Sentence Challenge Jonah is Sorry Also it Won't Let Me Indent Fuck You Blogger Why Didn't We Make This a Tumblr?

"I have recently become infinitely more available," I muttered as I looked into my eyes. I puckered my lips in the most suggestive way I knew. The cap of the lipstick made a popping noise as I tore it off; it felt like velvet cake as I ran it across my mouth, slowly, like how you would see the movie stars do it on tv. Well, not that I regularly ran cake across my lips anyway, but... Um...

I raised one shoulder higher than the other, trying to eye-fuck myself in the mirror. My hair running down both sides of my face in curls. Very ugly, unsexy curls.

I stopped the act, and instead of puckering my lips I now pursed them.

"And apparently I have only become fractionally more presentable," I said aloud.

"What?!" Sandra called from the other room. "Did you say something?!"

"No!" I called back.

"Are you sure? Because it sounded like you were trying to seduce yourself with the bathroom mirror but then you gave up because you're a lost cause!"

"No one asked you, Sandi!" I said. She hated it when I called you that.

"You know I hate it when you call me that!" she said from the other side of the door.

I gave up, turning the handle to expose her to my gussied-up face. Her eyes went wide with shock.

"Holy shit," she said.

"Yeah, I know," I replied, rolling my eyes.

"You're..." I waited for it. 

"Absolutely beautiful," her eyes suddenly became alive. Her lips moistened as she looked me over. 

"Is this..." I said, seductively lowering one shoulder, "becoming a smut story?"

"I believe so," she said, sticking out her bosom in my general direction. "It's as if the author of this piece is really tired and has given up all hope for this story to be any good."

I bit my lip, looking down at my shoes, then looked back up at her. 

"I've never been with another woman before," I muttered.

"Yes!" she orgasmically exclaimed, "More! More bad cliches!"

"I don't even know how two woman might... Do something like that!" I said a little louder.

She gripped the frame of the door, pressing herself against its surface.

"Yes! Harder! Stupider! More blonde!"

"I've always been curious though!"

"Yes! More! Appeal to the heterosexual nineteen year old male audience!"

"Maybe you could... Show me how it's done?"

She walked towards me. Slowly. Like a cheetah. Because for some reason when people act like big cats in a seductive manner it's actually really fucking sexy. Don't deny it. There's a little furry in all of us. You'd fuck a panther person if you could. What was I even writing about again?

And then, we embraced, semi-passionately, like lesbians, except we weren't lesbians, hence the semi-passionately part, cuz we were really doing it just for the men reading, which is really just Julian. I doubt Maddie found any of this appealing. Or Julian. Maybe the start of it, when this story had a chance. Now look at it. Good god. If you have read all of this I commend you. No one is benefitting from this. It was a day of hastily dismissed apologies.

Sorry.

Challenge Eeeeleven

Challenge Eleven

Write a story containing any of one of the following phrases:

"I have recently become infinitely more available."

"I am not fit for a quest of kings and stories."

Despite the frivolous direction of the tale Brandon found himself mired in a wood of doubts and nightmares.

It was a day of hastily dismissed apologies.

Saturday began like its fellow days except for the preponderance of frogs in the tall grass.

"Every man draws a line in the sand and says 'beyond this I will not go.'"

"I have become fractionally more presentable."

BETTER CIRCLES BITCH

CIRCLES MOTHERFUCKER

A prompt for Challenge Ten

Circles.

That's it.
GO.

Its was raining which made no difference to the people of the great city. Only if one swam high near the surface, the daring teenagers and lovers, could one see the mosaic of circles rippling the waves. They'd swim, belly up, looking out at the surface and the pulsating, soft blue light. They let the waves pull them and push them along in the currents path. They breathed the strange gamy taste of the upper layers, thick with oxygen and strange, tiny life, waters warm and odd on their clammy skin. Dizzy and giggling, they soon would tumble back down to more familiar depths, squinting flat eyes as the light levels change and they returned, falling deeper and deeper, to the great city.
They kicked heir pale legs, graceful as frogs, back into its alleys, its streets, its crags sticking from the cliff of bed rock like jumbling teeth. Buildings, great and small flushed the landscape with a variance of texture, shape and size, all in the pale green and grey hues of the deep ocean, and predominantly organic: Towering clusters of corals, built off each preceding layer at jutting angles; tiny shacks of cemented rocks topped with thatched kelps and sea grasses; smooth buildings that shimmered like the iridescent insides of oysters; houses striated like clam shells, their interiors smooth and pink.
The city was expansive, and its peoples swam and slid and scuttled around and between its every crack and doorway, day and night when iridescent bulbs lit the undefined streets and those that iridesced walked the darker ones.

Never Forget

So I wrote this a few years ago. Every once in awhile I'll sort through my documents and see the title and think oh what did I forget and then read it and be amazed that I never took this piece of writing anywhere.

“Never forget,” she said to me through cracked bleeding lips and broken teeth. Blood matted her long hair and dripped in a staccato to the cold stone floor below. I held her head in my hands her limp and broken body sprawled against the smooth concrete of the tiny cell. Her wounds no longer bled but oozed blood creating a grisly snow angel around her twisted limbs. I held my ear closer to her lips to catch her last few words. Blood from the fracture in her skull pooled in the palms of my hands as I tried to hold her closer without causing her anymore pain. Her left arm was broken. There were cuts and bruises all across her still saintly face. Her back was twisted and I'm sure even speaking she was in intense agony. “Never forget, today” And there I promised her I would always remember taking her small limp, bloodstained hand in my own I promised her that I would never forget what had happened here today. I whispered empty words of comfort and safety of a warm home and skilled doctors. Her cut lips turned up at the corners, attempting to smile. Tears fell from my eyes onto hers. Tiny rivulets ran down her cheeks. I can only try to imagine the pain she was feeling right now but I couldn't. I could only hope for her recovery. Thinking only on how I would protect her. How I could make her well. “Please remember...” she said. The last ounce of her strength followed those two words. I'd like to think I could see the light leaving her eyes but I know that's not true. I know the lights around us hadn't changed but I could sense in some part of me that she was dead.

“Never forget today,” her last words on this earth were to tell me to always remember what had happened. Not a final poetic declaration of love or a summation of her life. The worst part is I have forgotten. Those last moments with her I will always know as if they had happened yesterday. Awake and asleep I can still see her broken frame and feel the sticky blood in my hands. But I cannot remember. I wake up in the middle of the night hating myself for not remembering. I don't remember what I did afterwards. How she had gotten injured or what my part in it was. I don't know where that cell was or what I was doing there. I have forgotten that day completely. The next thing I remembered was being home sitting in a dining room chair when the light above me flickered twice and died. I have no idea what happened that day. But the good news is: I aim to find out.

Challenge Nine

I went searching in my "writings" file. The creation date is 3/11/11. I don't even remember writing this, it's just a block of dialogue. Wheee!!
Also, I will not be posting Challenge Eight, as it has possibly evolved from a Challenge to a Project.

“You know, the only reason I bought those polo shirts all those years ago was because I remembered you once said you enjoyed a man in a polo.” “Really?” “Yeah. I never actually wore them though, my sister said I looked horrible in polos.” “You do.” “Hey!” “I’m sorry, I can’t deny the truth. Your sister was right.” “...I guess.” “She’s also been wrong about a lot of things too, like how she says marshmallows are horrible on toast.” “Oh, I actually will have to agree with her on that.” “I suppose that’s one place we differ then.” “Well uh, I guess that they’re not so bad on toast! I mean, uh-” “Look at you, changing your opinion just to appease me. Although I’m flattered, you really don’t have to do that.” “No, it’s just that, now that I’ve thought more about it, I’ve...” “Yes?” “Oh, nevermind.” “...I didn’t actually mean what I said you know.” “What?” “The polo thing. When I said it I wasn't being serious. I was trying to make you jealous of that one guy who wore them all the time.” “Who?” “I dunno, I forgot his name. Started with ‘J’ I think. Can’t be sure though.” “I don’t remember any guy whose name started with ‘J’.” “You can’t even remember two hours ago.” “Yes I can!” “Well, what were we doing then?” “Huh?” “Two hours ago?” “We were, uh... driving, on our way here?” “No, we were eating at that diner you stopped by.” “Oh, you can’t be sure of that.” “But I can. I remember glancing at my watch, and it said 10:32, and right now it’s half past noon.” “Still, that is a bit strange of you, constantly checking the time.” “You think it strange, I think it productive.” “You have no grammar.” “Touché.” “What would you do if I threw that watch out into the ocean right now?” “I’d yell at you, scream at you, and kick you in the groin so hard your privates would shrink... and then I’d make you go out and get it. It’s waterproof.” “Oh, well then.” “Yes, I know. Astounding isn’t it?” “Not really.” “Eh, I tried.” “...You look really beautiful in that dress.” “Thank you, it was my mother's.” “Why don’t you wear dresses more often?” “Why don’t you wear those nice vests I like more often?” “...I see your point.” “Glad you do.” “So, you like nice vests, but not polos?” “Yes.” “Huh.” “...Why huh?” “Oh, I dunno. Just seems weird to me.” “Thank you darling, I always wanted to be called weird.” “No, I didn’t say you were weird, I said your preference of men’s clothing was weird.” “Ah. Nonetheless, I heard the word ‘weird’.” “Is there something wrong with the word ‘weird’.” “Yes, it’s weird.”

Challenge 9!

Since there has been little activity on the blog recently. I propose a simple challenge.
Post any piece of writing you are particularly proud of but have not had a chance to share.

Karielle's New Blog

I believe it would serve us all well to comment on Karielle's Blog

as much as we can.

Maybe get into fake arguments about politics or something.

It will be fun.

THE BLOG I SPEAK OF

Three Parts

Part one is the seed.
The tiny thought in a mind of one man or two or three.
That stretches its roots beyond the mental garden it has aged in. And sends tendrils into memories and concepts. Building itself a bower bird nest of information and justification. Warmed and coaxed by the mind or denied it will grow regardless. Unheedful of the brain it will work and convert. That something must be changed. That something isn't right. That there's something I can fix. That there's something I can make right. More right. Or worse. But better for me.

Part two is the flower.
tenuous or terrible growth. Straining at the bonds of the brain container it has come to call home. Till it bursts forth into a tumult of expression, demonstration, creativity. Its a pamphlet or a book lain spine up on the floor, or a conversation with a friend that suggest something more. Something lurking in the darkness just out of understandings reach but there. And now the seed has been transferred and only more questions to be answered can satisfy the new dreamer carrying his seed to his friends and his family to his allies and foes. And he's spreading this idea everywhere he goes.

Part three is the action.
This flowers been bursting and growing and seeding and breeding and refining and evolving and finally people are starting to talk. To make groups and meetings paint signs or sing. Cause now they all kow that something isn't right and all that they know is that the germ needs to be passed on. Like a baton flying from hundreds of hands. Not from runner to runner but from senses to other men. Other people who might carry some of the same ideals. Who've kept the seed down and denied it water and sunlight and all that it needs. Who just need to see another person believe. To show that there's something that they can do to help. To fix something that before didn't need to be fixed.

MONOLOGUE

THE MONOLOGUE
Blogger is balls and won't let me imbed Vimeo vids, only YOOOTUUUBE MEEEEH.
Also, there is a critique comment at the bottom for both Julian and I, which is cool.
Also also, Maddie: I fleshed out some characters for the three-part story thing, and started writing, but it's all on my iPad, which is currently on loan in Ashland Oregon with my mother. So hold tight!