Well, let's just see how it goes, it's a little too early to tell but as Adam would say, "Be brutally honest, it's good for us all."
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We're a bunch of doodlers and dreamers.
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The Red Baroness's Book of Sighs and Spies
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Friday, February 21, 2003
I was tricked into a yuppie date last night. Once I figured it out I just wanted to bail. I'm late for hall duty. More later.
Chris 1:01 PM
Wednesday, February 19, 2003
Sweet! that last one I posted should be considered my setting assignment, right?
Chris 10:57 PM
Hey all, perhaps we could make it a goal to post new assignments by this Sunday? I promise I will have my setting one typed and up before then (it is half typed now). So, if you're planning on doing any of the assignments that you haven't thus far try to get those up by Sunday as well.
Tammy 10:21 AM
Tuesday, February 18, 2003
520 words and I'm still wandering with no place to go.
Warm rain never came to this place. In the desert, water crashed down from way up high. Only the cold drops large enough to survive, finished their trip to the ground; they beat upon the roofs of zinc shacks, stung against the backs of children and animals and washed away the feeble topsoil. Summer storm winds swept back saplings as shards of water tore off their budding leaves. In this place trees grew only by the most exacting care. The summer rain was an attack on the land and its people. Exposed, the people were cold and beat upon; in shelters they stirred uneasily as the cacophonous melee beat down upon the zinc overhead. When the rain relented, the sun replaced it as punisher to the land. And the children were sent to work, to fight. A pair of young boys took turns with their shovel. They dug into the earth until they needed a hand up to escape their work. The soil was weak from erratic cycles of flooding and harsh evaporation that drew salt out of parent rock deep below. The women spread rusted crushed cans evenly along the sapling-bed floor to give the young tree much-needed nutrients. The boys left the new dirt a hand’s width below ground-level to keep water at the sapling. The mixture was five parts topsoil for every one part dried cow dung. Boys not big enough to pick up a shovel collected palm fronds and pressed them into the earth to make a shield against the burning sun and tearing rain. The saplings were hidden from wandering animals and idle children that would pluck at these new obtrusions and peel them away from their barren ken. This was the people’s fight with the earth, their fight to tame the sand and keep it alive.
Sand moved the people. The movements made the people. Where the foot asked for support the sand gave way to nothing. When the sun shone the sand burned and there was no escape. Step-by-step the sand held lessons. With a light step dependence on the formless earth lessened. With a small stomach hunger, hunger from the bare fruit of this place, came calling but a few times. With a light heart anger was forgotten. Imbued with such grace, slight boys accomplished Herculean feats. A man from solid dirt, dirt piled up in hills held together by the green green grass gave no second thought to what he planted his feet upon; he didn’t have to, it was something strong to be taken for granted. He planted his foot down firmly and carelessly with each step. His heel dug in upon landing, torque from the ball of his foot propelled him. This made his calf and ankle thick, his form obtuse. A boy from the sand had no trust. What he lived upon had little substance. He was not held fast to the earth. The sand taught these boys that nothing is certain, nothing is easy, nowhere is away from danger. Everything slips away to nothing. Nothing is the true nature of everything. Nothing to fear nothing to lose.
Chris 11:26 PM
Monday, February 17, 2003
Love the Miss Muffet bit, very clever. Like the shout out to Peter Pumpkin Eater, but why the swans?
Adam - palm trees? On a desert island? thus... tying in with the Hawaii theme! Don't delete, you may be able to resurrect.
Not sure if I will ever use this, feeling more inspired to go the fairy tale route - may have an idea along the Little Red Riding Hood line... but here goes, here is my nursey rhyme character. I always want to use a male voice, but for some reason it continues to elude my grasp. Suggestions welcome.
Wee Willie Winkle
Runs through the town
Upstairs, downstairs, in his nightgown
Tapping at the window, crying through the lock
Are the children in their beds? It’s now eight o’clock!
I am the runt of every litter. It was cute at first; since I was in the second grade, I was always the smallest and lightest. Quickest too, fast on my feet and the smartest in the class to boot. Wee Willie Winkle, they called me. But now that I am in high school, I can’t get them to call me William Winkerstein to save my life, not even my neighbor and sometimes girlfriend Wanda.
“But Willie is such an adorable name!” she shrieks when I beg her to call me Bill instead. She doesn’t mind being nicknamed dubba-ya – thinks it’s cuz of her first name. She doesn’t know it’s really because of her double D’s. Biggest boobs on campus. How else would a girl with a face like that get to be a cheerleader? Although, she only made JV hockey. Usually, no one goes to hockey games, but they have been surprisingly well attended this year due to her pointed and bouncing breasts.
Everyone says size doesn’t matter, but I know it’s not true. That's why I’ve spent my entire high school career avoiding the showers after gym. No easy feat, because I run winter track and spring cross country, and that adds up to a lot of locker room time. Trust me, I know firsthand, too much or too little in any department, and you’re fair game. Guys can be such assholes. There’s no way I’ll ever expose myself to those vultures. Wanda now, that’s a different story…
~wildiris
PS thanks for the birthday wishes!
Beth Gallaway 2:05 AM
Sunday, February 16, 2003
I tried to write something fun about knee-deep Norm. Ended up with 263 melodramatic words about planting trees in the desert. Maybe this is why I have so few close friends.
Chris 11:17 PM
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