I came home after the lady tonight and as I opened the mailbox and thought to myself, “Sonuvabitch, this woman never gets the mail when she gets here first.” I found a sheet with 2 clues. Boy am I an asshole, I thought after all was said and done.
Here’s some cool rules on writing fiction. I don’t believe in any hard rules. If it works with enough people that you’re getting paid for it, keep doing what you’re doing. I’m talking about, Twilight lady. (shivers…)
The assignment was to imagine the final moments on your deathbed:
I know you people. Your names are like good songs on the tongue. The doctor said… Well… I told the doctor to fuck himself. I been telling people that forever. People not in the room. Some in the dirt. Some sailing. Some looking into someone else’s eyes. I’ll tell you a trick. Anyone who says they know what you need is selling you a lie. All you ever need is a moment. In a storm, you need…
Your mothers and fathers were good. I maybe made them too hard. That’s why they cry at some movies. They only feel in the dark. They are blind and dumb in the heart. I always said I’d do it different than my old man. First thing I did was put his name on the boy. Like he did with me.
So. It’s very important you listen to me when I tell you to forget everything I ever told you. I’m the guy whose favorite song is from Hootie. I know you don’t know who that is. Was it great music? A lot of people hated them because a lot of people liked them. Do I remember the words?
Let her cry. Let the tears roll down her face. And if the sun comes up tomorrow…
I have an emo cousin who makes these beautiful photographs. You can see her latest one here.
I was so inspired that I made my own.
Rosa’s photo was so sad that it brought out my inner darkness and emotalia. I had to respond to my people. I am sad because my Dolphins lost again. Also, that sad face was made by my father as he flew from Cuba to Spain, away from Communism. Today is his birthday and his efforts to find freedom haunt my dreams. He drew the sad face with the dark blood from his cut up hands. Hands that worked the cane fields of Fidel. He handed it down to me and I shall hand it down to my own son, daughter, or favorite pet.
I’d like to give mad props to Chris N Chris productions. Christina Odin on the makeup and camera and Chris Turner on the photohoshopping. Good work, guys.
Lady at the elevator this morning, you have to push the button for the elevator to come. Just like when you’re at home with your vibrator, you PUSH the button. Even new cars have buttons in them. It’s a button world, lady. PUSH, don’t stare. To the rude lady who skipped 3 of us in line in the cafeteria (and I said cafeteria in Spanish), I hope you broke your ankle when you stepped off the curb. As you fell, I hope your three bags (purple, yellow, and orange) were hit by cars. But not you. I hope you and your broken ankle made it safely back to the sidewalk. Love ya! AND! SUPER AWESOME SHOUTOUT to the germophobe in the elevator who has to touch all buttons with the end of her sleeve. You always bring a smile to my lips and sometimes, I want to kiss you with my dirty mouth, just to show you that it’s ok, the world’s fine. We just need another planet for the stupid people. Mars Rover. What’s the deal over there? Hit me back.
I might actually spend money on an iphone app.
Eating dinner on the deck, trying to do some work. Now it’s dark and it smells like maybe rain, but it seems far off. I think the parrot from the rear neighbor’s tree is around. Or maybe I’m just hearing things.
We made sliced bread. We invented the internal combustion engine. We put a man on the moon. And now… the planet earth brings you… FLYING PENGUINS!