more interesting story; something like, “Your father was found to have developed a bear/shark hybrid and it escaped its cage and consumed your parents.  We need the keys to your father’s lab immediately to contain this biological threat.”  His sister concurred with how unremarkably their parents had perished and jokingly offered to help him with any bear/shark experiments he might be working on.

He tends to roll his sleeves.  A long time ago he realized that his arms were a bit longer than average.  Even so, he generally lets one roll down and doesn’t bother correcting it until it becomes an impairment.  As to what an unbuttoned sleeve could impair is debatable, however he generally allows this asymmetry to occur in times of pleasant dishevelry, and as tasks arise, the act of correcting his shirt mnemonically triggers his work persona.

Most days he was fairly confident of who he was, but about once a month he considered the idea that his head and neck had at one point been replaced with those of someone else.  He was still him, but something less or more as well.  There wasn’t any good explanation for his imagined transplantation so he simply counted it, along with some other nonsense, as a minor victory against insanity.


Corporate

juxtaposition02

Bret from Dayton on the line, but so is dawn from Naples.  No need for concern about the new rollout, it doesn’t concern the group in the least unless there issome change that could be taking place in the structure of the object whose framework requires stabilizing brackets at the 18.75 mark, although the coding is sound, the account manager is not.  Hardware from refinished item A needs to be applied to found object B for an aesthetically pleasing result because of the emotional attachment to item C, it cannot be part of the process, which Stan wrote for Eva to test because she knew how to through performing sexual favors at lunch, but that’s just hearsay painted black.

Photo credit:blog.martinbaileyphotography.com


Other

imagesCAR1SALP

He did not do well outdoors.  It wasn’t that elements or allergens had some negative effect on his biology; moreso it was the sound, or lack thereof.  Most of the time all he really wanted to hear was the low hum of central air or the high-pitched drone of a computer monitor.  He took some solace in the rumble of nearby highways, but on the occasions when there was nothing for him to find, he more often than not ended up bumping into walls and passersby as a way to assert his existence.  It was during a particularly unpleasant episode that he stumbled down a somewhat concealed stairwell and into the mouth of a waiting giant squid.

 


Shakespeare Redux

Is there an odor that could contain the scent of rot in this once great estate.  Those dead walk to an fro as industries of war work deep into the night.  It has once come and then again in phantasm fashion.  What of the daughter, her lover, the wife, the uncle, actors, rival, traitorous friends, duels poison death love loss suicide the like of which has been seen before, but once again rises from the ground exhumed bones of the dead.  Where are Rose Crantz and Gilda Stern?  They are dead and fair Hamlet cloaked in inky black iced stares at the defiled mother and lecherous husband of days after the day of the father’s death stands to accuse and kill by undead pledge.  The poison is the play and is apt to act in err as the mother of her lover stabbed without knowledge is dragged through the house of halls.

Thoughts are bloody and nothing worth time, hesitation, betrothed betrayal in watery death he lies unknown to his expatriotess, dropped from the shoulders of men to a changeless sleep of no escape.  A man known well of infinite jest can laugh no more as he who in rapt madness removed his life in a river grave now known and passingly mourned by the young princess Denmark as a sporting duel looms with the sister of the dead and all but one slain will tell the tragic tale.