Sunday October 17th, 2010

The exercise:

Use the title of one of The Doors' songs as the topic for your writing today. If one doesn't immediately come to mind, there's a handy listing of them over here. Bonus points for making use of a line or two from your song in your poem or prose.

Back to reno work today. The big accomplishment? We got most of the subfloor put into the living room and kitchen area. We've been waiting a long time to get started on this and it is extremely satisfying. It makes such a difference, it really looks so much better already.

I appear to be getting excited about flooring. There's really no hope for me now, is there?

Day off tomorrow. The schedule calls for a whole lot of sleep and not much else.

Mine:


They say space is real, real quiet. They, whoever they happen to be, must have never set foot on The Crystal Ship.

Well, that's not her real name. The letters on her shiny hull would try to convince you she's called The White Knight. But after a day or two with Captain Crystal Matthews in charge, nobody was calling it anything else.

If the captain is awake and not eating, then she's yelling. A button out of place, a less than spotless shoe, a salute that isn't perfectly crisp - anything can set her off. And if you're caught making a mistake in the course of your actual duties? You've probably got a fifty-fifty chance of being jettisoned from an escape hatch.

Sans escape pod.

And we've got another two years before we reach our destination.

I reckon that's plenty of time to figure out a way to make this Crystal shatter.

6 Comments:

Greg said...

Enjoy your day off! Getting the subfloor down for both of those rooms must be really gratifying, since it's something you can actually see, and it makes the completion of it all seem a bit closer.
That ship sounds like a story waiting to happen ;-) I think I quite like the sound of the Captain, as it goes; she sounds like my kind of villain.

Peace Frog

Indians scattered on dawn's highway,
Bleeding from shrapnel wounds,
Wearing clothes that are little more than
Tattered rags salvaged from another disaster.
They limp wearily north,
Tiredness showing in lines and wrinkles.
Mothers support injured children,
Fathers trudge with their eyes cast down,
And all the shadows stretch backwards from whence they came.

Ghosts crowd the young child's fragile eggshell mind,
Milling around in desperation,
Each lost soul screaming its story into the abyss,
And his eyes darken even as the sun rises.
His mother hugs him close, feeling the unnatural chill,
His sister falls silently behind
And the totemic animal, the peace frog,
Abandons its people to a foreign dawn.

There's blood on the streets, ankle deep,
There are soldiers with closed, drawn faces.
There are smiling politicians with empty hearts,
There are rooms that echo with inhumanity.
There are Indians scattered on dawn's highway.

Zhongming said...

Marc – eh, that’s such a wonderful piece. Another thing is that I felt rather excited after listening to what you did with the reno! I mean those floor works and effort behind it :)

Greg – Your poem is really fantastic. It’s such a fine art. Great job!

We could be so good together


Yeah, how true
To be good together
Yeah, it’s true
If we are good

You looked into me
I direct your vision
And your warm hands
Around my neck
Feels like an external fire
It just burn
Like a frost

Oh yeah, I love you
Never knew
We could be so good together
I feel your warmth
You feel my passion
Ya, we could, know we could

summerfield said...

people are strange

---

Catty shakes her whole body.

"Bleh! Aaaargghhhh!" she screams.

"What are you complaining about, Catty? At least The Mistress loves you." Pinky snorts and continues to lap the remaining slop in her trough.

"Ewwww! I can't stand that woman," Catty says, her green eyes blazing in embarrassment as the other animals in the barn moo and coo. "I don't know why she has to hug and kiss me every time she comes here." She settles at a corner and rolls around in the hay. "Her breath is terrible with that minty leaf she chews all the time. The same lips she kisses her man with, she kisses me with them, too. Ewwww."

"People are strange," says Mrs. Belle, as one of her calves suck at her teats. "They love cats and dogs and horses pamper them..."

"No! No! No!" Doggie interjects. "The Mistress kicks me all the time, calling me lazy and smelly. One day I shall just stop running after the thieves and then she can say I'm lazy."

"And also because you're rude, Doggie." Mrs. Belle sneers at Doggie. "Anyway," she continues, "you guys get toys, and you Catty are always brought to the grooming house. Why, we cows never get that! They come and take our milk so early in the morning, like I am still sleeping for God's sakes."

"And us," says Pinky wiggling her snout in disgust, "we're just fattied up and slaughtered at will. So you should be thankful."

"Still," says Catty, "why can't she just leave me alone?" She gets up, and lazily walks towards the barn door. Her graceful neck sparkles in the sunlight with the rhinestoned collar that The Mistress has placed around her neck moments ago.

---
(inspired by the PETA posters i've recently seen on subway trains.)

Marc said...

Greg - dangit, I had my money on you picking either 'Celebration of the Lizard' or 'Crawling King Snake'. Ah well :(

I suppose you did an awesome job with the song you did choose. I suppose. And I guess I liked the lines you used from it. :P

Zhongming - that's a wonderful poem! Great take on the prompt, I particularly liked the external fire that burns like a frost.

Summerfield - ah, excellent. I'd hoped someone would pick that song :)

Nicely done, I can see where that inspiration came from. Makes you think, doesn't it?

Heather said...

Marc- I would also like to see how the Crystal shatters.

Greg- Wow! The poem is absolutely amazing. Definitely my favorite of the ones you've posted here. A standing ovation!

Summerfield- I love the take on the prompt. Excellent!
-----
Rider's On The Storm

The three men crammed into the Volvo, their rag-tag equipment scattered over their laps,across the seat, and on the floor. "Where to?" John said, his blonde hair slicked back and face still scruffy from the early morning wake-up call.

Mark slammed the passenger door, the only way it would close securely. His words slipped over his blue plaid clad shoulder, "Head North on 51. I think the Barneveld area is our best bet."

John put the car in gear and it lurched forward. Little care was taken in looking for pedestrians or other drivers. No one was likely to be out at 4 am on the small college campus. As the wheels screeched around the corner, Sam finally spoke up. "We've got about 20 minutes before the storm cell passes." His speech was garbled from lack of sleep and because of the pencil he had clenched between his teeth. It was the most logical place to put it. He needed one hand to hold the earphones tight to his head in order to monitor the weather reports and the other to finish zipping and buttoning the pants he'd thrown on only minutes before.

As they drove around the gravel farm roads, Mark gave directions and Sam grunted his approval or disapproval. To the occasional farmer checking the barn and root cellar doors, the boys looked like they were drunk the way the car swerved across the road and raced back and froth. Finally, Sam signaled they should stop near a deep drain ditch. They clambered out and rapidly set up their equipment. A camera on a reinforced tripod, a hand held video camera was ducktaped to Mark's hand, a wind speed indicator, etc. And then they sat on the hood, adrenaline and anticipation causing their hearts to pump and hands to shake.

Wildly, their eyes searched the horizon for any sign that it would be their lucky day. The dark skies laid low. Clouds seemed to drop and then rise again. Humidity lay thick in the air while cool breezes tried to push it aside. Sam suddenly nudged Mark and then slid off the hood and ran the three feet to the wind indicator to flip it on. John alert to the movement moved to the camera and twisted it to the three o'clock position just in time to see the clouds flow down as if a man-made waterfall had been constructed just over the tree line. He captured stills of the eerie green sky as Mark scanned the horizon showing how turbulent the skies had become.

Slowly the funnel cloud wagged its tail, pushing it lower and lower to the ground until it touched the ground. "Well men, I believe we have a killer on the road. Yeah! Our thesis is made."

Marc said...

Heather - loved it! Fantastic details, totally captivating. Mucho applausio.