BK38
Bluelight Crew
- Joined
- Apr 2, 2009
- Messages
- 14,052
This is part two of the series I was writing the other day. I was feeling kind of uninspired, so I wrote down the last word of every line in every Haiku train post. This amounted to some 16 pages and my hand was cramped! I decided to write some random pieces of prose using those words. My rules were that I had to use every word and use them in sequence. Below is part II of that effort. All of the CAPITALIZED words were taken from the Haiku-train thread. Thank you to everyone who contributed to that thread, you've helped me write this! @madness00 , @schizopath , @relex_author , @TheLoveBandit , @nuttynutskin @PrincessDiz and more!
A Bluelight Haiku-Inspired Writing Exercise (Pt 2 of 16)
I kind of hope that the fat bastard in front of me in line would DIE. The fat fucking bastard slowly killing himself with OBESITY, and trying to mitigate his self-hatred by berating the poor waitress over a missing cupcake. She hasn’t even had time to stammer out a RESPONSE when that FUCKER asks for a manager. Small people leading small lives. Shitting on others because of their displeasure with their own pathetic lives. This asshole’s too afraid of facing reality to do anything about it; I can’t stand SUCKERS like that.
I tip the waitress a little extra to make up for the shit she has to put up with. I find myself a little nook in the corner of the cafe and take out my pen only to realize its ink has jettisoned all over my shirt like an OCTOPUS trying to escape. “Nevermind” I mutter, it’s a cheap shirt from the thrift store ruined by a cheap pen from the dollar store anyway. I see a flashing icon on my phone and see that my friend has sent me another VID. I open it up and feast upon the images, a video of the guy that’s been trying to dodge me for a month, the low-life that has been saying he hasn’t had enough money for child support buying a new boat. Yahtzee fuck-face! I got you now. This little gem is GOING into my growing pile of VIDEO evidence against him. I sip my coffee and relish its aroma as I sit back in the chairs that are a little too stiff to be comfortable. Planet Starbucks.
I find myself aimlessly messaging old flames ONLINE, maybe I’m the pathetic one I think to myself; god I need to get laid. I think back to the case, I can’t wait until that piece-of-shit lawyer gets FINED out the wa-zoo. If there’s anything I hate, it’s those goddamn sharks. I fish out a DIME-bag worth of coke from my inky pocket and decide I’ve earned it. I go to the bathroom and take a little snort. Fuck yeah! I’m electric now, now I’ve got a little energy to spare! I call up my partner and tell him the good news about the vid; I don’t really need to hear his OPINION on the case, I just need to talk a million-miles-per-minute at someone. “You’re coked up again aren’t you?” I deny it, but he knows me too well by now and knows that I just need to share my half-cooked thoughts. I hang up after I’ve said my piece and hear my partner sigh.
“Can I get a REFUND?” Fuck, I’ve been here twenty minutes and that fat fucking asshole is at it again. If I had a spear gun or a cattle bolt I’d end the fucker right now, he’d be grateful too if he knew what was good for him. “Hey” I say. The slow bastard takes a moment to realize that in fact, yes, I was talking to him. “Whatchyu wannnnt” Jesus, even his words sound fat; laboured, painful. His sad squinty little eyes meet my hard stimulant gaze. “If you want a REFUND, maybe you shouldn’t have eaten that entire frosted cupcake in line and then claimed it was missing man, how low can you get?” He shrivels at the words and the fight has left him. The waitress half-smiles at me. He pays full price. My work here is DONE and it’s time to get a little bit of the SUN that’s fast disappearing. I need some sun, this day for night stuff is killing me. “It puts the LOTION on it’s skin or it gets the hose again.”
It’s dark by the time I get back to my apartment. I can hear the BASKET-cases living next door at it again, but I don’t care, I’m used to it. I set up my laptop on the bed and decide I need to move out of this CASKET of an apartment. I could hear a cockroach sneeze with walls this thin. The RACKET next door has started up again. I bang on the wall with my shoe to make my displeasure known and they are temporarily SILENCED once again. What is this life I’m leading? I think to Burrough’s “Naked LUNCH” as I plonk myself down on the bed.
Daylight is breaking through the blinds and my eyes PAN across the room. An old box of take-out, a half-smoked joint, a book I know I’ll never finish and a picture of my ex-girlfriend. Christ, if this isn’t a sadness BUFFET I don’t know what is. I decide that I need to get my shit together as I throw the DUVET off of me. To my DISMAY I can hear the neighbors starting up again; earlier than usual I think to myself as I LAY in place for just a little longer. I slowly boot up my cognitive system and groan as I stand to my feet. I find my radio CONCEALED beneath some clothes on the floor and hit the play button to turn it on. “This is 99.6 FM Radiooooo and you’re listening to Slim and Jack on the Goooooood Morning show, for all you movers and shakers out there…” I turn it off, I’ve had ENOUGH already. That is MUCH too much energy for me on this AM. I look for half-finished baggies of coke around my mess of an apartment and find one a third of the way full, INDEED, you are a junkie I tell myself.
PENGUIN BOOKS has written me an email. Another rejection, goddamnit. I get dressed and shuffle out of my apartment. I catch LOOKS from the neighbours next door as I make my way down the stairs, I mouth “fuck you” as I pass them. I blame them for not being able to write something worth publishing, I know it’s really my fault though; a convenient scape-goat. I curse the light beating down upon my brow as I step outside.
I see the HOOKS glinting in the sun as I pass by the haggard FISHERMAN by the pier on the way to the office. My head feels like a ton of bricks and I am REAL HUNGOVER. I ask my brain if it’s hungry and it FIZZLEs in response; too much coke. The soft pitter-patter of rain starts up and I form a make-shift UMBRELLA with my beat up sports jacket as I hustle into my brown-stone office building. As I shake out my jacket on the elevator ride up to our little P.I. space, I see the ants streaming into the CBD, like little electrons riding along CIRCUITs. I ask myself if my life is a COMEDY or a tragedy just before the elevator doors open, I ask myself what it would take to feel ALIVE. Ding!
A Bluelight Haiku-Inspired Writing Exercise (Pt 2 of 16)
I kind of hope that the fat bastard in front of me in line would DIE. The fat fucking bastard slowly killing himself with OBESITY, and trying to mitigate his self-hatred by berating the poor waitress over a missing cupcake. She hasn’t even had time to stammer out a RESPONSE when that FUCKER asks for a manager. Small people leading small lives. Shitting on others because of their displeasure with their own pathetic lives. This asshole’s too afraid of facing reality to do anything about it; I can’t stand SUCKERS like that.
I tip the waitress a little extra to make up for the shit she has to put up with. I find myself a little nook in the corner of the cafe and take out my pen only to realize its ink has jettisoned all over my shirt like an OCTOPUS trying to escape. “Nevermind” I mutter, it’s a cheap shirt from the thrift store ruined by a cheap pen from the dollar store anyway. I see a flashing icon on my phone and see that my friend has sent me another VID. I open it up and feast upon the images, a video of the guy that’s been trying to dodge me for a month, the low-life that has been saying he hasn’t had enough money for child support buying a new boat. Yahtzee fuck-face! I got you now. This little gem is GOING into my growing pile of VIDEO evidence against him. I sip my coffee and relish its aroma as I sit back in the chairs that are a little too stiff to be comfortable. Planet Starbucks.
I find myself aimlessly messaging old flames ONLINE, maybe I’m the pathetic one I think to myself; god I need to get laid. I think back to the case, I can’t wait until that piece-of-shit lawyer gets FINED out the wa-zoo. If there’s anything I hate, it’s those goddamn sharks. I fish out a DIME-bag worth of coke from my inky pocket and decide I’ve earned it. I go to the bathroom and take a little snort. Fuck yeah! I’m electric now, now I’ve got a little energy to spare! I call up my partner and tell him the good news about the vid; I don’t really need to hear his OPINION on the case, I just need to talk a million-miles-per-minute at someone. “You’re coked up again aren’t you?” I deny it, but he knows me too well by now and knows that I just need to share my half-cooked thoughts. I hang up after I’ve said my piece and hear my partner sigh.
“Can I get a REFUND?” Fuck, I’ve been here twenty minutes and that fat fucking asshole is at it again. If I had a spear gun or a cattle bolt I’d end the fucker right now, he’d be grateful too if he knew what was good for him. “Hey” I say. The slow bastard takes a moment to realize that in fact, yes, I was talking to him. “Whatchyu wannnnt” Jesus, even his words sound fat; laboured, painful. His sad squinty little eyes meet my hard stimulant gaze. “If you want a REFUND, maybe you shouldn’t have eaten that entire frosted cupcake in line and then claimed it was missing man, how low can you get?” He shrivels at the words and the fight has left him. The waitress half-smiles at me. He pays full price. My work here is DONE and it’s time to get a little bit of the SUN that’s fast disappearing. I need some sun, this day for night stuff is killing me. “It puts the LOTION on it’s skin or it gets the hose again.”
It’s dark by the time I get back to my apartment. I can hear the BASKET-cases living next door at it again, but I don’t care, I’m used to it. I set up my laptop on the bed and decide I need to move out of this CASKET of an apartment. I could hear a cockroach sneeze with walls this thin. The RACKET next door has started up again. I bang on the wall with my shoe to make my displeasure known and they are temporarily SILENCED once again. What is this life I’m leading? I think to Burrough’s “Naked LUNCH” as I plonk myself down on the bed.
Daylight is breaking through the blinds and my eyes PAN across the room. An old box of take-out, a half-smoked joint, a book I know I’ll never finish and a picture of my ex-girlfriend. Christ, if this isn’t a sadness BUFFET I don’t know what is. I decide that I need to get my shit together as I throw the DUVET off of me. To my DISMAY I can hear the neighbors starting up again; earlier than usual I think to myself as I LAY in place for just a little longer. I slowly boot up my cognitive system and groan as I stand to my feet. I find my radio CONCEALED beneath some clothes on the floor and hit the play button to turn it on. “This is 99.6 FM Radiooooo and you’re listening to Slim and Jack on the Goooooood Morning show, for all you movers and shakers out there…” I turn it off, I’ve had ENOUGH already. That is MUCH too much energy for me on this AM. I look for half-finished baggies of coke around my mess of an apartment and find one a third of the way full, INDEED, you are a junkie I tell myself.
PENGUIN BOOKS has written me an email. Another rejection, goddamnit. I get dressed and shuffle out of my apartment. I catch LOOKS from the neighbours next door as I make my way down the stairs, I mouth “fuck you” as I pass them. I blame them for not being able to write something worth publishing, I know it’s really my fault though; a convenient scape-goat. I curse the light beating down upon my brow as I step outside.
I see the HOOKS glinting in the sun as I pass by the haggard FISHERMAN by the pier on the way to the office. My head feels like a ton of bricks and I am REAL HUNGOVER. I ask my brain if it’s hungry and it FIZZLEs in response; too much coke. The soft pitter-patter of rain starts up and I form a make-shift UMBRELLA with my beat up sports jacket as I hustle into my brown-stone office building. As I shake out my jacket on the elevator ride up to our little P.I. space, I see the ants streaming into the CBD, like little electrons riding along CIRCUITs. I ask myself if my life is a COMEDY or a tragedy just before the elevator doors open, I ask myself what it would take to feel ALIVE. Ding!
