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July 31st, 2009 at 12:03pm]

I have reached a new level of self loathing.
Where did all my words go?
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My New Writing Prompt Community, Please Participate [Sunday
March 15th, 2009 at 10:18pm]

Dear Fellow Penvomiters:

I apologize for the spam! I'm trying to get an off-the-wall writing-prompt community going. I'll but the details...

...behind this cut. ^_^Collapse )
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Hot Rod Serengeti [Tuesday
March 10th, 2009 at 10:43am]

The Hot Rod Serengeti:

The afternoon is growing late, and the heat of the day of is starting to wane. I'm looking over the landscape, through the lens of my camera, from the vantage point atop my truck. The grassy plain an amber expanse before me, speckled with bits of green, waving slightly in the breeze. This is play time on the Hot Rod Serengeti, when the nocturnal predators are just coming fully awake, the diurnal relaxing from a good day's work, and the crepuscular gearing up for activity. The first to catch my eye are the young and adolescent elephants.

Young elephants roll clumsily, tentatively keeping their wheels in the direction of travel or turning too quickly or out of sink; they frequently skid sideways and land on their backs; rarely do they have the speed to hurt themselves. The sound of a youngster rolling is distinctive, as it is for all immature animals on the Hot Rod Serengeti, because the failure of their four wheels to sync properly creates a disharmonious sound. Thus young animals tend to move slowly enough to be quiet when the adults aren't nearby. Today they're moving in a confusion of tumbling, bumbling circles and figure eights.

The adolescent elephants are a different story: their wheels sounding in perfectly harmony, and loudly from the stress of acceleration or high speed. Schematically like modified flagellum, each wheel powered by a complex system of sliding muscle fibers, contracting in time as neurons, coordinated by the brain, trigger enzyme strategic enzyme floods; millions of tiny fingers curling up against each other and sliding the circular axle muscles around and around inside the housing muscles. At slow, steady speed, these contractions work smoothly and do not jar the animal's shoulders and hips. The result is quiet locomotion, and the muscles have time to shed the enzymes and then contract again, allowing for sustained movement. But the adolescents are Hot-Rodding around the herd; the nerves trigger the enzyme dumps into patterns that create an audible jolt as the muscles contract and moves the animal with force. The tone depends on the animal, but the pattern is the same. For elephants, it begins as a low plub plub plub and winds up to a high slappityslappityslappity. Now the muscles don't have time to dump the enzymes, so the animal engages a next sent of muscle fibers with longer "fingers," and the pattern repeats, though starting at a higher register. Big cats have the same pattern, but it sounds like a purr; hyenas, a strangely tuned squelch is the underlying note; gazelle, a snap.

My driver points off to my left, and I turn my lens to spy a mother cheetah stalking a herd of gazelle. Her wheels are "diameter-retracted" or "DR" (pronounced "dee-arr"), the common but not technical terms, so that I can see every irregularity in the ground as her shoulders and hips jolt over every bump. Ahead of her, near the edge of the herd is an adolescent gazelle, which I guess to be her target. I line up the shot, and by a pure stroke of luck, just as I get them into view, she charges. Keeping her wheels DR for acceleration, she starts them spinning and shoots out of the long grass into the open, her first cycle run up to high-pitched screaming purr in two seconds. She's already moving at twenty or thirty miles per hour when her second cycle engages and she DIs her wheels to smooth out her travel. A second and a half in to the second cycle comes the cheetah's "enzyme purge" as she floods her second-cycle muscles and her body roars as the shock-absorbing tendons eat up the abuse the forces of acceleration. This lasts but one second; her acceleration is astonishing, and when that cycle's muscles give up in fatigue, she engages the third cycle at a cool 75 miles per hour.

In the mean time, the gazelle herd has bolted and split. The adolescent is rolling away from her at frantic, but insufficient speed. Instinctively, he varies his path slightly moment to moment, but maintains generally straight ahead until she's within striking range. Then his brain goes in to what I call "coin-flip mode": that evolutionary survival strategy of turning left or right at random, again and again and again. His muscles are creating a high snapping whine, while the cheetah, having slowed to his 45 mile-per-hour pace, is using a mix of her third- and first-cycle muscles, the latter having sloughed off their enzymes, to create a two-part harmony most pleasing to the human ear. And not only humans: except for the fleeing gazelles, all the animals within sight have stopped cold and are now watching the drama unfold.

She is right on him as he tries to lose her: Turn! Turn! Turn! Turn! He never travels in one direction for more than a half-second; his only hope is for her to make the wrong turn and not have the energy to catch up with him again. It is a long, frantic chase — the pace is like a sustained, fast Olympic ping-pong volley. Turn! Turn! Turn! Wrong! On his last left, she went right! She attempts to recover but spins backwards! The trumpeting of elephants and roars of lions roll across the land as they appreciate the thrill, whatever emotions they may harbor in their animal brains. But it's not over! I look back and she has engaged her reverse muscles, holding her direction, though veering left, her body making a screeching whine for the speed she's at. Dangerous move, but the panicked gazelle has turned right! They're rolling parallel, five feet apart. The gazelle turns left and the cheetah pulls a three-quarter Rockford turn and is now on the gazelle's rear bumper!

The cheetah is practically touching the gazelle. They are both exhausted, but she doesn't give up. She anticipates his next turn, cut it early, and rams into one of his rear wheels, knocking him off balance and the wheel out from under him. As he skids sideways and tumbles, she does a doughnut, kicking dirt into the air as she decelerates and circles the gazelle until she can get her mouth on his throat and strangle him in her death grip.

She is exhausted. She is breathing heavily, frantically; panicked, she's eying the world around her like a madman. Soon I understand why she's so spooked: a cackle of hyenas is approaching. They're going to take her kill.

Anyplace else, she would have lost her kill, but not on the Hot Rod Serengeti. Here you'll find that Drive To Win is a survival trait. Before she is accosted, two adult male lions show their appreciation by scattering the hyenas. The lions are outnumbered, at first, but three adolescent elephants roar into the fray, and it is clear the young mother will be feeding her cubs tonight. The sun is beginning to set as begins hauling the kill back to her family.
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June 17th, 2008 at 7:31pm]

Ever notice when we are little we tell our parents how many kids we are gonna have and what our wedding will be like. and they just nod and laugh. then when you grow up you realize they were laughing not because you were funny but how cute and innocent you were. Life makes you so vile. Then again the reason you grow is from learning. So either you can never grow up and be innocent. Or grow up and have been hurt and loved but at least you grew up right?

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May 15th, 2008 at 4:58am]

34 reasons Jeffery Dahmer should eat his heart out

she pushed herself against me,
to get closer, or maybe for drunken balance.

it was because i challenged her.
definitely for balance.

her voice is soft when she says she loves me;
i swoon like
a child given candy.

sugary sweet,
cavities a plenty.

yellowed wallpaper, i don't even smoke
unnerved, i send a text message asking for help.

22 minutes later, i am in her car.

you keep barely enough food to live on
in your refrigerator. you can't connect
unless you're drunk. you are unneeding.

i know i love you all wrong.

tahitian is only spoken by 150,000 people.

island winds whip my hair into my lipgloss
while she makes me a drink.


blue shirt, red shirt.

veins versus blood
"how fitting" i thought.

no shirts, no shoes, no relationship.

her face was blank when she told me
"no, i am not in love with you"

i was shocked;
i shouldn't have been.

i didn't tell her i was in love with her anyway.

"the next time i get attached, I'm going to marry

the hardest part of a scab to rip off
is the final tendon. it always bleeds.

open wounds & wedding bells.

she smiles as she walks past on the street.
it is sunny; i recognize her. she doesn't know me.

the crone.

as certainly as i love, i am the mother.
i smile, she frowns.

yes, she loved her once too. it's a shame
we don't know one another.

water puts out fire,
fire eats air,
air is essential to earth,
earth lives on water.


the crowd cheers, the ball drops;
the new year is validated.

i spill my beer when i cheer,
i have dropped the ball.

keep be grounded while i help you
fly, fly, fly...

she is a devout woman,
scientist of the culture.

am i just a specimen?

mirror mirror on the wall, who's
the most repulsive of them all?

in a disaffected world, sexuality
would be fluid.

today, i am a whore;
thanks for the defense.

self-loathing brings her to her knees;
skin peeled back, she's not as strong
as previously anticipated.

i assume nothing.

furiously pacing back & forth,
her furrowed brow asks why.

"i am just waiting."

forgive, but never forget.

she slithers her arms around me
in the divet of the slide. stars flutter,
then die out.

have you ever been in love?

i said yes.
i said yes.
i said yes.

the police ain't got nothing
on what we do to each other.

you smell like cheap rum, cheap cigarettes.
slurping at an empty cup, finding

cheap is the new classy.

if i ever loved you
once, i love you
right now.

hummingbirds flutter,
women ache, i bow my head.

how appropriate to epitomize this.

maybe you were articulate,
but I'd like to think you were
stumbling like me.

i don't mind the sound of
your voice, i just hate the words you say.

lick my cheek,
touch my hips.

pleasure my mind until i cum in paragraphs & semi-colons.

i was hard for the cash,
so i was down for the crime.

"do you still respect me?"

you held me on your chest while i panicked.

i find myself missing you.
i find myself. period.

& afterwards our skin glowed
& i swear if anyone had seen us
we would have looked

like angels.

i am fucking her.
or is she fucking me?

she crashed her car into the curb
while we talked in quieted whispers
with our hoods on.

all sparks.

7 mph home & we kept our eyes shadowed,
but our laughter loud.

discreet absences are not lost on
these forlorn eyes.

she pushed me into the counter,
i ran her into the wall.
my arm is bruised, her leg is bleeding.

fighting or making love;
is there really a difference?

i have a crush on her.
i am pathetic.
she makes me blush.

it is only blood underneath the skin.

it's been two weeks since we've last seen each other.
i remember her from a distance;
black trench coat, lack of eye contact.

i miss her.

to bleeding lip;
you split
me open, here i am.
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Anybody Recall the Anti-Vampire Stuff in "Salem's Lot"? [Wednesday
May 14th, 2008 at 9:58am]

I was going to write a light-hearted entry on Stephen King's "Salem's Lot," but I can't remember the anti-vampire lore from the book. I recall one was black dogs w/ white eyebrows, and he had a specific name for them, but I can't recall what the name was. Then there was some type of flower, I think, and at one point the main character discovers that they've all been bought up throughout the region. What else?

Does anybody recall the details on this sort of thing? If so, please share. Thanks!
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Spare the Rod, Spoil the A**hole [Wednesday
April 23rd, 2008 at 3:27pm]

"Morning, sunshine!" he said through a shit-eating grin.

"Go pound sand in your ass," she said, throwing an energy bar at his head.

"Speaking of pounding things in asses," he said, eyes point down to his erection standing proud, if unimpressive. He thumbed it once and it shook with an audible twang.

She glared at him.

"Aw," he whined, "c'mon, baby!"

"I ain't your baby. And you've read Even Cowgirls Get the Blues," she said, leaning toward him, drawing her fist back to strike. "You know what would happen if I punched your dick right now."

She looked down to take aim, but it was too late, his erection had already deflated. His sad, flaccid member a limp protrusion out of his pubic hair. But he had gotten her riled, so she slapped his scrotum with force, then started into her breakfast of part of an energy bar, a vitamin pill, and a drop of water.

"Why'd you do that?" he said after a few minutes recovery.

"Why?" she said. "Um, let's see. Oh, yes, that's right. It's your fault my sister is dead. It's your fault my two best friends are dead. It's your fault we're stuck in a life raft in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. And it's your fault that half the raft has been colonized by an evil book that tries to bite me when I get near it!"

She slapped his scrotum again. "Jackass," she added. She took what was left of one of the oars and tried to push the book back to the far end of the raft. It snapped at oar, sinking its teeth into the plastic pole, which allowed her to shove it farther away from her. When it reached the limit of the raft, she pushed even harder. The oar slipped farther into the book, little by little, until it started to gag and choke. She chuckled and shoved harder, enjoying the pleasure of torturing such an evil thing.

"Be nice," he said behind her, when he could manage the words through his groans.
Continue Reading Behind This Cut!Collapse )
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She's running out the door [Wednesday
February 13th, 2008 at 11:12pm]

Angel, oh angel
Please don't weep
The serpant's tongue is sharp, but the poison's weak
Divert your eyes don't let yourself be mesmerized
Like Medusa she snakes her limbs around your waist
"You're too warm to turn to stone." she says
Instead you'll be a display in her menagerie
Come one, come all! See this broken creature try to fly!
Watch him! Watch him as he cries!
Oh, sweet soul, did you expect the devil to play nice?
She smiles and she sings, cool as rain
And you pets dance to the sound of your chains
Angel, oh angel
Please don't weep
The walls are tall, and your wings are torn
But you don't need to fly to change your course
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Constellations [Tuesday
February 5th, 2008 at 12:16am]

Putting prices on everyone's heads
shifting the blame to anywhere but it's rightful place
O, Hercules! O, god among men
You've picked your battle
Congratulations, victory is yours
Are you prepared to pay the cost?
O, soldier, put down your sword
It's stained by true love's kiss
Somebody! Save us from the hell we're living in
For it's not really living at all
Empty and metal, you left your home for this?
O, Hercules! O, god among men
O, soldier, slave or merchant
wipe your blade
the show is over
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January 30th, 2008 at 9:44am]

like standing on a cliff, the second before you drop
a sickening dizziness resides inside me.
what happens when you fall;
from a place so high the clouds are scared?
the impact is sure to shatter everything.

so I am holding onto you, terrified of the night I can’t,
praying I don’t lose my footing,
that somehow the world doesn’t crash.
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