I wish I could paint,
People will see the story
of my life

I wish I could sing,
People will hear the sentiments
of my heart and soul

I wish I could make different textures,
People will figure out the reasons
of my sensitivity when they touch me

I wish I could cook,
People will have a free taste on my thoughts
and will appreciate what it says

I wish I could make scents,
People will smell and understand
the way I am

#

The boggle-gun takes aim at my mind.

#

John collected paintings of nudes. His pleasure was to expose himself in front of them, look for their reactions, their frowns, their disgusted gasps. Not getting any reaction, he painted clothes on them. So there.

#

My co-workers are aliens. Not that kind, I mean Martians or something. I can tell: they know things I don’t; the boss smiles at them; they go out for drinks together; they get promotions.

#

Two copies of the same book meet with awkward courtesy, as if each has run into its ne’er-do-well brother-in-law. Each expresses sympathy for the dog-ear that’s reduced the other’s market value, although nothing like a ruined cover or missing page. They confess their fear of being remaindered, their mutual hatred of the author.

<END>

Subscriptions to A Memorable Fancy are now available on Amazon. See

http://www.bit.ly/Fancies

See www.terencekuch.net for a profile of the author, publications, reviews, etc.

Terence Kuch’s speculative fiction novels * may be purchased directly from the publishers or via his Amazon author page, www.amazon.com/author/terencekuch

Review copies are available from the author at terencekuch /a/t/ ymail.com for:

    *The Seventh Effect: a thriller from Melange Publications about a new kind of bioterrorist plot against the USA.

    *See/Saw: a literary adventure from Ink Smith Publications about implanting memories – then the North Koreans figure out how to do it.

Thank you for your patience, and my sincerest apologies for the extremely long gap between posts (approximately one month?).

There’s no formality, no monthsaries or anniversaries, there is neither commitment nor exclusivity, and there are no other definition of relationship other than friendship.

It’s almost been 3 long years since the first time I met you. Back then, we were just strangers, staring at each others eyes. Now, you’re not just a stranger who sees me superficially, but a close friend that i love dearly, who knows me inside and out.

We’ve shared tons of moments, moments that you usually see with close friends. But sometimes we’ve cross the thin line between friendship and intimate relationship: we go on dates, I go to your school, we watch movies, we do karaoke, we talk till the wee hours of morning, we text each other, we missed each other, we carry each others bags, I go to your place, or what-not.

We both know that there’s something between us. Something that not everyone could explain, not even the shrewdest man on the planet. Something that our hearts could only tell and could only feel. There’s an invisible chord that binds us that is primarily made of love, care, and friendship.

Love grows.

And now, I am very much afraid. Any moment, my vulnerability will soon eat me, sooner or later, I’ll snap. I hate to admit it, but I am falling. Though, I know you might be falling, I see it every time we’re together, every time i look into your eyes, and every time I hold you in my arms and melt.

Still, I am afraid, afraid of being rejected. I am so scared that I might lose you in the end. What if these are just delusions? And that these are just stupid hunches that you might be falling.

I know, I am the guy, and I should take chances and tell. It’s not easy, it happened before, and i don’t want to feel that same old crappy feeling.

I may be coward, insensitive, selfish, or what-have-you… But it’s HARD.

As the old cliché states, friendship is the root of any intimate relationships. However, more-often-than-not, LOVE kills FRIENDSHIP.

I am torn with this stupid ambiguity: to stay as friends or to take risks, to just give up and let friendship grows or go and chase pavements and have hopes.

We’re secret lovers. We love each other so much, but we’re doing it secretly.

if i could only tell you my secret…
…that I am madly in love with you.

i wish you were near to me because it’s raining

and the rain makes such a lovely hypnotic sound

on the tiles of the roof, the concrete on the porch,

each board in its place in the awning overhang

we’d watch the ripples bloom from the point of impact

on the lake-face, making perfect circular spreads

until each one becomes so thin that it forgets,

dissolves, finally quits to stay its course, save face,

and in so doing to hold but another’s place.

it all goes away in the dimly lighted mist-

illuminated by the row of landscape lights,

each one a japanese lantern in miniature-

i can see your exhalations groan like sad songs,

or old beards of frost hanging from the hoary pines

as you savor the second-to-last cigarette

that still remains in that flimsy purse-weathered pack.

and i suppose i find it beautiful to know

that if only for a quickly fleeting moment

i can see it all around me like a new snow,

and hear the slow and steady calm of your sweet breaths

as the smoke rises skyward in nocturnal plumes,

dissipating into a dark open season,

the fragmented phantoms soon to be forgotten

as easily as all the words we spoke today.

good night my love, my baby, my one and only,

your skin soft and warm like a dream of ocean rain.

Like a smoker quits nicotine.

…

…

…

…

…

Unbearable.

Agonizing.

Addictive.

I tried.

But I can’t…

…I just can’t let it go.

I still want to savor that bitter-sweet-suffocating aftertaste of each stick

- just like our relationship.

Ex-farmworker in his yard, Teviston, California: photo by Matt Black, 2011 (Matt Black Photography)
featured in http://tomclarkblog.blogspot.com/2011/10/dispossessed-matt-black.html

Poverty is everywhere. Its stench and sickness walks in time, space and status. Poverty is not limited monetarily but expands even to the richest people on Earth. We should walk past beyond the wall of the material things but we should also seek to enrich character and the kind of contribution you can give to this world.

Money is money but the poorest of the poor are the ones who wildly rots in their bed of money. While it is true that their worldly possessions runs the circus and pends the strings from his puppet, he is empty. It doesn’t give life because he chooses to kill and makes his way even if it means that there is no more honesty and everybody is left robbed while he passes by.

The poverty of love springs from not only what your money dictates but also by socially dictation. So much was derailed on the surface sacrificing what truly it means to love. Love is free and can never be dictated.

The poverty of beauty flourish to those who are physically beautiful but sick to the heart. The depiction of beauty is now poorly subjected to physical over quality. We bully and we judge. Truth is the people who were down-casted have all the unstained beauty.

There is the poverty of good will. The goodness of your heart reflects the kind of accomplishment you have. Work may lie on the high-strung corporate life and others but true works lives on those who give back and those who serve.

The poverty of health speaks not only physically but also emotionally. The world is sick because we chose to. While others are busy surviving others waste their lives to death and depression. Your health is your own doing. Even the most sick is not poor when he chooses to think healthily and despite the handicap he chooses to live a full life.

Poverty is poverty. It is define in worldly terms but poverty speaks beyond money. It speaks of who we are and should we choose to liberate ourselves beyond its bounds, then that is when we can say we are truly rich.

___________________________________________________

A very inspiring writing prompt that is why I choose to join. It has different weekly attacks to awaken your creative juices. Click the image below for more details.

2 mountaintop tours today.  Nothing much else to report.  It’s like a day full of wine tasting: it’s all starting to blend together.  In other words, nothing stood out about today– well, except for the baby rattlesnake the catcher and mySelf found up there, while I was setting up.  This little one, ready to attack.. rattling, hissing, showing fangs, biting at the catcher’s boots, even coiling, lunging at me.  Just how I need to be as a writer– more confident, vicious, aggressive with release schedule.. not caring about results, just putting ALL out there, for readers.

Think I’ll sip some of the ’12 Rosé tonight, pair it with the quiche Alice made last night.  So schedule, for tomorrow night.. and from this, no breaking:

8-9: 1,000 words in OFFblog log

9-10: bx, 500 words

10-11: Comp Book.. 3 standalone spoken word pieces

11-12: bx

12-1am: freely write/create

Of course there may be a bit of deviation, time slot overlap, but that’s how the night’s set to progress.  And for dinner, thinking something simple, like a burrito.  And yes, I’m still opening the ’09 LE [Lancaster Estate] Cab.  From that, there will be no shift, wobble.  I’m not making the same mistake I did a few weeks ago.  In fact, Sauvignon Blanc is outlawed for tomorrow night.  Noted.

Already feeling poetic urges for tonight’s purses.  Should at some point tomorrow night “revisit” the old blog.  Wow.. just realizing I started mikeslognoblog in ’09.  Crazy, this Life, how time escapes us, how we can never escape IT.  Unfair.  Again thinking about grandma, with this perspective.. a little frightening.  It’s all too short.  So the only thing a writer can do, WRITE.  And sip.

Think I need to open that Rosé now, thinking about all this.  Life, challenging me, now, in realization’s shape.  I’m 34, but not slowing.  My sprints, long distance runs serve as evidence of that.  Speaking in, of.. not running tomorrow morning as I’d aimed.  Giving Self an additional day off.  Sunday, however, after work, running 8+.  And I’ll be shooting for distance, not time.

So quiet down here.  No music, no sounds but a couple passing cars on Yulupa.  Wonder what my sister’s doing on her “business trip.” Time for Rosé, to wish Self back to Beaune, sipping Pinot and Chardonnay in that winery’s basement.  Oh, and the Rosé I had with that omelette.  Seems like so long ago, 2009…

8:35pm.  Back from short dinner break.  Rosé paired impressively with that Alice quiche.  Still no TV, no music.  Lovely quiet in this Room.  Relaxed in a way I haven’t been for weeks.  And the fact I’m not even interested in music should tell you how serious I am about holding to this state.

Just broke stillness, putting on that writing movie I was last night watching.  Glass [stemless] of Rosé in kitchen, stretching pour’s Life.  Only in mood for Art, Life, requiescence.  Should probably turn on this light to left.  But the dark seems to have more Creative value.  Not letting Self stop with these types.  Wish I would have brought the Rosé into Room with me.  In not stopping, I pressure Self.  Isn’t that healthy?  Just wait till this Writer has his OWN office.  Getting tired talking this fast– I mean WRITING, writing at this pace.  Babbling, maybe.. just know I’m always in obsession over, in, about writing, wine, writing about wine, writing while whisked in wine.  Okay, need Rosé.  Tomorrow night, only victory.  Cutting book1, maybe.  The chapbook approach has marketability, from its brevity, its uniqueness.  But more pen2paper, much needed.  That’ll give way to more projects2vend.  Only seeing future, now.  Time won’t muffle me, Mike Madigan.  Maybe I will go for a run in morrow’s cruelest hour.  AC just came on, again.  How warm is it in here?  Jack’s Room’s meter reads 77’.  Interesting.  Doesn’t feel hot down here.  Should be on paper, not these keys.  Forgive my abrupt cut, reader.  Now, I’m off to kitchen, to Rosé.. to INK.

(6/14/13)

Ang kutsara ay kapareha ng tinidor, kaliwa at para sa kanan, at ang babae para sa lalaki. Hindi maari ang parehong pares ng tinidor, parehas na kaliwa, maging pares ng lalaki.

Ang pelikulang ‘Sayaw Ng Dalawang Kaliwang Paa’ ay hindi tungkol sa dalawang taong nagsusumikap matututong sumayaw. Bagkus, ito’y patungkol sa dalawang mananayaw na piniling magkaroon ng tig-isang pares ng kaliwang paa – Mahirap man matutunan ang ritmo ng awit ng buhay at pag-ibig, pikit mata man nilang haharapin ang mapanghusgang mga mata ng lipunan, basta’t sila’y masaya sa kanilang maliit at makulay na entablado (mundo) basta’t hawak kamay silang magkasama, naniniwala silang sabay nilang matututunang muling sumayaw sa bawat indak ng buhay. 

Ako, siya, at aming dalawang kaliwang paa, mali man sa paningin ng iba, ang mahalaga kami’y parehong masaya.

Sympathy
by Rethetru

Is it really…Is it
That heart speaks himself
Of what he is or what he was
And what about what will be?

This loneliness I feel…
Is it you, o heart
That tells so loud?
Is it you, o heart
Torturing me with emptiness
…Will you tell me it’s you?

Why? Why do my flowers not bloom?
Even in the generosity of spring
Is the soul of Winter still slumbering
Within the cave of echoes.

Note: This poem was published in the school paper’s maiden issue (Sept. 2003-January 2004)

ARAKNIDA by Kislap

Batas ng buhay

Ang aking sinusunod

Panahon ay lilipas

At ako’y lilisan din

Ngunit sa ngayon

Habang kay lakas at wais

Ang sapot at kamandag

Kasabay ng bilis

At ika’y magugulantang

‘pagkat sa isang pagkakamali

Hindi man lang namalayan

Nandyan na si Kamatayan

Lipad, langaw, lipad

Ako ay maghihintay

Lipad, langaw, lipad

Ika’y mamamatay

Note: The site owner is not if this poem was published.

ULAN by anonymous author

“Di tumitigil and pagbuhos ng ulan –

Ulan na tanging saksi

Sa aking nararamdaman.

Ulan na dahan-dahang pumapatak

Dahn-dahang pumapatak

Gaya ng aking luha

Matatamis na luhang humahalik sa aking pisngi

Mga mapapait na luhang dumadaloy galling sa aking mga mga mata

Mga matang namumula

Mukhang namumutla

Dala ang dalamhati at pagtangis

Ulang pumapatak sa mga damo

Dahan-dahang tumatagos sa maitim na lupa

Dahan-dahang bumababa,

Bumababa…

Mga luhang pumapatak, sumusuot at bumababa

Bumababa…

Patungo sa’yo

Patungo sa kung saan ka naroroon

Natutulog, namamahinga

Inosente sa pagtangis na nagaganap sa itaas mo

‘Di tumitigil ang pagbuhos ng ulan.

Good – God. Hell – No.

This performance of comedic supposing is played for you by SillyMickel Adzema and his wife, Mary Lynn Adzema. They reenact the roles of the TV anchors Katie and Dave on one of the most memorable days in all of history, occurring not long ago at all.

Big Lies…Big Ones!

We listen in as local TV anchors Dave and Katie recall the amazing day, not quite a month ago, when the world changed drastically forever, practically overnight. They replay the TV news highlights of those incredible few days when miraculously the world’s human population was released from the Biggest Lie of all time, in fact the longest lasting—25,000 years in fact.

But the world changed because it was the most hideous lie. It had made humans miserable throughout their lives and caused them to be terrified to live, terrified of acting or even speaking. And after such a life of paralyzing terror, at death’s door, it caused untold trillions of humans to be freaked out of their gourd and to go nearly insanely brain scramblingly, nose drippingly mad as they approached the threshold.

God Will Punish You Forever in Hell…Stiiiiiilll, He Loves You!

The Big Lie, the incredibly long cover-up?

It turns out that some quite insanely controlling and pompously superior types had long ago concocted the idea of Hell—this place of endless and unbearable suffering that would last for all time. And then as the ultimate in mind scrambling irrationality, attributed its existence to God, who was also claimed to be all-loving and all-merciful.

And if that did not make any sense, they further compounded the insanity by claiming that if that didn’t make sense to you it was because you were a sinful—thus likely to suffer forever unbearably–person who expected that God had to make sense to you, and thus you placed yourself slightly higher than dirt in your self-esteem, which was the huge sin of hubris, or thinking that you were capable of rational thinking.

A Wildly Successful Mind-Fuck

So it was the biggest, stupidest, and meanest mind fuck of all time, concocted to keep people so terrified that they would be easily manipulated by the controlling Meanies.

But it succeeded wildly beyond all expectations in that it could not definitely be disproved. And with the penalty of not believing in it so unbelievably huger than any person’s worst nightmare magnified times infinity, it held fast in people’s minds for 25,000 years with barely a soul ever courageous enough in that time to speak up and say what a rotten crazy notion it was.

Nor could people dare to realize how it didn’t coincide with ANY concept of God at all. For this insanity to be true, God would not be God, but would be the worst most evil human imaginable, times infinity, again, which doesn’t make that being a God but, well, even Satan comes across as kinder by comparison.

So Dave and Katie replay the highlights: the outpouring into the streets in every city of the world, the people—some crazed, others furious, others gleeful. It was the most emotional day in recorded history…and the world changed.

Listen in as that day is brought back to life through the observations of the TV anchors and their reporters in the streets bringing in-your-face observations and interviews with shocked, emotionally overflowing street demonstrators.

They reenact the roles of the TV anchors Katie and Dave as the first report of The Big Reveal breaks on TV. In this clip the news is first being announced. The first reports are coming in: There is talk of pandemonium in the streets and throughout cities large and small throughout the World.

You hear Dave’s transparent inability even to say the news; you hear the street reporter openly discussing his confusion about even being on the job among the heaving masses—which, with all the heavy drinking and drug taking that ensued upon the announcement, was in some parts rather more “heavin’” than others,as the street reporter remarks; and you hear the early comments from people on the streets.

This is the kind of wacky headline theology that we only wish could occur. But when it does, the changes in normal behaviors are drastic, as it seems everyone’s mask is tossed away, and people, worldwide, for the first time are faced with the idea of who they REALLY are and what they REALLY want to do…for this news is the equivalent of releasing all the people on Earth from a prison simultaneously, with added tumult caused by the sudden awakening by most to a never before considered reality: that before the Big Reveal they had ACTUALLY BEEN in a kind of a prison.

“The Great Reveal: Recalling the Riotous, Exciting First Days”
- Comedic Re-enactment by SillyMickel and Mary Lynn Adzema

For the audio skit of this chapter click above for the link to the audio site…. or below on the audio player to listen to it here….

http://ecdn0.hark.com/swfs/player_fb.swf?pid=xjbqmdxmgn
Image of The Great Reveal: Recalling the Riotous, Exciting First Days – Comedic Re-enactment by SillyMickel and Mary Lynn Adzema

The Skit…The Big Day Recalled

“This is SillyMickel Adzema and I’ve got some news that’s been coming out. And I’m going to turn you over to the reporters on TV right now. And you can hear for yourself. I think it’s pretty amazing what’s been going on….”

Dave, in studio: Thank’s SillyMickel. What’s going on is that the…well…Jesus ignored, God misunderstood, an all-loving God maligned…but the Great Reveal has begun!

Katie, in studio: A God of all-encompassing and Infinite Love, beyond any human’s ability to even imagine exists.

Dave: Imagine that.

Katie: He is closer now than any other time, something wonderful is going to happen.

Dave: Something wonderful’s going to happen?

Well, yes, Katie, it’s hard to believe…our world changing soooo fast.

Katie: To put it all in context, we review how it all began …. Not even a month has passed….

Dave: Yea. it seems like the time before is ancient history…now. But we think back to those broadcasts:

Dave reporting from the studio a month earlier: Breaking news…..obvious truths discovered – despite 25,000 year cover-up, slander, and pervasive, omnipresent, persistent misinformation…Big Lies..big lies, big ones…and a propaganda campaign ta beat the boo…I’m tellin ya….

Katie: A virtual matrix of religiosity….

Dave: Virtual…yea….

Katie: Pompously substituting Itself for reality and truth.

Dave: How could ya…do…I’m sorry…I’m not supposed to be uh, I’m not supposed to be o-pin-ing right now..but…I gotta tell ya…Who woulda believed it…I mean, HELL doesn’t exist! For thousands of years people lived of fear of death and worse…and it’s all a big SHAM…. I mean…I’m sorry, I’m a little, I’m a little upset y’know, Katie, I mean, I mean, y’know, I m..y’o…. I’S BROUGHT UP CATHOLIC!…. I’m…I shouldn’t get personal here…be professional….

THE BIG REVEAL…the big reveal…this is the big reveal…. God is good, and all merciful ends up not just being HAPPY talk! To comfort us before death and then eternal lifenot just happy talk!? in fiery hell of suffering…. He! It ends up being

Katie: The Big Reveal — Turns out God is actually GOOD, real good, all-good, and certainly gooder than any human can imagine.

Dave: Yea, s’gotta be gooder than all those things that they put on commercials that say are good good good good good…. I mean, we’re talkin not just good we’re talkin bout…I m..w..can we say good? We’re sayin…well’p y’know…. Hey, didn’t the word God come from good or good come from God…never mind…anyway…. There just isn’t a word to explain good…y’know…as good as that God is….

Anyway, investigation into cover-up reveals that source of idea of Hell is actually tight-assed controlling compulsives who, well, well…not so good!

And that, 25,000 year campaign to control others by scar-in the crap out of them with a totally concocted and, well, most horr-ible frightening idea ever to exist…is actually the product of very sick humans! Wleegh.

Katie: Reporters rushed to record reaction on the street…. What are ya hearing out there, Dave?

Studio Dave: (whispering) Y’better ask him again, I mean I don’t think he can hear ya there, Katie.

Katie: Hey, Dave, whatareya hearin out there on the street!?

Street Reporter Dave: Wa’ll, Katie…. Katie, wha, ‘mean…Katie!… Things are nuts! I mean, people!… I thought I saw a-mok in I-raq…well I-raq’s a-mok, got no truck, with this here amok! I mean it…. I’m not worried bout no suicide bomb-ers, but, well, I just never…too comfortable in a loony bin…and it seems that’s what the world is now, Katie… I mean [singing] “What the wo-o-rld is no-ow is….” What the hell’s a matter wit me!?

Katie: Dave, did ya get to talk to any of the people?

Street Reporter Dave: Oh, yea yea yea…my job…. OK!… I mean, well shit yea…I mean, w’ll fuck it, there ain’t…. well, hell…. What the fuck am I trying not ta swear for!? Whaddya gonna do? Burn me? Haha

Katie: Dave, Dave, are you Ok, ya sound sick, or uh…. How long’ve you been awake? Are you OK?

Street Reporter Dave: Well, I don’t know, I’mean…I didn’t even know if I wantd ta come ta work, I mean, awanlosmy…yea, hell! That made me scared outa my banana…made me come to this stupid fuckin job! Thas wh…wll..there’s no hell! An I dono wha I’m doin here….

And, I’ve had some help…. I mean, y’know mean, y’know y’don’t know what your doin…. I’m a guy…y’know…I’mean…whad im a gonna do…and so…Yea, I’ve had a few of this, and that, nd…. Whadya gonna do, Katie, fire me, burn me…whadaya gonna do, huh?

Katie: Dave geta fuckin hold of yerself!

Street Reporter Dave: Wu!?

Katie: Ya gotta goddamn job ta do!

Street Reporter Dave: Oh, geez!

Katie: And I sure as hell want my paycheck. Hell’s a big freakin lie…but…money ain’t!

Street Reporter Dave: [under his breath] Ho! smell you, hu

Katie: So, SHAPE up, or I’m sendin your ex out ta do the job

Street Reporter Dave: [like he’d been hit] Hoe’t! ye, KA-tie, oh GEEZ-us…ah! [thumps his chest] Ya had ta bring er in…oh!… Hell hath no fu-ry, I…w’ i o know…guess at don apply no more now does it?….

O-oh, Katie, I see what’s da sweet ex-terior…I see whats under that now….

O-k, ya got me by the short hair don’t ya…oh, never mind…. Al-right, well…. Yeh, I’ve been among the freakin heav-in masses, nd—some of em a little more heavin too—i stay away from those crowds—

ah got some footage…I sent some of it back…well, I’ll give ya some more right now, well, actually, he!… Yer kinda sexy when your mad, y’know, we ah i never seen ya like that before in o…s’got my boner.. a..thing…ba bong a bom a bom a

Katie: Hey, drunk, just get the job done!

Street Reporter Dave: Whoe…!

Katie: And don’t say another word!

Street Reporter Dave: Scuse me uh!! …

Katie: Got it?

Street Reporter Dave: Hey-ey, sugarpants, he-ey…Ka-tie!

Katie: Watch it!

Street Reporter Dave: Ok, okay, okay, seyereelfuckatear [mumbling] Oh bo-oy.[mumbling] ah! Ka. [mumbling, gathering himself]…ok!…

So! You look like the real man about the fuckin laboratory there…what’s your reaction to this great reveal there, uh, kid?

Kid: How could I be such a du-fus!?

Woman on the street: Well, of course, that’s true, how could we not see it?

Another street woman: How could they do that to us, the limey bastards?!

Street Reporter Dave: Wa’ll I cin see your pissed, God’nly’knows how much time you spent pushin out babies in your lifetime…y’ne, he! [under his breath] ‘cause ya sure look the worse for wear, uh…. did I say that?..um..well..ah….

How bout you, sir, you look ripe as hell ta give me some bright little twitter comment, ah…aren’t you ah, aren’t ya now?

Man on Street: Wow, humans are real dumb fucks!

Another street woman: Un-believable. It was right in front of us the entire time!

Another street man: Well, I knew it…(chuckling)…but no-body would believe me. i’me, How can God be both good…and also more capable of evil than even the most twist-ed human? Hehe In fact, more evil than all of the evil of all humans who’ve ever lived combined? He, y’know what I find so amazing is that people believed that extremely sick, twisted view…never catching a whif…hehe…of its absurdity in this in-cred-i-bly lo-o-ng ti-ime. Shows how really terrified people really are on the inside….

Katie: Just breakin in to report that last quote was from someone who hates twitter.

Studio Dave: Wha d’fuck…ya’o w’mee…how dyou know that, Katie? [under his breath:] wow, they got some good people up there….

Katie: More coming, folks. We’ll keep you abreast of all the new developments on this channel so stay tuned! You don’t want to miss a thing of these world..shaking..developments!

[long pause]

Studio Dave: [like waking up] Whe uh, mmph [mumbling] akay, uh…my phu, uh….

LATEST Developments on discovery of the obvious about God and the overnight revision of and now near u-niversally accepted…scientific start-ing premise on human species…. Apparently it’s been a world wide thing…a-round the world…lick-it-ey-split timing!…[under his breath] Ga oly knows…how ey talka thmslvs uh…diffrnt time zones, uh, y’losa, losa thr connection thr uh think er…

Katie: [quietly] Well, guess we lost our connection, er

Studio Dave: Uh, kill er time, uh, Katie, just kill time, uh, sing one of yer songs uh, yknowame…one of yer swee-e-t songs!

Katie: [coyly] he he, hu uh, uh…

Studio Dave: Ga head…ya oh, g-ead, uhoh

Katie: he uh [shyly]

Studio Dave: ALL-right, Katie, all right, all right. We’ll let cha go…he he [whispering to Katie:] ya a to, go he…[insistently:] Go ‘head, sing a song!

[long pause]

We ul eh…uhhh…Ye…uh…w…LATEST developments on the obvious about God…and the overnight revision of now near-ly u-niversally accepted scientific premise on human species as…. “bunch of real dumb shits” and “seriously brain-twisted from birth”…. Those are quotes…those uh, those er…those are quotes….

Latest reveal! Includes God not just good…er, uh, real-ly, real-ly, real-ly to the infinite power good!… also that God is in-cred-ib-ly amazingly fantastically [under breath:] to the infinite power…. FUN-ny…. Actually hilarious… a “real riot”…quite the crackup….

Reports coming out saying, uh, He/She is infinitely fun to hang out with, nothing comparing to it, “you laugh your ass off!” is the quotes I’m hearin….and un-self-consciously silly beyond belief, beyond imagining…. Whew!!… aah….

Yea just like you, Katie, a real riot…and uh…yneh…SO MUCH so that reports are, “You won’t die laughing, because…he he…well, turns out…you can’t…uh, die, that is…but you’ll probably laugh so hard tears will be streaming down your cheeks…and uh…if so inclined, you may end up literally r-o-f-l-m-a-o…OR…r-o-f-l-o-ul…el uh ul…r-o-f-l-o-augh…. I, eh, ah…I always hada problem wit that, y’know, ever since, uh, ever since uh college, y’knowhaIme…. Why’dunt you say it, uh, KA-tie!

Katie: R-O-F-L-M-A-O…or…R-O-F-L-O-L

Studio Dave: Er, gad gadam er…gad dam er ex-er-cu-shun er uh art-tic-u-la-shun whadafuck er they called…art-tic-u-la-shun classes er something like that?… Any, way…. They’ll cut that out later….

[long pause]

WELL, not, ya oh…. r-o-f-l-m-a… well not literally for the “ass off” uh…hehu….but certainly for the “rolling on the floor”…huhu…and “good chance you’ll pee your pants” is what we’re hearing. Oh, uh, geez-uz…er uh we…. It turns out He/She is really, to the infinite. power good and is not offended that I just said tha…like so much so we question why we mentioned that, uh, y’know?

anywayu OK, AND more coming on this channel on these great developments, eh, right, Katie?

Katie: Ri-ight!

Studio Dave: Ok, so stay tuned and uh we’ll letcha know as more developments in the BIG reveal um, uh…(smack)…people are a jumpin outa buildings…uh…they’re sayin, uh “where the hell’s the hell?” and uh “If you can’t say ‘what the hell’ anymore…what the hell!” and uh

That’s some pretty weird, uh, suicide stuff, man, but y’know…

We’re hearin some stuff about some…we’re hearin some stuff about some things over the valley….some real-ly weird kinda, weird kinda cloud formations…and…I don’t know…I been hearin like teleportation and uh…ris-ing…er some…uh…I don’t know…I think maybe my producer…my producer’s had something in his uh…something in his drink cause this doesn’t make…this doesn’t make any sense…but uh…that’s all…I’m just readin it folks…it’s just a…something about over in the valley, and uh…we know that people a been jumpin outa buildings and uh, um, this other thing….

Ok, a’ll jest, uh…clouds. Y’know, uh, over the valley, and uh…kinda, even from afar, something about a…uh ris-ing uh…peo-ple? And uh, and uh, something coming outa the clouds… hehe…forget I said that folks, I’m ashamed, he…no I’m not ashamed…there’s no hell…. Ok! uh…so fuck yu all…hahahe…. Oh righ na…i my lose my job o’er that… SOR-ry! Eh, uh…I’ll be professional now. ok? [whispers to Katie]

OK, uh…till next time this has been uh…Dave, and Katie…giving you yer Great Reveal…wrap-up!…for the day!

G’night, Katie!

Katie: Good night, Dave.

Studio Dave: [normal voice] Whataya doin after the show, there, anyway?

Katie: Going out with some of the gals.

Dave: [scoffing] out wi some of the gals, hmph….I got a better idea, hu y’no

Katie: Hehe

Dave: Hu-hu!?

Katie: He he.

Dave: Hoo hoo

Katies: Hehe

Dave: Hey! I been known to…eh, y’know…I mean…I…I can provide references, eh, uh…y’know..uh….

Katie: He he. I’m sure you do….

Dave: All right, alright, aarrriiigghh….uhhh…aaarrhhiii

Katie: I’m sure you do…sure you got all kinds of chick out there just waitin for ya

Dave: ALLL RIIGGHHH…all riiighhh [sounding out Katie’s voice]

Katie: Just waitin for ya

Dave: Ah, yea, yea, yea… sarcasm will…

Katie: Have a good evening.

Dave: Yea, bye, bye, bye, Katie…I’ll try ya again tomorrow…

Katie: And don’t so brea…

Dave: [sounding over] I’LL TRY YA again tomorrow.

Katie: He he.

Dave: Good night.

Katie: Good , good night, Dave.

Dave: [under his breath] uuh-kay….

Continue with Funny God, Part One: SillyMickel Melts for God’s Crops and Revelations

Return to Book Six: The Great Reveal by SillyMickel and the Planetmates

“The Great Reveal: Recalling the Riotous, Exciting First Days” – Comedic Re-enactment by SillyMickel and Mary Lynn Adzema

For the audio skit of this chapter click above for the link to the audio site…. or below on the audio player to listen to it here….

http://ecdn0.hark.com/swfs/player_fb.swf?pid=xjbqmdxmgn
Image of The Great Reveal: Recalling the Riotous, Exciting First Days – Comedic Re-enactment by SillyMickel and Mary Lynn Adzema

“Breaking News: Hell Doesn’t Exist; God Is Really, Really Good!!!”

For a shorter clip 8-minute video-audio clip, cut from the larger 17-minute one of “Recalling Riotous, Exciting…” titled “Breaking News: Hell Doesn’t Exist; God Is Really, Really Good!!!” containing the heart of the skit….

Continue with Funny God, Part One: SillyMickel Melts for God’s Crops and Revelations

Return to Book Six: The Great Reveal by SillyMickel and the Planetmates

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Finally the car was seen at the turn. It stopped and out came his parents, his mother carrying a small bundle of clothes in her arm. She bent down to give Jim a better view, as he looked on with wide eyes full of wonder.

“Your sister,” she said.

(Sorry for the reduction in quality. Bear with me.)

_____

“Stephen King called novellas an “ill-defined and disreputable literary banana republic.” In Jen Michalski’s Could You Be With Her Now, she gives us two very different samples of the republic. “May-September” is about a May-December romance and is lyrically written with a fascinating sensuality exploring relationships through the rhythms of music and stories. “I Can Make It To California Before It’s Time For Dinner” is about a mentally challenged fourteen-year-old who undertakes a haunting journey and is also a social commentary on the nature of entertainment when it intersects with reality. Together, they comprise a powerful one-two punch on the ecology of longing and desire, though it was the odyssey in “I Can Make It To California Before It’s Time For Dinner” that compelled me to write this review and what I’ll be focusing on.”

http://htmlgiant.com/reviews/could-you-be-with-her-now/#more-105612

THE PUPPET BOY OF WARSAW is the story of Mika, a Jewish boy who inherits a coat from his grandfather and discovers a puppet in one of its many secret pockets. He becomes a puppeteer in the Warsaw ghetto, but when his talent is discovered, Mika is forced to entertain the occupying German troops instead of his countrymen. It is also the story of Max, a German soldier stationed in Warsaw, whose experiences in Poland and later in Siberia’s Gulag show a different side to the Second World War. As one of Mika’s puppets is passed to the soldier, a war-torn legacy is handed from one generation to another.

‘The Puppet Boy of Warsaw” is the fantastic debut novel by Eva Weaver. Filled with hope, determination, courage, passion and redemption, Weaver’s work provides insight into the horrors of the past from both a Jewish and a German Perspective. This novel is an emotional roller-coaster and is recommended to those who enjoy literary and historic fiction, particularly novels such as ‘The Book Thief’ by Markus Zusak.

-Lena

This is one of my earlier projects from back when I was in design school: a book cover concept. I decided to do A Prayer for Owen Meany by John Irving, and found an awesome manikin photo to use as the base (if you’ve read the book, you know the significance of that).

As part of another school project, I also did a flyer design, and since I’d gone to this awesome reading in New York, I decided to use it as my concept. I ended up designing the flyer (a pretend ad for the very real and very awesome reading featuring Irving, Rowling, and King) as a sort of echo of the book jacket:

Anyway, feeling a little nostalgic. Post grad blues and such. It’s interesting getting into the hang of being a full-time freelancer. And (shameless plug) I am always looking for more awesome projects to work on, so if you need a designer, don’t hesitate to email me!

They said the typewriter would unsex us.

One look at the device itself and you might understand how they—the self-appointed keepers of female virtue and morality, that is—might have reached such a conclusion. Your average typewriter, be it Underwood, Royal, Remington, or Corona, is a stern thing, full of gravity, its boxy angles coming straight to the point, with no trace of curvaceous tomfoolery or feminine whimsy. Add to that the sheer violence of its iron arms, thwacking away at the page with unforgiving force. Unforgiving. Yes; forgiving is not the typewriter’s duty.

Ayoko ng perfect o dream date. Wala naman kasing ganun.

Simple lang naman ako, hindi ko kailangang kumain sa mamahaling restaurant, o pumunta sa mamahaling mall para ipag-shopping. Hindi ko din trip ang manood ng sine na IMAX 3D, nahihilo lang ako – baka masukahan lang kita. Okay lang din akong mag commute, kahit hindi taxi. Ayokong tumatamabay sa mamahaling coffee shop, napapamura lang ako sa presyo ng mga putang inang kape nila. Hindi mo kailangang pumorma ng todo, yung tipong naka jacket, sneakers, pants, at shirt kapa – wala akong pakialam kung anong tatak niyan.

Simple lang naman ako, ang gusto ko, kumain ng isaw at fishball sa UP, tapos maglakad, umupo sa lilim ng isang puno, magbasa ng isang magandang libro katabi ka. O kaya naman mag MRT o bus kasama ka, magkahawak ang kamay, gawan ng kwento ang bawat taong makakasalubong, okay lang kahit nakatayo. Mas gusto kong tumambay sa bookstore, tingnan ang mga bagong libro nila Murakami, Zafra, Atalia, Ophelia, Lee, Palahniuk, at Green. Mas okay kung naka shorts ka lang, ang sarap kasing pagmasdan ang magulong mong balahibo sa binti, tapos t-shirt at chucks. Masaya na akong ganun, walang labis, walang kulang.

Ayoko ng perfect o dream date. Wala naman kasing ganun.

Ang gusto ko, totoo.

A few months ago, I decided to enter a writing contest.  It was my first ever.  At the time, I was unsure which of my writings to enter, but I knew I wanted it to be one of the blog entries I had written since starting this public blog in February.  So, I put out a “feeler” on Facebook.  I got a lot of replies (thank you if you were one of them!), and it ended up being a resounding vote for an entry I wrote entitled “Scars.”  (See link below.  I’ll post links to each of the blogs I mention at the end of this article if you’d like to check them out.)

Now, I like “Scars,” too.  It’s personal.  It’s about overcoming the bad times and coming out victorious in the end.  What’s not to like about that concept, right?  It’s one of those “feel-good” pieces that I like to write sometimes.  I hope they help others, and sometimes I even go back and read them to help myself too.  I think those kinds of writings are important.  A vast majority of people could probably relate, so I thought I might have a good chance of appealing to what I assumed were probably “scarred” judges overseeing the contest.

So, ”Scars” it was.

I had it all printed out and ready to send in to the contest.  Even had it in the envelope and sealed.  Very first writing contest, here I come.

And then, at the last minute, I did what I’m best known for in my life.

I changed my mind.

Just before mailing it out, I made what I assumed would end up being a bad judgment call on my part.  I pulled “Scars” out of the envelope, and I replaced it with “Fully Dressed.”

“Fully Dressed” is something I struggled with writing.  In it, I basically shine a spotlight on my insecurities.  One insecurity in particular.  And do you have any idea how hard that is to do?  I mean, it’s hard to admit your insecurities even to yourself, but to broadcast them to the public??  I’m always nervous just before I hit the little “Publish” button on my blog page, but I remember that one vividly.  It was a special kind of nervous.  My hands were shaking and I felt like I was going to be sick.

Now, reading it, you might not see all of that.  You might not think it’s all that big of a deal at all.  But trust me, to me it was.  I was verbalizing something that I don’t like to let show.  I was admitting a fault in myself.  Admitting that I let something get to me.  Really get to me.  And through the writing, I managed to process those feelings, and come to something that resembled a conclusion.  The thoughts I had about the issue flowed through my fingers in a way that I didn’t even know they could.  Suddenly, as I wrote, I started to stand up to myself.  I defended myself, to myself. 

And that felt good.

Remembering all those emotions that flowed through me as I wrote and posted that entry, I decided to take a deep breath and send my writing even further out in the world.  I entered it into the contest, hoping that maybe someone somewhere might see herself in my writing and know that she isn’t the only one who has ever felt that way.  Would it win?  Eh, probably not.  But the courage it took to send it was gratification enough.

So.  Fast forward to yesterday.

I got home last night and checked my mail.  Inside was an envelope from the writing committee overseeing the contest.

“Dear Melissa,

Congratulations! I am pleased to inform you that your entry entitled “Fully Dressed” in the Creative Writing Contest of the 2013 Wytheville Chautauqua Festival has won First Place in the Adult Essay category…”

Wow.  Just wow.

It went on to give specifics about the date and time of the awards ceremony and explained that I am to read the entry in front of all who attend(Yikes!), and asked me to provide a brief biography about who I am and why I like to write.

Why I like to write?  Well, that’s easy.

This.

This is why.

Not because I get an award.  Not because I get recognition.  Not because I get to get in front of a room full of people and read my winning piece out loud.  (Oh no, definitely not because of that – just the thought terrifies me!)  No, it’s not for any of those reasons.

It’s because someone somewhere understood.

Someone gets it.

Someone gets me.

***

“Writing is painting your deepest thoughts, fears, insecurities, sadness, happiness, and everything else in between, onto a canvas of words – and then, turning it around to face the world, hoping someone sees that canvas as a mirror.”
- Melissa Caudill

***

Referenced Blog Links

Scars:  http://missyspublicjunk.wordpress.com/2013/03/08/scars/

Fully Dressed: http://missyspublicjunk.wordpress.com/2013/04/11/fully-dressed/

It’s been a long week at the Conference, but it was really fabulous this time. I have the right editor for my novel and I spent all my time with only two workshop leaders.  Which was good for me.  From Walter HD — two things I will never forget: “Dialogue is paint.”  And “what is your character’s greatest fear?”  This is a master screenwriter.  The best.  So was the fiction workshop.  Anyway this image.  Composing to an X song… 

I’ve also decided to turn Les Rubans into a novel.  The Ribbons.  The list went wild over it, and now on the list I dropped it off on in the UK it’s had 3047 reads so far.  Will be Reage redux and a smattering of Nin for the commercial market.  Going to try for Black Lace books with the novel.  If you think you squirmed at The Story of O,  The Ribbons is destined to be an erotic classic the likes the world has never seen.  I want the right home for it.  Also?  I have Heart of Clouds in mind.  The edits that will be forthcoming on that.

xxoo!

Adrienne

“THE FAR PAVILIONS” (1984) Review

Thirty-four years ago saw the publication of an international best seller about a young British Army officer during the British Raj in 19th century India. The novel’s success not brought about a not-so-successful musical stage play in 2005, but also a six-part television miniseries, twenty-one years earlier. 

Directed by Peter Duffell for HBO, “THE FAR PAVILIONS” tells the story of Ashton “Ash” Pelham-Martyn, the only son of prominent British botanist Hillary Pelham-Martyn and his wife in the foothills of the Himalayan Mountains in 1853. After his mother dies of childbirth, Ashton is mainly raised by his ayah (nurse) Sita, who is a part of his father’s retinue. Cholera takes the lives of all members of the Pelham-Martyn camp some four years later, with the exception of Ash and Sita. The latter tries to deliver Ash to his mother’s family in Mardan, but the uprising of the Sepoy Rebellion leads her to adopt the slightly dark-skinned Ash as her son. Both eventually take refuge in the kingdom of Gulkote. While Ash forgets about his British ancestry, he becomes the servant for Crown Prince Lalji and befriends the neglected Princess Anjuli, Master of Stables Koda Dad, and his son Zarin. Ashton eventually leaves Gulkote after learning from the dying Sita about his true ancestry. After reaching his relatives in Mardan, Ash is sent back to Great Britain to live with his Pelham-Martyn relations. Within less than a decade, he returns to India as a newly commissioned British Army. Not only does he make new acquaintances, but also renews old ones – including the Princess Anjuli.

British costume dramas have always been popular with American television and movie audiences for decades. But aside from the Jane Austen phenomenon between 1995 and 2008, there seemed to be an even bigger demand for period pieces from the U.K. during the 1980s . . . a major consequence from the popular royal wedding of the Prince of Wales and Lady Diana Spencer. HBO and Peter Duffell took M.M. Kaye’s 1978 bestseller and transformed it into a miniseries filled with six one-hour episodes. Aside from a few changes, “THE FAR PAVILIONS” was more or less a television hit. And in many ways, it was easy to see why.

First of all, Kaye’s story about a forbidden love story between a British Army officer viewed as an outsider by most of his fellow Britons and an Indian princess with a touch of European blood (Russian) was bound to appeal to the most romantic. Add an epic trek across the Indian subcontinent (in the form of a royal wedding party), action on the North West frontier and a historical event – namely the start of the Second Anglo-Afghan War - and one is faced with a costumed epic of the most romantic kind. And I am flabbergasted at how the story managed to criticize the British presence in both India and Afghanistan, and at the same time, glorify the military aspect of the British Empire. If I must be honest, M.M. Kaye not only wrote a pretty damn good story, but she and screenwriter Julian Bond did a solid job in adapting the novel for television.

Now, I said solid, not excellent. Even the most first-rate miniseries is not perfect, but I feel that “THE FAR PAVILIONS” possessed flaws that prevented it from being the superb production it could have been. The miniseries’ main problem seemed to be its look. I had no problems with Robert W. Laing’s production designs. His work, along with George Richardson’s art direction, Jack Cardiff’s superb cinematography, and Hugh Scaife’s set decorations superbly brought mid-to-late 19th century British India to life. I was especially impressed by the crew’s re-creation of the Rana of Bhithor’s palace, the cantonments for the Corps of Guides regiment and the royal wedding procession for the Rana of Bhitor’s brides – Princess Shushila and Princess Anjuli of Karidkote (formerly Gulkote). For a miniseries that cost $12 million dollars to produce, why shoot it on such poor quality film, whose color seemed to have faded over the past two or three decades? It seemed criminal that such a lush production was shot on film of bad quality.

As much as I admired Bond and Kaye’s adaptation of the latter’s novel, there were two aspects of their script that annoyed me. One, the screenplay skipped one of the novel’s best parts – namely Ash’s childhood in Gulkote. Instead, the story of his birth, early travels with Sita and his time in Gulkote were revealed in a montage that served as backdrop for the opening credits. And I was not that impressed at how the script handled Ash’s early romance with a young English debutante named Belinda Harlowe. I found it rushed and unsatisfying. More importantly, the entire sequence seemed like a waste of Felicity Dean and Rupert Everett’s (who played Ash’s doomed rival George Garforth) time. And some of the dialogue for the romantic scenes between Ash and Juli struck me as so wince inducing that it took me a while to unclench my teeth after the scenes ended.

I had other problems with “THE FAR PAVILIONS”. The casting of American actress Amy Irving as the adult Princess Anjli (“Juli”) produced a “what the hell?” response from me when I first saw the miniseries. That startled feeling remained after my last viewing. Irving simply seemed miscast in the role, despite a decent performance from her and her solid chemistry with lead actor Ben Cross. Another role that failed to match with the performer was that of British military administrator, Sir Louis Cavagnari, portrayed by John Gielgud. Cavagnari was 39 years old, when he met his death at the British mission in Kabul, Afghanistan. Gielgud was 79 to 80 years old when he portrayed the military officer . . . naturally too old for the role. The makeup department tried to take years off the actor with hair dye and make-up. Let us just say that Amy Irving was more convincing as an Indian princess than Gielgud was as a character 40 years his junior.

Aside from my quibbles about the casting of Amy Irving and John Gielgud, I have no complaints about the rest of the cast. Ben Cross did a superb job in his portrayal of the hot tempered and impatient Ashton Pelham-Martyn. Ash has always been a frustrating character for me. Although I sympathized with his feelings and beliefs, his occasional bursts of impatience and naiveté irritated me. And Cross perfectly captured all of these aspects of Ash’s nature. Despite my strong belief that she was miscast, I cannot deny that Amy Irving gave a subtle and well acted performance as Princess Anjuli. But I could never accuse Omar Sharif of being miscast. He did a superb job in his portrayal of the wise and very witty horsemaster of Gulkote/Karidkote, Koda Dad. Sharif made it easy to see why Ash came to regard Koda Dad as more of a father figure than any other older male. Although I believe that Irving was miscast as Princess Anjuli, I was surprised at how impressed I was by Christopher Lee’s portrayal of Anjuli’s uncle, Prince Kaka-ji Rao. The Anglo-Spanish actor did an excellent job of portraying a character from a completely different race. I suspect the secret to Lee’s performance was that he did not try so hard to sell the idea of him being an Indian prince. And Saeed Jaffrey was superb as the effeminate, yet manipulate and murderous courtier, Biju Ram. It seemed a pity that the miniseries did not explore Ash’s childhood. Audiences would have been able to enjoy more of Jaffrey’s performance.

Sneh Gupta was excellent as childishly imperious and self-absorbed Princess Shushila, Juli’s younger sister. She did a first-rate job of transforming Shushila from a sympathetic character to a childishly imperious villainess. Robert Hardy gave a solid performance as the Commandant of the Guides. Benedict Taylor was charming and outgoing as Ash’s only military friend, Walter “Wally” Hamilton. I really do not know how to describe Rosanno Brazzi’s performance as the Rana of Bhithor. I feel that too much makeup made it difficult for me to get a grip on his character. I was surprised to see Art Malik as Koda Dad’s son, Zarin. But his role did not seem big enough to produce a comment from me. Rupert Everett was excellent as George Garforth, the British civil servant with a secret to hide. Unfortunately, I was less than impressed with the miniseries’ portrayal of the story line in which he played a part.

I realize that “THE FAR PAVILIONS” has a good number of strikes against it. But its virtues outweighed its flaws. And in the end, it proved to be an entertaining miniseries, thanks to the lush production and the first-rate cast led by Ben Cross.

Napakadaming ala-ala ng itim niyang sentra, may masaya, may malungkot. Naalala ko pa, halos araw-araw niya akong sinusundo, at kung saan-saaan kami nag pupunta. Minsan sa Makati, okaya naman sa Laguna, minsan sa QC, pero kadalasan na sa Cavite kami, doon sa lugar ng mga kaibigan niya. Marami rin akong natutunan sa kanya, natuto akong iminom, mag-yosi, magsugal, at tumikim ng droga. Sabi nga nila mali, pero okay pa din, kasi nga mahal ko siya.

Itim na sentra. Yan ang ng kotse kung saan ako ginahasa, binaboy at pinagtulungan niya at ng mga hayup na kaibigan niya.

Since then, it’s expanded vastly in popularity and space, and the quality of entries continues to be high. Here’s mine; the opening sentence is one of six writing prompts from which contestants could choose. Read and enjoy…

Best Served Cold

I had the butter melting in the pan, the vegetables chopped, and the .45 ready in the drawer. All I had to do now was wait. Timing was crucial for what I had in mind. An episode of “Road Kill House” no one would ever forget.

Next to me, Wallis was goofing around with the olive oil and garlic in the stew pot. God, I hate Wallis. He thinks he’s funny. Has no clue his dancing-Southern-fat-boy schtick is so lame that if it was a horse, you’d shoot it as a kindness. The audience eats it up. People are such morons. Which is lucky for me, I guess–it pays the bills. Still, I’m a serious gourmet. Food matters to me. It’s hell being upstaged every week by a clown.

“Now our Essie-girl’ll jes’ bring over them peppers an’ broccoli…” My cue. Essie-girl. He makes me sound like a prize cow. I lifted the cutting board–smile pretty for the cameras, Essie-girl!–and dumped the vegetables into the butter-slicked skillet. Heard them sizzle. Gave them a stir. Snuck a glance at today’s star attraction: a rolled roast of beef sitting on the counter. Right in front of Wallis.

My heart started to pound. Almost time…

The smell of carmelizing garlic almost made me sick. Or was it fear? Or excitement? While Wallis plopped his chubby hands down on either side of the meat and launched into his spiel, I eased open the drawer. Closed my hand around the .45. Slid it out, taking care to keep it hidden from the cameras.

“Now we’re gon’ take this-yar hunk o’ beef an’ put it in the big ol’ pot…” Wallis picked it up like he was hefting a barbell, shifted his feet like a dancing bear. Now. I tightened my grip on the gun.

“Hang on,” I said. My voice rock-steady. “It needs one more thing first. Just one more thing.” I raised the .45 and pointed it straight at Wallis’s fat gut.

He shrieked and dropped the roast. I steadied my aim and fired. Six times. The bullets thudded into their fleshy target with satisfying spurts of blood and chunks.

Wallis stared at me, breathing hard. Tatters of raw meat splotched his shirt. “What the hell–?”

This was my moment. I faced the camera. “And that, ladies and gents, is how not to tenderize beef.”

1.    I don’t remember falling in love with you. I don’t remember when it happened, or what I was thinking of just then, or what I said before or what you said after, or perhaps nothing at all was said; but somehow it – just was.

2. Every memory of you, every time I think of – us, removes that time from my mind; it’s excised scrape by scrape. I remember that I used to have memories of us. I remember that they were good memories, at the time.

3. I don’t want to recall when you and I made love; already I’ve lost too much. Every time a thought of you comes to mind, it immediately begins to fade. I scribble desperately what I remember, but then it’s gone and only a scrawled note remains. I can’t make out what it says through the smudges and gouges and erasures.

<END>

Subscriptions to A Memorable Fancy are now available on Amazon. See

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See www.terencekuch.net for a profile of the author, publications, reviews, etc.

Terence Kuch’s speculative fiction novels * may be purchased directly from the publishers or via his Amazon author page, www.amazon.com/author/terencekuch

Review copies are available from the author at terencekuch /a/t/ ymail.com for:

    *The Seventh Effect: a thriller from Melange Publications about a new kind of bioterrorist plot against the USA.

    *See/Saw: a literary adventure from Ink Smith Publications about implanting memories – then the North Koreans figure out how to do it.