Overtime: The Floor, Fall Issue 2010
Overtime Fall 2010
Date: 2010/08/15 23:07 By: tqr Status: Admin
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[Rorschalk looks at his empty hand, wondering why the coin so rudely was taken from him and then why he was subjected to the ramblings of this strange little broker who's feeling Minnesota with Keanu Reeves obviously bullying his frontal lobe, which would be "chaneling" people, get with it, will you]
Boligard, get a holt of yerself. There are miles to go before we sleep. Hey, Did Dep ever come up from her pencil diving? Does she need an extra bottle of Oxygen? Get me some adrenaline stat! I'm going in!
[Rorschalk dives over Dep's empty chair and disappears into the depths below her vacant and darkly foreboding desktop]
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Re:Overtime Fall 2010
Date: 2010/08/17 06:44 By: doomey Status: Admin
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[doomey stands and watches DeP's desk, waiting for results, tapping his toe, anxious]
hey!
[nothing happens. he sits, frowns. after a few beats he grabs up a fresh cap from the corner of his cherrywood and rips into it, eyeing DeP's desk now and then]
the show must go on, i s'pose. ok. let's see. we got some cap from a mister peak. a mister tony peak. looks like...yes, we have two caps from mister tony peak.
[doomey pulls some items from the brown paper parcel and arranges them on his desktop. he places a silver medallion inscribed with intricate symbols and an old charred robe to one side, and a severed head to the other. his attentions are aimed at the head, surprise surprise. he sees the head has been bashed in and he discovers the brains are missing. inside the skull he can see something has been scratched into the bone. it reads: Genevieve was here]
hah.
[doomey looks from one cap to the other, and then he eyes DeP's desk]
hey!
[nothing. he looks back to the cap, gazing at the robe and medallion and then the severed head. he taps out a smoke, lights up. smoke fills the Floor...]
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Re:Overtime Fall 2010
Date: 2010/08/18 00:53 By: deplancher Status: Admin
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[DeP emerges from the dark space beneath her desk, a sharpened blue pencil behind each ear and a silver gloves on both hands, the fingers cut out to show her fingernails have been painted vavoom yellow and black. She takes a deep breath, then arranges herself at her desk, straightening the remaining cap. Lights a candle, then a gitane.]
Doomey? Remember when I asked if you'd ever consider getting your ears clipped? Non? Anyway...[She adjusts a miniature mannequin so that his blue spandex suit isn't cutting off the circulation to this groin.]
I think you could start a new life at a Star Trek convention. It's possible, isn't it?
Work at it, Ms. Karmazin, and it will come. Right now, I cannot believe in this reinvention of Eric, although he does have possibilities if he's able to see past life with hollow Colette.
[She sticks the fuming gitane between her lips, pushes back the chair and walks At the Star Trek Convention to the porthole where it falls like a meteor shower to the gathering deluge below.]
Au revoir, a bientot, peut-etre.
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Re:Overtime Fall 2010
Date: 2010/08/18 01:48 By: deplancher Status: Admin
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[On her way back to her desk, DeP flips Doomey a packet of licorice cigars. They are those rare kind, with the flecks of red candy dots on the end. He takes the box but says nothing. He is busy trying to meet the unmeetable deadline Theo has set. Something about a Home Stretch. DeP stops under the mirror ball, suddenly realizing that being crouched under her desk for so long has left her constricted and tense. She breathes in, breathes out. Stretching for Home. Or maybe it was Om.]
Babies don't need to stretch, do you know why? They haven't learned how to sustain a prolonged state of muscle spasm. They have no worries, at least the ones who are cared for don't. I can't think about the others.
[There's a rustling sound coming from her desk but DeP refuses to allow it to distract her from her down dog full spinal stretch. When she closes the pose, she is sure she hears a snicker from somewhere near the wardrobe.]
Jesus? Just get on with the dusting, d'accord? We all have our cross to bear.
[A gyrating little replica of the Buddha is doing some kind of hula dance on her desk. Do fog machines come this small? Rimbaud is pawing at a coin spinning in the centre of DeP's desk. She is grateful that she paused for some rest. It looks like somebody's pulling a fakie.]
What? You want a belly rub, little fat one?
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Re:Overtime Fall 2010
Date: 2010/08/18 03:16 By: deplancher Status: Admin
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[DeP limps over to the porthole. The little buddha guy has tripped her and she has had to collar him with one of Rimbaud's old bell collars. It is pink and accented with a few sparkly jewels. Buddha-faker resisted at first but he is co-operating now, having been given one of the licorice cigars.]
Ms Harrison's Have a Little Faith has taken the last train to quicksville via the porthole.
[Returning to her desk, DeP sees a letter addressed to her personally. Caps aside for a moment, personal mail...in writing...is rare and must be given its due respect.]
Dear Ms DePlanceree: I am a fifty-seven year old man, fat and lazy and...but, really, really tan.
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Re:Overtime Fall 2010
Date: 2010/08/19 06:07 By: doomey Status: Admin
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[doomey snickers]
DeP has a secret admirer, i see. nice, that.
[he stands and grabs up the two caps from his desktop and walks over to the tube. he flicks the switch, and the tube roars to life, whooooooooosh, pulling at his tie-tip. he tests the weight of each cap, the robe and medallion in his right palm, the severed head in his left. he gazes at the dead eyes that stare back at him from the bashed-in skull]
yo, poor alric. i'm nude, tim fellatio, a dude of intricate heft, of most excellent adventure. he bored me in the backside a few times too many for my tastes, and now...well, you know, there's the nightmares. thanks for the memories. my gorge rises at them.
[doomey stuffs the severed head up the tube and it's sucked upward]
i do declare, Tony Peak's Food For Thought has been Terminaled. however...
[he saunters over to the Porthole]
...Tony's The Wizards Too Many...
[doomey tosses the robe and the medallion out the tiny window]
...has been Portholed. now farts a noble arse. goodnight, sweet prince. and flocks of geese honk you to thighs grease.
[doomey gazes after the flitting, flapping robe as it rises, rises, rises into the storm]
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Re:Overtime Fall 2010
Date: 2010/08/19 06:46 By: doomey Status: Admin
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[doomey rips into a fresh parcel of cap. out falls a digital voice recorder. he picks it up, looks it over. he hits a button and a pre-recorded message sounds. a weedy, female voice, like someone who has just hustled up a flight of steps]
you wouldn't believe what i've found out - but it sounds so fantastic i could not pay any attention to it.
[doomey hits a button and the voice is silenced]
huh?
[he scratches at his neck, scratches just under his shirt collar. he pushes a button on the recorder. a different voice this time. deeper, more confident, but with a slight lisp. perhaps a gay lawyer type voice, like say a lawyer was speaking to the jury, right? but he was gay. oh no. i'm starting to sound like bradlee]
the nanobot technique was supposed to help the planet's human inhabitants absorb its toxic atmosphere and enable them to breathe freely, but it did only up to a point. it worked fairly well in the beginning, though even then some people had to be sent back immediately, before they die as soon as they landed.
[doomey fast forwards the message]
after the first year of their stay, people started getting sick, then die, in large numbers.
doomey hits a button, the recorder goes die. doomey scratches his scalp. then he scratches neck again. then he digs into his shirt and scratches as far down his back as he can reach]
fuck me. nanobots.
[doomey grabs the digital recorder and rushes to the Porthole]
ok. fuck. Tala Bar's Opal Magic is hereby Portholed, sister. damn her eyes.
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Re:Overtime Fall 2010
Date: 2010/08/19 21:53 By: deplancher Status: Admin
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[DeP smiles. She doesn't particularly want to read the letter but the letter has presented itself so she reads the fat man's words, skimming quickly in an effort to discover the point of this personal note from a stranger.]
You and that gay dude, Doomye, have a big responsibility to the world but I don't know if you could say that you take things as seriously as your positions suspend you to do.
With all dew respect, Ms. Duplancee, you and your smart dirt mouth friend are a bit of a disgrace now, are'nt you? As a man of words (and ultimate tannibility, ha ha) I feel it my duly to afford you this information. I hop you don't mind or are insulted by my fortituate as I do see you and Mr. Boligart as the nevough in editorship. You and that TQR. You are all the futur.
I just want you to be the best you can be, if you hear the tune to that song, ha ha..
[DeP stops reading a minute. Her freshly lacquered lips twitch slightly. She is bemused by this innocent, well-intentioned gnat, though tempted to correct the errors in his missive with a red pen and return it for revision.]
Doomey? We've got mail. [she refolds the letter without reading the rest, feeling she's got the overall intent of the thing.] If you want to read it, it'll be on my desk.
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Re:Overtime Fall 2010
Date: 2010/08/19 22:07 By: deplancher Status: Admin
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[DeP opens the box labeled Lionel. Mick Jagger's voice is in there, down deep and hollow, but she can still make out the words...well, I followed her to the station, he drawls from somewhere under a culvert. Or maybe a trestle.]
Woo-whoooo! This Monsieur Holland knows somehow that I cannot resist the sound of a train whistle, of the train in the distance, rolling up the track, going a-clackety clackety clak.
This Mercury ain't got no blues, Doomey-san. Look out mama...I mean, Terminali. Monsieur Holland's Opus...I mean, Mercury, is rising up. [under her breath, she whispers in a husky voice: all aboard! but her voice is lost in the long whistle of the northbound train as she rolls the cap up neatly and waits for it to be sucked into the realms above.]
I feel good, mon ami. Let's have a little break before midnight, d'accord? I'll get the glasses. You get your medicine, Dr. Doomey. You get your medicine.
[she reaches for a gitane, a hand emerges from the darkness near the wardrobe, lighting it with s single, yellow flame.]
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Re:Overtime Fall 2010
Date: 2010/08/20 09:20 By: tqr Status: Admin
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C'mon baby, lick my fire...
[so says Rorschalk extending hi Zippo for Dep's inhalation, then striding out from behind the wardrobe, shaking mothballs from his blue dreds, reaking of sea salt and vinegar]
Ha. You thought you'd leave me down there in your hollow. Well. Think again, sister. What's the buzz about senor Holland's Opus? Richard Dreyfuss deserves no such fuss, eh? But let us not talk of country matters, noncle. What was I saying? Oh yes. I have been to the deeps. You think Gandalf the grey turned white in a day? Nay! You see, time and tide are different entities and in different locales. Once upon a time we had a cap that illustrated that beautifully. A young girl stuck on the event horizon of some singularity who needed to find fare to get the hell off. I wish I remembered her name... You two brigands are obviously stuck on the slow side of town. I must away to the other side of the tracks to make sure nothing untoward affects the outcome of the things that are yet to come. Good day!
[With that, Rorschalk opens the wardrobe and disappears inside. The wooden contraption shudders and shakes, but then is still as Deplancher makes love to her gitane and ponders]
Re:Overtime Fall 2010
Date: 2010/08/21 09:00 By: doomey Status: Admin
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[doomey walks over to DeP's desk. he picks up the letter lying there and reads silently to himself, his lips moving, his eyes squinting, his brow furrowing. after a few minutes he puts the letter down]
this is from fucking bradlee, isn't it. goddamn his eyes.
[he saunters back to his desk]
not like i didn't mean to make an enemy, but...
[he sits squeakily, taps out a smoke, lights up]
well, it sounds like brad's a fan, eh? he likes us? not sure how that settles with me. did you respond? did you send him flowers? what are you up to, DeP? what's bradlee up to? hm. the mysteries that hover about on the Floor are legion. like, how many fucking secret entrances does theo have in here? he's sliding from the ceiling down a pole one instant, swinging in from the wings on a rope the next. he's in the wardrobe, he's in a desk drawer. what's next, i wonder? he'll rise from the tiles? he'll just appear? poof?
DeP, what the hell are you doing to that poor cigarette?
[doomey shakes his head, leans forward, grabs some fresh cap]
best i get back to work, i s'pose. theo wants to rush us, eh? well, i say fuck that, sister. rush me. not gonna happen, butch. i figure, the longer i take, the longer the Floor stays open, the less time i'll have to find other places to sleep, eh? not that i sleep much these days. worries, DeP. i's gots worries, friend. cement shoes just my size, that's worry numero uno, eh? i'm gonna have a fucking tuna as a bedmate, eh? i need goodstuff. right now my money's on Miller, but what the fuck do i know, eh? i'm just a broker. i do the best i can with what's sent me, eh? it's outta my hands, DeP. we have no control over this, and that damn cat upstairs is gonna rip me a new one for sending him that Sykora cap, i just know it. but i was desperate, you know? like when you first start the quarter and you're wading through the slush, right? and your thinking, shit, man, so far no goodstuff, i need goodstuff or my clients are gonna tie my tongue to my balls and throw me overboard, right? so you figure you better find something quick so your thinking becomes askewed, DeP. it becomes warped and wrong, you know what i'm saying? so we Terminal a cap that maybe shouldn't have been Terminaled, you know? and then you get all worried, thinking oh shit i talked bad about a VCs cap and now they're gonna hunt me down and cut out my liver, as if they can hear what i'm saying in here? hah! what? they have bugs in here? jesus is a double-agent? nah. we're buried on the second page. nobody's listening in on us? but you can see now, eh, DeP? i got worries galore. i worry too much.
[he reaches in a drawer, pulls out a bottle of amber and pours himself a tumbler-full. he takes a few sips. the booze seems to balance him somewhat, puts some color in his cheeks]
worries.
[he sits and stares into space. a minute passes. bukowski's ghost walks past, farting with each ghostly footfall. doomey slaps his desktop]
back to work. baby needs some new shoes.
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Re:Overtime Fall 2010
Date: 2010/08/21 10:12 By: doomey Status: Admin
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[doomey rips into the fresh cap]
let's see here.
[sand dumps onto doomey's desktop with a hiss. doomey's already spitting, trying to keep the stuff out of his mouth, squinting his eyes against the grainy wash. it keeps pouring out of the parcel, much more sand than the parcel could possibly hold. he has his arms straight out in front of him, holding the torn open parcel over the desktop as far from him as he can get it, and the sand just keeps dumping onto his desk, making a pile and broadening out, running over the edges, the hiss becoming a roar. as the sand tumbles to the tiles, a dust cloud arises, obscuring the Floor from sight]
holy fucking hell. Jesus Christ! get the dustbuster! stat!
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Re:Overtime Fall 2010
Date: 2010/08/23 06:28 By: doomey Status: Admin
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[the dust clears. where doomey's desk usually sits is a huge pile of sand. it's a sand dune, really. with the little waves caused by the winds. pristine, noble...ah, but wait. see? all good things come an end. near the tip of the sand dune a human hand jets forth, holding a white flag, waving it as only the truly vanquished can. a muffled voice can be heard coming from within the sand dune]
i hereby proclaim Kirsten Davis's When the Sandstorms Pass Terminaled. god save the queen.
[the hand keeps waving the flag, back and forth, and then, like a toy robot, it seems to wind down until it droops, a wilted flower. the flag drops to the sand, slides down the dune, ruining the flow of the wavlets. the hand grabs a handful of sand and thows it aside. it grabs another and throws it aside. then the hand wavers, looking the part of a panting, weary dog. this goes on for a minute or so. the muted voice can be heard again]
help.
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Re:Overtime Fall 2010
Date: 2010/08/23 14:51 By: deplancher Status: Admin
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[the fool moon has listed behind some clouds, prompting DeP to stray away from the window where she's been standing and smoking for some time. She schleps back to her desk, though she does not sit in the chair. Instead, she lifts the hem of her cloak...it's cold in here...and hops with ease onto the corner of her desk where she fingers some cut out dolls, laying out a selection of cut-out clothes in a row just above them.]
Oh look at this one! Embroidery and feathers with red satin shoes. This I could make for your girlfriend, Doomey. [she turns to locate Doomey who appears lost in the suspense of his latest cap]
Too bourgeois? Too coquettish? Too what's-for-dinner Bernadettish? Too slutty maybe, this one?
[DeP selects attire for each of the five cut-out dolls clad in varied colours of undergarments, all smiling with clean, even teeth. Except for the raven-haired one, whose smile is that of a deviant. Or a suspect.]
Dark eyed girls are always planning something, Doomey.
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Re:Overtime Fall 2010
Date: 2010/08/23 16:33 By: doomey Status: Admin
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[doomey stands, sweeps the front of his suit coat with his palms, knocking the last of the sand to the floorboards. he taps out a smoke, lights up. he walks to mid-Floor, the colored tiles under his shoes lighting up in their particular hues as he steps on them and snuffing out as he steps off]
you know, DeP...
[he looks down at his feet. he steps backwards, watching in awe as the tiles light up and darken]
hey, man. these glass tiles did not fucking do that before.
[he walks around the Floor, making patterns. he tries to moonwalk, fails staggeringly. what's he doing now? is he trying to mimic the billy jean video? how imbarrassing for him. he does so not have skills, let me tell you. oh, god, he just grabbed his crotch. this is hard to watch. close my eyes, give it a minute..and, yes, he's given up the mike jackson impersonation. phew. he's standing at the edge of DeP's desk]
you know, DeP. you're the only woman in my life. not saying i haven't tried. it's just that the Queen's Rump does not attract the sort of women that...who am i kidding. the Queen's Rump does not attract any women. the only people that go there are from the office, the TQR office. am i right?...huh. that's weird. never really thought about it before, but, i swear i've never seen a stranger in the Rump. hm. i did once watch a film called Stranger in the Rump, but that's like a totally different sort of thing. no, but, hey, DeP, come on, i mean, you know? my last girlfriend's cooking was like a good man. hard to keep down. my last girlfriend was like a greek statue. beautiful but not all there, you know? i told my last girlfriend that i'd go to the ends of the world for her and she said yeah, but would you stay there. my last girlfriend called me and told me to come over, told me there was nobody home. so i went over. there was nobody home! my last girlfriend was so ugly that when she was at work, she worked at a pet store, customers kept asking how big she would get. my last girlfriend's teeth were like stars. ah, the memories. her teeth would come out every night...so you can see why i avoid jumping back into a relationship, eh, DeP? i mean, it's real tough for a guy to find a great girlfriend. they're like parking spaces. all the best ones are taken and the ones available are handicapped.
[doomey looks down at the paper dolls DeP is fussing with]
DeP...
[he looks her in the eyes, she looks up, there's an awkward moment, like maybe DeP is afraid doomey is going to kiss her, or maybe she wants him to kiss her but she doesn't, at the same time, right? you guys know what i'm talking about? like when there's a cliff at your toes and you want to jump...but you don't want to jump? or, like, when there's a tar pit in your way and you want to save time by not going around it, diving in and swimming across, but you don't want to? or, okay, let's say you're at a nude beach...]
DeP, who fucked with the tiles, sister? i mean, what the fuck, eh?
[eck. anyway, doomey goes back to his desk, grabs up the latest cap, blah, blah, blah. so on and so on, ad infintum]
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Re:Overtime Fall 2010
Date: 2010/08/25 06:44 By: doomey Status: Admin
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[doomey unwraps the latest cap. a hardback copy of kafka's penal colony and an old beat up copy of A Christmas Carol, their pages interwoven, the book covers bent back as they crowd each other, making the duo look like a beast with two backs, or some crass 2D diorama of kansas after a tornado. doomey tries to pull the two books apart, his efforts wasted. try and pull two phonebooks apart after their pages have been interlaced. try it. impossible. doomey gives up, and he lets the book beast drop to his desktop. he pokes at it, knuding it along the cherrywood, and he begins to hum a tune, a john phillip sousa tune by the tempre of it. he stands and walks the cap over to the tube. he flicks the switch, whooooooooooooooooooooosh, and he sends the cap upward]
gordon sharp's the recidivist has been Terminaled, folks. that's right. write it down. word.
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Re:Overtime Fall 2010
Date: 2010/08/26 06:32 By: doomey Status: Admin
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[doomey pulls out a half empty bottle of amber and he pours a couple tumbler-fulls. he taps out a smoke, lights up, grabs a tumbler and leans back in his chair. the corner of his cherrywood is empty of cap]
well, DeP. that does it for me. seems the fat lady has sang and she's exited stage left and she's taken off her bra and gone home to beat the wife-husband. here's to hoping i don't end up at the bottom of the lake, eh?
[he lifts his glass and then he downs the amber in one gulp]
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Re:Overtime Fall 2010
Date: 2010/08/26 16:33 By: deplancher Status: Admin
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[DeP has been staring at the wall across the room. Doomey's revelations about hard-hearted women weigh heavy. Is she, DeP, a hard-hearted, mean woman she wonders? She thinks of holding Doomey like a mother but she is not his mother. She is...his dancing partner. They share these steps inside these walls where no one..wait! where EVERYone can see them. They are like exotic fish, swimming round and round and round until the waves they create for themselves become too much and they sink, spent to the bottom of the bowl to rest on the shiny green stones, on the illuminated tiles that stablize the Floor under the watchful eye of the omniscient Mirror Ball.]
Is it safe? [she squeezes her eyes tightly closed. all this staring has given rise to a nasty little aching in the back of her neck. She needs a massage. Or a tablet of some kind.]
I can't seem to dress these dolls so that they don't look grotesque. Look. [she holds one up to the light. It's all frilly and white but there's something misaligned about the face. DeP sets it down, careful to place it at a distance from Rimbaud, who is asleep in his basket.]
Ms. Povey's Witch has gone sailing. The dolls will find new fabric in the deluge. [she drops the dolls one by one from the ledge of the porthole and watches them as they float silently down.]
Do you think that old lady's bra would make a good hanging apple holder? I feel like apples.
And Doomey? I'm glad you're the one I share this space with. For what it's worth, I really hope those guys, your clients I mean, don't put your legs in cement and through you into the river.
Je vous manquerais, mon ami. Je vous manquerais.
[she rubs her neck, then moves to sit on the edge of Doomey's desk where he hands her a small tumbler. They sit in silence, smoking, sipping, and pondering the fate of the caps that have risen and those that have been set free.]
Date: 2010/08/15 23:07 By: tqr Status: Admin
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[Rorschalk looks at his empty hand, wondering why the coin so rudely was taken from him and then why he was subjected to the ramblings of this strange little broker who's feeling Minnesota with Keanu Reeves obviously bullying his frontal lobe, which would be "chaneling" people, get with it, will you]
Boligard, get a holt of yerself. There are miles to go before we sleep. Hey, Did Dep ever come up from her pencil diving? Does she need an extra bottle of Oxygen? Get me some adrenaline stat! I'm going in!
[Rorschalk dives over Dep's empty chair and disappears into the depths below her vacant and darkly foreboding desktop]
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Re:Overtime Fall 2010
Date: 2010/08/17 06:44 By: doomey Status: Admin
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[doomey stands and watches DeP's desk, waiting for results, tapping his toe, anxious]
hey!
[nothing happens. he sits, frowns. after a few beats he grabs up a fresh cap from the corner of his cherrywood and rips into it, eyeing DeP's desk now and then]
the show must go on, i s'pose. ok. let's see. we got some cap from a mister peak. a mister tony peak. looks like...yes, we have two caps from mister tony peak.
[doomey pulls some items from the brown paper parcel and arranges them on his desktop. he places a silver medallion inscribed with intricate symbols and an old charred robe to one side, and a severed head to the other. his attentions are aimed at the head, surprise surprise. he sees the head has been bashed in and he discovers the brains are missing. inside the skull he can see something has been scratched into the bone. it reads: Genevieve was here]
hah.
[doomey looks from one cap to the other, and then he eyes DeP's desk]
hey!
[nothing. he looks back to the cap, gazing at the robe and medallion and then the severed head. he taps out a smoke, lights up. smoke fills the Floor...]
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Re:Overtime Fall 2010
Date: 2010/08/18 00:53 By: deplancher Status: Admin
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[DeP emerges from the dark space beneath her desk, a sharpened blue pencil behind each ear and a silver gloves on both hands, the fingers cut out to show her fingernails have been painted vavoom yellow and black. She takes a deep breath, then arranges herself at her desk, straightening the remaining cap. Lights a candle, then a gitane.]
Doomey? Remember when I asked if you'd ever consider getting your ears clipped? Non? Anyway...[She adjusts a miniature mannequin so that his blue spandex suit isn't cutting off the circulation to this groin.]
I think you could start a new life at a Star Trek convention. It's possible, isn't it?
Work at it, Ms. Karmazin, and it will come. Right now, I cannot believe in this reinvention of Eric, although he does have possibilities if he's able to see past life with hollow Colette.
[She sticks the fuming gitane between her lips, pushes back the chair and walks At the Star Trek Convention to the porthole where it falls like a meteor shower to the gathering deluge below.]
Au revoir, a bientot, peut-etre.
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Re:Overtime Fall 2010
Date: 2010/08/18 01:48 By: deplancher Status: Admin
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[On her way back to her desk, DeP flips Doomey a packet of licorice cigars. They are those rare kind, with the flecks of red candy dots on the end. He takes the box but says nothing. He is busy trying to meet the unmeetable deadline Theo has set. Something about a Home Stretch. DeP stops under the mirror ball, suddenly realizing that being crouched under her desk for so long has left her constricted and tense. She breathes in, breathes out. Stretching for Home. Or maybe it was Om.]
Babies don't need to stretch, do you know why? They haven't learned how to sustain a prolonged state of muscle spasm. They have no worries, at least the ones who are cared for don't. I can't think about the others.
[There's a rustling sound coming from her desk but DeP refuses to allow it to distract her from her down dog full spinal stretch. When she closes the pose, she is sure she hears a snicker from somewhere near the wardrobe.]
Jesus? Just get on with the dusting, d'accord? We all have our cross to bear.
[A gyrating little replica of the Buddha is doing some kind of hula dance on her desk. Do fog machines come this small? Rimbaud is pawing at a coin spinning in the centre of DeP's desk. She is grateful that she paused for some rest. It looks like somebody's pulling a fakie.]
What? You want a belly rub, little fat one?
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Re:Overtime Fall 2010
Date: 2010/08/18 03:16 By: deplancher Status: Admin
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[DeP limps over to the porthole. The little buddha guy has tripped her and she has had to collar him with one of Rimbaud's old bell collars. It is pink and accented with a few sparkly jewels. Buddha-faker resisted at first but he is co-operating now, having been given one of the licorice cigars.]
Ms Harrison's Have a Little Faith has taken the last train to quicksville via the porthole.
[Returning to her desk, DeP sees a letter addressed to her personally. Caps aside for a moment, personal mail...in writing...is rare and must be given its due respect.]
Dear Ms DePlanceree: I am a fifty-seven year old man, fat and lazy and...but, really, really tan.
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Re:Overtime Fall 2010
Date: 2010/08/19 06:07 By: doomey Status: Admin
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[doomey snickers]
DeP has a secret admirer, i see. nice, that.
[he stands and grabs up the two caps from his desktop and walks over to the tube. he flicks the switch, and the tube roars to life, whooooooooosh, pulling at his tie-tip. he tests the weight of each cap, the robe and medallion in his right palm, the severed head in his left. he gazes at the dead eyes that stare back at him from the bashed-in skull]
yo, poor alric. i'm nude, tim fellatio, a dude of intricate heft, of most excellent adventure. he bored me in the backside a few times too many for my tastes, and now...well, you know, there's the nightmares. thanks for the memories. my gorge rises at them.
[doomey stuffs the severed head up the tube and it's sucked upward]
i do declare, Tony Peak's Food For Thought has been Terminaled. however...
[he saunters over to the Porthole]
...Tony's The Wizards Too Many...
[doomey tosses the robe and the medallion out the tiny window]
...has been Portholed. now farts a noble arse. goodnight, sweet prince. and flocks of geese honk you to thighs grease.
[doomey gazes after the flitting, flapping robe as it rises, rises, rises into the storm]
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Re:Overtime Fall 2010
Date: 2010/08/19 06:46 By: doomey Status: Admin
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[doomey rips into a fresh parcel of cap. out falls a digital voice recorder. he picks it up, looks it over. he hits a button and a pre-recorded message sounds. a weedy, female voice, like someone who has just hustled up a flight of steps]
you wouldn't believe what i've found out - but it sounds so fantastic i could not pay any attention to it.
[doomey hits a button and the voice is silenced]
huh?
[he scratches at his neck, scratches just under his shirt collar. he pushes a button on the recorder. a different voice this time. deeper, more confident, but with a slight lisp. perhaps a gay lawyer type voice, like say a lawyer was speaking to the jury, right? but he was gay. oh no. i'm starting to sound like bradlee]
the nanobot technique was supposed to help the planet's human inhabitants absorb its toxic atmosphere and enable them to breathe freely, but it did only up to a point. it worked fairly well in the beginning, though even then some people had to be sent back immediately, before they die as soon as they landed.
[doomey fast forwards the message]
after the first year of their stay, people started getting sick, then die, in large numbers.
doomey hits a button, the recorder goes die. doomey scratches his scalp. then he scratches neck again. then he digs into his shirt and scratches as far down his back as he can reach]
fuck me. nanobots.
[doomey grabs the digital recorder and rushes to the Porthole]
ok. fuck. Tala Bar's Opal Magic is hereby Portholed, sister. damn her eyes.
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Re:Overtime Fall 2010
Date: 2010/08/19 21:53 By: deplancher Status: Admin
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[DeP smiles. She doesn't particularly want to read the letter but the letter has presented itself so she reads the fat man's words, skimming quickly in an effort to discover the point of this personal note from a stranger.]
You and that gay dude, Doomye, have a big responsibility to the world but I don't know if you could say that you take things as seriously as your positions suspend you to do.
With all dew respect, Ms. Duplancee, you and your smart dirt mouth friend are a bit of a disgrace now, are'nt you? As a man of words (and ultimate tannibility, ha ha) I feel it my duly to afford you this information. I hop you don't mind or are insulted by my fortituate as I do see you and Mr. Boligart as the nevough in editorship. You and that TQR. You are all the futur.
I just want you to be the best you can be, if you hear the tune to that song, ha ha..
[DeP stops reading a minute. Her freshly lacquered lips twitch slightly. She is bemused by this innocent, well-intentioned gnat, though tempted to correct the errors in his missive with a red pen and return it for revision.]
Doomey? We've got mail. [she refolds the letter without reading the rest, feeling she's got the overall intent of the thing.] If you want to read it, it'll be on my desk.
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Re:Overtime Fall 2010
Date: 2010/08/19 22:07 By: deplancher Status: Admin
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[DeP opens the box labeled Lionel. Mick Jagger's voice is in there, down deep and hollow, but she can still make out the words...well, I followed her to the station, he drawls from somewhere under a culvert. Or maybe a trestle.]
Woo-whoooo! This Monsieur Holland knows somehow that I cannot resist the sound of a train whistle, of the train in the distance, rolling up the track, going a-clackety clackety clak.
This Mercury ain't got no blues, Doomey-san. Look out mama...I mean, Terminali. Monsieur Holland's Opus...I mean, Mercury, is rising up. [under her breath, she whispers in a husky voice: all aboard! but her voice is lost in the long whistle of the northbound train as she rolls the cap up neatly and waits for it to be sucked into the realms above.]
I feel good, mon ami. Let's have a little break before midnight, d'accord? I'll get the glasses. You get your medicine, Dr. Doomey. You get your medicine.
[she reaches for a gitane, a hand emerges from the darkness near the wardrobe, lighting it with s single, yellow flame.]
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Re:Overtime Fall 2010
Date: 2010/08/20 09:20 By: tqr Status: Admin
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C'mon baby, lick my fire...
[so says Rorschalk extending hi Zippo for Dep's inhalation, then striding out from behind the wardrobe, shaking mothballs from his blue dreds, reaking of sea salt and vinegar]
Ha. You thought you'd leave me down there in your hollow. Well. Think again, sister. What's the buzz about senor Holland's Opus? Richard Dreyfuss deserves no such fuss, eh? But let us not talk of country matters, noncle. What was I saying? Oh yes. I have been to the deeps. You think Gandalf the grey turned white in a day? Nay! You see, time and tide are different entities and in different locales. Once upon a time we had a cap that illustrated that beautifully. A young girl stuck on the event horizon of some singularity who needed to find fare to get the hell off. I wish I remembered her name... You two brigands are obviously stuck on the slow side of town. I must away to the other side of the tracks to make sure nothing untoward affects the outcome of the things that are yet to come. Good day!
[With that, Rorschalk opens the wardrobe and disappears inside. The wooden contraption shudders and shakes, but then is still as Deplancher makes love to her gitane and ponders]
Re:Overtime Fall 2010
Date: 2010/08/21 09:00 By: doomey Status: Admin
Karma: -1760
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[doomey walks over to DeP's desk. he picks up the letter lying there and reads silently to himself, his lips moving, his eyes squinting, his brow furrowing. after a few minutes he puts the letter down]
this is from fucking bradlee, isn't it. goddamn his eyes.
[he saunters back to his desk]
not like i didn't mean to make an enemy, but...
[he sits squeakily, taps out a smoke, lights up]
well, it sounds like brad's a fan, eh? he likes us? not sure how that settles with me. did you respond? did you send him flowers? what are you up to, DeP? what's bradlee up to? hm. the mysteries that hover about on the Floor are legion. like, how many fucking secret entrances does theo have in here? he's sliding from the ceiling down a pole one instant, swinging in from the wings on a rope the next. he's in the wardrobe, he's in a desk drawer. what's next, i wonder? he'll rise from the tiles? he'll just appear? poof?
DeP, what the hell are you doing to that poor cigarette?
[doomey shakes his head, leans forward, grabs some fresh cap]
best i get back to work, i s'pose. theo wants to rush us, eh? well, i say fuck that, sister. rush me. not gonna happen, butch. i figure, the longer i take, the longer the Floor stays open, the less time i'll have to find other places to sleep, eh? not that i sleep much these days. worries, DeP. i's gots worries, friend. cement shoes just my size, that's worry numero uno, eh? i'm gonna have a fucking tuna as a bedmate, eh? i need goodstuff. right now my money's on Miller, but what the fuck do i know, eh? i'm just a broker. i do the best i can with what's sent me, eh? it's outta my hands, DeP. we have no control over this, and that damn cat upstairs is gonna rip me a new one for sending him that Sykora cap, i just know it. but i was desperate, you know? like when you first start the quarter and you're wading through the slush, right? and your thinking, shit, man, so far no goodstuff, i need goodstuff or my clients are gonna tie my tongue to my balls and throw me overboard, right? so you figure you better find something quick so your thinking becomes askewed, DeP. it becomes warped and wrong, you know what i'm saying? so we Terminal a cap that maybe shouldn't have been Terminaled, you know? and then you get all worried, thinking oh shit i talked bad about a VCs cap and now they're gonna hunt me down and cut out my liver, as if they can hear what i'm saying in here? hah! what? they have bugs in here? jesus is a double-agent? nah. we're buried on the second page. nobody's listening in on us? but you can see now, eh, DeP? i got worries galore. i worry too much.
[he reaches in a drawer, pulls out a bottle of amber and pours himself a tumbler-full. he takes a few sips. the booze seems to balance him somewhat, puts some color in his cheeks]
worries.
[he sits and stares into space. a minute passes. bukowski's ghost walks past, farting with each ghostly footfall. doomey slaps his desktop]
back to work. baby needs some new shoes.
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Re:Overtime Fall 2010
Date: 2010/08/21 10:12 By: doomey Status: Admin
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[doomey rips into the fresh cap]
let's see here.
[sand dumps onto doomey's desktop with a hiss. doomey's already spitting, trying to keep the stuff out of his mouth, squinting his eyes against the grainy wash. it keeps pouring out of the parcel, much more sand than the parcel could possibly hold. he has his arms straight out in front of him, holding the torn open parcel over the desktop as far from him as he can get it, and the sand just keeps dumping onto his desk, making a pile and broadening out, running over the edges, the hiss becoming a roar. as the sand tumbles to the tiles, a dust cloud arises, obscuring the Floor from sight]
holy fucking hell. Jesus Christ! get the dustbuster! stat!
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Re:Overtime Fall 2010
Date: 2010/08/23 06:28 By: doomey Status: Admin
Karma: -1760
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[the dust clears. where doomey's desk usually sits is a huge pile of sand. it's a sand dune, really. with the little waves caused by the winds. pristine, noble...ah, but wait. see? all good things come an end. near the tip of the sand dune a human hand jets forth, holding a white flag, waving it as only the truly vanquished can. a muffled voice can be heard coming from within the sand dune]
i hereby proclaim Kirsten Davis's When the Sandstorms Pass Terminaled. god save the queen.
[the hand keeps waving the flag, back and forth, and then, like a toy robot, it seems to wind down until it droops, a wilted flower. the flag drops to the sand, slides down the dune, ruining the flow of the wavlets. the hand grabs a handful of sand and thows it aside. it grabs another and throws it aside. then the hand wavers, looking the part of a panting, weary dog. this goes on for a minute or so. the muted voice can be heard again]
help.
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Re:Overtime Fall 2010
Date: 2010/08/23 14:51 By: deplancher Status: Admin
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[the fool moon has listed behind some clouds, prompting DeP to stray away from the window where she's been standing and smoking for some time. She schleps back to her desk, though she does not sit in the chair. Instead, she lifts the hem of her cloak...it's cold in here...and hops with ease onto the corner of her desk where she fingers some cut out dolls, laying out a selection of cut-out clothes in a row just above them.]
Oh look at this one! Embroidery and feathers with red satin shoes. This I could make for your girlfriend, Doomey. [she turns to locate Doomey who appears lost in the suspense of his latest cap]
Too bourgeois? Too coquettish? Too what's-for-dinner Bernadettish? Too slutty maybe, this one?
[DeP selects attire for each of the five cut-out dolls clad in varied colours of undergarments, all smiling with clean, even teeth. Except for the raven-haired one, whose smile is that of a deviant. Or a suspect.]
Dark eyed girls are always planning something, Doomey.
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Re:Overtime Fall 2010
Date: 2010/08/23 16:33 By: doomey Status: Admin
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[doomey stands, sweeps the front of his suit coat with his palms, knocking the last of the sand to the floorboards. he taps out a smoke, lights up. he walks to mid-Floor, the colored tiles under his shoes lighting up in their particular hues as he steps on them and snuffing out as he steps off]
you know, DeP...
[he looks down at his feet. he steps backwards, watching in awe as the tiles light up and darken]
hey, man. these glass tiles did not fucking do that before.
[he walks around the Floor, making patterns. he tries to moonwalk, fails staggeringly. what's he doing now? is he trying to mimic the billy jean video? how imbarrassing for him. he does so not have skills, let me tell you. oh, god, he just grabbed his crotch. this is hard to watch. close my eyes, give it a minute..and, yes, he's given up the mike jackson impersonation. phew. he's standing at the edge of DeP's desk]
you know, DeP. you're the only woman in my life. not saying i haven't tried. it's just that the Queen's Rump does not attract the sort of women that...who am i kidding. the Queen's Rump does not attract any women. the only people that go there are from the office, the TQR office. am i right?...huh. that's weird. never really thought about it before, but, i swear i've never seen a stranger in the Rump. hm. i did once watch a film called Stranger in the Rump, but that's like a totally different sort of thing. no, but, hey, DeP, come on, i mean, you know? my last girlfriend's cooking was like a good man. hard to keep down. my last girlfriend was like a greek statue. beautiful but not all there, you know? i told my last girlfriend that i'd go to the ends of the world for her and she said yeah, but would you stay there. my last girlfriend called me and told me to come over, told me there was nobody home. so i went over. there was nobody home! my last girlfriend was so ugly that when she was at work, she worked at a pet store, customers kept asking how big she would get. my last girlfriend's teeth were like stars. ah, the memories. her teeth would come out every night...so you can see why i avoid jumping back into a relationship, eh, DeP? i mean, it's real tough for a guy to find a great girlfriend. they're like parking spaces. all the best ones are taken and the ones available are handicapped.
[doomey looks down at the paper dolls DeP is fussing with]
DeP...
[he looks her in the eyes, she looks up, there's an awkward moment, like maybe DeP is afraid doomey is going to kiss her, or maybe she wants him to kiss her but she doesn't, at the same time, right? you guys know what i'm talking about? like when there's a cliff at your toes and you want to jump...but you don't want to jump? or, like, when there's a tar pit in your way and you want to save time by not going around it, diving in and swimming across, but you don't want to? or, okay, let's say you're at a nude beach...]
DeP, who fucked with the tiles, sister? i mean, what the fuck, eh?
[eck. anyway, doomey goes back to his desk, grabs up the latest cap, blah, blah, blah. so on and so on, ad infintum]
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Re:Overtime Fall 2010
Date: 2010/08/25 06:44 By: doomey Status: Admin
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[doomey unwraps the latest cap. a hardback copy of kafka's penal colony and an old beat up copy of A Christmas Carol, their pages interwoven, the book covers bent back as they crowd each other, making the duo look like a beast with two backs, or some crass 2D diorama of kansas after a tornado. doomey tries to pull the two books apart, his efforts wasted. try and pull two phonebooks apart after their pages have been interlaced. try it. impossible. doomey gives up, and he lets the book beast drop to his desktop. he pokes at it, knuding it along the cherrywood, and he begins to hum a tune, a john phillip sousa tune by the tempre of it. he stands and walks the cap over to the tube. he flicks the switch, whooooooooooooooooooooosh, and he sends the cap upward]
gordon sharp's the recidivist has been Terminaled, folks. that's right. write it down. word.
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Re:Overtime Fall 2010
Date: 2010/08/26 06:32 By: doomey Status: Admin
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[doomey pulls out a half empty bottle of amber and he pours a couple tumbler-fulls. he taps out a smoke, lights up, grabs a tumbler and leans back in his chair. the corner of his cherrywood is empty of cap]
well, DeP. that does it for me. seems the fat lady has sang and she's exited stage left and she's taken off her bra and gone home to beat the wife-husband. here's to hoping i don't end up at the bottom of the lake, eh?
[he lifts his glass and then he downs the amber in one gulp]
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Re:Overtime Fall 2010
Date: 2010/08/26 16:33 By: deplancher Status: Admin
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[DeP has been staring at the wall across the room. Doomey's revelations about hard-hearted women weigh heavy. Is she, DeP, a hard-hearted, mean woman she wonders? She thinks of holding Doomey like a mother but she is not his mother. She is...his dancing partner. They share these steps inside these walls where no one..wait! where EVERYone can see them. They are like exotic fish, swimming round and round and round until the waves they create for themselves become too much and they sink, spent to the bottom of the bowl to rest on the shiny green stones, on the illuminated tiles that stablize the Floor under the watchful eye of the omniscient Mirror Ball.]
Is it safe? [she squeezes her eyes tightly closed. all this staring has given rise to a nasty little aching in the back of her neck. She needs a massage. Or a tablet of some kind.]
I can't seem to dress these dolls so that they don't look grotesque. Look. [she holds one up to the light. It's all frilly and white but there's something misaligned about the face. DeP sets it down, careful to place it at a distance from Rimbaud, who is asleep in his basket.]
Ms. Povey's Witch has gone sailing. The dolls will find new fabric in the deluge. [she drops the dolls one by one from the ledge of the porthole and watches them as they float silently down.]
Do you think that old lady's bra would make a good hanging apple holder? I feel like apples.
And Doomey? I'm glad you're the one I share this space with. For what it's worth, I really hope those guys, your clients I mean, don't put your legs in cement and through you into the river.
Je vous manquerais, mon ami. Je vous manquerais.
[she rubs her neck, then moves to sit on the edge of Doomey's desk where he hands her a small tumbler. They sit in silence, smoking, sipping, and pondering the fate of the caps that have risen and those that have been set free.]
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