Wednesday, June 18, 2008
What do these two titular things have in common? Why writing prompts of course! On Sunday, Leslee and I hung out doing writing prompts. We came up with the idea of trying to rewrite sentences (passing back and forth) to try to come up with creative ways of retooling a concept. We limited ourselves to one sheet of paper for each exercise. Here are the results, Leslee's sentences are in red, mine are in blue:
---
The avocado moldered under the fridge.
Under the fridge, the avocado was moldering, much as my life was—stagnant and rotting.
My life was moldering, rotting, stagnant; like the avocado under the fridge.
The avocado became a metaphor for my life, once vibrantly green with life, now a lump of mold, green still, but stagnant with rot.
My life, once, green, now moldered, still and stagnant, like the avocado under the fridge.
Green mold under the fridge—that's what my life had become.
My life was nothing more than the dead space under the fridge where bits of things lingered and moldered until they were dust.
Dead space, an avocado molding under the fridge, my life—they are all the same.
My life, my life! Dead space under the fridge.
Avocados mold, life decays, there are some things the fridge simply cannot save.
Save the avocados before they die. The fridge is no saint to time.
---
My stomach churned as the boat tossed on the roiling sea.
The boat tossed as the sea roiled and my stomach churned.
My mouth foamed. I regurgitated. The ocean roiled and licked and bit the boat.
I spat upon the foaming sea,
the ocean roiled and
spit on me.
How vain to think my spat
could make the ocean flat
Tis vanity indeed to
walk upon the sea
as only Jesus could
the one and true
the divine Holy See
The calm glassy sea was a distant memory. I threw up, passed out on the deck, and rolled aft, breaking my nose.
I awoke to a glassy sea, my stomach no longer churning. The boat floated still and silent—an obedient servant to the winds, now mercifully still. The aftermath of the storm was beginning—an unrelenting sun shining down and no fresh water anywhere.
The storm made obedient my stomach to its fits and spells.
---
My silver mirror gleamed in his presence.
All around him was an aura that shone bright, spilling past the edges of my silver mirror and filling the room with his resplendent light.
His aura shattered my mirror.
My mirror shattered under the brightness of his aura—Divinity incarnate, but vain enough to look into the mirror—another fallen angel in the making.
The arrival of Lucifer was quite surprising. The intensity of his aural light burst my hallway mirror. Three weeks later, I found a piece of glass lodged under the carpet on the stairway landing.
'Lucifer & The Heavenly Lights' were the headliners at the rock-fest. In the mirror were their cocaine tracks—like their music, they were neat, linear, and white-hot deadly.
I laid dying, cocaine my accomplice, when Lucifer emerged from my mirror in a burst of silver light. That was when my life began again.
A cocaine death, blessed by Lucifer is a better high than any service blessed by a priest.
Lucifer gave me enough Novocain to last the night.
---
The expanse of time felt like a pregnant pause.
Time expanded into a pregnant pause.
A pregnant pause hung in the air, filling the expanse of time and space between us.
Between us was a pregnant pause; time expanded.
Between the expanse of time, a pregnant pause filled the space—and still nothing remained.
Nothing remained between us. The pregnant expanse of space and time collapsed. [the pregnant pause was driving me nuts at this point...]
Between us was the void—a pregnant pause, once filled with love, now just a dead zone. [...and it's back...]
Love once filled the space between us—now a void. [...taking it out again...]
Love could fill the pregnant pause, if only our love hadn't perished in the void. [...arghh...]
The void ate up our love. [...attempting a different metaphor to see if it would stick...]
The pregnant void, birthed our love, yet again, and again. [...sigh]
The afterbirth of our love was the void. [I did end up with the last line, haha! No offense Leslee :-) ]
---
The kneeling nun said a silent prayer to a God she no longer believed in.
God looked down and judged the nun, kneeling, non-believing, but praying. Silence filled the abbey.
In the silence of the abbey, the aged nun prayed on worn knees to a judging God.
The abbey grew upwards, stretching, expanding with silent prayer. Sister Agatha wanted the God that went away. Her knees ached on the cold stone; her skin thin protection; her habit worn shield; her resolve, withered but rising.
Under her habit, the aging nun felt herself growing cold. The cold stones beneath her knees sent shivers up her spine. Her God now only spoke to her through her aches and pains. Long gone was the enthusiasm of the Novitiate she had been. An old and silent God now the only companion of the disbelieving nun.
God raped the nun's mind as she lay dying on the cold stones. Her brain bled, and shed her thousand prayers.
"Fuck you God!" She liked to challenge the heavenly father; after all, what was one more Hail Mary to an aging nun.
---
Late at night, agter all the neighbors went to sleep, Mrs. McMurty went about the business of murdering.
Mrs. McMurtry opened the knife cabinet. The neighbors were still asleep.
She only ventured out after everyone was asleep. With knife in hand, she tip-toed into the night to deliver justice upon the wife beaters.
Ed was not aware that Mrs. McMurtry intended to murder him. The knife slashed through his throat before he could awaken. Mrs. McMurtry watched his blood soak into his ample wife-beater.
The knife was a silent instrument of justice in her hand. Its serrated edge the only hard evidence a human, not divine, hand had inflicted punishment.
Justice was served on the edge of the common kitchen blade. It was also used for cutting cake.
Justice, like cake, is best served in small portions.
I murdered him slowly...with the cake knife, still covered in icing from my daughter's birthday.
After the murder, I wiped the knife clean and returned it to the butcher-block. How appropriate, wouldn't you say?
---
The avocado moldered under the fridge.
Under the fridge, the avocado was moldering, much as my life was—stagnant and rotting.
My life was moldering, rotting, stagnant; like the avocado under the fridge.
The avocado became a metaphor for my life, once vibrantly green with life, now a lump of mold, green still, but stagnant with rot.
My life, once, green, now moldered, still and stagnant, like the avocado under the fridge.
Green mold under the fridge—that's what my life had become.
My life was nothing more than the dead space under the fridge where bits of things lingered and moldered until they were dust.
Dead space, an avocado molding under the fridge, my life—they are all the same.
My life, my life! Dead space under the fridge.
Avocados mold, life decays, there are some things the fridge simply cannot save.
Save the avocados before they die. The fridge is no saint to time.
---
My stomach churned as the boat tossed on the roiling sea.
The boat tossed as the sea roiled and my stomach churned.
My mouth foamed. I regurgitated. The ocean roiled and licked and bit the boat.
I spat upon the foaming sea,
the ocean roiled and
spit on me.
How vain to think my spat
could make the ocean flat
Tis vanity indeed to
walk upon the sea
as only Jesus could
the one and true
the divine Holy See
The calm glassy sea was a distant memory. I threw up, passed out on the deck, and rolled aft, breaking my nose.
I awoke to a glassy sea, my stomach no longer churning. The boat floated still and silent—an obedient servant to the winds, now mercifully still. The aftermath of the storm was beginning—an unrelenting sun shining down and no fresh water anywhere.
The storm made obedient my stomach to its fits and spells.
---
My silver mirror gleamed in his presence.
All around him was an aura that shone bright, spilling past the edges of my silver mirror and filling the room with his resplendent light.
His aura shattered my mirror.
My mirror shattered under the brightness of his aura—Divinity incarnate, but vain enough to look into the mirror—another fallen angel in the making.
The arrival of Lucifer was quite surprising. The intensity of his aural light burst my hallway mirror. Three weeks later, I found a piece of glass lodged under the carpet on the stairway landing.
'Lucifer & The Heavenly Lights' were the headliners at the rock-fest. In the mirror were their cocaine tracks—like their music, they were neat, linear, and white-hot deadly.
I laid dying, cocaine my accomplice, when Lucifer emerged from my mirror in a burst of silver light. That was when my life began again.
A cocaine death, blessed by Lucifer is a better high than any service blessed by a priest.
Lucifer gave me enough Novocain to last the night.
---
The expanse of time felt like a pregnant pause.
Time expanded into a pregnant pause.
A pregnant pause hung in the air, filling the expanse of time and space between us.
Between us was a pregnant pause; time expanded.
Between the expanse of time, a pregnant pause filled the space—and still nothing remained.
Nothing remained between us. The pregnant expanse of space and time collapsed. [the pregnant pause was driving me nuts at this point...]
Between us was the void—a pregnant pause, once filled with love, now just a dead zone. [...and it's back...]
Love once filled the space between us—now a void. [...taking it out again...]
Love could fill the pregnant pause, if only our love hadn't perished in the void. [...arghh...]
The void ate up our love. [...attempting a different metaphor to see if it would stick...]
The pregnant void, birthed our love, yet again, and again. [...sigh]
The afterbirth of our love was the void. [I did end up with the last line, haha! No offense Leslee :-) ]
---
The kneeling nun said a silent prayer to a God she no longer believed in.
God looked down and judged the nun, kneeling, non-believing, but praying. Silence filled the abbey.
In the silence of the abbey, the aged nun prayed on worn knees to a judging God.
The abbey grew upwards, stretching, expanding with silent prayer. Sister Agatha wanted the God that went away. Her knees ached on the cold stone; her skin thin protection; her habit worn shield; her resolve, withered but rising.
Under her habit, the aging nun felt herself growing cold. The cold stones beneath her knees sent shivers up her spine. Her God now only spoke to her through her aches and pains. Long gone was the enthusiasm of the Novitiate she had been. An old and silent God now the only companion of the disbelieving nun.
God raped the nun's mind as she lay dying on the cold stones. Her brain bled, and shed her thousand prayers.
"Fuck you God!" She liked to challenge the heavenly father; after all, what was one more Hail Mary to an aging nun.
---
Late at night, agter all the neighbors went to sleep, Mrs. McMurty went about the business of murdering.
Mrs. McMurtry opened the knife cabinet. The neighbors were still asleep.
She only ventured out after everyone was asleep. With knife in hand, she tip-toed into the night to deliver justice upon the wife beaters.
Ed was not aware that Mrs. McMurtry intended to murder him. The knife slashed through his throat before he could awaken. Mrs. McMurtry watched his blood soak into his ample wife-beater.
The knife was a silent instrument of justice in her hand. Its serrated edge the only hard evidence a human, not divine, hand had inflicted punishment.
Justice was served on the edge of the common kitchen blade. It was also used for cutting cake.
Justice, like cake, is best served in small portions.
I murdered him slowly...with the cake knife, still covered in icing from my daughter's birthday.
After the murder, I wiped the knife clean and returned it to the butcher-block. How appropriate, wouldn't you say?
posted by KaOs at
6/18/2008 02:17:00 AM
1 Comments
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