I’m archiving some of my entries from a now defunct collaborative writing project, the entirety of which can be found here: http://collectiveinventioncontention.blogspot.com/
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Bondmistress Oubliette herself had come to find him. The sputtering bulb in the elevator shone through the wide moth eaten brim of her hat, dappling her pale face with sodium-colored light. Of all the caretakers, Bastian considered Oubliette’s face the most well maintained. Continue reading →
I have restored a poem which I had removed last year (or perhaps the year before). It is about four years old now. Unfortunately, it is a true story.
Somehow, no matter how long I read, the last centimeter or so of pages left in the book did not diminish. I guess I didn’t want it to end. I’ve been reading this story over the course of, what, ten years now?
I stopped just before the end. Between the epilogue and the coda was a warning from Stephen King saying that the story was over, but, for those who needed it, he had written an ending. I suddenly realized the distinction he was making and that he was speaking to me directly. So I closed the book and placed it on my shelf.
When Stephen King dies I will read the coda, making that day a little more or less sad.
As the ship sank, I could only recall the sailors’ warnings of the mermaids who patrolled these waters.
“Do not make eye contact, for you will find only an eyeliner-traced Charybdis, ready to take you down. Their lips are glossy like wet succulent plums that promise you nothing but sleepless nights. Their pale slender fingers are adept at snatching heart-shaped fish hiding behind rib-shaped coral. Do not offer to buy them a drink; water is their element and they will never be thirsty for anything you can afford. And, when it comes to mermaids, if you have any sense at all, you should not look upon their MySpace page. Their top 12 were filled by bulky GQ mermen ages ago and this is only the beginning of your despair.”
Flotsam floated around me, the ruin of some ill-conceived plan to sail as fast as the sun so it would always be today and never the day she said “so long.” I swim towards the island, pursued by seven storms, each with a woman’s name.
I push into the tavern, a gritty sheen of sand covering my face with a five-o’clock shadow. The journey’s just a dream by now: desert, ocean, beach, an eruption of green and Texas accents, heat like lonely nightsweats. The chairs here are solid and storm resistant, but I can’t trust them yet. The mermaids circle in schools, smoking cigarettes pulled out of purses crafted from the tanned hides of former lovers. Their tails are disguised beneath boots and I can already imagine their heelprints in my back.
Suddenly you’re standing there, poise of a queen with a kingdom on her mind and a neck strong enough to make it look easy. You start speaking to me and I wonder if there’s been some mistake because can’t you see my name spelled out across the beach in broken masts and tattered sails? You flash a smile and I want to take it home with me to look at on rainy days. You’re talking to me like you’ve actually put some thought into it and you’re not just killing time. I thought I knew cruelty until I saw the stretch of your jeans over the curve of your hip. I don’t know the color of your eyes yet because I still believe the sailors.
Now we are moving through the crowd. You cut through the room like the prow of a ship, chin angled up, never slowing down, like you’ve got shit to do and it can’t wait, even if you just need a cigarette. I’m a short distance behind, walls of water closing in. “Excuse me,” I say to the crush of bodies. “Please excuse me. I still smell of shipwreck.” But no one is listening.
Outside, mermen beg to light your cigarette and their Zippos wane in the glow of your hair, a sudden sunrise on the water at 10 o’clock at night. Our talk turns to mangos, which grow in plenty on this island. I want to pick them all for you and put them at your feet. Something swirls in your eyes and I hear sailor’s cries but I’m already sinking.
And somehow, the saltwater tastes sweet.
On a whim, I decided to map out my current social network. It illustrates the chain of circumstances responsible for my current relationships.
As you can see, this is all Jodi’s fault.
Click on the image for the full view.
Today Frayed ended. I decided to run it until the story came to an end or I was down to one player. I hadn’t heard from Dave’s player in about a month, so something must have happened to him. It was down to just Andy. The narratives were already too interwoven and it didn’t make sense to go on with just the one character, so I called it. It lasted a year and a half, which I think is a record for me. Some interesting story fodder there, perhaps. The world of the Aegis and John Hightower may appear again at some point.
I’ve accumulated quite a box of chocolates over the years: Neverworld, DreamPunk, P.A.W.N.S., and Frayed. Too bad I’m not a game designer or something… 😉
You are standing in the center of a small white room, featureless except for a speaker grille mounted high in one corner and a single blue button in the center of one wall.
> I NEED TO TAKE A BREAK FROM USING MY X-RAY VISION DREY
Command not understood. Perhaps there is another way to phrase that.
> CANT TALK— BOMBARDMENT BY KRYPTONITE
Command not understood. Perhaps there is another way to phrase that.
> EXAMINE WALL
Which wall? Please specify the north, south, west or east wall.
> EXAMINE EAST WALL
The wall is a smooth and featureless white.
> PRESS BLUE BUTTON
Click.
A burst of static precedes a man’s voice, coming from the speaker.
“What is your second question?”
> ASK “WHAT WAS MY FIRST QUESTION?”
“Your first question was, and I quote, ‘IS MY DAUGHTER SAFE?'”
“You have used your two questions. Good luck.”
The static swells momentarily and is gone.
> LOOKS DOWN TO EXAMINE ONESELF
You appear as you remember. You are whole and unharmed.
> LOOKS TO SEE IF ANYONE ELSE IS IN THE ROOM
You are alone in the room.
> LOOKS TO SEE IF WE HAVE ANY ITEMS WITH US
[Inventory]
You are carrying a Black Magic marker.
> DRAWS A DOORWAY ON THE WALL
Which wall? Please specify the north, south, west or east wall.
> DRAWS DOORWAY ON THE NORTH WALL
There is now a door in the north wall.
> ATTEMPTS TO OPEN THE DOORWAY
The door is now open. You see a red hallway to the north.
>DRAWS A DOORWAY ON THE SOUTH WALL, THEN EAST AND WEST WALLS
There is now a door in the south wall.
The ink from the marker is getting fainter.
There is now a door in the east wall.
The marker has run out of ink.
There is no ink left in the marker.
>ATTEMPTS TO OPEN DOORS
The east door is now open. You see a blue hallway to the east.
The south door is now open. You see a yellow hallway to the south.
> EXITS THROUGH THE NORTH DOORWAY
You are in a red hallway which meets an intersection to the north.
Static echoes through the hall as a voice emanates from a hidden speaker.
“Subject has exited the white room and is now moving into the red hall.”
> _
The next post will make sense to the clever (and perhaps bored) reader. Use capital letters to indicate you understand. It will continue for as long as it has to.
I won the PSP! I am SO excited! Thank you, Jason at Insomniaradio.net for picking my story! Can’t wait to play Lumines again.
It occurred to me recently that my dreams happen almost exclusively indoors. Malls, hotels, houses, vehicles, etc. All interior scenes. I never dream of being in the desert or the jungle or flying through the sky (even my flying dreams take place indoors). The one dreamlike place I used to visit that wasn’t indoors was a green hill. Now there is just a fountain of light where a tower used to be.
My stories often have many outdoor scenes involving travel and expansive locales. It seems there are two types of subconscious forces at play here: one that presents when I am passively seeking it (asleep) and one I dip into actively. There may be a balance in this, as one subconcious is aware of the other, seeking to pull it outside of its confines.