Saturday, August 20, 2011

Weird Scenes Inside the Dirgible

Working on a short story these past few weeks, and I came across this today:

Kind of exactly what I had in mind for the command center. Interesting.....

(((Then she was alone as the others faded into the background. Their outlines became watery, and the air around them turned to smoke. Her vision was hazy and the world had a soft floating rim to encompass it.
She was falling back into her own mind. Speeding fast at first, a dizzying venture that made the colors melt and ooze and melt and ooze.
Then she started to float slowly without a gradual adjustment from the breakneck speed. The vertigo this caused was excruciating and brilliant.
She hit the ground running.
“Where are you going bitch?!” she yelled at herself.
“I don’t fucking know! That way?” she answered, panting slightly from the free fall and the sprint.
Calculating her destination, she veered left and ran toward a 7 story tall computer type device that had cables and live wires spitting blueish flames in every direction.
The command center.)))

Tuesday, August 16, 2011


She looks unwell. Thin, cracked lips stretched tightly around naked gums. There are dentures somewhere. I bought them for her.
Hair uncombed. No makeup. Bags under her eyes the size of a carry-on.
Her shirt is old, the color a faded shade of what may have been pink 10 years ago. The stains are the prevalent theme today. And the holes.
No socks. No shoes.
She grimaces and her eyes well up with tears. Real or pre-fab I can’t tell. They would hurt me either way, and I suppose that’s the point.
She can’t get off the couch without help. When she does make it to her feet she is out of breath and sways in tiny circles, eyes shifting in and out of focus.
Her movements are slow and anguished. She gasps for breath and reaches for my arm to steady herself.
I loathe this person and love her.