tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1128469884487763839.post2859762688033845543..comments2024-03-24T11:17:10.498-07:00Comments on Unemployed Imagination.: 2 Minutes. Go!JD Maderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13058074115809620653noreply@blogger.comBlogger30125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1128469884487763839.post-34065691017787383022014-05-19T16:55:47.910-07:002014-05-19T16:55:47.910-07:00YOU'RE SHIA'ing MY ASS! NO ONE SHIAs *MY* ...YOU'RE SHIA'ing MY ASS! NO ONE SHIAs *MY* ASS. ;)JD Maderhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/13058074115809620653noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1128469884487763839.post-83794628085332871382014-05-19T16:43:23.173-07:002014-05-19T16:43:23.173-07:00LOL, diners and motels and sad little bars. I'...LOL, diners and motels and sad little bars. I'll be writing about strippers with hearts of gold, rich entitled psychopaths and twitchy, oddly likeable mobsters soon! David Antrobushttps://www.blogger.com/profile/08486219404600185419noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1128469884487763839.post-78967364321499575192014-05-19T14:52:05.262-07:002014-05-19T14:52:05.262-07:00I agree with both of you. I love this piece. And I...I agree with both of you. I love this piece. And I think you should preface everything you write with "This one's called Christ Fuck." - even if it isn't. :)<br /><br />Dope story, brother. Knock it off with the diners, though, that's MY gig. ;)JD Maderhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/13058074115809620653noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1128469884487763839.post-23093781670341276752014-05-19T14:49:47.979-07:002014-05-19T14:49:47.979-07:00WordWordJD Maderhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/13058074115809620653noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1128469884487763839.post-8961665182405816072014-05-19T14:49:30.018-07:002014-05-19T14:49:30.018-07:00I love this piece. "Raucous mourning" - ...I love this piece. "Raucous mourning" - what a fantastic phrase. Thanks for stopping by, Sal. :)JD Maderhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/13058074115809620653noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1128469884487763839.post-37283909117027048562014-05-19T14:13:53.450-07:002014-05-19T14:13:53.450-07:00Linguist of souls! I like. :)
Enjoying your contr...Linguist of souls! I like. :)<br /><br />Enjoying your contributions, too, Ed. This Friday thing is addictive and I honestly think everyone is upping their game each week.David Antrobushttps://www.blogger.com/profile/08486219404600185419noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1128469884487763839.post-87554049281280149162014-05-19T08:39:20.227-07:002014-05-19T08:39:20.227-07:00I love the balance between voiced and unvoiced tho...I love the balance between voiced and unvoiced thoughts - kind of like diphthongs for the linguist of the soul. You may be the linguist of souls, David. You just may be...Edhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/14634773839102689759noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1128469884487763839.post-37062438948703530102014-05-18T19:16:39.030-07:002014-05-18T19:16:39.030-07:00Argh, sorry I'm late, had some life complicati...Argh, sorry I'm late, had some life complications this weekend I'm now free of. This one's called Christ Fuck.<br />________________<br /><br />Road weary and trembling with pent hysteria, we make it at last into this Nebraska town, this South Dakota town, this Iowa town, bleeding from our raw stigmata.<br /><br />These are settlements filled to the gills with dust. Boxy, squat. Wide main streets with angled parking, like nobody ever had to worry 'bout space. Tire companies. Two-pump gas stations, rusted and flake-leaded with ancient paint. Corner bars risking fever-glimpse neon signs, two or three patrons at any one time, no matter when. Hardware stores. Pawn shops. Silent chapels. The scent of oil. Weeds erupting from sidewalk cracks. But mainly a shitload of space and even more dust.<br /><br />"Holler if ya need something." That's Marcie, runs the only good diner in town, fine American cuisine, and I surely ain't bein' facetious, no sir.<br /><br />We spend our entire lives goin' in and out of buildings. See if that ain't true. Argue with me, if you can. <br /><br />Watch times change, watch.<br /><br />"What does a smile smell of?"<br /><br />I ain't answering that. I ain't crazy.<br /><br />Dead lots waiting years for something different, something better or at least newer, hunched SUVs scurrying scarab trails, chain link and rail cars under a dull lead sky over straight horizons. We're choking here. Choking on decent air, neglect, and pure sexless melancholy.<br /><br />"My head is a cage." Your pretty brown eyes look panicky to me.<br /><br />"Yeah. We oughta leave." Keep heading west. Makes damn sense. Go until the ocean stops us. Go until the end.<br /><br />But all of this—all of this—pales in the firefly glow of brand new love and the Christ-fuck flash of lightning over the endless traveling midway.David Antrobushttps://www.blogger.com/profile/08486219404600185419noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1128469884487763839.post-44833869083472874332014-05-17T07:44:57.837-07:002014-05-17T07:44:57.837-07:00You can go to hell for taking your best friend'... You can go to hell for taking your best friend's wife as a lover? Oh, wait, I mean you CAN to hell for taking your best friends lover. That and using the wrong punctuation to end a sentence. Yes, that's why I'm going. Good piece, my kind of humor precisely. I reckon I'll run into Billy boy on the other side ;)<br />Edhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/14634773839102689759noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1128469884487763839.post-41310152913385570482014-05-17T07:39:46.689-07:002014-05-17T07:39:46.689-07:00You bastardYou bastardEdhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/14634773839102689759noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1128469884487763839.post-59329826780151483922014-05-17T07:30:09.195-07:002014-05-17T07:30:09.195-07:00WELCOME TO THE HOT HOUSE
I should’ve figured it o...WELCOME TO THE HOT HOUSE<br /><br />I should’ve figured it out. I was walking barefoot in a field that should’ve been green with high blades of grass. Instead, as far as I could see, the grassless fields were blood-red and from them rose shimmering spears of blue-hot flames.<br /><br />A near-death experience, I thought, but someone wearing an indelible sunburn read my mind and asked, “Near?” <br /><br />Looking down, I saw I was still wearing my hospital gown with the open back meant for air conditioning but only served now as easier access for the flames roasting a browning rump. <br /><br />“You saying I’m dead?”<br /><br />“Hell yes!”<br /><br />“But it was simple surgery. A nonmalignant mass. Routine, they said.”<br /><br />“Welcome to the Hot House, Billy Boy. I’m your demon guide Mr. Sinister.” He offered me a hand, shoots of fire extending his fingers like a 4th of July magic trick.<br /><br />I started to cry, tiny hot blazing orbs popping from my eyes. “Is there no way out?”<br /><br />Sinister poked me with his pitchfork. I heard my skin broil. Then he shook his horned head.<br /><br />Far away somewhere down a tunnel I heard the surgeon say, “We’ve lost him.” My best friend’s wife Marcy, aka my lover, break out into raucous mourning.<br /><br />“Welcome,” said Sinister. “Let me show you around.”<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Salvatore Buttacihttps://www.blogger.com/profile/17477098872186908154noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1128469884487763839.post-21413054433164077452014-05-16T22:22:18.047-07:002014-05-16T22:22:18.047-07:00It's the sideburns.It's the sideburns. JD Maderhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/13058074115809620653noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1128469884487763839.post-77067760662364388362014-05-16T22:21:30.092-07:002014-05-16T22:21:30.092-07:00Taut. I agree with Ed. I usually do. Great piece. ...Taut. I agree with Ed. I usually do. Great piece. I can always use more CIA surveillance. ;) Same place next week. JD Maderhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/13058074115809620653noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1128469884487763839.post-169177776041439322014-05-16T22:16:07.222-07:002014-05-16T22:16:07.222-07:00Term of endearment for sure. ;)Term of endearment for sure. ;)JD Maderhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/13058074115809620653noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1128469884487763839.post-48542080261822540462014-05-16T17:04:54.949-07:002014-05-16T17:04:54.949-07:00Thank you Ed. I really appreciate your kind words....Thank you Ed. I really appreciate your kind words. Rodney Hallhttp://www.amazon.com/author/rodneyhallnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1128469884487763839.post-74073552232828718062014-05-16T16:48:04.193-07:002014-05-16T16:48:04.193-07:00Talk about a novel in two minutes! :) Good combina...Talk about a novel in two minutes! :) Good combinations of political thrill, time traveling sci-fi stuff. Edhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/14634773839102689759noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1128469884487763839.post-17656705078088550592014-05-16T16:45:31.746-07:002014-05-16T16:45:31.746-07:00Damn, you steal the best stuff. Oh well, at least ...Damn, you steal the best stuff. Oh well, at least you ask nicely. She'll probably let you have it. All the girls do... Edhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/14634773839102689759noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1128469884487763839.post-33715361261758486572014-05-16T16:43:01.022-07:002014-05-16T16:43:01.022-07:00Wonderful transformation of mixed images into a be...Wonderful transformation of mixed images into a beautifully coherent picture.Edhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/14634773839102689759noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1128469884487763839.post-3147876308272907582014-05-16T16:41:39.495-07:002014-05-16T16:41:39.495-07:00Tug at this fair skinned old lad's heart will ...Tug at this fair skinned old lad's heart will ya! Bastard is a term of endearment where I come from. Means you're one of us. Took me years to work out that it wasn't an insult. I'm still on the fence on that but if its a term of endearment I'll call you one.Edhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/14634773839102689759noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1128469884487763839.post-13168057581715891872014-05-16T16:31:27.881-07:002014-05-16T16:31:27.881-07:00Thanks! You guys inspire me. Also, I've been w...Thanks! You guys inspire me. Also, I've been writing all day. All warmed up, no place to go... ;)Laurie Borishttps://www.blogger.com/profile/08361627047571650547noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1128469884487763839.post-83522999974656519192014-05-16T16:24:33.264-07:002014-05-16T16:24:33.264-07:00He pulled his trained eye away from the rifle scop...He pulled his trained eye away from the rifle scope and eased back against the concrete knee wall. Without any sign of emotions he pulled a cigarette from its pack and lit it. He wasn't addicted to smoking, but he always enjoyed the way it made him feel just before and after a kill. He blew out the smoke and looked at his wrist watch. "Minute forty-five," he said. He sucked hard on the cigarette one more time and then flipped it out onto the flat roof of the skyscraper. Thankful that he wasn't afraid of heights, he peered over the edge of the building and smiled. "Come on. Step out of the car." he said. "I'll make sure it's a head shot."<br />His heart rate increased for a moment before calming to just under sixty beats a second. He had been doing this job for what seemed like three lifetimes. The fear, anxiety and even the thrill had long since past. He did what he had to do. Without him, the promise of a healthy future would most certainly be lost. <br />The target stepped out of the vehicle and waved at the people in the crowd as a group of men in black suits and dark sunglasses surrounded him. "Two more steps please." he whispered as his index finger pressed firmly against the rifle's trigger. <br />The rifle bucked against his shoulder, but his trained eye remained focused. He witnessed the men in suits react first, all spinning and drawing their weapons, uncertain as to where the shot came from. The shooter couldn't help but grin as the targets knees buckled a fraction of a second later. The shooter then casually placed the sniper rifle at his side and withdrew another cigarette - smoking it as casually as if he were sitting on his front porch enjoying the sunset. <br />He cast the used butt to the side and stood to his feet, not worried that he might be seen. He had a secret, he was incapable of getting caught. He pulled a small plastic box from his suit pocket and adjusted the numbers. When it read, "2059" he pressed the green button.<br />He squinted his eyes as the bright light had always been far too intense to take, even through his dark glasses. A short time later, he walked into his place of employment, not going to his office, but the director's office instead. <br />"Did you do it? Was it a successful hit?" his boss questioned. He nodded his head and then tossed the history book onto his boss's desk. His boss took the book and hesitated. <br />"Go ahead, the page is folded."<br />His boss nodded and opened the book, finding the page he started reading. "Secretary of state, 'Wilson" was assassinated on the fifteenth day of June, 2014." His boss closed the book and dropped it back onto his desk. He took a deep breath and then smiled. "At least now we don't have to worry about Wilson winning the presidency in 2020. Those were some rough times."Rodney Hallhttp://www.amazon.com/author/rodneyhallnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1128469884487763839.post-74442857162978661312014-05-16T16:23:11.618-07:002014-05-16T16:23:11.618-07:00I love this one. Can I steal it and write the rest...I love this one. Can I steal it and write the rest of the novel? ;)JD Maderhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/13058074115809620653noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1128469884487763839.post-30551873444468529642014-05-16T16:17:57.234-07:002014-05-16T16:17:57.234-07:00Ten miles west of Albany, he grabbed her shirtfron...Ten miles west of Albany, he grabbed her shirtfront in one greasy-nailed fist and pulled her into his face. Eyes crusty and squinting from being on the road for three days, dust in his hair. “You’ll remember this moment for the rest of your life.” His voice was like the guy who narrates the movie trailers, important like the world was about to end. And then he let her go, trudging along beside her at the shoulder of the Thruway as if nothing had happened. She wondered for her safety then, if this would become another story she could never tell her mother, or even if she’d make it back home at all.Laurie Borishttps://www.blogger.com/profile/08361627047571650547noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1128469884487763839.post-81015253550354840032014-05-16T16:12:44.750-07:002014-05-16T16:12:44.750-07:00Wow, this is an amazing example of powerful imager...Wow, this is an amazing example of powerful imagery, G. Love it. JD Maderhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/13058074115809620653noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1128469884487763839.post-75162801052853591262014-05-16T16:06:49.905-07:002014-05-16T16:06:49.905-07:00Ten years of unsaid words pile up like broken roof...Ten years of unsaid words pile up like broken roof shingles on uncut grass. They seep into her muscles like poison and bend her into unnatural shapes. They whistle through the broken screens along with the mosquitoes. They sleep in nasty piles underneath the garage bay gutter sagging in the middle, water cascading down and bouncing along the cracked asphalt driveway. They roll up into dust bunnies that bite her ankles and creep up her calves while she’s sleeping. They chew at her heart until there’s nothing left but gristle, left out in the yard for the birds to pick clean.Laurie Borishttps://www.blogger.com/profile/08361627047571650547noreply@blogger.com