Spent the weekend in Largo with the fam helping them do some stuff at the place down there. Weather was great and I was with the people in my family I like most (mostly). I wish I was going down there this weekend again but I’ve got the dueling Thanksgivings to deal with: my own Hialeah Thanksgiving vs the White People Thanksgiving thrown by my girlfriend’s family.
Too much food at once. That’s for sure. If I don’t post again, may your day of overeating go well.
Here’s a mid week sketch dump. I need to get in the habit again of doing these on Sunday or Monday nights. But nobody’s watching or clamoring with desire, so hey, I only disappoint myself here. End of the year coming up and I’m pretty sure I’m on track to do 365+. Some of the sketches are colored versions of things I’ve inked but haven’t colored. Even if I’m off by a couple, I don’t care. Next year, the goal is to produce a comic book page per week with Chris. I need to bang out 52 pages of script between now and January 1st. But, for now, sketches. Regular ole sketches.
The following piece of flash fiction is based on the requirements mentioned here.
He found me at the bus stop, sun coming up behind a big old tree that’d been hit by lightning one too many times so it only had one long black dead branch that pointed west like it was a magic wand that made the sun come up on command. The chunk of rock was still in his windshield and he hung out the driver’s side window so he could see.
I stood up on the bus stop’s bench, barefoot, remembering and growing angry at the loss of my heels past the radius of a streetlight at 5 am while running from his car alarm. I pointed at him. “You…” I gritted my teeth and tasted the stale back there. I swayed a bit, then sat on the back of the bench. “Why are you here?” I came down off the back of the bench and I just lay there, looking at him sideways.
“You left your purse in my car.” He reached into the dark behind him and pulled out my purse, which he dropped with a frumpy noise to the street. Then he tossed out the bottle of Jack we’d had in his back seat. It didn’t smash. He looked me in the eyes. “I’m sure you’ve heard this a million times, but you were great on stage.” He roared off in his gas guzzler, the noise of the thing scattering crows into the sky. No other cars came and my shit was alone in the street. Below me, before the sidewalk started, in the dirt where the grass dared to venture no further, something pink tried to bloom in dusty limbo.
We wage the silent battle against Sheetrock and insulation.
Sent from my mobile device. Please excuse the auto-correct for any
strange writing.
A person named Scarlett inhabits THIS post.The assignment is to write a short piece (flash fiction) about some fictional event prior to this part of Scarlett’s life. Couple paragraphs or so should be fine. No words will be excluded for this assignment. However, I require the following words/phrases: magic wand, …and I just lay there…, rock, stage. These can be in dialogure or in a sentence or whatever.
Due Monday.
Long story short: I had to upgrade/rebuild my computer because of Vista 64 bit and because of hardware compatibility issues relating to Vista 64. So I guess it’s all Vista 64′s fault. I could go into detail, but I don’t want to put anyone to sleep at their desks. Death by banging your head on the keyboard… I don’t want to be responsible for that.
Sketches below, including one for an assignment. Enjoy.
I’ll be updating sketches, assignments, and stories of weekend computer hell later tonight. But first… a story about the violence that has claimed all corners of our kingdom.
22% battery left on the machine. Gunfire’s getting closer. Sunrise is finding its way under this bridge. They said Miami was the place to go to get away because the zombies couldn’t stand the scent of salt water. Everything’s a lie these days. I wanted to die there with you but my feet took me away. I swear I only knew where I was when I had wiped the last of the tears from my face. Ever cry so hard so long your eyes dehydrate and soon it’s salt scratching at the back of your lids against your retina? I only ever wanted to do that last tattoo on you, love. Ebony and Ivory in tangled in a rosebush. This is retarded. Like anyone’s going to read it. Like people check their email. Like there’s still someone working at hotmail. If a man screams as he dies in a dead city does he make a sound?
Two things I could count on in this life, baby: you and Fridays. Too bad you’re gone and it’s Tuesday.
The poetry assignment was to write in state of fear or insanity or both and to:
use: flower, grindhouse, sopa, five
and avoid: and, fear, insanity, both, raw
Neck Breaker
Stand with me
in this traffic grindhouse
pants legs fluttering like flags
saluting speeding cars
five, four, three, two, one
electric white walking man appears
cars still come like blood
in an artery
running to a wound
this bleeding street
the endplace of dreams
the birth of a paycheck
In the alleys
pigs are delivered for science
old ladies sell dying flowers
“Para tu muchacha!”
the hot dog stand’s
fat girl
has “pastelitos y sopa” too!
Castro invites us to poker
“Just 10 bucks!”
plus 2 tolls for 30 miles
to get to his place.
What are we doing for lunch?
What do you want?
Whatever I want?
Let’s ask Mike.
Mike doesn’t care.
Right now, though
we are in the street
the metal of mufflers
lilts along on smoke smell
cuts my morning lotto dreams
like a soda can’s opening
will cut your finger
sweet and red
and you just wanted
caffeine
a side mirror
just tapped my ass
we could take a step
into the stream
an accident.
Wait. Damn.
That girl.
Yeah, with the shades.
I wonder what color
her eyes are.
Get through it
come on
it’s Monday
Tuesday
Wednesday
Thursday
Friday
five
four
three
two
one
Boom.
