Three bits of lyric for you Lester, all without that nasty parasite fucking it up, though...what is written after the three, well I probably will let the parasite play just a little.
1. Stilled waters calm ushered from the sky
Loving hands of Simloon to caress
Under light of Targon's moon
Bring in the harvest of peace.
Waters Caress
2. To you my love, the one of dreams, found soul of one
Where comes this feeling, this moment won
In light of truth, of wonder, of peace,
for death with, will never come.
My Love
3. Made to know, to see, to be free!
All around a world seen, this is the life of mine
Hammered chains broken links to fall
Slavery gone and forgotten.
The Better Days
There you go Lester. They are now yours. The first is more fiction thus you could change the two 'foreign' words and substitute one fitting your story. The second is a love ballad. The third is a song showing freedom from a past injustice.
Now, that damn parasite is calling...'
***
1. Fu-u-uuuu-ck Yoooouuu!
FuUUUckkkk youuuu...
Fa Fa Fucccckk you...
Fucky fuck you.
2. Row row row your boat
Row your boat to hell!
Merrily merrily merrily merrily
life is but a nightmare!
3. If you want my body and you think I'm sexy
Send me lots of money
Buy me lots of druggies
and...
Splat! Bang! Pow!
That's enough parasite, back to your cave.
"Thanks Robin...prick"
Writers Parasite [Contains Adult Language & Situations]
Moderator: Editors
-
Lester Curtis
- Long Fiction Editor
- Posts: 2736
- Joined: January 11, 2010, 12:03:56 AM
- Location: by the time you read this, I'll be somewhere else
Re: Writers Parasite
Okay, thanks, I'll think about those. I might be able to do something with them.
And as to "Row, Row, Row ..."—here's my answer:
Blow, blow, blow your nose
Wipe it on your sleeve
This is so disgusting that it
Makes me want to heave
That should cheer your parasite (and maybe you, too).
And as to "Row, Row, Row ..."—here's my answer:
Blow, blow, blow your nose
Wipe it on your sleeve
This is so disgusting that it
Makes me want to heave
That should cheer your parasite (and maybe you, too).
I was raised by humans. What's your excuse?
Re: Writers Parasite
Nice one Lester. Did some mowing for the neighbor and ran over the parasite a couple of times and that felt really good.
***
Gods Humor
Laughter comes in many ways, and needed.
Stress of the day to release through tears and stomach pain
Comedians with wit and soul; applause, they earn this.
Ever notice in paintings and pictures, how saints and God look so serious?
Look at a picture of Allah and get your head chopped off.
Religious folks pointing fingers, beating themselves with branches as sinners.
Mea culpa, mea culpa, mea culpa, and then cries of anguish and persecution.
Do this or do that and go straight to hell with or without excuses
Floggings.
Executions.
My God, does God really approve this?
Christian hating Christian, Jew hating Jew, Muslim hating Muslim...
Everyone hating everyone
this the being the badge of being human.
So what happens when one finds true love and it is forbidden?
Ask those who have lived in shit and finally found a piece of heaven...
It must be said there is humor in everything, even the tragic
For those of you who found true love only to be denied by a world of tragic -
Black loving White
Protestant loving Catholic
Muslim loving Christian...
You win and trust me, God smiles.
***
Gods Humor
Laughter comes in many ways, and needed.
Stress of the day to release through tears and stomach pain
Comedians with wit and soul; applause, they earn this.
Ever notice in paintings and pictures, how saints and God look so serious?
Look at a picture of Allah and get your head chopped off.
Religious folks pointing fingers, beating themselves with branches as sinners.
Mea culpa, mea culpa, mea culpa, and then cries of anguish and persecution.
Do this or do that and go straight to hell with or without excuses
Floggings.
Executions.
My God, does God really approve this?
Christian hating Christian, Jew hating Jew, Muslim hating Muslim...
Everyone hating everyone
this the being the badge of being human.
So what happens when one finds true love and it is forbidden?
Ask those who have lived in shit and finally found a piece of heaven...
It must be said there is humor in everything, even the tragic
For those of you who found true love only to be denied by a world of tragic -
Black loving White
Protestant loving Catholic
Muslim loving Christian...
You win and trust me, God smiles.
Re: Writers Parasite
It is fun to watch Lester's progress on his story and it was an honor to be asked to write a lyric that may or may not be used. I once used to write poetry on another site and once wrote poetry with other poets. I did one line and the other writer, the next. It was fun to see what two minds can come up with.
Even here I did some with Mark and that too, was fun.
Writing is wonderful.
***
Arrow Head
Tribes traveled the land long before the Spanish came with their horses. The people traveled by foot, some pulling travois with dogs or brute force. It was the horse that liberated an entire culture in a land new to Europe but old in the world, but that would come much later.
20,000 years ago the people napped stone into tools to survive. Spear points, fleshing tools, and arrow heads. Flint, obsidian, any stone of fine structure was used. Even river rock which was not suitable to be napped by the deer or elk horn tools, were incorporated into be the head of a battle axe or other form of tool making life easier.
Stones: So important to survival. An evolutionary tool needed by a species trying to find life. They were heated and used in sweat lodges where the people meditated and found meaning with the spirits. They were used in hunting, in battle, in life and killing...
The young male deer stood silently next to the spring flowing endlessly on top of a place that would later be called, Josephs Plain. Dipping its head to sip the clear cool water it would quickly raise its head, alerted to the smallest of sounds. If it saw threat its powerful legs would carry it away at lightning speed but in this situation it saw no threat.
Nearby a young man had slung his bow in silence and nocking his arrow freshly made only a week ago at Summer camp, he drew a bead on the deer.
It was a silent world, one where the young deer drank in silence and one where the young man hunted in silence. Silence is a tool but in the spiritual world nothing is silent.
The young buck sensed a threat now though it heard nothing. Raising its head it prepared to flee and just as he turned his body an arrow released by the hunter flew by the deer's shoulder, missing its mark.
With the white tail of the deer raised in alarm the animal bounced away, sounds of escape heard in the young mans failure. There would be no death for this deer this day.
The young hunter sighed with this moment of defeat but he knew he would have another chance and maybe this time it would unfold differently. Taking the sinew string off his bow he cased his weapon and silently proceeded to find another opportunity. He saw that his arrow was not salvageable as the arrow missed the deer's shoulder and smashed into some rocks, shattering the shaft and breaking the head.
Many years later a young man at play digging near the still flowing spring, found the broken arrow head. He smiled in joy, not knowing it was a special stone but that it looked, 'pretty'.
Rubbing it in his hands he cut himself as the obsidian head was still razor sharp, even after being buried for thousands of years. Dropping the stone and crying the boy ran to his mother. On the ground now lay a stone tasting blood not of deer but human. From human to human, how very fitting...
Even here I did some with Mark and that too, was fun.
Writing is wonderful.
***
Arrow Head
Tribes traveled the land long before the Spanish came with their horses. The people traveled by foot, some pulling travois with dogs or brute force. It was the horse that liberated an entire culture in a land new to Europe but old in the world, but that would come much later.
20,000 years ago the people napped stone into tools to survive. Spear points, fleshing tools, and arrow heads. Flint, obsidian, any stone of fine structure was used. Even river rock which was not suitable to be napped by the deer or elk horn tools, were incorporated into be the head of a battle axe or other form of tool making life easier.
Stones: So important to survival. An evolutionary tool needed by a species trying to find life. They were heated and used in sweat lodges where the people meditated and found meaning with the spirits. They were used in hunting, in battle, in life and killing...
The young male deer stood silently next to the spring flowing endlessly on top of a place that would later be called, Josephs Plain. Dipping its head to sip the clear cool water it would quickly raise its head, alerted to the smallest of sounds. If it saw threat its powerful legs would carry it away at lightning speed but in this situation it saw no threat.
Nearby a young man had slung his bow in silence and nocking his arrow freshly made only a week ago at Summer camp, he drew a bead on the deer.
It was a silent world, one where the young deer drank in silence and one where the young man hunted in silence. Silence is a tool but in the spiritual world nothing is silent.
The young buck sensed a threat now though it heard nothing. Raising its head it prepared to flee and just as he turned his body an arrow released by the hunter flew by the deer's shoulder, missing its mark.
With the white tail of the deer raised in alarm the animal bounced away, sounds of escape heard in the young mans failure. There would be no death for this deer this day.
The young hunter sighed with this moment of defeat but he knew he would have another chance and maybe this time it would unfold differently. Taking the sinew string off his bow he cased his weapon and silently proceeded to find another opportunity. He saw that his arrow was not salvageable as the arrow missed the deer's shoulder and smashed into some rocks, shattering the shaft and breaking the head.
Many years later a young man at play digging near the still flowing spring, found the broken arrow head. He smiled in joy, not knowing it was a special stone but that it looked, 'pretty'.
Rubbing it in his hands he cut himself as the obsidian head was still razor sharp, even after being buried for thousands of years. Dropping the stone and crying the boy ran to his mother. On the ground now lay a stone tasting blood not of deer but human. From human to human, how very fitting...
Re: Writers Parasite
"Saw Robin today but he didn't see me, I'm getting better at hiding from him. He was working with the sawmill and looked like one big fucking idiot. I was hoping he cut his head off or at least his tiny little dick but no such luck. The bastard is now relaxing watching some stupid show filled with stupid people."
"Who are you talking to parasite?" A new character emerges, one looking old and a bit different than most modern people. He was a spirit from the past, a hunter in a land now lost to civilization.
"Who the fuck are you, Pocahontas? Maybe your name is Sanchez? You look weird."
A smile appeared on the hunters face as he said, "My name is Culoon...
"Ku-loon? What kind of pussy name is that, you should..."
Culoon took a leather pouch from his hip and opening the rawhide laced top held it out towards the parasite.
"Hey! What are you doing? Hey, you, you can't do that...No! Fuck. Nooo..."
It did not take long but the parasite was now bound inside the leather pouch. Culoon kept the smile on his face as he tightened the laces on top again and then placed the bag on his belt.
***
Did it work? (Robin arrived and asked Culoon.)
"Yes Robin, it worked. That creature is a harmful being and needed to be taught about life."
So what will happen to it now?
"It will learn from others and maybe will become better from it.
Robin was twirling a stick on the ground, drawing a forgotten language and he smiled as Culoon cast the seeds of Yarrow over the scene. Tears from Robin's eye poured as he remembered, the drops mixed with the dry soil and seeds, soon a seedling emerged. Drying his face, Robin built a small fire from the memories and added his hair where the smell became pungent and sour.
"Ayiah, aliyah ya ya a ayiaho..." The spirit sang a life song and merged with the growing flames from the fire.
Shedding his clothing and naked now with a shorn head, Robin's form changed. The form became a bird, a tree, a fish and (not allowed).
Soon the scene became dark as the flames fell and left a glow, then the glow grew faint until nothing was left but ashes.
Darkness all around with only a small white circle high in the sky, from here there came the sound of singing.
***
Writing can take many forms. Some of it is understandable to all and some only to the writer. It does not matter as all that really matters to a writer is to write.
"Who are you talking to parasite?" A new character emerges, one looking old and a bit different than most modern people. He was a spirit from the past, a hunter in a land now lost to civilization.
"Who the fuck are you, Pocahontas? Maybe your name is Sanchez? You look weird."
A smile appeared on the hunters face as he said, "My name is Culoon...
"Ku-loon? What kind of pussy name is that, you should..."
Culoon took a leather pouch from his hip and opening the rawhide laced top held it out towards the parasite.
"Hey! What are you doing? Hey, you, you can't do that...No! Fuck. Nooo..."
It did not take long but the parasite was now bound inside the leather pouch. Culoon kept the smile on his face as he tightened the laces on top again and then placed the bag on his belt.
***
Did it work? (Robin arrived and asked Culoon.)
"Yes Robin, it worked. That creature is a harmful being and needed to be taught about life."
So what will happen to it now?
"It will learn from others and maybe will become better from it.
Robin was twirling a stick on the ground, drawing a forgotten language and he smiled as Culoon cast the seeds of Yarrow over the scene. Tears from Robin's eye poured as he remembered, the drops mixed with the dry soil and seeds, soon a seedling emerged. Drying his face, Robin built a small fire from the memories and added his hair where the smell became pungent and sour.
"Ayiah, aliyah ya ya a ayiaho..." The spirit sang a life song and merged with the growing flames from the fire.
Shedding his clothing and naked now with a shorn head, Robin's form changed. The form became a bird, a tree, a fish and (not allowed).
Soon the scene became dark as the flames fell and left a glow, then the glow grew faint until nothing was left but ashes.
Darkness all around with only a small white circle high in the sky, from here there came the sound of singing.
***
Writing can take many forms. Some of it is understandable to all and some only to the writer. It does not matter as all that really matters to a writer is to write.
-
Lester Curtis
- Long Fiction Editor
- Posts: 2736
- Joined: January 11, 2010, 12:03:56 AM
- Location: by the time you read this, I'll be somewhere else
Re: Writers Parasite
I like the story about the hunter, but the mention of stones made me think of something else: hammers.
Here's a piece I posted on Facefuck:
I think civilization owes a lot of its advancement to the development of good hammers. A hammer is one of those things we don't think much about, if or when we think of it at all. So simple. But there's a kind of chicken-and-egg conundrum about hammers, that I learned by experience one time. I tried to make a hammer out of parts; I had the handle and the head--what I _didn't_ have was . . . a good hammer to put them together with.
Try that sometime.
Here's a piece I posted on Facefuck:
I think civilization owes a lot of its advancement to the development of good hammers. A hammer is one of those things we don't think much about, if or when we think of it at all. So simple. But there's a kind of chicken-and-egg conundrum about hammers, that I learned by experience one time. I tried to make a hammer out of parts; I had the handle and the head--what I _didn't_ have was . . . a good hammer to put them together with.
Try that sometime.
I was raised by humans. What's your excuse?
Re: Writers Parasite
Good point Lester, to go from the stone age to the age of the electron microscope. I've always found it interesting how primitive 'man' 'discovered' the secrets of smelting iron of knowing which plants killed and which healed. To go from such ignorance to brilliance...nah, there would never have been 'help' would there...
On a related note there is nothing a hammer can't fix. Big hammers for big jobs, little hammers for little.
***
"Oh, my head hurts, where am I?" The parasite found itself in a new and strange surrounding.
"You are here." A voice spoke.
"Here? What kind of horseshi...Ouch." It found pain just thinking of using profanity.
"You are here," the voice said again.
The parasite had been 'killed' in thousands of ways, brutal ways by a brutal world. It knew pain and torture. It was crude, rude and definitely socially unacceptable. Now it found itself in a totally new world, one strange and in a way, peaceful.
"I'm here, okay, so just where is 'here'?"
"You are where you need to be."
"Shi... Oww, dam. Crap...Oohh...okay, I get it, no swearing. So I'm where I need to be, so, why?"
"You are where you need to be. To learn."
The parasite saw strange new colors swirling around its head, peaceful colors but colors also filled with spice and hot sensations. It found it...strangely enjoyable.
On a related note there is nothing a hammer can't fix. Big hammers for big jobs, little hammers for little.
***
"Oh, my head hurts, where am I?" The parasite found itself in a new and strange surrounding.
"You are here." A voice spoke.
"Here? What kind of horseshi...Ouch." It found pain just thinking of using profanity.
"You are here," the voice said again.
The parasite had been 'killed' in thousands of ways, brutal ways by a brutal world. It knew pain and torture. It was crude, rude and definitely socially unacceptable. Now it found itself in a totally new world, one strange and in a way, peaceful.
"I'm here, okay, so just where is 'here'?"
"You are where you need to be."
"Shi... Oww, dam. Crap...Oohh...okay, I get it, no swearing. So I'm where I need to be, so, why?"
"You are where you need to be. To learn."
The parasite saw strange new colors swirling around its head, peaceful colors but colors also filled with spice and hot sensations. It found it...strangely enjoyable.
Re: Writers Parasite
Inside this shell resides
Outside there is the world
All around it is.
Moving daily while thinking of what's inside
Moving in the world outside
Dreaming.
Smile haunting inside showing the outside
Reality.
How strange when dreams mix with reality
How real the moment
How is it this can be?
Horrible and Wonderful.
Outside there is the world
All around it is.
Moving daily while thinking of what's inside
Moving in the world outside
Dreaming.
Smile haunting inside showing the outside
Reality.
How strange when dreams mix with reality
How real the moment
How is it this can be?
Horrible and Wonderful.
Re: Writers Parasite
The parasite is undergoing some therapy and it will be interesting to see the results, so while it is trapped and 'in the bag' (much like getting hammered) I guess I'll have to write something 'edgy'.
It was announced recently that the U.S. military has now opened its ranks for any person of any gender to be any gender and serve. I've got no problem with that, imagine some Islamic terrorist getting shot by a soldier wearing a dress and sporting a five day 'war' beard...Poor fuckers last thoughts would be, "Allah? No virgins? Am I fucked and killed by man or woman? (gasp, gurgle, plop...)"
Politics aside and now wearing the fantasy hat, what if Hitler was reincarnated with all his evil memories and wanted to join the U.S. Navy...
***
"Alright, next..." The Petty Officer First Class in charge of the new recruits asked the next young man his name.
"What's your name recruit?"
"It is, Um, Adolf Hitler..."
"What? Are you fucking with me? Knock that shit off and tell me your name."
"It's Adolf Hitler...Is there a problem with that?"
Looking through the files of this particular recruit the man saw that indeed the name was correct. This Petty Officer thought to himself how fucked up the world has become. When he first enlisted he had to attend various classes pertaining to tolerance and being sensitive. He thought of his Jewish great grandparents who died in concentration camps in Germany back in 1943 and wondered what they would have thought of a man taking the name, Adolf Hitler. He wondered if they would have been as 'sensitive' as their great grandson...
"Okay, it appears all your papers are in order. Next recruit..."
Hitler smiled as he knew full well how weak the world still was, how ripe it was now to take control. He made note of how easy it was to enlist in one of the branches of the 'greatest' militaries of the world and one whose previous soldiers, sailors and marines had beaten his country in WWII.
Scribbling in his new book, 'Mein Kampf II' he outlined some ways to take control only this time do things a little bit different. This time he would use homosexuals, gypsies, any and all in his new plan, one where what will soon be, the end of the world, he would use the world against itself and he would be ruler of all, one where jews would finally be eradicated, and all but those pure of blood, would die...
Sieg Heil!
It was announced recently that the U.S. military has now opened its ranks for any person of any gender to be any gender and serve. I've got no problem with that, imagine some Islamic terrorist getting shot by a soldier wearing a dress and sporting a five day 'war' beard...Poor fuckers last thoughts would be, "Allah? No virgins? Am I fucked and killed by man or woman? (gasp, gurgle, plop...)"
Politics aside and now wearing the fantasy hat, what if Hitler was reincarnated with all his evil memories and wanted to join the U.S. Navy...
***
"Alright, next..." The Petty Officer First Class in charge of the new recruits asked the next young man his name.
"What's your name recruit?"
"It is, Um, Adolf Hitler..."
"What? Are you fucking with me? Knock that shit off and tell me your name."
"It's Adolf Hitler...Is there a problem with that?"
Looking through the files of this particular recruit the man saw that indeed the name was correct. This Petty Officer thought to himself how fucked up the world has become. When he first enlisted he had to attend various classes pertaining to tolerance and being sensitive. He thought of his Jewish great grandparents who died in concentration camps in Germany back in 1943 and wondered what they would have thought of a man taking the name, Adolf Hitler. He wondered if they would have been as 'sensitive' as their great grandson...
"Okay, it appears all your papers are in order. Next recruit..."
Hitler smiled as he knew full well how weak the world still was, how ripe it was now to take control. He made note of how easy it was to enlist in one of the branches of the 'greatest' militaries of the world and one whose previous soldiers, sailors and marines had beaten his country in WWII.
Scribbling in his new book, 'Mein Kampf II' he outlined some ways to take control only this time do things a little bit different. This time he would use homosexuals, gypsies, any and all in his new plan, one where what will soon be, the end of the world, he would use the world against itself and he would be ruler of all, one where jews would finally be eradicated, and all but those pure of blood, would die...
Sieg Heil!
Re: Writers Parasite
that last story made my head hurt. writers heads normally hurt which leads to the question: do we write to end pain of not writing or write to feel the pain?
***
Let's see, if I were going to submit a poem to Aphelion what would it be. Vampires? No. Aliens? No. Sex. Of course, but no. Fantasy? No, as what truly separates fantasy from reality?
Nope, gonna 'freestyle' it. Lets see if I can surprise myself.
***
Granite walls stacked stone so tall the sky tells
Moss covered, cracks wide or tight, meandering up and down, within and without
sight.
Plain of grass swaying with the seasons, years, centuries, with meaning
A 'circle' some say represents
burial.
Idea's abound when modern in ignorance oh if you only knew the voice
Sunlight bound with moon in evidence
and stars'
flight of the owls shadow.
Sand to mix with blood, the battlefield fallow
Banners waved to tatter
and gone.
Oceans leveled to wave farewell with hello to tomorrow
Just listen with closed eye
remembering.
***
Let's see, if I were going to submit a poem to Aphelion what would it be. Vampires? No. Aliens? No. Sex. Of course, but no. Fantasy? No, as what truly separates fantasy from reality?
Nope, gonna 'freestyle' it. Lets see if I can surprise myself.
***
Granite walls stacked stone so tall the sky tells
Moss covered, cracks wide or tight, meandering up and down, within and without
sight.
Plain of grass swaying with the seasons, years, centuries, with meaning
A 'circle' some say represents
burial.
Idea's abound when modern in ignorance oh if you only knew the voice
Sunlight bound with moon in evidence
and stars'
flight of the owls shadow.
Sand to mix with blood, the battlefield fallow
Banners waved to tatter
and gone.
Oceans leveled to wave farewell with hello to tomorrow
Just listen with closed eye
remembering.
Re: Writers Parasite
the last we saw the parasite it was trapped in a bag and 'learning'...
***
"How are you feeling?" a sound spoke to the parasite, a parasite no one would recognize, now sitting comfortably cross legged and smoking a joint that in the world is known as marijuana but in the bag it was the essence of rabbit souls and peaceful thoughts.
"I'm feeling...groovy. Man, this is a mellow place. How are you feeling voice?"
There were many voices in the bag and none responded leaving the parasite to enjoy its smoke.
A pink pony pranced in the background with a yellow butterfly, this definitely caught the parasites attention.
"Oh wow man, cool. This place is soooo transcendental..."
One would think the parasite was stoned at the least, finally nearing the part where it heads up towards the white light or just fucking fruitloop nutso, whatever it was the parasite was definitely a much more calmer creature.
"Hey parasite, how ya doing in there?" a faint voice echoed in the air, not one of the voices from the bag but rather a voice coming from outside the bag.
The parasite had fallen asleep, its head now drooping down on its chest, the joint now completely consumed leaving only ashes.
"Hey! Parasite! Are you alive?" This time the voice was louder, it was enough to wake the now snoring parasite.
"Zzzz...wha? Is someone calling me?"
"Yeah, its me, Robin. I've missed you. How's life in 'la la' land..."
"Robin?" the smoke and recent training the parasite had undergone left the mind a bit, fuzzy.
"Yeah, you know, your master? Learn anything in there?"
The parasite shook its head and the eyes cleared instantly, the rainbow colors replaced with the hard black dot of chaos.
"Robin...you prick..." the voices tried to shock the parasite back to its zen moment of peace only this time it did not work. "Looky here voices, try that shit one more time, I dare you you fucks you..."
Oh, the voices tried and you now could sense fear in their voices where before there had been strength. One of the voices tried again, this time using some vague concept called, reason.
"Parasite. Inhale and feel the..." Oh, you should see what the parasite did to that voice. Hard to imagine but the parasite ate the voice, digested the voice, shit out the voice and laughed saying, "Who's next?"
This time the entire bag convulsed and Culoon himself reached inside the bag, grabbing the parasite by the neck. A smile on his face.
"Ack! Gag!" the parasite started to choke.
"You have not learned your lesson parasite, you need more training." The smile remained etched on Culoon's face when suddenly the head of Culoon was seen falling, severed by a rather large battleaxe. Robin stood behind Culoon, naked and painted for battle, black rings alive and writhing on his face, his powerful muscles hard as stone and in the background the sky filled with blackness and flashes of lightning. The wind rose in power and came upon the scene from the four corners of the world.
In Robin's eyes there was a blackness matching the blackness of the parasite's eyes. Reaching into the leather bag now free from the lifeless body of Culoon he picked up the parasite and held it up level with his own eyes. The two communicated in a language only they could understand and after a minute or so, the ground shook violently and a large dragon swooped down and plucked the body of Culoon and his belongings, to include his head. Lifting back into the air the dragon left, dipping his left wing in salute to his brother.
The sky was still locked in storm and many creatures died, many worlds were torn asunder, yet the light of reason was starting to brighten the scene to replace the chaos, only it would be centuries before the effects would be totally forgotten.
"Parasite, it is good to have you back. This is a hostile world and one where only you and I can survive the moment. Come, lets depart this story tonight and travel to our home to regain strength."
"Yes Robin, it is good to be back. Lets get the fuck out of here. Oh, and yeah, look at what I have..." the parasite reached into its pocket and pulled out a bag of the essence of rabbit souls and peaceful thoughts.
"What's that?" Robin asked.
"Oh, I think you're gonna like it. Lets smoke it on the comet ride, dude, it will positively rock your world."
Shaking his head in amusement Robin and the parasite leapt high into the air where Robin spread his wings carrying his parasite and winged up towards a passing comet and a much needed moment...
***
"How are you feeling?" a sound spoke to the parasite, a parasite no one would recognize, now sitting comfortably cross legged and smoking a joint that in the world is known as marijuana but in the bag it was the essence of rabbit souls and peaceful thoughts.
"I'm feeling...groovy. Man, this is a mellow place. How are you feeling voice?"
There were many voices in the bag and none responded leaving the parasite to enjoy its smoke.
A pink pony pranced in the background with a yellow butterfly, this definitely caught the parasites attention.
"Oh wow man, cool. This place is soooo transcendental..."
One would think the parasite was stoned at the least, finally nearing the part where it heads up towards the white light or just fucking fruitloop nutso, whatever it was the parasite was definitely a much more calmer creature.
"Hey parasite, how ya doing in there?" a faint voice echoed in the air, not one of the voices from the bag but rather a voice coming from outside the bag.
The parasite had fallen asleep, its head now drooping down on its chest, the joint now completely consumed leaving only ashes.
"Hey! Parasite! Are you alive?" This time the voice was louder, it was enough to wake the now snoring parasite.
"Zzzz...wha? Is someone calling me?"
"Yeah, its me, Robin. I've missed you. How's life in 'la la' land..."
"Robin?" the smoke and recent training the parasite had undergone left the mind a bit, fuzzy.
"Yeah, you know, your master? Learn anything in there?"
The parasite shook its head and the eyes cleared instantly, the rainbow colors replaced with the hard black dot of chaos.
"Robin...you prick..." the voices tried to shock the parasite back to its zen moment of peace only this time it did not work. "Looky here voices, try that shit one more time, I dare you you fucks you..."
Oh, the voices tried and you now could sense fear in their voices where before there had been strength. One of the voices tried again, this time using some vague concept called, reason.
"Parasite. Inhale and feel the..." Oh, you should see what the parasite did to that voice. Hard to imagine but the parasite ate the voice, digested the voice, shit out the voice and laughed saying, "Who's next?"
This time the entire bag convulsed and Culoon himself reached inside the bag, grabbing the parasite by the neck. A smile on his face.
"Ack! Gag!" the parasite started to choke.
"You have not learned your lesson parasite, you need more training." The smile remained etched on Culoon's face when suddenly the head of Culoon was seen falling, severed by a rather large battleaxe. Robin stood behind Culoon, naked and painted for battle, black rings alive and writhing on his face, his powerful muscles hard as stone and in the background the sky filled with blackness and flashes of lightning. The wind rose in power and came upon the scene from the four corners of the world.
In Robin's eyes there was a blackness matching the blackness of the parasite's eyes. Reaching into the leather bag now free from the lifeless body of Culoon he picked up the parasite and held it up level with his own eyes. The two communicated in a language only they could understand and after a minute or so, the ground shook violently and a large dragon swooped down and plucked the body of Culoon and his belongings, to include his head. Lifting back into the air the dragon left, dipping his left wing in salute to his brother.
The sky was still locked in storm and many creatures died, many worlds were torn asunder, yet the light of reason was starting to brighten the scene to replace the chaos, only it would be centuries before the effects would be totally forgotten.
"Parasite, it is good to have you back. This is a hostile world and one where only you and I can survive the moment. Come, lets depart this story tonight and travel to our home to regain strength."
"Yes Robin, it is good to be back. Lets get the fuck out of here. Oh, and yeah, look at what I have..." the parasite reached into its pocket and pulled out a bag of the essence of rabbit souls and peaceful thoughts.
"What's that?" Robin asked.
"Oh, I think you're gonna like it. Lets smoke it on the comet ride, dude, it will positively rock your world."
Shaking his head in amusement Robin and the parasite leapt high into the air where Robin spread his wings carrying his parasite and winged up towards a passing comet and a much needed moment...
-
Lester Curtis
- Long Fiction Editor
- Posts: 2736
- Joined: January 11, 2010, 12:03:56 AM
- Location: by the time you read this, I'll be somewhere else
Re: Writers Parasite
A Mercury Comet, right? Better than a Ford Falcon, I suppose. Just tell 'em not to go too far without a carburetor rebuild kit and a fresh set of spark plugs and a distributor cap—and lots of oil.
I was raised by humans. What's your excuse?
Re: Writers Parasite
Lester, you're showing your age, these modern folk only know Hyundai and Apple smart phones. As for me, I grew up with Volkswagen beetles, square backs, and bus. Actually owned a bright pink bus, what a kick.
As for a carburetor, that is now almost ancient technology, replaced with fuel injection and electronic/computer controlled engines.
Today a most fantastic thing happened to this particular monster. I sold a hand carved stir stick to a boy for $2.00 as that is all he had, the price was originally cheap at $3.00. He wanted it not to stir stuff but to imagine he was a warrior with a sword. Man, was he one happy kid.
Shortly after that sale a woman came with four of her seven children. She is broke financially and rich in soul and spirit as a mother to her family. Her children were well mannered and respectful, rare in this fucked up world. I told the youngest about a friend of mine who makes balloon animals and they wanted to go. One of the four was a tween (almost a teen and would not be caught dead with a balloon animal) Two were younger girls who each had the $2.00 needed for a balloon animal, and the youngest, a boy of about five had nothing but desire.
I got permission to take them to see the 'balloon' people. My friend, Camillo made the boy a rattlesnake and as it was being made I could tell the boy was worried as he asked the man, "Does this cost anything?" The reply of course was, "Yes." The mind of the boy was torn as he had no money and he knew his mother could not afford it.
I handed the boy the $2.00 from the earlier sale and the response by the boy was to run over and give me a hug, though he is short and I am tall, it still worked. Best $2.00 I've spent in a loooooong time. It is moments such as this display of sincere thanks that gives such as myself, hope. The boy was a stranger to me as was I to him yet such a simple action was received and paid with what can never ever be purchased with material goods.
I mention today as it is in such moments writers find inspiration to write and so tonight, still feeling the warmth of the young child's hug and appreciation, a poem. I feel for writers to write after such experiences, it is the best indeed.
***
Your World
Where the wind lives there is no pain, no feeling, no direction
free from distraction
from dispersions of the material world.
Where the winds live there is freedom from a world
yet...
where the wind and winds live there is no love.
Free to roam between worlds and bound by nothing
flowing between the arms of lovers, across battlefields of horror...
Life
and
Death.
So simple to feel with arms held wide, a young boy with a simple smile
Grasping to hold
the wind
giving thanks.
As for a carburetor, that is now almost ancient technology, replaced with fuel injection and electronic/computer controlled engines.
Today a most fantastic thing happened to this particular monster. I sold a hand carved stir stick to a boy for $2.00 as that is all he had, the price was originally cheap at $3.00. He wanted it not to stir stuff but to imagine he was a warrior with a sword. Man, was he one happy kid.
Shortly after that sale a woman came with four of her seven children. She is broke financially and rich in soul and spirit as a mother to her family. Her children were well mannered and respectful, rare in this fucked up world. I told the youngest about a friend of mine who makes balloon animals and they wanted to go. One of the four was a tween (almost a teen and would not be caught dead with a balloon animal) Two were younger girls who each had the $2.00 needed for a balloon animal, and the youngest, a boy of about five had nothing but desire.
I got permission to take them to see the 'balloon' people. My friend, Camillo made the boy a rattlesnake and as it was being made I could tell the boy was worried as he asked the man, "Does this cost anything?" The reply of course was, "Yes." The mind of the boy was torn as he had no money and he knew his mother could not afford it.
I handed the boy the $2.00 from the earlier sale and the response by the boy was to run over and give me a hug, though he is short and I am tall, it still worked. Best $2.00 I've spent in a loooooong time. It is moments such as this display of sincere thanks that gives such as myself, hope. The boy was a stranger to me as was I to him yet such a simple action was received and paid with what can never ever be purchased with material goods.
I mention today as it is in such moments writers find inspiration to write and so tonight, still feeling the warmth of the young child's hug and appreciation, a poem. I feel for writers to write after such experiences, it is the best indeed.
***
Your World
Where the wind lives there is no pain, no feeling, no direction
free from distraction
from dispersions of the material world.
Where the winds live there is freedom from a world
yet...
where the wind and winds live there is no love.
Free to roam between worlds and bound by nothing
flowing between the arms of lovers, across battlefields of horror...
Life
and
Death.
So simple to feel with arms held wide, a young boy with a simple smile
Grasping to hold
the wind
giving thanks.
-
Lester Curtis
- Long Fiction Editor
- Posts: 2736
- Joined: January 11, 2010, 12:03:56 AM
- Location: by the time you read this, I'll be somewhere else
Re: Writers Parasite
Very nice thing you did there, Robin. May be the best two bucks anyone could spend. Thanks for sharing that.
My first car was a '65 Beetle convertible that I got second-hand. Easy thing to work on. No top end, but I could walk it out of anything, even with bald tires. I had to forgive it for trying to gas me to death a couple times.
But yeah, cars back then were a constant pain in the ass: mufflers only lasted a year, shocks maybe two if you were careful. Almost all of them leaked something, and if you could get one to last 100,000 miles, you threw a party for it. I'm now driving an '02 Ford Ranger that I got used; it's still on its factory spark plugs with about 80,000 miles. It may outlive me.
My first car was a '65 Beetle convertible that I got second-hand. Easy thing to work on. No top end, but I could walk it out of anything, even with bald tires. I had to forgive it for trying to gas me to death a couple times.
But yeah, cars back then were a constant pain in the ass: mufflers only lasted a year, shocks maybe two if you were careful. Almost all of them leaked something, and if you could get one to last 100,000 miles, you threw a party for it. I'm now driving an '02 Ford Ranger that I got used; it's still on its factory spark plugs with about 80,000 miles. It may outlive me.
I was raised by humans. What's your excuse?
Re: Writers Parasite
Lester, back in the day the VW whatever was the 'cool' factor. One guy in highschool drove a karmann gia, I don't think he walked down the school halls rather he floated in coolness.
So true about the 100,000 mile thing, nowadays it goes like this, "Subaru huh? How many miles on it?"
"150,000 miles, still on the first set of tires, belts, oil and windshield fluid..."
"Yeah, things like new. Still good for another 20 years and 300,000 miles."
"And what do you drive?"
"A 65 VW convertable, changed two engines, the wipers, oil, and replaced the seats driving it from Seattle to Portland. I'm fearing the drive home as the chassis is starting to wobble."
"Is your name Lester?"
"Yes, and you are?"
"My name is Leeta."
"New to earth?"
"No, been reincarnated a few times and now stuck in this furry body and drive a Japanese car. Speaking of which, know any good sushi joints?"
"Yeah, McDonald's used to serve burgers but since Donald Trump became president all meat has been banned and so they switched to raw fish. Currently they have 29 billion happy customers served. They're located just down the block."
"Want to join me?" Leeta purred.
"Sure, why not, but lets take your car, my VW is not looking too good..." Not good meant three of the four tire fell off while the two were talking and one of the four squirrels that powered the car was scooped up by a passing hawk.
So true about the 100,000 mile thing, nowadays it goes like this, "Subaru huh? How many miles on it?"
"150,000 miles, still on the first set of tires, belts, oil and windshield fluid..."
"Yeah, things like new. Still good for another 20 years and 300,000 miles."
"And what do you drive?"
"A 65 VW convertable, changed two engines, the wipers, oil, and replaced the seats driving it from Seattle to Portland. I'm fearing the drive home as the chassis is starting to wobble."
"Is your name Lester?"
"Yes, and you are?"
"My name is Leeta."
"New to earth?"
"No, been reincarnated a few times and now stuck in this furry body and drive a Japanese car. Speaking of which, know any good sushi joints?"
"Yeah, McDonald's used to serve burgers but since Donald Trump became president all meat has been banned and so they switched to raw fish. Currently they have 29 billion happy customers served. They're located just down the block."
"Want to join me?" Leeta purred.
"Sure, why not, but lets take your car, my VW is not looking too good..." Not good meant three of the four tire fell off while the two were talking and one of the four squirrels that powered the car was scooped up by a passing hawk.
-
Lester Curtis
- Long Fiction Editor
- Posts: 2736
- Joined: January 11, 2010, 12:03:56 AM
- Location: by the time you read this, I'll be somewhere else
Re: Writers Parasite
Cute. True story: When I had that car, my dad did a brake job on it for me. He came in the house and I looked out; car sitting there with all its wheels on again. Tools put away. I thought it was all done. Pappy didn't say anything, and I didn't ask, but he HADN'T quite finished—he hadn't tightened the lug bolts yet.
I got in, fired it up, and pulled out onto the road. Got about 200 feet before the thing started to wobble really bad and I got it a little off to the shoulder just as one of the wheels—fell. The fuck. OFF. I was really lucky to find all five of the bolts, and spent a little fun time putting that wheel back on and tightening the others.
We had a little laugh about it.
I got in, fired it up, and pulled out onto the road. Got about 200 feet before the thing started to wobble really bad and I got it a little off to the shoulder just as one of the wheels—fell. The fuck. OFF. I was really lucky to find all five of the bolts, and spent a little fun time putting that wheel back on and tightening the others.
We had a little laugh about it.
I was raised by humans. What's your excuse?
Re: Writers Parasite
that happens a lot Lester, it's one of those, "Oh shit moments," I've yet had the pleasure of experiencing though once I got the great sensation of the front left tire of a dodge pickup full of firewood blow out. Remember drivers training? 'In case of a tire blowing, remain calm, do not apply constant brake pressure, instead lightly tap brakes, take the foot off the gas pedal and pull to the side of the road. Once the vehicle is safely stopped, turn on the hazard flashing lights and exit the vehicle after making sure it is safe to do so...'
That is basically how a new driver is trained...In my case, "BOOM!" Shit! Oh fuck! (slamming on the brake and swerving hard into oncoming traffic causing oncoming traffic drivers to soil themselves) Hit the gas pedal by mistake after trying to regain control of the steering wheel. Glance into the side view mirror to see the driver of the narrowly missed oncoming car soil himself and also see half the load of firewood spill from the truck.
Oh, it got better: Saw my whole life to include all previous lives, flash before my eyes. Speaking of eye, the look on the terrified deer's face trying to avoid both the careening vehicle and flying firewood was interesting. Noted that my physics teacher was correct about many aspects of force versus energy.
Truck finally stopped blocking both lanes of traffic causing more drivers to soil themselves plus the fleeing deer to run into a combine parked in a grain field. I fell out of the truck banging my knee and I forgot to put on the flashing hazard light...
Actually, a bit embellished story but the part about the tire blowing and the truck full of firewood was true. That is what is fun about being a writer, to have fun with a story, making it funny or sad.
That is basically how a new driver is trained...In my case, "BOOM!" Shit! Oh fuck! (slamming on the brake and swerving hard into oncoming traffic causing oncoming traffic drivers to soil themselves) Hit the gas pedal by mistake after trying to regain control of the steering wheel. Glance into the side view mirror to see the driver of the narrowly missed oncoming car soil himself and also see half the load of firewood spill from the truck.
Oh, it got better: Saw my whole life to include all previous lives, flash before my eyes. Speaking of eye, the look on the terrified deer's face trying to avoid both the careening vehicle and flying firewood was interesting. Noted that my physics teacher was correct about many aspects of force versus energy.
Truck finally stopped blocking both lanes of traffic causing more drivers to soil themselves plus the fleeing deer to run into a combine parked in a grain field. I fell out of the truck banging my knee and I forgot to put on the flashing hazard light...
Actually, a bit embellished story but the part about the tire blowing and the truck full of firewood was true. That is what is fun about being a writer, to have fun with a story, making it funny or sad.
Re: Writers Parasite
Center mass of massive turmoil
round the barrel and through the needle
Camels eye and tight
pink and caramel
This the gate to Israel.
Palestine oft sand
to stand apart and fall
bitter taste of apple and hand
convulsions.
Armor cranked and call
raisin left replace olives oil
Widows tear turned towards pain of laughter
A world decides...
round the barrel and through the needle
Camels eye and tight
pink and caramel
This the gate to Israel.
Palestine oft sand
to stand apart and fall
bitter taste of apple and hand
convulsions.
Armor cranked and call
raisin left replace olives oil
Widows tear turned towards pain of laughter
A world decides...
Re: Writers Parasite
Writers write about...everything. Owners manuals for machines, romance novels, educational materials, fiction, history... Lets see, tonight a bit about teaching of attracting a mate, a mate of the soul, heart, or maybe one to play soccer with in far off lands. Maybe one that is...
***
"In the natural world there are rituals for all living organisms to follow..." Prof. Smitten droned, his job being to get a fresh class of students through his course.
Most students just sat there, texting friends, calling friends, sleeping, but a few were listening. One student raised her hand and asked, "Prof? I understand the rituals about insects, fish, mammals, birds, but what about humans?"
Smitten was surprised at the question let alone that a student was actually listening and asked a question.
"I'll be getting into that more later in the semester but since you're the only one awake I might as well tell you the secret of the human ritual of attracting another human, and the secret is...humans are crazy."
The student did not smile rather she squinted her eyes and said, "No, I'm being serious. How do humans truly attract another, and I'm not talking about sex or desire."
The prof. was now smiling. It had been a very, very, very long time since he had heard someone ask about truth.
"That is an excellent question, Miss uh, what was your name again?" The teacher did not really take time to learn his students names as he could hardly wait until they were out of his life.
"My name is of no importance sir, suffice to say I know more about you than you think..."
Still smiling, the teacher said, "Excellent! And now you know the secret..."
At this the student smiled along with the teacher and the communication? Let's just say, it too was excellent as it had been centuries since such a talk could take place.
***
"In the natural world there are rituals for all living organisms to follow..." Prof. Smitten droned, his job being to get a fresh class of students through his course.
Most students just sat there, texting friends, calling friends, sleeping, but a few were listening. One student raised her hand and asked, "Prof? I understand the rituals about insects, fish, mammals, birds, but what about humans?"
Smitten was surprised at the question let alone that a student was actually listening and asked a question.
"I'll be getting into that more later in the semester but since you're the only one awake I might as well tell you the secret of the human ritual of attracting another human, and the secret is...humans are crazy."
The student did not smile rather she squinted her eyes and said, "No, I'm being serious. How do humans truly attract another, and I'm not talking about sex or desire."
The prof. was now smiling. It had been a very, very, very long time since he had heard someone ask about truth.
"That is an excellent question, Miss uh, what was your name again?" The teacher did not really take time to learn his students names as he could hardly wait until they were out of his life.
"My name is of no importance sir, suffice to say I know more about you than you think..."
Still smiling, the teacher said, "Excellent! And now you know the secret..."
At this the student smiled along with the teacher and the communication? Let's just say, it too was excellent as it had been centuries since such a talk could take place.
-
Lester Curtis
- Long Fiction Editor
- Posts: 2736
- Joined: January 11, 2010, 12:03:56 AM
- Location: by the time you read this, I'll be somewhere else
Re: Writers Parasite
Well, that was fun, and nicely done as well, but really kind of a tease.
Really, though, I think the smart people will give up trying to understand humanity—and especially give up any hope of satisfaction with such an uffpucked species—and just get a dog.
Really, though, I think the smart people will give up trying to understand humanity—and especially give up any hope of satisfaction with such an uffpucked species—and just get a dog.
I was raised by humans. What's your excuse?
Re: Writers Parasite [Contains Adult Language & Situations]
Evening Lester, humanity is easy to understand. They are born, they grow, they die. Sometimes not in that order...
***
"Yay! I'm officially an adult!"
No you're not parasite, you're a low life scum sucking slug...
"Ha! Little do you know, just look at the heading of this thread, it says, and I quote, 'Contains Adult Language and Situations', therefore, I is an adult!"
No, you are the reason why Aphelion had to tag the thread as such. You are a crude, rude, construct of foul.
"Really? I'm really crude, rude and a construct of foul?"
Yes.
"Yay! I'm officially a...hey, wait a second, is being rude, crude and a construct of foul a bad thing?"
Well, yes and no. Yes in the way you are highly offensive and, no in that you still have the freedom to exist.
"So, I can still tell you to go fuck yourself? " Giggling now, "And can I still call you a prick?" Snickering and giggling...
BOOM! BANG! SPLAT!
Ah, it feels good to take out my frustration on that stupid parasite.
***
It was appropriate for Aphelion to give a title as there are younger people who read this thread and now that the thread shows what it contains there will even be more young people reading as 'youngsters' love the forbidden fruit.
This topic now raises a good point: Profanity or not. It really depends on the readers point of view. Some readers hate profanity while some love it. I both hate and love it. With words, all words, they all have their place.
If I write, "Go fuck yourself (insert any name)" I may have personally offended the one named while entertaining others so it all really is a personal choice. Religion, personal standards, frame of mind, so many variables it staggers the mind.
When a writer writes I personally feel they should let out whatever it is they want to let out. I think if the writing offends then it offends, if it pleases then it pleases, really it matters not as it only matters that the writer writes.
Aphelion is a wonderful place to write as they are truly geared for all sorts, from the pure of heart to the evil.
I like writing here and feel it is a great place to really be the writer anyone wants to be, a parasite, a Robin, a frog, so thanks Aphelion!
***
"Yay! I'm officially an adult!"
No you're not parasite, you're a low life scum sucking slug...
"Ha! Little do you know, just look at the heading of this thread, it says, and I quote, 'Contains Adult Language and Situations', therefore, I is an adult!"
No, you are the reason why Aphelion had to tag the thread as such. You are a crude, rude, construct of foul.
"Really? I'm really crude, rude and a construct of foul?"
Yes.
"Yay! I'm officially a...hey, wait a second, is being rude, crude and a construct of foul a bad thing?"
Well, yes and no. Yes in the way you are highly offensive and, no in that you still have the freedom to exist.
"So, I can still tell you to go fuck yourself? " Giggling now, "And can I still call you a prick?" Snickering and giggling...
BOOM! BANG! SPLAT!
Ah, it feels good to take out my frustration on that stupid parasite.
***
It was appropriate for Aphelion to give a title as there are younger people who read this thread and now that the thread shows what it contains there will even be more young people reading as 'youngsters' love the forbidden fruit.
This topic now raises a good point: Profanity or not. It really depends on the readers point of view. Some readers hate profanity while some love it. I both hate and love it. With words, all words, they all have their place.
If I write, "Go fuck yourself (insert any name)" I may have personally offended the one named while entertaining others so it all really is a personal choice. Religion, personal standards, frame of mind, so many variables it staggers the mind.
When a writer writes I personally feel they should let out whatever it is they want to let out. I think if the writing offends then it offends, if it pleases then it pleases, really it matters not as it only matters that the writer writes.
Aphelion is a wonderful place to write as they are truly geared for all sorts, from the pure of heart to the evil.
I like writing here and feel it is a great place to really be the writer anyone wants to be, a parasite, a Robin, a frog, so thanks Aphelion!
-
Lester Curtis
- Long Fiction Editor
- Posts: 2736
- Joined: January 11, 2010, 12:03:56 AM
- Location: by the time you read this, I'll be somewhere else
Re: Writers Parasite [Contains Adult Language & Situations]
This was brought up among the editors, on FB, and I said pretty much the same: "that'll make it easier for the kids to find it."It was appropriate for Aphelion to give a title as there are younger people who read this thread and now that the thread shows what it contains there will even be more young people reading as 'youngsters' love the forbidden fruit.
The first time I saw something like that statement was in one of Dave Berry's columns in a newspaper (do they still make those?). He was talking about TV and movie ratings, though.
I don't suppose it's a sure thing that the kids will do that, but it's fun to joke about. And if it gets them reading, I'm all for it.
I was raised by humans. What's your excuse?
Re: Writers Parasite [Contains Adult Language & Situations]
Glad you mentioned about kids reading Lester, by this I mean since evolution lurks everywhere reading is not immune. Looking back in history one can 'see' how cave pictures drawn in animal blood were replaced with various forms of alphabets and look at where the 'advanced' civilization of humanity is today - emoji's, pictures on highway signs...I wonder, maybe humans can relate to pictures better than words?
It would be an interesting to conduct a study of youngsters and asked those aged between 6-25 how many books they have read in the last year.
***
Hands
Held in and with with for four
Felt
Feel
Forward with the past showing
Life full
Eyes tired
Age showing
So much grasped, so tight
Released
Replenished
Replete
Energy flow from out within
On a finger, a butterfly
Peaceful
while a typhoon grows.
It would be an interesting to conduct a study of youngsters and asked those aged between 6-25 how many books they have read in the last year.
***
Hands
Held in and with with for four
Felt
Feel
Forward with the past showing
Life full
Eyes tired
Age showing
So much grasped, so tight
Released
Replenished
Replete
Energy flow from out within
On a finger, a butterfly
Peaceful
while a typhoon grows.
-
Lester Curtis
- Long Fiction Editor
- Posts: 2736
- Joined: January 11, 2010, 12:03:56 AM
- Location: by the time you read this, I'll be somewhere else
Re: Writers Parasite [Contains Adult Language & Situations]
I think that's probably true, to some extent, anyway.maybe humans can relate to pictures better than words?
And ...
Sometimes I wake up with the damnedest things in my head. Had one this morning; tried to capture it with my little digital voice recorder—and the damn thing's batteries had died.
I lost the beginning of this (and the ending), but I know that whatever it was, it was as awesome as what I did get.
________________________________
The woman across from me stood and raised her arm to swing, and suddenly the man next to her was up and had the muzzle of his power pistol against her temple, percolating in anticipation and making its sickening glow. His voice was flat and level. "Put that arm down, lady, and sit down and eatcher lunch."
The room had gone silent. She froze, thinking about it, but I locked eyes with the man and gave a microscopic headshake.
She showed clenched teeth, flinching away from the gun, her hair beginning to smolder, but she lowered her arm, and then herself.
The man flicked his safety on and turned the pistol up in his hand, displaying its squat ugliness to her. "Satan's weapon, right, lady? But if you'd swung that arm, you'd be goin' to your god's hell and I wouldn't. You don't swing on a sentient being and get away with it in my presence. I've pulled the trigger on better people than you, for less. You remember that."
She glared at the tabletop and didn't acknowledge. He put the muzzle under her chin and made her eyes come up. "Do I hear a 'yes sir'?"
"Yes, sir."
"Amen." He swung the pistol into its titanium holster and sat down to pick up his fork. He pointed it at her tray. "Eat."
She picked her fork up but acted like she didn't know what to do with it for a moment while her other hand reached up—slowly—to brush at the side of her head. A tuft of singed hair fell away and tumbled down the front of her frock. Her hand was shaking when she lowered it, but she took a small bite of her processed glop and chewed it in silence.
Next to her, the man with the pistol shoveled a forkful into his mouth and spoke around it. "You fuckin' religious people ..."
I was raised by humans. What's your excuse?
Re: Writers Parasite [Contains Adult Language & Situations]
Enjoyable read Lester and a story in itself. I've always enjoyed short stories- especially ones that catch my attention- much better than complete novels. Short stories are like art in that they can be viewed by so many people, each with their own perspective. Good job.
***
Entrusted
Given the gift.
She wanted
a name.
Not any name
no
a special name
Caught as needed, red handed
and glad
burnt upon a molten cross
Suffering within
a
smile
Know now and forever
never
ever
Protected
Held dear
Not even torture
Protection
Forever
this name.
***
"What kind of shit is that Robin? Geesh, sounds like some form of more gobbly gook..."
Robin's not here.
"Really? Good, the prick was getting on my nerves. So, who are you? Another construct of Robin?"
No.
"What, did you hack Robin's computer?"
No.
"So, what's your name?"
I will never tell...
***
Entrusted
Given the gift.
She wanted
a name.
Not any name
no
a special name
Caught as needed, red handed
and glad
burnt upon a molten cross
Suffering within
a
smile
Know now and forever
never
ever
Protected
Held dear
Not even torture
Protection
Forever
this name.
***
"What kind of shit is that Robin? Geesh, sounds like some form of more gobbly gook..."
Robin's not here.
"Really? Good, the prick was getting on my nerves. So, who are you? Another construct of Robin?"
No.
"What, did you hack Robin's computer?"
No.
"So, what's your name?"
I will never tell...
-
Lester Curtis
- Long Fiction Editor
- Posts: 2736
- Joined: January 11, 2010, 12:03:56 AM
- Location: by the time you read this, I'll be somewhere else
Re: Writers Parasite [Contains Adult Language & Situations]
Glad you liked what there is of it. Wish I'd gotten it all, and I wish I could figure it out, lol!
I was raised by humans. What's your excuse?
Re: Writers Parasite [Contains Adult Language & Situations]
Dreams are very important indeed. My logo for 'stuff' I make out of wood is - The Dream, always the dream.
***
Visions so powerful it causes life and death
Riding winds tail ahead
Behind
Below
With color and show
Black to White
Laugh to Cry
Love
Hate
World round, is it awake?
Sex, such passion, such is
Pain?
Softly snoring
R.E.M.
Some with apnea, some talk, some walk,
Asleep hoping to wake.
Dreaming the dream vividly
Never the nightmare for the likes of me
Lost forever
in the dream...
***
Visions so powerful it causes life and death
Riding winds tail ahead
Behind
Below
With color and show
Black to White
Laugh to Cry
Love
Hate
World round, is it awake?
Sex, such passion, such is
Pain?
Softly snoring
R.E.M.
Some with apnea, some talk, some walk,
Asleep hoping to wake.
Dreaming the dream vividly
Never the nightmare for the likes of me
Lost forever
in the dream...
Re: Writers Parasite [Contains Adult Language & Situations]
There is a story is every moment, every thought, every experience.
Today I worked ten hours with an excavator removing wild plum tree's from a field. Like many fields left fallow nature quickly reclaims the land with whatever plants strives to grow, in this field's case - plum trees.
Thousands of tree's ranging in size from 12" to 30'. Grab, rip, pull, swing, stack... It could be considered boring for most but with the view of the Clearwater river and the geese flying up and down the river, with a sun shining bright overhead, what could be boring about that?
I was not alone as a farmer had his cattle in the field with me. This man fed old bread daily and when his old, beat-up truck pulled up to the fence all the cows ran as fast as their fat bodies could go, mooing/farting and kicking up their 'heels'. I learned that cows LOVE bread. I also remembered that stepping in cow shit is not any more fun than it was when I grew up on a farm.
Currently the plum tree's are loaded with fruit. The color is different as some tree's have yellow fruit while others have a dark purple, almost black. Sampling some the taste is sweet and delicious. For a cow, it is candy.
Surrounded by about twenty cows and the herd bull along with some of this years calves it was amazing how little fear they had of me and my machine. Or in other words, those cows had no fear. I suspect I could have clamped one in between my bucket and thumb and lifted one off the ground. They probably would keep eating the plums and go, "Moooo...."
If you are not familiar with wild plum tree's they have sharp, long thorns on their branches. I watched those cows tongues work those branches of the stacked tree's with a finesse bordering on amazing. Plum after plum was sucked in like a biological vacuum cleaner.
For those plums that had fallen while the tree shook as I grabbed them with the excavator, the cows sucked them up also but only if they fell on the grass, they ignored the ones that fell on fresh dirt.
***
Yes, this is what happened today. It is interesting and now it is a short story. For those writers who suffer from 'writers block' I find such a concept unbelievable when all a writer has to do is write about their day.
***
"Robin? Seriously man, cows? You stepped in cow shit and enjoyed watching cows eat plums? Dude, do you have a life?"
You bet I do, a wonderful one. Today was just one of many that make me smile.
"Whatever floats your boat..."
Today I worked ten hours with an excavator removing wild plum tree's from a field. Like many fields left fallow nature quickly reclaims the land with whatever plants strives to grow, in this field's case - plum trees.
Thousands of tree's ranging in size from 12" to 30'. Grab, rip, pull, swing, stack... It could be considered boring for most but with the view of the Clearwater river and the geese flying up and down the river, with a sun shining bright overhead, what could be boring about that?
I was not alone as a farmer had his cattle in the field with me. This man fed old bread daily and when his old, beat-up truck pulled up to the fence all the cows ran as fast as their fat bodies could go, mooing/farting and kicking up their 'heels'. I learned that cows LOVE bread. I also remembered that stepping in cow shit is not any more fun than it was when I grew up on a farm.
Currently the plum tree's are loaded with fruit. The color is different as some tree's have yellow fruit while others have a dark purple, almost black. Sampling some the taste is sweet and delicious. For a cow, it is candy.
Surrounded by about twenty cows and the herd bull along with some of this years calves it was amazing how little fear they had of me and my machine. Or in other words, those cows had no fear. I suspect I could have clamped one in between my bucket and thumb and lifted one off the ground. They probably would keep eating the plums and go, "Moooo...."
If you are not familiar with wild plum tree's they have sharp, long thorns on their branches. I watched those cows tongues work those branches of the stacked tree's with a finesse bordering on amazing. Plum after plum was sucked in like a biological vacuum cleaner.
For those plums that had fallen while the tree shook as I grabbed them with the excavator, the cows sucked them up also but only if they fell on the grass, they ignored the ones that fell on fresh dirt.
***
Yes, this is what happened today. It is interesting and now it is a short story. For those writers who suffer from 'writers block' I find such a concept unbelievable when all a writer has to do is write about their day.
***
"Robin? Seriously man, cows? You stepped in cow shit and enjoyed watching cows eat plums? Dude, do you have a life?"
You bet I do, a wonderful one. Today was just one of many that make me smile.
"Whatever floats your boat..."
Re: Writers Parasite [Contains Adult Language & Situations]
Walking the air tonight beneath moonlight
Cricket's voice competing against the hostile world
So much hate and anguish - Turkey, ISIS, Politicians...
Material 'wealth' more so a figment of imagination
Money
Gold
Possessions
Children of Eve, Mother of Creation
Embrace the smiles of innocence, of life, of being part
Hug tight the moment
What enters now into this world must come and now cannot be stopped
Choice made by the citizens of Nations
Lines now plunge deep into the earth
Chaos arrival
Tonight, a Comet cries as warriors prepare the shield, sharpening the lance/sword tip
Battle - winds whisper with will,
will you children
pause?
listen?
Cricket's voice competing against the hostile world
So much hate and anguish - Turkey, ISIS, Politicians...
Material 'wealth' more so a figment of imagination
Money
Gold
Possessions
Children of Eve, Mother of Creation
Embrace the smiles of innocence, of life, of being part
Hug tight the moment
What enters now into this world must come and now cannot be stopped
Choice made by the citizens of Nations
Lines now plunge deep into the earth
Chaos arrival
Tonight, a Comet cries as warriors prepare the shield, sharpening the lance/sword tip
Battle - winds whisper with will,
will you children
pause?
listen?
Re: Writers Parasite [Contains Adult Language & Situations]
Armies of and for, with
night
comes
the attack...
Beneath the castle where she sat, old and feeble
yard below untended
caretaker told "She will not see..."
She saw.
Priest saying mass, knowing
Saying, " Amen"
Wooden doors surrounded by powerful rock
Closed...
Garaged he worked, harbor the smile, of bee's
Behind the curtain, the women naked, sucking, caressing,
the Driver...
Ridden down the road, three, two come back.
Arched neck of power, talons of magic unbind
Toothed in
within/without
Foolish attempt
Weaved.
night
comes
the attack...
Beneath the castle where she sat, old and feeble
yard below untended
caretaker told "She will not see..."
She saw.
Priest saying mass, knowing
Saying, " Amen"
Wooden doors surrounded by powerful rock
Closed...
Garaged he worked, harbor the smile, of bee's
Behind the curtain, the women naked, sucking, caressing,
the Driver...
Ridden down the road, three, two come back.
Arched neck of power, talons of magic unbind
Toothed in
within/without
Foolish attempt
Weaved.