Prompt: Oil Changing - 03/07/09
Maria: I’m sorry that I’m gong to be gone for three weeks. It’s a long time. But you can run the kitchen just fine. Right, Fraedo?
Fraedo: I, I, uh, yeah, I don’t know. What did you just add there?
Maria: Safron.
Fraedo: How much?
Maria: Two shakes or so.
Fraedo: Two shakes? Jeez Maria, your style of “not measuring” is wonderful. I mean, you’re the most celebrated chef in the city. But I don’t think I’m going to be able to duplicate that style, especially not by Monday. Wait, what’s that you just added? Oh, olive oil.
Maria: No, it’s sesame seed oil.
Fraedo: But the bottle is labeled “olive oil.”
Maria: Oh yeah. That’s old. There’s sesame seed oil in it now.
Fraedo: That’s extremely confusing. But, anyway, you add sesame seed oil? How much?
Maria: A quick stream, most of the time. And by the way, it’s only sesame seed oil today.
Fraedo: A quick stream? Most of the time? That’s going to be kinda tough to repeat. And what do you mean “it’s only sesame seed oil today”?
Maria: When it comes to measurements, it’s kind of like sex: you have to do what feels right at the time, so I change the oil I use for this dish pretty much every day.
Fraedo: Hold up. Hold up! Maria, I don’t want to make any comparison between measuring ingredients and sex. And also, How the hell can you use a different oil each time to make the same dish?
Maria: Fraedo, you can’t look at this simply as cooking. You’re making love here. You have to have passion, spontaneity. Canola oil, grape seed oil: whatever the situation calls for. Cooking, love making: wild, sensitive, dirty, casual, heart-felt sex. It’s all the same.
Fraedo: Stop, stop, stop! It is not the same. I don’t cook that way.
Maria: Well, then maybe you don’t belong here, Fraedo.
Fraedo: Yeah, maybe I don’t.
Maria: Okay then, you’d better go. But if you ever change your mind, come back. You and I will have sex right here on the kitchen floor, but only if you can do it passionately. And maybe you’ll be ready then to be a world-class chef.
Saturday, March 7, 2009
Oil Changing - Maya
She couldn't put it off any longer. It had been 6,000 miles since the last oil change, and she knew they always said she should come back after 3,000. She just hated going. Either she had to go to the place where she was supposed to pull her car onto the racks, the guy motioning this way, then that way, and she was always terrified that she'd drive right into the pit. Or, she could go to the place where they'd put it up on the rack, but she'd have to wait in the overheated, depressing waiting room with only two-year-old People magazines for company. Either way, they'd try to sell her this filter or that fluid, in addition to her oil change, and she didn't know a friggin' thing about cars. So, she either wound up feeling ripped off or thinking she was making a terrible mistake and dooming her car to eventual decomposition. Or whatever cars did when you didn't treat them properly.
She chose the overheated waiting room. Better that than the fear of lurching into the pit. She hadn't been thumbing through old news about Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie for more than two minutes when the guy appeared with some thingy in his hand.
"See your air filter here?" he started in. "You can see all the dirt accumulated. Want us to change it for you?"
She looked up at him, her eyes dull. She considered saying, "How stupid do you think I am?" but she realized that however stupid he thought would be correct.
"Sure," she said. He left. "Go ahead and fleece me," she continued speaking to herself. "God, I've got to learn something about cars."
She always told herself that. She never did it. And really, she knew she never would.
Prompt: Oil Changing, 3/7/09
Saturday, February 28, 2009
a random act of kindness - Dixie
I gave her three quarters to put in her pocket
because we were walking down Balboa Avenue
and there were homeless people
with their saggy flack jackets
tired eyes, shopping carts
their overgrown beards
and cardboard signs
outside the Gucci store
across from the Andale Cafe
and elsewhere
"Here, mister," she said
a careful quarter into his hand
she gave him her four-year old smile
and her hope too which he
put in his pocket
for later
because we were walking down Balboa Avenue
and there were homeless people
with their saggy flack jackets
tired eyes, shopping carts
their overgrown beards
and cardboard signs
outside the Gucci store
across from the Andale Cafe
and elsewhere
"Here, mister," she said
a careful quarter into his hand
she gave him her four-year old smile
and her hope too which he
put in his pocket
for later
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
confession of an inanimate object - Dixie
Ha, ha.
This is fun.
I am the king!
I am the only slot machine at Eddie's Quick Mart and Fixit Shop.
Everyone notices me now.
No long rows of stupid machines that all look the same.
No endless whining people who don't know a cherry from a 7.
Here, I am appreciated.
My age is not a handicap because at Eddie's, people don't go for that digital crap.
They want a stiff pull arm that fights back.
They like the classic clang clang ding! of the jackpot, not some lame tune that sounds like Sesame Street.
They get all excited at my occasional blackouts and whack me on the side, like a giant drum.
It's our dance. Yeah! Cha cha cha!
Then I give them the spinning lemons and light up like a Christmas tree!
Santa Claus, that's me, bringing cheer to this little dump
way out in the dark
Tonopah nowhere
purgatory graveyard
all alone ...
wahhhhhhhhh
I miss Las Vegas.
This is fun.
I am the king!
I am the only slot machine at Eddie's Quick Mart and Fixit Shop.
Everyone notices me now.
No long rows of stupid machines that all look the same.
No endless whining people who don't know a cherry from a 7.
Here, I am appreciated.
My age is not a handicap because at Eddie's, people don't go for that digital crap.
They want a stiff pull arm that fights back.
They like the classic clang clang ding! of the jackpot, not some lame tune that sounds like Sesame Street.
They get all excited at my occasional blackouts and whack me on the side, like a giant drum.
It's our dance. Yeah! Cha cha cha!
Then I give them the spinning lemons and light up like a Christmas tree!
Santa Claus, that's me, bringing cheer to this little dump
way out in the dark
Tonopah nowhere
purgatory graveyard
all alone ...
wahhhhhhhhh
I miss Las Vegas.
confessions of an inanimate object
confessions of an inanimate object
“Confess! Confess? Why should I? To confess means to acknowledge I’ve done something wrong. But I mean, define your terms here. Tell me, precisely, what “wrong” means. does it mean “illegal?” Immoral? Against some petty bourgeois idea of how things are, or rather, ought to be? Does the same judgement apply in Des Moines? Darfur? Dresden? Tell me, huh? not sure? OK then, so how general is this judgement, eh? Wrong? Wrong? You got a lot of nerve telling me I’ve done something wrong. And if I haven’t, then why do you insist that I confess?
The world sustains a whole range of behavior. What I’ve done, or might have done, or allegedly did do, may be unexpected, may be not what you would consider natural - hey, that’s a good one, natural. You guys in the early 21st century really pride yourselves on being natural, don’t you? Whatever that means. Normal? Come on, you know, that word should have been discontinued along with Freud’s proclamations and orations. Acceptable? Healthy? Appropriate? By whose lights? in what playpen? Sez who?
Come on, people, come down off your soapboxes. Climb out from under the slime that forms the very underpinnings of your code of ethics. No killing, yeah, right! No sexual misbehavior, no stealing, no lying, no intoxicants - give me a break! The blatant hypocrisy! The arrogance! the hubris! You are bottom feeders. You are hypocrites! Are you without sin? Then what possibly entitles you to cast the first stone? You, you pathetic whimpering parasites. You naddering n’er do-wells. You sinister soulless sycophants.
-----
“Confess! Confess? Why should I? To confess means to acknowledge I’ve done something wrong. But I mean, define your terms here. Tell me, precisely, what “wrong” means. does it mean “illegal?” Immoral? Against some petty bourgeois idea of how things are, or rather, ought to be? Does the same judgement apply in Des Moines? Darfur? Dresden? Tell me, huh? not sure? OK then, so how general is this judgement, eh? Wrong? Wrong? You got a lot of nerve telling me I’ve done something wrong. And if I haven’t, then why do you insist that I confess?
The world sustains a whole range of behavior. What I’ve done, or might have done, or allegedly did do, may be unexpected, may be not what you would consider natural - hey, that’s a good one, natural. You guys in the early 21st century really pride yourselves on being natural, don’t you? Whatever that means. Normal? Come on, you know, that word should have been discontinued along with Freud’s proclamations and orations. Acceptable? Healthy? Appropriate? By whose lights? in what playpen? Sez who?
Come on, people, come down off your soapboxes. Climb out from under the slime that forms the very underpinnings of your code of ethics. No killing, yeah, right! No sexual misbehavior, no stealing, no lying, no intoxicants - give me a break! The blatant hypocrisy! The arrogance! the hubris! You are bottom feeders. You are hypocrites! Are you without sin? Then what possibly entitles you to cast the first stone? You, you pathetic whimpering parasites. You naddering n’er do-wells. You sinister soulless sycophants.
-----
Monday, February 23, 2009
2009 Prompts
12/5/9-2/20/10
1. safe deposit box
2. arranged
3. how to be happy
4. a momentary lapse of irresponsibility
5. curiously cheerful
6. scissors with black handles
11/28/9
1. predictability
2. East meets West
11/21/9
1. If I've told you once, I've told you a thousand times, Sicilians do not appreciate practical jokes.
2. It was a dark and stormy night
11/7/9
1. caught a glimpse
2. suicidal seagulls
10/17/99
1. I am a large, fine cantelope.
2. 8/8/198810/10/9
3. the universe was restored to order
10/10/9
there are three things in life a person has to do in his life, or ...
10/3/9
1. reasons to be pretty
2. growing through the roof
3. Death sat alone at the end of the bar hunched over a beer
9/19/09
1. it'll kill him to hear that
2. why we broke up in the first place
9/12/9
1. snakes
2. a jinx
9/5/09
1. the next failure
2. daisy
3. memories triggered by a sense of smell
8/15/09
1. puppies again
2. tortoise shell
8/8/09
1. away at war
2. a paint-splattered floor
3. what I know about Texas
8/1/09
1. blame was bounding from person to person looking for a home
2. 1962
7/24/09
1. dreams that have failed
2. two vampires walk into a bar
3. a tight schedule
7/18/09
1. heart and hurt
2. the process of cleaning ones heart
3. he's a sorcerer by birth some say
7/11/09
1. Use a fairy tale starting point. Rewrite, recast, change POV.
2. bridges
3. then came the fireworks
6/27/09
1. oatmeal
2. the banjo
3. a real heartbreak
6/20/09
1. regardless of what they thought, that is mine
2. it's not recommended
3. greyhound
6/13/09
1. a surge of positive energy
2. cricket
3. an uncomfortable silence
5/31/09
1. ornery
2. under the wood pile
3. No, no, no!
5/16/09
1. Mr. Anderson
2. being the roadrunner
5/9/09
1. Louie with a cigarette in his mouth a year before he died
2. my dad's car
3. feeling singled out
5/2/9
1. equal parts light and dark
2. though there was conflict
4/24/09
1. a refreshing primal attraction
2. traveling through time
3. excuses flying all around
4/17/09
1. weary from thinking
2. Write about an incident that could be used against you if you ever ran for public office.
3. first state
3/28/9
1. torn to shreds
2. it's a muligant and it looks angry
3/21/9
1. Ma likes a lively saloon
2. in the woods
3/14/9
1. accidental death
2. a light yellow envelop sealed with a kiss
3/7/9
1. the bio-techno bots are unpredictable
2. oil changing
2/28/9
1. pomegranate
2. random act of kindness (5-minutes)
2/21/09
1. write a confession of an inanimate object
2. relentless ticking
2/6/09
1. scotch and soda
2. no sadness allowed
1/31/09
1. could be a point of contention
2. she smokes, she drinks, and has a filthy mouth
1/17/9
1. lacks sizzle
2. the planet's three moons have various quarreling settlements
1/10/9
1. why I hate alligators
2. nice to finally meet you
1/3/09
1. an empty glass
2. I could go on and on
12/27/08
1. flat tire
2. you do something wrong that you do not regret
12/20/09
1. write what you didn't say
2. linoleum
12/13/09
1. always tries to be liked, but now
2. applesauce mixed with cottage cheese
12/6/09
1. untrained animal
2. secret identity
11/22/8 (workshop)
1. checkerboard
2. good-bye
11/15/8
1. old cobwebs
2. cried 'til it hurt
11/8/8
1. trucks
2. he did this just for you
11/1/8
1. temptation pounced!
2. being too cold
10/25/8
1. a shopping cart speeding down the expressway against traffic
2. an unwelcome surprise
10/18/8
1. having a bad memory
2. take your time
10/4/8
1. a bad haircut
2. you received favor
9/20/8
1. being unmasked
2. salamander
9/13/8
1. the king of wishful thinking
2. apologies
1. safe deposit box
2. arranged
3. how to be happy
4. a momentary lapse of irresponsibility
5. curiously cheerful
6. scissors with black handles
11/28/9
1. predictability
2. East meets West
11/21/9
1. If I've told you once, I've told you a thousand times, Sicilians do not appreciate practical jokes.
2. It was a dark and stormy night
11/7/9
1. caught a glimpse
2. suicidal seagulls
10/17/99
1. I am a large, fine cantelope.
2. 8/8/198810/10/9
3. the universe was restored to order
10/10/9
there are three things in life a person has to do in his life, or ...
10/3/9
1. reasons to be pretty
2. growing through the roof
3. Death sat alone at the end of the bar hunched over a beer
9/19/09
1. it'll kill him to hear that
2. why we broke up in the first place
9/12/9
1. snakes
2. a jinx
9/5/09
1. the next failure
2. daisy
3. memories triggered by a sense of smell
8/15/09
1. puppies again
2. tortoise shell
8/8/09
1. away at war
2. a paint-splattered floor
3. what I know about Texas
8/1/09
1. blame was bounding from person to person looking for a home
2. 1962
7/24/09
1. dreams that have failed
2. two vampires walk into a bar
3. a tight schedule
7/18/09
1. heart and hurt
2. the process of cleaning ones heart
3. he's a sorcerer by birth some say
7/11/09
1. Use a fairy tale starting point. Rewrite, recast, change POV.
2. bridges
3. then came the fireworks
6/27/09
1. oatmeal
2. the banjo
3. a real heartbreak
6/20/09
1. regardless of what they thought, that is mine
2. it's not recommended
3. greyhound
6/13/09
1. a surge of positive energy
2. cricket
3. an uncomfortable silence
5/31/09
1. ornery
2. under the wood pile
3. No, no, no!
5/16/09
1. Mr. Anderson
2. being the roadrunner
5/9/09
1. Louie with a cigarette in his mouth a year before he died
2. my dad's car
3. feeling singled out
5/2/9
1. equal parts light and dark
2. though there was conflict
4/24/09
1. a refreshing primal attraction
2. traveling through time
3. excuses flying all around
4/17/09
1. weary from thinking
2. Write about an incident that could be used against you if you ever ran for public office.
3. first state
3/28/9
1. torn to shreds
2. it's a muligant and it looks angry
3/21/9
1. Ma likes a lively saloon
2. in the woods
3/14/9
1. accidental death
2. a light yellow envelop sealed with a kiss
3/7/9
1. the bio-techno bots are unpredictable
2. oil changing
2/28/9
1. pomegranate
2. random act of kindness (5-minutes)
2/21/09
1. write a confession of an inanimate object
2. relentless ticking
2/6/09
1. scotch and soda
2. no sadness allowed
1/31/09
1. could be a point of contention
2. she smokes, she drinks, and has a filthy mouth
1/17/9
1. lacks sizzle
2. the planet's three moons have various quarreling settlements
1/10/9
1. why I hate alligators
2. nice to finally meet you
1/3/09
1. an empty glass
2. I could go on and on
12/27/08
1. flat tire
2. you do something wrong that you do not regret
12/20/09
1. write what you didn't say
2. linoleum
12/13/09
1. always tries to be liked, but now
2. applesauce mixed with cottage cheese
12/6/09
1. untrained animal
2. secret identity
11/22/8 (workshop)
1. checkerboard
2. good-bye
11/15/8
1. old cobwebs
2. cried 'til it hurt
11/8/8
1. trucks
2. he did this just for you
11/1/8
1. temptation pounced!
2. being too cold
10/25/8
1. a shopping cart speeding down the expressway against traffic
2. an unwelcome surprise
10/18/8
1. having a bad memory
2. take your time
10/4/8
1. a bad haircut
2. you received favor
9/20/8
1. being unmasked
2. salamander
9/13/8
1. the king of wishful thinking
2. apologies
Saturday, February 21, 2009
For the Love of Life - JohnD
Prompt: Write a confession of an inanimate object - 02/21/09
I love life. I do. So painful for me, then, not to be alive, such a horrible fate. I love humanity, too, how humans can control their surroundings. I so admire their work, which is great because I am their work. I’m a Beretta 9mm.
I am constructed beautifully: my weight and form are magnificent. So many humans are in awe of me. And yet, humans themselves forged me with materials taken right from the earth. My design is truly inspiring. How nicely I fit the human hand and how good I feel when humans hold me.
There are bullets, of course. I am designed to bring out all the power that they have hidden within. I do this quite well. I’m proud of it. I’m sorry to say that, but it’s true. I’ve always been so proud of my ability to unleash every bit of energy stored in a little bullet. Yes, when I team up with bullets, we are a force that humans hold in high regard. We are respected, but feared, too. I enjoy the respect that humans give me because I think so highly of them. I want them to respect me and like me. And some really, really like me.
I’ve been fired many times. My owner, Thomas, brings me to the firing range almost every week. He has other guns, too, but I am his favorite. I love that. I’d do anything for Thomas. I love him.
Last night, he took me out in the middle of the night. Something was wrong. He was in a panic. It was all quite unusual. I didn’t understand what was happening. It didn’t make sense. Somebody was trying to enter his house through the back door. Thomas crept carefully into the living room. He was grasping me tightly.
Suddenly the intruder was in the house. How did he get in so easily. “Halt!” Thomas yelled.
The intruder had a gun, too. Thomas raised me and pulled my trigger. I hesitated. I’d never shot a living thing before, especially a human. I love humans. It seemed like some sort of mistake. I know it’s my job to fire when my trigger is pulled, but I couldn’t do it. It would kill the intruder. And after all, he was a human being.
Then the intruder fired. His gun did not hesitate. His gun was a good soldier and did as ordered. His gun was not weak like me. His gun fired again and again. Thomas pulled my trigger again. This time I fired. He pulled again and again and I fired again and again. Bullets were flying through the air, mostly missing, but not all the bullets missed. I fell to the floor.
Now, here I lie. It’s morning, two human bodies and two guns lying on the floor. If I’d done my job right, it would only be one body and one gun, and it wouldn’t be Thomas and me. But I failed. I didn’t do my job. I love human life. That’s my excuse, my only excuse, no matter how faulty, no matter how disastrous. I’m sorry, I hope I can be forgiven.
I love life. I do. So painful for me, then, not to be alive, such a horrible fate. I love humanity, too, how humans can control their surroundings. I so admire their work, which is great because I am their work. I’m a Beretta 9mm.
I am constructed beautifully: my weight and form are magnificent. So many humans are in awe of me. And yet, humans themselves forged me with materials taken right from the earth. My design is truly inspiring. How nicely I fit the human hand and how good I feel when humans hold me.
There are bullets, of course. I am designed to bring out all the power that they have hidden within. I do this quite well. I’m proud of it. I’m sorry to say that, but it’s true. I’ve always been so proud of my ability to unleash every bit of energy stored in a little bullet. Yes, when I team up with bullets, we are a force that humans hold in high regard. We are respected, but feared, too. I enjoy the respect that humans give me because I think so highly of them. I want them to respect me and like me. And some really, really like me.
I’ve been fired many times. My owner, Thomas, brings me to the firing range almost every week. He has other guns, too, but I am his favorite. I love that. I’d do anything for Thomas. I love him.
Last night, he took me out in the middle of the night. Something was wrong. He was in a panic. It was all quite unusual. I didn’t understand what was happening. It didn’t make sense. Somebody was trying to enter his house through the back door. Thomas crept carefully into the living room. He was grasping me tightly.
Suddenly the intruder was in the house. How did he get in so easily. “Halt!” Thomas yelled.
The intruder had a gun, too. Thomas raised me and pulled my trigger. I hesitated. I’d never shot a living thing before, especially a human. I love humans. It seemed like some sort of mistake. I know it’s my job to fire when my trigger is pulled, but I couldn’t do it. It would kill the intruder. And after all, he was a human being.
Then the intruder fired. His gun did not hesitate. His gun was a good soldier and did as ordered. His gun was not weak like me. His gun fired again and again. Thomas pulled my trigger again. This time I fired. He pulled again and again and I fired again and again. Bullets were flying through the air, mostly missing, but not all the bullets missed. I fell to the floor.
Now, here I lie. It’s morning, two human bodies and two guns lying on the floor. If I’d done my job right, it would only be one body and one gun, and it wouldn’t be Thomas and me. But I failed. I didn’t do my job. I love human life. That’s my excuse, my only excuse, no matter how faulty, no matter how disastrous. I’m sorry, I hope I can be forgiven.
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