Once, in Beijing, a young girl in a red gown huddled in a doorway.
Another time, in Cincinatti, a small wire-haired dog sprinted across a parking lot.
Last week, a gigantic monster on a small planetoid in the vicinity of Proxima Centuri ate a ham sandwich at a local monster-cafe.
On a nuclear sub beneath the ice of the Arctic, a captain of Hungarian descent vomited up the contents of his stomach, ingested the night before at a going-away party for a member of the crew.
On Broadway, a dancer in a leotard nervously practices for an upcoming performance, her...
Once, in Beijing, a young girl in a red gown huddled in a doorway.
She was crouched over an open laptop, her scowl lit up by the screen as she stabbed cmd+R repeatedly. The browser blinked frantically as it reloaded the same white text area on the same light blue background over and over and over again.
"It's past midnight in the U.S.," she muttered. "Why hasn't the prompt been updated yet?"
She scrolled down the rest of the page, cmd-clicking every link until the Twitter page popped up.
"GODDAMMIT," she cried, 'THEY'RE ON THE WEST COAST."
like a breeze?
this prompt sucks, she said as she typed away. thoughts aflutter even while she cursed whoever suggested it.
wasting time. time. like a breeze. sucksucksuck
sucking me out of existence, whooshing me past all opportunities. the wind too strong to lift my arm to grab the hand of the One thing that might save me from wasting more.
and yet, i experience. time flying by, whirlwind, and little i. left with the experience. like a breath. the wind.. swirled into the lung. exhaled, expelled, exploded back out.
all connected.
does wind have any way of Not be...
The audience stared open mouthed at me. I sat motionless for a moment, lost in the dazzle of it all. The lights, the people, I had never sang in front of so many people before. I sang a long song, filled with passion, and sang it like I was starving to sing. After I had finished, there was not a sound in the theatre. You could have heard a pin drop. As I sat still, I grew more anxious by the second. Until finally I saw a lone figure in the back, slowly rise and clap. The clap was slow,...
Gigantic.
That was the only way she could describe it. A gigantic mistake.
He had seemed like an excellent choice. A little daring, a little dangerous, but still good-looking. Still smart. Law-school bound and blonde, he could have been taken home.
Waking up in an historic apartment in the Highlands the morning after the Kentucky Derby was romantic. Especially on such a sunny. He pointed out the dog walkers while still wrapped up in white sheets.
She should have never said she knew what she was doing.
Alarm clocks, women, toys and books;
Bananas, high-heels, dirty looks.
The clocks get bigger as they grow,
For Cleopatra told me so.
And in the middle of it all,
Suspended, that which cannot fall,
There lies a prickly yellow fruit
That renders chosen meter moot.
I have no beef with people over the age of 25, but this week, if you're a "youngin'," just watch the hell out because you're dealing with The 34-Year Old Curmudgeon. I will lay out a buffet of whup-ass on you so hard that you'll wish your skinny jeans had extra padding in the seat area.
I'll show you places on your body you never would have dreamed an iPad would fit (with a little jimmying and perhaps some Crisco). I'll shake my imaginary cane at you and scream at you to get the hell off of my theoretical lawn,...
Lola hummed a song she barely remembered as she sat on the middle step of the front porch. She would have sat on the top step but it had been snapped in half since the previous winter. Jeremy said he was going to fix it. Either later or tomorrow or the next day.
He had been saying that for months. Since spring.
By now she had gotten used to hopping over the hole. Lola hardly even cared if he fixed it or not.
He couldn't even mow the lawn. It was tall in some place, yellow and burnt in others...
It's bad enough that I spent 500 bucks on the phone, but now I've waited for months on end to get the latest software upgrade. It's become an obsession of mine; I bang the refresh button on blogs, Twitter, Facebook. I scour the internet and Google news for any shred, a tiny iota of new insight into why a multi-billion dollar corporation can't seem to release a timely software upgrade. To make matters worse, amateur phone enthusiasts have been able to release more in their spare time than the actual "professionals" who, as far as I know, are being paid...
The sound reverberated through the streets. The sound regenerated through the beets. The sound remunerated above the seats.
Then, the sound transubstantiated inside William Butler Yeats, who became a poet.
The sound instantiated outside the session scope, ultimately causing a null pointer exception. The sound invigorated the soccer players and re-elasticized their cleats.
The sound was of a kitten who had received some treats.
I don't know what the hell this is. I think I'm having an off day.