October 08, 2006
Sunday55: The "Black Dog" EditionHaiku
One of my best friends sent me a virtual pep talk at 5:15 pm; he had no possible way of knowing that the words he borrowed from Winston Churchill to make his point were already on my mind. Reading his GMissive on my august, semi-blinged phone’s meager screen while parked in traffic at M St + Wisconsin Avenue in Georgetown reaffirmed my belief that nothing is accidental and that especially in my life, continental, oceanic and ironic plates clash together to create quaking moments which belong on celluloid. What are the odds? I get that email when I’m already pondering the British Bulldog, while “Black Dog” by Led Zeppelin blares through every straining speaker of this zippy red morsel of German perfection, which is mine for the evening? G-d is one hell of a director; I dig all the synchronicity.
Currently, I’m being haunted by the spectre of a black dog myself, as I reboot my entire life and go it alone, in every possible sense of the word. I desperately wish that I had just one pair of my venerable Docs with me in this cocoa city, to stomp through all the omnipresent ick with…alas, every set of bouncing soles lives with Moms, 3000 miles to the left. Incidentally, that picture you see above was taken the day I met Sepia Wizard Paul for the very first time, in North Beach, for a day of molesting Harry Potter (that was me), being confused by elderly Asian people (both of us) and mais oui, espresso at Greco (that SHOULD be everyone). I’m always a sentimental old bat, but I think tumult like this makes it even easier to conjure the past, as if to remind myself that this, too, shall pass, just like everything else has.
We haven’t held a festival for 55-word nanofiction in several weeks, so this Sunday, write about your black dogs, your love of fog, your fear of being a cog. Whatever floats your clove-smoking, black wet-n-wild nail polish-wearing, Gothic boat. If you’re not too black and blue to do so, that is…
anna on October 8, 2006 06:34 PM in Haiku · T·r·a·c·k·b·a·c·k address · Direct link · Email post
all tongue. hard unyielding sole. useless, uncomfortable shoes.
Anna, are you sending your novel(s) out to agents yet?
He grabbed a box of tissues as his computer booted up. I wonder what angry message my wifey left in the comments today, he said in sick anticipation. Delusional, he thought virtual harassment was allowed, just like the street harassers of sidewalk reality.
-Youve got mail!-
Fuck
It was a lawyer letter. Hed been served.
my brown doc martens
purchased in covent garden
a gift from my sis
excuse me?
A spaniel puppy came bounding out of the back seat of the SUV. It saw him on the street and ran towards him growling. He called to the owners, but they paid no attention. The puppy jumped up and bit right through the hem of his jacket. Next time, he vowed, I will drop kick.
Fuddled, you are excused. You may leave the room, now that you have finished your espresso. Please be careful of the black dog, red cog, and grey fog. Oh, and please extinguish your clove cigarette. Your doc martens are by the door, along with your copy of Harry Potter, and keys to your gothic boat.
Awesome, taz! That's great to hear.
Why not try to write something meaningful in 55 words to express what you feel instead of mocking people who haven't done a thing to you?
Sahej - how did I mock "fuddled"? Why do our 55's have to be "meaningful"?
SF has left me bruised, for a variety of reasons.
But last night...ah, last night was good therapy. A planned dinner for 6 at Colibri turned into Chutney takeout for 15 on my rooftop deck, with the mutinous likes of maisnon, brimful, bollyhoo, saheli, and various brown and non-brown friends (hmm..."Non-Brown Friends" could also be a good name for a band), plus assorted SF locals making cameos. It became a vain-but-valiant attempt to finish off my liquor so I can move back East unencumbered by booze...or a liver. It was hilarious, it was therapy. I woke up this morning at 11am, hungover, with a warm fuzzy feeling, possibly owing to falling asleep on a fleece jacket.
Y'all wuz missed.
I feel less black, and less blue, and definitely less black-and-blue. I've quit my job, I've sold my motorcycle (boo! but another will be acquired shortly, I'm sure), and I'm hopefully selling my car, too. It's cathartic, all this ridding of things. Unencumbering? Dehampering? Shrugging off the fuckin' monkey? Whatever.
I 'spect to do this sort of thing some more, East Coast style. 'kay? Ok.
Oh, and so I have the following 55:
Midnight comes and goes without notice. Tandoori chicken is getting cold in styrofoam containers on a picnic table from the Bay breeze. The girls are all hugging themselves, and I can tell they'll want to go inside soon. Tomorrow will start slow, gray, and hungover, but tonight is clear: kind farewells, without anyone saying goodbye.
What the hell? Shes depressed and thus crazy? Wheres the brown angle? I dont get it.
Oh, you werent around
For?
Every Friday. We used to write 55-word stories, based on a theme. Thats what shes talking about, except its Sunday. Sometimes, shes late.
But whats the desi connection?
Were all bitter at Jhumpa and Kaavya?
:+:
(My goodness, Mitali Perkins...you are too kind to me. And there were TYPOS in this one!!!)
(SJM, get your furry kundi back to the right coast, damnit. I do NOT drink alone.)
hahahahahahahaha!
On my way, darlin'. Just two more weeks, give or take a spell!
What's a furry kundi? I thought kundi=locking mechanism on a door.
kundi = buttocks
Hairy arse eh? LOL that's funny!
To you it's funny, to me it's my bread and butter.
Nair salesman,
I bet you can't understand what the fuss about China being a large market is about eh? India on the other hand...
Cereal Killer of the people depressed for weeks. He put on new clothes and dab Brut Cologne. "Good kill make you happy." He tell himself many times. He creep behind victim and make swift, efficient kill. But then he start sobbing with no control. He don't know why he cry. He think: "Is depression curable?"
Baby is a vampire
he feeds all night and sleeps all day
leaving us drained
I am a zombie
my metaphors were stolen
by sleep I haven't had
Who's selling Nairs ? They're people too you know ;)
driving in traffic
91 freeway sucks ass
am going to cry
Bruises on the Inside
Mr P unhappy with your services asked me to terminate your contract and asks that you cease any further attempts at contacting him.
WTF Rose, Im his girlfriend not a business associate.
Words are easy to misread and understand, and sometimes black and blue is how you feel on the inside. Smile, you never know whos watching.
The bats circled ominously over the Transylvanian fortress, the eternal darkness and rain periodically overwhelmed by heartstoppingly demonic lightning.
Glamorous gothic goddesses lined up with their Romanian passports, raven-haired, crimson-lipped; European expansion opening the borders to distant, unsuspecting England.
Well, if they all look like the lead singer of Evanescence, its all good, mused Jai.
for the new dad here's an old 55...true story I swear :P
The morning moments were best. He nuzzled against her chest, her arms wrapped protectively around him, his mouth engulfing her breast hungrily, as if for the first time, as if last night he hadnt devoured her just as hungrily.
His father meanwhile, grumpily watched him muttering softly, You just remember son. That was mine first.
The poet-king gazed wearily at his manuscripts, the flowing calligraphy decorating the pages with the outpourings of his soul. It was all he had left now.
The grandeur he had inherited meant little to him; the reality of his power already long usurped by the foreigners. How little Jehangir had suspected when he first granted them an audience.
*************************************************************************************
His title was a sham after the events of 57; a momentary glimpse of triumph snatched away all too quickly, like a smile from a beautiful woman that you never see again.
He shivered involuntarily in the monsoon rain of Rangoon. As the proverb said, Delhi was so very far away now.
Hello Anna:
Another great piece of writing! You need to write the next Great American Novel, if you haven't started already.
despite sleep deprivation, Amardeep manages to birth more fabulous writing ;)
My brother got these new suede couches, he starts grindin his big black boots in them.
"Why don't I stretch out a little? hahaha"
And he was staring us in the eye, grinding his big black boots in the couch
"fuck yo couch. fuck yo couch, buy another one you rich mothafucka"
hahaha @ FukYoCouch!
Best ever super short story
FukYoCouch,
that was pure genius! :) Hope there are many more works of couch-fukin literature out there for us to devour
I read it again and concur - that is genius. We have a real talent here.
Jai Singhaa, your 55s based on historic India are awesome...keep it up.
"A hundred yards ahead, by the next bend, were two donkeys. As she came away from the edge she looked ahead again and realized that the donkeys were dogs, black dogs of an unnatural size. They were without collars, without an owner. One of the dogs, slightly smaller than its mate, looked up and saw her."
Amma, some boy, some sleepy AMERICAN boy just answered the phone, she sternly uttered to her daughter who was 50 miles away furiously scribbling an illegible progress note into the patients chart.
EBL 500 cc
It was always 500 cc, she thought to herself while trying to invent an excuse to fend her off.
What mom?
Dank days descend deep on a two 'o clock awakening. The paucity of mythic wine through water dreams, even less spectacular stories to recount from the previous night's festivities. Sun lisped through the grey clouds, enfolded the carcass of a silver Camry limned with a proverbial golden lining: a parking ticket.
Street cleaning in Chicago.
Clusterfuckery. My inner optimist thinks this ickiness is the briefest of challenges, soon over my inner pessimist takes a pipe to her opponent.
Had I known it would be like this, I wouldve given in a long time ago; then someone wouldve been happy. Fighting and struggling through all that? For this? So not worth it.
Anna flower of hope - innocent and believing - mary magdalene
Sluts too have been divine - what's in a name - do not suffer
You are one that will retain your dignity
In the face of the coarseness of the world
Renew like trodden snow on the high alps - effortless
Toughness of the rind conceals the delicacy beneath
Mary Mag...um...WTF?! Who uses "sluts" in a Sunday55 comment thread?
Maybe you should excuse yourself and instead focus your supernatural e-powers on what new way Dan Brown will exploit your legacy for profit.
Mary's a bit soused, as can be expected - alright?
Amitabh,
Thanks man, greatly appreciated. You should have a go here too, y'know ;)
I find anna's post becoming more and more difficult to understand, its like shes the only one who gets whats going on. Or maybe im just stupid.
No, far from it. In fact, you're absolutely right about almost everything-- I mean, she's clearly mad at the moment. But you're wrong about the "it's like she's the only one who gets what's going on"-bit. She doesn't. Sad, really.
I'm Kaavya V, bitch!
Still funny though, yo.
lol... only if fuckyocouch is dave c
Personally, I like the mystery and opaqueness of ANNA's writing. And 55 fiction to follow, sometime, when I have more time....
Mist enveloped her as she struggled to control the tears, trying to project them on to the burning of her thighs. Up down, up down she went mechanically, looking in the mirror, hoping no one noticed, her fears magnifying to indiscriminate proportions her fears and threatening to overwhelm her for the umpteenth time that week.