Time for some new shit.

In an old theatre full of loose armrests, hacking coughs, and sarcastic whispers; a small man with crayon yellow hair poured a deck of cards from one outstretched hand to another. The stage lights tried to follow as he fired jacks and aces out of the air into the laps of the crowd. He laughed amicably at the Ace of Deuces caught in a wrinkled ( Read more... )

The preceeding entry is an incredibly rough bit I've been working with. There's a lack of harmony with the names and there's an explaination due as to what the fuck might be going on. I posted it primarily because I thought that I had lost the document due to a technological malfunction, so I posted it on here so I would have a record severed of ( Read more... )

How About A Little Fire, Scarecrow ( Read more... )

I just reread all my old Roped stuff.
I'm hoping to write more soon, I'm kinda impressed with what I had written. Most of the time I'm very critical about old shit, but the core of this (maybe not the language, but the idea) is a good one.

I'm publishing a series of my notes. These were taken about three years ago. I'm trying to jump start in my own mind a new way of writing. I like the idea of Johnny Cash's published miss-steps and b sides in his Unearthed collection as well as some theoretical writers whose journals have been published year to year, full not only of their ( Read more... )

BACK WITH A BANG NOW!

or something of the like.

(The Mustached Man grabs the Narrator's arm at the wrist, the knife being held in his hand with the blade pointed up. He has his pistol against the Narrator's breastbone. The Narrator's expression is of being had dead-to-rights, the MM has a slightly charged look to him ( Read more... )

(Shot from just ahead of The Narrator as he opens the glass door of the record store and steps out, the mustached man inside at the counter paying for a copy of something which looks suspiciously like "Darkness On The Edge of Town" by Springsteen on vinyl from a punked-up sales girl)
Narrator: (voicebox) He's come here the past two days and taken ( Read more... )

(The Narrator looking through albums at a record store, wearing a dark green jacket, ripped jeans, and his scully cap. His left arm is in a sling, hidden in the folds of the cloth. He's holding up an album, but his gaze is over it, his eyes narrowed slightly.)
Narrator: (voicebox) Mr. Giatoni had always offered me more serious work.
Narrator: ( ( Read more... )