100 words – Karen of Rochester

Helen of Troy had a face that launched a thousand ships. Karen of Rochester had a face that launched a thousand bar fights. Unfortunately the men who fought over her all ended up too battered to do her any good. She once gave up and tried a lesbian bar, the same thing happened. She tried meeting men other places. Still the same. All attempts at approaching the shy ones were thwarted my their puking or pissing their pants. Even the blind guy fled upon feeling her face. She stared at her perfect face one last time, soldering iron in hand. Photo by Internet Archive Book Images

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Favorite Word: Merci

Favorite Word (This week)

I like words. My favorites change over time. This week's favorite word is merci. I didn't realize how much I liked merci till I watched the dubbed version of the French movie, CITY OF LOST CHILDREN. The sub-titled version is far superior. In the dubbed version they replaced merci with thanks. Not even thank you! Just thanks. In many of the scenes "thanks" was simply not appropriate. Merci, thanks, gracias, grazie, danke. To the mechanical translators these words all mean the same thing. But in the context of their languages and cultures they contain subtleties that defy translation. I just spent twenty minutes trying to explain, to myself at least, how to demonstrate those subtleties, and failing. My knowledge of languages and cultures other than my own are quite limited. Which proves my point but doesn't help my argument. For a concrete example I have to use the world of computer programming. Each computer language is capable of doing pretty much what any other language can do. The difference is syntax and commands. Fortunately, I am such a geek that I have a favorite command. Nop. From the AREXX language. It is short for "no operation.' That's right, it does nothing. The fun part is, it explicitly does nothing. Then when it's done doing nothing it reports back that it has successfully done nothing. That's a wonderful placeholder tool for undeveloped functions. My point is that you can duplicate this functionality in any computer language but it won't be as simple or as elegant. The same is how I feel about the word merci. The similar words from other languages perform the same function but without the grace of "merci."

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Waiting Room – 100 words

Ethyl sits in the ER waiting room chair crying. George stands nearby staring at the candy machine. He spends a minute or more examining each item. Starting at the top left. Slowly working his way right and down. Row by row. Gum to chips. Nearly an hour goes by before he reaches the last item. He turns to his weeping wife and asks her if she wants anything. She appears to have fallen asleep mid grimace. George's knees buckle. He steadies himself against the machine. The nurse calls Ethyl's name. She doesn't answer. She can't. George slides to the floor. Photo by kate.paulson

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Tom Week – Learning, writing and bad movies

Learning and writing

I just completed a couple of high-end programming courses online. I enjoy programming but it doesn't have the emotional component for me that writing has. So I'm not starting any new computer courses while I concentrate more on my writing.

Trip to the Vet

Follow-up with TJ's heart and kidney problems. We'll get the bloodwork report on Monday. He doesn't seem to be in any pain and he's actually eating a little better.

Owning the to-do list

Same days are just better than others. Today I completed more tasks than in the past several days combined. Fixed the loose screw on the front door; Backed-up my computers; Soldered Tonya's shaky thing. The inner critic I call Manly Man is quite pleased with me.

I BOUGHT A VAMPIRE MOTORCYCLE

A movie just as bad as you think it would be. No better, no worse. The title explains it all. Some good one-liners and so many plot holes that they almost take on the role of a character. The vampire motorcycle effect are wondrous. To call them "special effects" would be a gross exaggeration. The highlight of the movie, in the part of the priest who tries to exercise the vampire from the motorcycle, is Anthony Daniels. Yes, that Anthony Daniels. (If you don't know who Anthony Daniels is you lose all your geek points.)

Random Thoughts

Today in Golden Gate Park I saw a man with a whip on his hip building a cross made of cardboard tubes. It is no coincidence that whiskey rhymes with risky. I've come to realize that I am a guilt-based life form. The Kit Kat bars remain untreated. My laptop needs more stickers. Somebody send me stickers. Weird ones. After an evening of soul-scraping all I have produced is an Emo Phillips fan fiction haiku. Photo by Internet Archive Book Images

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The Message – 100 words

Frank stands in the watchtower waiting for the signal from the east. Waiting to relay the signal to the west. The signal hour is almost up. He was sure the message would come today. He was sure the message would come yesterday. Maybe it will come tomorrow. No news is good news they say. Not knowing is worse thinks Frank. If the news is war then there will things to do. No more sitting around 23 hours a day, waiting. If the news is peace Frank can go home. See his family once again. Maybe the message will come tomorrow. Photo by cowbite

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City Myth – 100 words

Myth of the City

Carl's heart flows down an empty river. Betrayed by the city he loved. So many promises. So many letdowns. The myth of the big city isn't an easy belief to lose. Now Carl knows the truth. Standing alone in the middle of millions. He stands on the corner watching the sun set behind the giant buildings. The workers depart. The day-dwellers who don't care about Carl, or anyone, are slowly replaced by the ones who wish to do him harm. Carl senses a man watching and waiting for his chance to strike. Carl flees to a cab he can't afford.

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Sirens – 100 words

I hear the sirens’ call yet their tongues are still. I am compelled to the rocks though they do not beckon. Thirteen years lost at sea. Denied sanctuary at every known port. I am a pirate who does not pillage. An explorer who fears the forbidden land. The cult of the flesh eludes me. Knowledge versus belief versus morality. The more I shed my vices the louder they scream. Driven mad. The voices in my head sit in judgment of me. They pronounce me inadequate. The sentence is exile in the wilderness of thought. A prison of my own construction.

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The Man In The Mirror – 100 words

The man in the mirror scared the shit out of me.

All I wanted was a silly selfie of my just-out-of-the-shower hair. I pointed the camera and there was a weird green flash and this appeared on my phone’s screen. I took another picture and it came out normal. Though my shower hair wasn’t as funny as I’d hoped. I keep looking at the weird picture. It’s definitely me but what am I wearing? Goggles and a head lamp like I’m some kind of urban spelunker. What strange adventure is calling to me from the other side of the mirror?

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The Demon Sandman – 100 words

Photo by Mateus Lunardi Dutra

Stay awake with me the sandman calls. I beg for sleep and he laughs. I try to clear my mind and he fills it with thoughts. Bad thoughts. Cruel thoughts. I can’t believe I thought that thoughts. I try filling my head with harmless thoughts but he twists them into foul parodies of joy.

I turn over to escape his grasp. Resistance is futile.He surrounds me and is within me. The horrors of my imagination are made real. Punching wall snakes. Screaming for release.

Then the sun cracks the sky. The demon retreats into the shadows. Sleep finally comes.

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The Snake – 100 words

John punched the snake.

The snake, confused, as he had never been punched before, hesitated for a second, then bit John in the ankle. The ankle tasted yucky. Dust, sweat and bug spray. The snake recoiled in disgust.

John watched the snake slither away, then examined his ankle. Four little punctures in his skin. He knew it was all over. He could feel the poison creeping into his system. It was a three day walk to civilization. He sat down to die.

Two days later the rangers found him hungry and dehydrated but otherwise healthy. Snakes are not all poisonous.

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Outpost – 100 words

The horizon appeared to be forever away. Eugene trudged on chewing on the last of his protein fudge. Not wanting to swallow. Too final. This was supposed to be a two day walk so he took three days rations. Company policy. It was now day four with no end in sight.

Dusk brought a glimmer of hope. As the sun set a lump appeared on the horizon. Eugene ran as fast as his tired legs could carry him. The lump turned out to be a large rock. Carved in the rock was the message. “Die you stupid asshole. She’s mine.”

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The Demon Sandman – 100 words

Photo by Mateus Lunardi Dutra

Stay awake with me the sandman calls. I beg for sleep and he laughs. I try to clear my mind and he fills it with thoughts. Bad thoughts. Cruel thoughts. I can’t believe I thought that thoughts. I try filling my head with harmless thoughts but he twists them into foul parodies of joy.

I turn over to escape his grasp. Resistance is futile.He surrounds me and is within me. The horrors of my imagination are made real. Punching wall snakes. Screaming for release.

Then the sun cracks the sky. The demon retreats into the shadows. Sleep finally comes.

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The Snake – 100 words

John punched the snake.

The snake, confused, as he had never been punched before, hesitated for a second, then bit John in the ankle. The ankle tasted yucky. Dust, sweat and bug spray. The snake recoiled in disgust.

John watched the snake slither away, then examined his ankle. Four little punctures in his skin. He knew it was all over. He could feel the poison creeping into his system. It was a three day walk to civilization. He sat down to die.

Two days later the rangers found him hungry and dehydrated but otherwise healthy. Snakes are not all poisonous.

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Outpost – 100 words

The horizon appeared to be forever away. Eugene trudged on chewing on the last of his protein fudge. Not wanting to swallow. Too final. This was supposed to be a two day walk so he took three days rations. Company policy. It was now day four with no end in sight.

Dusk brought a glimmer of hope. As the sun set a lump appeared on the horizon. Eugene ran as fast as his tired legs could carry him. The lump turned out to be a large rock. Carved in the rock was the message. “Die you stupid asshole. She’s mine.”

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White Trucks – 100 words

Will the parade of big white trucks ever cease?

Four or five a day. Rarely a sign on the side and when there is it’s a cheap magnetic one. Each truck carries a single box, unmarked. They unload the box and the pregnant women who lives there opens the garage door for them. They carry or wheel it in and disappear into the shadows. Ten minutes later they return with the flattened cardboard and drive away. The weird thing is that my dog quietly watches the white trucks come and go. He usually barks at everybody. Can’t figure out why.   Photo by Rusty Clark ~ 100K Photos

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The Snake – 100 words

John punched the snake.

The snake, confused, as he had never been punched before, hesitated for a second, then bit John in the ankle. The ankle tasted yucky. Dust, sweat and bug spray. The snake recoiled in disgust.

John watched the snake slither away, then examined his ankle. Four little punctures in his skin. He knew it was all over. He could feel the poison creeping into his system. It was a three day walk to civilization. He sat down to die.

Two days later the rangers found him hungry and dehydrated but otherwise healthy. Snakes are not all poisonous.

The post The Snake – 100 words appeared first on Tom Flanders World.

Outpost – 100 words

The horizon appeared to be forever away. Eugene trudged on chewing on the last of his protein fudge. Not wanting to swallow. Too final. This was supposed to be a two day walk so he took three days rations. Company policy. It was now day four with no end in sight.

Dusk brought a glimmer of hope. As the sun set a lump appeared on the horizon. Eugene ran as fast as his tired legs could carry him. The lump turned out to be a large rock. Carved in the rock was the message. “Die you stupid asshole. She’s mine.”

The post Outpost – 100 words appeared first on Tom Flanders World.

White Trucks – 100 words

Will the parade of big white trucks ever cease?

Four or five a day. Rarely a sign on the side and when there is it’s a cheap magnetic one. Each truck carries a single box, unmarked. They unload the box and the pregnant women who lives there opens the garage door for them. They carry or wheel it in and disappear into the shadows. Ten minutes later they return with the flattened cardboard and drive away.

The weird thing is that my dog quietly watches the white trucks come and go. He usually barks at everybody. Can’t figure out why.

 

Photo by Rusty Clark ~ 100K Photos

The post White Trucks – 100 words appeared first on Tom Flanders World.

White Trucks – 100 words

Will the parade of big white trucks ever cease?

Four or five a day. Rarely a sign on the side and when there is it’s a cheap magnetic one. Each truck carries a single box, unmarked. They unload the box and the pregnant women who lives there opens the garage door for them. They carry or wheel it in and disappear into the shadows. Ten minutes later they return with the flattened cardboard and drive away.

The weird thing is that my dog quietly watches the white trucks come and go. He usually barks at everybody. Can’t figure out why.

 

Photo by Rusty Clark ~ 100K Photos

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Felicity – 100 words

Felicity hated her name.

She worked hard to live her life as the exact opposite of her name. Unfortunately so few people knew what felicity meant that her efforts went unnoticed. Everyone just thought that she was an unhappy child.

She managed to make it to college where she majored in English. Finally her literate classmates understood her pain and irony. As a group they decided to call Felicity Jane. At first Jane liked the name but found it did not match her unpleasant disposition. She had no choice but to cheer up. This pissed off her family no end.

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Bob’s Coffee – 100 words

Bob stalked the halls, coffee cup in hand, searching for the perfect coffee. HR’s was too bitter. Housekeeping’s too weak. The stuff on the loading dock was battery acid with cinnamon. The geek room had no coffee, just coke and pepsi. The freaks.

Finally Bob wandered into admin’s outer office. They always had the best, but it was almost always gone. The office was unoccupied. The pot wasn’t empty. He quickly poured himself a cup and took a big swig. The cold day-old liquid hit his throat and he spit it back out, all over the latest inspirational cat poster.

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Eric and Linda – 100 words

Eric saw things that other people missed.

Unfortunately Eric was so busy noticing minute details he skipped over the larger picture. Like the bus that ran him over.

At his funeral his friend Linda sat in wonder at the strange collection of people who came to pay their last respects. She always assumed that Eric had no other friends. All his other friends assumed the same thing.

One friend tried to put a weed whacker in the coffin. The mortician kicked him out.

Linda suggested that the friends go somewhere for a drink. They all agreed but nobody showed up.

 

 

Photo by Woodrow Wilson Presidential Library Archives

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Felicity – 100 words

Felicity hated her name.

She worked hard to live her life as the exact opposite of her name. Unfortunately so few people knew what felicity meant that her efforts went unnoticed. Everyone just thought that she was an unhappy child.

She managed to make it to college where she majored in English. Finally her literate classmates understood her pain and irony. As a group they decided to call Felicity Jane. At first Jane liked the name but found it did not match her unpleasant disposition. She had no choice but to cheer up. This pissed off her family no end.

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Meaning and Responsibility

What does meaning mean?

In response I’m spending more time on each piece. Last Thursday’s post went through five drafts. It’s not the time and effort spent on multiple drafts that bothers me. It’s that fact that the more drafts I do, the drafts I want to do. The more things I find to “correct”, the more I assume there are other things that need correcting. (Like that comma back there that I initially left out.)

So I go from two drafts to five, and it was only a deadline that prevented further revisions. I had to convince myself that it was good enough. Not an easy accomplishment for a flawed perfectionist.

Then we have meaning, which is what I started to write about. On this I have oddly little stress. People will read my stuff and come to their own conclusions. What it means to me might not be what it means to them. They might not even care enough to assign meaning.

I guess the question is; What does a writer expect from their audience? Do we want praise, comments, criticism? Or is it enough to know that people are reading what we wrote? For larger pieces I have a wonderfully honest first reader, but I don’t want to wear out my welcome by having her look at every little piece of text that leaks out of my brain.

 

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Leo’s Poem – 100 words

There is a poem that begins with the phrase, “The cool air on my skin is the sadness of a touch unrealized.” Unfortunately that is the only line worth repeating. The first line came to Leo, the poem’s author, intact one cool summer morning. He drove himself insane trying to find more words the equal of the opening line, but failed. For years he failed, finally giving up and publishing the poem. The critics tore him apart. He lives in his parents basement now and watches the feet of passers-by through the tiny slit of a window. Waiting for death

 

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Patterns – 100 words

The patterns of music elude me. I listen hard but fail to perceive or understand how music works. I know I’m drunk but my brain has never been this useless. People are dancing at right angles to each other. Up and down have lost their meaning and purpose.

I do an inventory of previous drug experiences and find nothing that matches this. Then I realize that my brain is functioning. I can think and reason. It’s my senses that have broken down.

I try to alert my friends. I can’t move. Someone shouts in my face. It all goes dark.

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