... the story I just posted is really disappointing given the big build up of my first post. It would have been better If I hadn't made it sound so serious. It started out as a frivolous little thing and then became something that was important to me. I will have to make it much more substantial, however, if I am to successfully accomplish my objective.
For those of you wondering, (and I know there are at least none of you) no, I didn't go to work this morning. But while my story may be lackluster at this point, I feel it was good that I stayed home. Actually this is not the reason I stayed home, but whatever; this is what I ended up doing. By now I'm sure you can tell that I have nothing on the agenda for today and it's causing me to behave strangely.
"Pick Me,"
Evan
Wednesday, June 28, 2006
An Unlikely Admirer
An Unlikely Admirer
It was the hottest it had been all summer. Re-radiated ultraviolet rays prodded a young man as he strolled heroically down the sidewalk. The intense heat caused the proteins in his freshly applied hair gel to coagulate transforming the gelatinous texture of the compound into a warm, runny liquid that painted his temples and forehead. The smell of intensified bacterial decomposition in the nearby dumpster filled his nostrils. It was enough to make most guys want to puke their guts out. But, this one carried on unfettered by the sweat and stink of midsummer. In fact, his pursed lips and wide eyes cast a beam of elation across his face as he strolled gallantly beneath the clouds.
“My, aren’t they amazing,” he thought to himself as he gazed up at the sky. “How could anyone know how amazing they are? There must be few who can see them properly. He who can look at the rolling cumulous layers and envision the crystallized water molecules clustered together by the billions in the absence of a high enough saturation point to keep them from freezing as the temperature drops. Only he can truly see the clouds.”
She could not see the clouds. Even if she was obsessed with them and often stared devotedly up at them for hours on end, she did not meet his standard for a “true” cloud observer. This was only one of her many shortcomings that raced through his mind as he made his way through the stinking urban swamp to her house.
“So, she has her own interests,” he thought. “That is fine. I like spending time with her and if it weren’t for her leg brace, she’d be so attractive. Okay, she’s kind of big and I’m not really that attracted to her, but FUCK! I like her.”
A crow ripped a string of dried flesh from the skeleton of a flattened housecat as he tried to retrace his steps toward accepting her. Not far beneath his rationalizations was the menacing notion that he was just too good for her.
“She needs to hear this. The least I can do is show some appreciation for all of her kind gestures toward me. Sitting right next to me in class, lending me her notes, giving me her work and home phone numbers. She obviously likes me a lot and I think I might like her too.”
Though he had never visited her home, he new of its precise location. He had used Google maps to find directions to the address she provided on her MySpace web page, his preferred medium of communication with her on which, he left short, meaningless, but frequent comments.
He passed by a dirt lot in front of a dilapidated, teal and yellow house propped up on several large cinder blocks. The ripped screen door flew open and out dashed a sobbing toddler. The young child ran naked and bawling across the lawn. She stopped at the edge of the sidewalk. Tears ran down her face as she stared longingly at the figure parading down the sidewalk towards her. She began to smile at the way he shook his head back and fourth as his clown-like stride carried him several hundred feet closer to her with each step. Her smiling soon hatched into an invigorating giggle. It was an endearing and beautiful sound. One that would make most guys want to cry. This clown, however, was quite unresponsive.
Her soft, sugary laughter soothed her until the door to her prison slammed shut and a large shadow loomed across the lot. Dread washed over her, but she refused to take her eyes off of the clown. He was just within ten feet of the little girl when the shadow knocked her onto her naked bottom. She picked herself up off the ground only to receive another stiff blow to the face. She looked at him as hard as she could her lip now bleeding while the shadow dragged by her pigtails through the dog shit-laden yard back to her cell. A stream of urine ran down her leg as she prayed for the clown to look back at her to let her know that he was real. He did not show her the courtesy. Courtesy was out of the question. He didn’t even notice her. Aside from the pool of piss she left on the sidewalk, he never saw or heard a trace of this very enthusiastic observer.
It was well after the noon hour and, not having eaten anything, he began to gnaw on his fingers. “What exactly will I say to her? ‘Hey, I know how you feel about me. I think I’m ready to talk about it.’ Yeah, that works. After I tell her, I think I’ll take her out for pizza. I’ll go by myself if I have to,” he thought as he turned onto her street.
He was getting anxious as the anticipation grew. His pace quickened as the sun’s blaze poached him along with the toothless, old man sleeping beneath a nearby bench. By the time he reached her house, he was almost completely out of breath.
“Fuck it. I’ll just tell her I want to be friends or something,” he said to himself as he trudged up the steps to her front porch. He was now quite certain that, despite her attraction to him and his appreciation of that attraction, she could never give him what he needed.
He rang the doorbell and waited until a tall, dazzling woman answered. She met him with her glossy, red lips peeled apart into a perfect smile revealing hundreds of blindingly white teeth. She was calm and confident as she stood in the doorway holding a tall glass of lemonade.
“You’re not the UPS man,” the woman said seductively.
“No I’m not,” he gasped. Though he was over six feet tall himself, she seemed to tower over him as he panted, hunched over. A glob of sweaty hair gel hit the pavement.
“You must be a friend of my daughter’s. You sure you didn’t come to play with me instead?”
He looked up at her hardly able to breath. Her large, firm breasts were at eye level, inches away from his face and carefully wrapped in a soft string bikini. They were more amazing than any cloud he’d ever see. They rolled forward singing out to him, harmonizing with her hips and waist in a way that would make most guys beg for mercy. Most guys would have at least stood up straight, but this one stayed hunched over without the slightest desire to reach out to or even examine the beauty before him.
“Is Chelsea here?” he said as he pulled his shirt over his chin with his teeth.
“She is,” Chelsea’s mother replied slightly amused. “Would you like to come inside?”
He walked in and she closed the door behind him. “Can I get you something to drink?”
He spit out his mangled, sopping t-shirt collar and patted it down against his boney chest. “Um sure, I guess.” He said without looking up at her. He was beginning to catch his breath. “Do you have any Gatorade?”
“No. I’m sorry we don’t.”
“Hmm, that sucks. I guess I’ll just have water.”
Just then, she emerged from the landing above the first flight of stairs leading down to the front doorway. He immediately felt regret when he saw her. He recoiled as she limped down the stairs. Her hair was drawn back revealing her dull green eyes. Her braces shimmered as she smiled curiously at him.
“Hi!” She said. “What are you doing here?”
“Well,” he laughed nervously, “I came to discuss what went on between us last semester.”
“Umm, you mean in Chemistry class.” She was very confused.
“Hahahaha. Yes.”
“Oh. Okay. What did you say your name was again?”
It was the hottest it had been all summer. Re-radiated ultraviolet rays prodded a young man as he strolled heroically down the sidewalk. The intense heat caused the proteins in his freshly applied hair gel to coagulate transforming the gelatinous texture of the compound into a warm, runny liquid that painted his temples and forehead. The smell of intensified bacterial decomposition in the nearby dumpster filled his nostrils. It was enough to make most guys want to puke their guts out. But, this one carried on unfettered by the sweat and stink of midsummer. In fact, his pursed lips and wide eyes cast a beam of elation across his face as he strolled gallantly beneath the clouds.
“My, aren’t they amazing,” he thought to himself as he gazed up at the sky. “How could anyone know how amazing they are? There must be few who can see them properly. He who can look at the rolling cumulous layers and envision the crystallized water molecules clustered together by the billions in the absence of a high enough saturation point to keep them from freezing as the temperature drops. Only he can truly see the clouds.”
She could not see the clouds. Even if she was obsessed with them and often stared devotedly up at them for hours on end, she did not meet his standard for a “true” cloud observer. This was only one of her many shortcomings that raced through his mind as he made his way through the stinking urban swamp to her house.
“So, she has her own interests,” he thought. “That is fine. I like spending time with her and if it weren’t for her leg brace, she’d be so attractive. Okay, she’s kind of big and I’m not really that attracted to her, but FUCK! I like her.”
A crow ripped a string of dried flesh from the skeleton of a flattened housecat as he tried to retrace his steps toward accepting her. Not far beneath his rationalizations was the menacing notion that he was just too good for her.
“She needs to hear this. The least I can do is show some appreciation for all of her kind gestures toward me. Sitting right next to me in class, lending me her notes, giving me her work and home phone numbers. She obviously likes me a lot and I think I might like her too.”
Though he had never visited her home, he new of its precise location. He had used Google maps to find directions to the address she provided on her MySpace web page, his preferred medium of communication with her on which, he left short, meaningless, but frequent comments.
He passed by a dirt lot in front of a dilapidated, teal and yellow house propped up on several large cinder blocks. The ripped screen door flew open and out dashed a sobbing toddler. The young child ran naked and bawling across the lawn. She stopped at the edge of the sidewalk. Tears ran down her face as she stared longingly at the figure parading down the sidewalk towards her. She began to smile at the way he shook his head back and fourth as his clown-like stride carried him several hundred feet closer to her with each step. Her smiling soon hatched into an invigorating giggle. It was an endearing and beautiful sound. One that would make most guys want to cry. This clown, however, was quite unresponsive.
Her soft, sugary laughter soothed her until the door to her prison slammed shut and a large shadow loomed across the lot. Dread washed over her, but she refused to take her eyes off of the clown. He was just within ten feet of the little girl when the shadow knocked her onto her naked bottom. She picked herself up off the ground only to receive another stiff blow to the face. She looked at him as hard as she could her lip now bleeding while the shadow dragged by her pigtails through the dog shit-laden yard back to her cell. A stream of urine ran down her leg as she prayed for the clown to look back at her to let her know that he was real. He did not show her the courtesy. Courtesy was out of the question. He didn’t even notice her. Aside from the pool of piss she left on the sidewalk, he never saw or heard a trace of this very enthusiastic observer.
It was well after the noon hour and, not having eaten anything, he began to gnaw on his fingers. “What exactly will I say to her? ‘Hey, I know how you feel about me. I think I’m ready to talk about it.’ Yeah, that works. After I tell her, I think I’ll take her out for pizza. I’ll go by myself if I have to,” he thought as he turned onto her street.
He was getting anxious as the anticipation grew. His pace quickened as the sun’s blaze poached him along with the toothless, old man sleeping beneath a nearby bench. By the time he reached her house, he was almost completely out of breath.
“Fuck it. I’ll just tell her I want to be friends or something,” he said to himself as he trudged up the steps to her front porch. He was now quite certain that, despite her attraction to him and his appreciation of that attraction, she could never give him what he needed.
He rang the doorbell and waited until a tall, dazzling woman answered. She met him with her glossy, red lips peeled apart into a perfect smile revealing hundreds of blindingly white teeth. She was calm and confident as she stood in the doorway holding a tall glass of lemonade.
“You’re not the UPS man,” the woman said seductively.
“No I’m not,” he gasped. Though he was over six feet tall himself, she seemed to tower over him as he panted, hunched over. A glob of sweaty hair gel hit the pavement.
“You must be a friend of my daughter’s. You sure you didn’t come to play with me instead?”
He looked up at her hardly able to breath. Her large, firm breasts were at eye level, inches away from his face and carefully wrapped in a soft string bikini. They were more amazing than any cloud he’d ever see. They rolled forward singing out to him, harmonizing with her hips and waist in a way that would make most guys beg for mercy. Most guys would have at least stood up straight, but this one stayed hunched over without the slightest desire to reach out to or even examine the beauty before him.
“Is Chelsea here?” he said as he pulled his shirt over his chin with his teeth.
“She is,” Chelsea’s mother replied slightly amused. “Would you like to come inside?”
He walked in and she closed the door behind him. “Can I get you something to drink?”
He spit out his mangled, sopping t-shirt collar and patted it down against his boney chest. “Um sure, I guess.” He said without looking up at her. He was beginning to catch his breath. “Do you have any Gatorade?”
“No. I’m sorry we don’t.”
“Hmm, that sucks. I guess I’ll just have water.”
Just then, she emerged from the landing above the first flight of stairs leading down to the front doorway. He immediately felt regret when he saw her. He recoiled as she limped down the stairs. Her hair was drawn back revealing her dull green eyes. Her braces shimmered as she smiled curiously at him.
“Hi!” She said. “What are you doing here?”
“Well,” he laughed nervously, “I came to discuss what went on between us last semester.”
“Umm, you mean in Chemistry class.” She was very confused.
“Hahahaha. Yes.”
“Oh. Okay. What did you say your name was again?”
To Rekindle the Flames at the Base of a Dormant Volcano
The summer has long since begun. I will celebrate its arrival with some entries. The first will be my initial draft of a short story. It was concieved partially in my bed as I awoke this morning. Although I have used some subject matter from my life as a basis for this story and am quite certain that it is a manifestation of certain feelings I have toward that subject matter, I want to emphasize that it is purely fiction and was not created with any intention of malice.
The story is meant to exude some of the more abominable aspects masculinity and poke fun at them while, at the same time, illuminating the need to recognize them. Both the subject and the narrator are committed to ridiculous and even dangerous mentalities that, while comical, are the cause of abhorrent neglect and misunderstanding in male culture.
Bear in mind, I am by no means a writer and this is a rare project for me. It is a first draft and will be edited and, perhaps, elongated as time passes. Judge as harshly as you'd like or not at all. Actually, I'm not even sure I'm talking to anyone right now except myself, so this request is meaningless.
The story is meant to exude some of the more abominable aspects masculinity and poke fun at them while, at the same time, illuminating the need to recognize them. Both the subject and the narrator are committed to ridiculous and even dangerous mentalities that, while comical, are the cause of abhorrent neglect and misunderstanding in male culture.
Bear in mind, I am by no means a writer and this is a rare project for me. It is a first draft and will be edited and, perhaps, elongated as time passes. Judge as harshly as you'd like or not at all. Actually, I'm not even sure I'm talking to anyone right now except myself, so this request is meaningless.
Tuesday, September 13, 2005
Friday, August 19, 2005
Angry Again
log:
Megadeth is on the box. Dave Mustaine is angry. Therefore, I am angry. If I see you on the street today, I might hire Tom Kohl to tighten the leather sash around his waist and vigorously bite your nose off, so steer clear.
School starts soon. I think I might blow Madison to smithereens when the rest of the bad students arrive.
I'm gonna go to piano lesson and stink up the dude's house because I did not practice and I'm angry. I will leave you with an exerpt from a lost interview with Shane Verwey. Enjoy and eet fuk.
Guitar World issue 47, Dec. 25 1999.
Shane Verwey: Yeah so my experience with Girls with Guitars made me happy while my enfatuation with Chicks with Dicks was more of a representation of my more cynical sub-concious under the vestiges of a relationsip with my former lover.
GW : And who was that?
SV : It was a dead dog.
GW : Wow. So, for the new Forest Fire album I hear you shoved an operating chainsaw up your ass. Could you tell us more about that.
SV : (Shane's eyes light up with anger and passion as he rises from his bed in his hotel suite. At this point he walked up to Guitar World's Ed Paas and answered the interwiew's final question within one inch of Ed's face.) I wanted to feel pain and have blood in my shit. You ever taste your own guts, mister guitar world man?
Megadeth is on the box. Dave Mustaine is angry. Therefore, I am angry. If I see you on the street today, I might hire Tom Kohl to tighten the leather sash around his waist and vigorously bite your nose off, so steer clear.
School starts soon. I think I might blow Madison to smithereens when the rest of the bad students arrive.
I'm gonna go to piano lesson and stink up the dude's house because I did not practice and I'm angry. I will leave you with an exerpt from a lost interview with Shane Verwey. Enjoy and eet fuk.
Guitar World issue 47, Dec. 25 1999.
Shane Verwey: Yeah so my experience with Girls with Guitars made me happy while my enfatuation with Chicks with Dicks was more of a representation of my more cynical sub-concious under the vestiges of a relationsip with my former lover.
GW : And who was that?
SV : It was a dead dog.
GW : Wow. So, for the new Forest Fire album I hear you shoved an operating chainsaw up your ass. Could you tell us more about that.
SV : (Shane's eyes light up with anger and passion as he rises from his bed in his hotel suite. At this point he walked up to Guitar World's Ed Paas and answered the interwiew's final question within one inch of Ed's face.) I wanted to feel pain and have blood in my shit. You ever taste your own guts, mister guitar world man?
Wednesday, August 03, 2005
I haven't eaten anything today, Turco
Log:
The big project involving that one dirty dude has been postponed due to a dearth of any recent foul play on his part that would warrant such an attack. But rest assured, I will continue this vile work just as soon as that sick sucker flaps his jowls and showers himself with his own fluids again...Which will happen. Just give it time.
Man, it never fails. Every other day, I get some lunch, lay it out in front of me and then check my phone. I see that I've missed a call. I return the call to hear that some person wants to buy me lunch that day...And I've already purchased mine. Today it was my mother. Tomorrow it could be the president. Sucks.
So, tomorrow's the big showdown in Gov't & Nat. Resources. I'm pretty nervous.
That is all.
Thursday, July 28, 2005
Wednesday, July 27, 2005
New project in the works
Now that Fike and I are 20, I suggest that you all sample our thoughts -- http://mikelikesrush.blogspot.com/
Business: I have come across a document. I am in the process of editing it so as to tenderize it and make it more palatable to your sweet little minds. It arrived at my doorstep in an oily satchel stitched with the intestinal lining of an albino anaconda and sheathed in human skin. I don't know from where it came or who sent it. It was my understanding that all of the witnesses to the event on which the story was based were killed. It is the most abhorrent and real of human tales. It is also an unwelcome intrusion on a dark mojo that resides secretly in the guts and bile of one with whom you are all quite familiar. It should be prepared for your exploration in a day or two. Until then, I suggest you fast and meditate so as to ready yourself for this challenge to any shred of goodness that you might retain. And also, you might not want to have any food in your stomach when you read this.
See you soon,
evan
Business: I have come across a document. I am in the process of editing it so as to tenderize it and make it more palatable to your sweet little minds. It arrived at my doorstep in an oily satchel stitched with the intestinal lining of an albino anaconda and sheathed in human skin. I don't know from where it came or who sent it. It was my understanding that all of the witnesses to the event on which the story was based were killed. It is the most abhorrent and real of human tales. It is also an unwelcome intrusion on a dark mojo that resides secretly in the guts and bile of one with whom you are all quite familiar. It should be prepared for your exploration in a day or two. Until then, I suggest you fast and meditate so as to ready yourself for this challenge to any shred of goodness that you might retain. And also, you might not want to have any food in your stomach when you read this.
See you soon,
evan
Friday, July 22, 2005
Fifth in the Lineage
The great composer and virtuoso pianist, Franz Liszt with Berlioz and friends. You can't touch this.
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