100 Words

[clutching_calliope]

excerpt (mirrors at night)

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[clutching_calliope]

excerpt (painting days)

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[clutching_calliope]

excerpt (the ring he picked)

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[clutching_calliope]

excerpt (waiting and dying)

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[clutching_calliope]

S'more procrastination

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[Tzara]

Wedding

It was a traditional wedding—the bride wore white, her maids garnet satin. The groomsmen were immaculate in their tuxedos. Even their posture was good.

The organist played the wedding march from Lohengrin. Elliot half expected the swan boat to appear, though the baptismal fount seemed too small for it. She planned this well, he thought.

Kris was radiant, as lovely as he had ever seen her. Even her father looked friendly, which was odd but somehow right.

I know a great hotel on the Herengracht, he thought. You would have loved it.

The pew was hard. His legs cramped.

 

[Tzara]

United Nations

Scott had dated Liv from when they were in college. They had been affectionate, but chaste. After graduation, she returned to teach in Trondheim. Scott wrote to her, often daily. Her replies, he thought, seemed distant and impersonal. She always used the valediction "K". This bothered him.

One day, Scott was talking to Kjell, the engineer from Norway. He mentioned Trondheim and this girl he knew. Kjell was happy to talk about his country, which he missed.

Scott asked about the "K". I don't know for sure, Kjell said, but kjærlighet is the word for "love".

Scott went happily away.

 

[Tzara]

Thorn Field

Things finally seemed to be going right for me. The preparations for the wedding were complete and I was happy, truly happy, for once in my life. Edward seemed so as well, though with his gloomy countenance I was the only one who knew, because I knew him so well. Then that solicitor in the black suit told everyone about the mad wife up in the attic, and I knew I had to leave.

So now it seems a missionary's life will I lead. A life of Good, though without Romance. Luckily, I love to sing.

Reader, I married hymn.

 

[cherries_on_snow]

Night insects sing in so many parts, so many small-fraction steps that it knits my ear in calm and the air back here, on this perfectly small porch, stirs only slightly through windowsill succulents. I feel happier than I ever have. Perhaps this realization scares me because this is no great moment. Perhaps some hearts well in simpler scales.

Even the sound of the cat's prowling, telltale jingle over the grass as she pounces, makes me sigh with satisfaction. It is a good life, and past tears only flavor the broth of it.

 

[cherries_on_snow]

the brittany

When he came, the pets were sent outdoors with the hunting bitch, trained to balance pork belly on her nose even when she hadn't been fed that day until his command.

The pets grew frantic for love, the silky fur of the pekingese matting. Their affections, when let in, were frenzied and frightened the children. They were left out like galoshes in the desert.

The bitch was let to get in heat, for she was his property. One day she mated and she and the mongrel sire mauled the pets to death, the well-trained instrument of master's brutal love.

 

[clutching_calliope]

This Stall is Occupied

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[clutching_calliope]

I Think I Think Too Much

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[clutching_calliope]

Plan B

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[clutching_calliope]

Bones Like Latex

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[clutching_calliope]

Aspirations

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[succubi-tamer]

On Departure...

Sure, I hated growing up in South Central LA, and left when I was 18 and
forgot about Pops for a few years and became a sophisticate. But can
you die hating the carbon-sodden air that bronzed your skin, that
nourished your soul, your 'hood, that place where you finger-fucked Maria
in the parking lot of Spanish SDA? And cried when she ignored
you at prom, gazing lovingly at that Dominican cunt?

When Pops wasn't drunk and beating Chris and I, he'd let me read. When he smiled at table, I knew I'd always come home.

 

[succubi-tamer]

On My First Tattoo

When Chris was 14 he wanted ink on his skin because 'Stavo ran with the Crips, and Chris wanted to be like 'Stavo. So we drove to Marina Del Rey because that's where Tania worked, and Tania kissed chicks and guys as well, and Tania talked about condoms and had tattoos, and I knew Tania was safe and smart and could tell us what to do.

Chris wanted a tattoo like 'Stavo which was black with letters, but Tania said Chris was too beautiful for that and so he got a dragon instead, because dragons once protected our ancestors.

 

[succubi-tamer]

On Us Three Sybarites

Before Pops got real sick, I went home and looked Tania up in the old neighborhood because Tania was really smart and cared about me, and I wanted to tell her about Boston and maybe show off a bit. Tania looked older but forever radiant, and her lover was even older still but blonde with short hair and conical tits and nice blue eyes.

We smoked and talked and then we all took a bath together, naked and giggling, eyes twinkling. We kissed and kissed and kissed. I'll always love Tania, even if I have to share her.

 

[succubi-tamer]

On Tania's Cunt

Tania's clit has a ring in it, and her lips have rings and studs, and her cunt tastes like metalic brine and I could eat her for hours and hours. She makes little sounds in bed when I'm inside her and she likes when I thrust into her deeply, clutching her like ocean flotsam.

When Pops got really bad, Tania stopped coming round to the hospital saying death made her sad. Chris said she was a selfish cunt. But Tania hates Pops for what he did, and she doesn't need to watch him go.

Chris prays daily.

 

[cherries_on_snow]

I used to try to pump up my rage. At the gym, my music of choice was Dead Kennedys and I could feel the sweet billowing of endorphins against the driving, maniacal beat. I found dramatic lovers who fought me, threw me, crashed against me. I was queen of the cold call audition, battling the actresses with my body, my nuanced voice.

Then I got real. Rage is best left for that overturned car, baby pinned under. I've blown out one end of the candle and set it down and now, jogging track, I listen to distant whispers of wind.

 

[clutching_calliope]

excerpt (thighs)

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[clutching_calliope]

excerpt (Sylvia Plath's photo on the cubicle wall)

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[clutching_calliope]

excerpt (token of sentimentality)

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[RhymeFairy]

These headaches come pulsating like a rubbing tension line, being played by that infamous die hard banjo picker. He strums as I silently, scathingly scream. All I can do is think of him, his smile and curls. I cannot remember which came first, the sound of his giggle or actually seeing him smile? Then a flying bed that never touched the ground. These memories are what keeps me alive when the pounding feels as if it's making a new door at the back of my head. As if hypnotized, I paste a smile on and grit my teeth. Like the dog who sees a nonexistent bone ... I see his smile ~

 

[clutching_calliope]

I'll See You

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