I’ll be gone for a couple of days, so I thought we’d try something a little differemt this morning — an open thread. The idear is that you folks keep the site crackling in my absence — overflowing with woosh! — by adding your own snippets of dialog, slices of lyric, poems, demi-poems, stories, or rants as comments to this very entry. Whaddya think? Itto? Heroic Imp? Captain Marsupial? other Dan? Folks unknown? Shall we give it a shot?
More than one entry welcome, nay encouraged! No need to be shy, it’s just us chickens. Click comment below and…let ‘er rip.
Enjoy! And watch the skies, -Cecil
7 comments for “Open thread — a call for your submissions”
Barbara
August 9, 2004 at 9:45 am
For Real… to set the scene: An early-twenties man has met up with two young women, his high school friends. He spends some time impressing them with his career exploits, then one woman asks about his friend.
–“Yeah, Freddy was sorry he couldn’t come, but y’know he just had a baby.” Sez Hero.
–“A baby!” Sez Female 1.
–“Ohmygod, Freddy!” Sez Female 2.
–“Yeah, I know, it’s crazy! I just saw him and he was showing me pictures.” (Hero)
–“Is the baby cute?” (Female 1)
–“Oh, man!! The pictures were just awful! There was blood everywhere and there were pictures of the baby coming out of, you know, her … vagina.” (Hero)
–“Eww, gross!” (Female 1)
–“How can people take pictures of things like that?!” (Female 2)
–“Oh, man, it was disgusting. If he ever marries her, I don’t know how I’m ever gonna look her in the face.” (Hero)
(Shamelessly eavesdropped at Starbucks)
One for the kids, sung to the nursery school tune, “Make New Friends”
Eat new cheese,
And store the old.
One is creamy
And the other has mold.
A brie is round,.
Slices are square.
Keep cheese cool
or it will grow green hair.
Mac and cheese
Can taste real neat.
Some people like cheese
That smells like stinky feet.
I can’t really top Barbara’s item, but this may come close. It involves language, but not graphic imagery.
One Saturday AM this spring, I was standing in line at the lawnmower repair shop. In the back, three of the guys, all mid-20s, were discussing the previous night’s adventures, unaware of being shamelessly eavesdropped:
#1: “…so I had to tell her my shit’s not working. I said…”
#2: “You mean you were so fucking drunk you couldn’t even fuck her?”
#3: “Yeah, I hate it when that happens …”
#2: “Oh, man! You’re supposed to get *her* fucked up, not *you* …”
#1: “Well, I was, but then …”
In a more innocent vein, two kids on a bus the other day:
“Would you eat somebody else’s toenails for a billion, trillion dollars?”
“I dn’t know. I’d eat my own…”
OK Cecil, here is the theme of my epic poem, Eugene Oregon, delivered in regulation Pushkin sonnet format:
Most certainly, you know some person
with Pinball Fever on the brain.
This sickness, that is known to worsen
slowly, can drive players insane.
Its victims: dupes who seek its pleasures.
These fools, who value gaudy treasures
of pinball games seem most unwise.
They view, with their corrupted eyes,
a life seen through a smoky filter.
Some say it’s Lucifer’s own game,
fanning unholy passion’s flame.
An upright woman, when you tilt her,
transforms to Babylonian whore…
perhaps it’s wise to say no more.
For Real… to set the scene: An early-twenties man has met up with two young women, his high school friends. He spends some time impressing them with his career exploits, then one woman asks about his friend.
–“Yeah, Freddy was sorry he couldn’t come, but y’know he just had a baby.” Sez Hero.
–“A baby!” Sez Female 1.
–“Ohmygod, Freddy!” Sez Female 2.
–“Yeah, I know, it’s crazy! I just saw him and he was showing me pictures.” (Hero)
–“Is the baby cute?” (Female 1)
–“Oh, man!! The pictures were just awful! There was blood everywhere and there were pictures of the baby coming out of, you know, her … vagina.” (Hero)
–“Eww, gross!” (Female 1)
–“How can people take pictures of things like that?!” (Female 2)
–“Oh, man, it was disgusting. If he ever marries her, I don’t know how I’m ever gonna look her in the face.” (Hero)
(Shamelessly eavesdropped at Starbucks)
One for the kids, sung to the nursery school tune, “Make New Friends”
Eat new cheese,
And store the old.
One is creamy
And the other has mold.
A brie is round,.
Slices are square.
Keep cheese cool
or it will grow green hair.
Mac and cheese
Can taste real neat.
Some people like cheese
That smells like stinky feet.
I can’t really top Barbara’s item, but this may come close. It involves language, but not graphic imagery.
One Saturday AM this spring, I was standing in line at the lawnmower repair shop. In the back, three of the guys, all mid-20s, were discussing the previous night’s adventures, unaware of being shamelessly eavesdropped:
#1: “…so I had to tell her my shit’s not working. I said…”
#2: “You mean you were so fucking drunk you couldn’t even fuck her?”
#3: “Yeah, I hate it when that happens …”
#2: “Oh, man! You’re supposed to get *her* fucked up, not *you* …”
#1: “Well, I was, but then …”
In a more innocent vein, two kids on a bus the other day:
“Would you eat somebody else’s toenails for a billion, trillion dollars?”
“I dn’t know. I’d eat my own…”
i sometimes wish i could
pile all my thoughts together
and then paste them onto paper
like a ransom letter
a thread? As in a needle, or as in coming off my suit?
Wait, I have neither?
Better leave it open for the smarter people.
OK Cecil, here is the theme of my epic poem, Eugene Oregon, delivered in regulation Pushkin sonnet format:
Most certainly, you know some person
with Pinball Fever on the brain.
This sickness, that is known to worsen
slowly, can drive players insane.
Its victims: dupes who seek its pleasures.
These fools, who value gaudy treasures
of pinball games seem most unwise.
They view, with their corrupted eyes,
a life seen through a smoky filter.
Some say it’s Lucifer’s own game,
fanning unholy passion’s flame.
An upright woman, when you tilt her,
transforms to Babylonian whore…
perhaps it’s wise to say no more.
spoken aloud while watching john wayne studies a clue left for him in “the searchers”…
“what could this arrow of rocks mean?”