Week 3: The Floor, Fall Issue 2010
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[Rorschalk stalks the battlements like Hamlet's father's ghost ... or is that just a sack of flour Doomey showered him with whilst he slept? Anyhow. Rorschalk stalks the battlements, preparing his defenses for the time ere Burnham Wood comes to Dunsinane and his tomorrows have dwindled to almost yesterdays...]
Fie! This world is royally besnookered and guiled not unlike a lily and the blush is off the rosay savignon blanche and if I had a hammer, I'd hammer in the mooring that scoundrel's head calls a desk, were it not for the fact that I, once bounded in that nutshell, cannot find the antecedent necessaries with which to extricate my person.
Lo, the quarter has slipped into the bottom half and my cap runneth not over, but empty. Like an overunder scatter gun that finds itself naked in the breach! Nay. I shan't call this efficacy defeat, but a way to sling my narrows and necessitate this buxom prose onto the historical record of fury and sound accumulating nada, e puis nada now and forthwith, publius.
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Re:Week 3, Fall Issue
Date: 2010/08/03 04:06 By: doomey Status: Admin
Karma: -1760
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Posts: 1482
[doomey wakes. he sits up, looks around. he stands and takes up DeP's cloak where it'd fallen at his bootless feet. he walks over to DeP where she lies aslumber in her hammock]
thanks, sweet lady.
[doomey covers her with her cloak and he pats the heavy-lidded cat that guards her from its perch atop her stomach]
good kitty.
[doomey wanders over to his cherrywood, sits, taps out a smoke, lights up]
so where are we?
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Re:Week 3, Fall Issue
Date: 2010/08/03 04:24 By: Jesus Status: Admin
Karma: 2
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Posts: 199
[The door to the cleaning closet bursts open and out slides a modernist office set up. Jesus sits at a glasstop desk, its supports are made of sparkling metal. An iMac with a 27 inch flatscreen holds his attention as he flicks his fingers over the mouse, the glow from the screen underlighting his facial features, making him look ever so slightly bogeymanish. The only things out of place in this sharp(er) image are Jesus's grimy robes and the Ledu L557BR Traditional 60w Incandescent Banker S Lamp with the green shade (yeah, that lamp) that lights up the few notes scribbled on the spiral notebook at Jesus's left elbow. He's scanning the screen of the iMac]
Let's see. The deli called. Looks like they're out of pastrami. Which is ridiculous. I mean, come on. How can a deli be out of pastarmi. So I canceled your order. You'll have find something else to eat. Um...David Perlmutter sent you a work entitled Please Don't Talk About Me When I'm Gone. And...oh, it looks like you've already opened and examined Please Don't Talk About Me When I'm Gonnnnnnnnnne...and you've made a note to rename the work Don't Worry We Won't.
[Jesus squints at the screen. He shakes his head, rubs his eyes, looks over at Doomey]
That's not very polite, Boligard.
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Re:Week 3, Fall Issue
Date: 2010/08/03 04:30 By: doomey Status: Admin
Karma: -1760
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Posts: 1482
no. it's not.
[doomey puffs at his pall mall. he grabs the t.v. guide that rests atop the ripped-open parcel on his desktop. it's a special edition, all about cartoons. he stands and walks to the porthole. he tosses the guide out into the deluge]
what else we got?
The topic has been locked.
Re:Week 3, Fall Issue
Date: 2010/08/03 04:45 By: Jesus Status: Admin
Karma: 2
Admin
Posts: 199
[Jesus scrolls, reads the screen]
A woman called, left no name, wanted a message passed on to you. An unmentionable message, something about a blender and yourrrrrrr...well. There's a fresh cap up for your perusal, over there on the corner of your desk, sent to us from Kamila Miller, a work entitled Out.
[The iMac beeps and growls]
Hold on just a sec.
[Jesus slaps a Jabra STONE to his ear, clears his throat, speaks into the bluetooth headset]
Yes...Certain aspects, from a particular perspective, yes...Do not even dare to try and misquote us...Sounds good...Alright. I'll let him know.
[Jesus pulls the bluetooth from his ear, its tangled itself in his long, dirty hair. He wrestles with the device, pulls it free, docks it]
And...it looks like your dry cleaning's ready for pickup.
[He crosses his hands on the desktop, pops a few knuckles]
That's about it.
[He stares at Doomey. A few beats pass uneventfully]
And, yyyyyeah...I'm not gonna pick up your dry cleaning.
[The office set slides back into the cleaning closet and the door slams shut]
The topic has been locked.
Re:Week 3, Fall Issue
Date: 2010/08/05 23:19 By: deplancher Status: Admin
Karma: 14
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Posts: 1058
[DeP rolls out of the hammock and yawns. Rimbaud lands with a thud, shakes, and walks off somewhere behind the wardrobe. Is that where the catbox is now? For a few seconds, DeP stands still, listening. Then she checks her ears.]
Bien! Give me one of those PMs, Doomey. Merde! I am having the dreams again.
[She flings the cloak onto the hammock where it lands, curiously giving the illusion that someone still sleeps there.]
Was Jesus here? [She pauses to light the smoke Doomey has reluctantly passed to her outstretched fingers. She touches her ears again, then sits down at her desk, shuffling through the checkerboard and camouflage bandana-wrapped caps, then pulls on the one with the finger attached to a shaved head.]
Doomey, would you ever have your ears clipped?
[Doomey appears to be thumbing through the phonebook, under the Ps. She looks down at the Pall Mall and wrinkles her nose but says nothing. Outside, someone shouts in a Farsi accent: 'Bean me up, Scotteee!']
The topic has been locked.
Re:Week 3, Fall Issue
Date: 2010/08/05 23:41 By: deplancher Status: Admin
Karma: 14
Admin
Posts: 1058
[DeP's attention is scattered. She sings almost inaudibly along with the tune she can vaguely hear from somewhere out on the street. Do people still imitate Bob Dylan?]
If today was not an endless highway...
Je regrette...non! No regrets at all. This is a tough business, mademoiselle. A tough one in all respects.
[DeP breathes in, breathes out, then gathers up an old truck panel, a pint of blood, and a half-eaten video tape, shoves all the fragments into a stained brown backpack, then out the porthole.]
Au revoir, Mlle Thornton's Tomorrow, which is not yet ready for TQR today.
The topic has been locked.
Re:Week 3, Fall Issue
Date: 2010/08/09 06:40 By: doomey Status: Admin
Karma: -1760
Admin
Posts: 1482
[doomey stares at the spot where the office set sat moments prior, he grinds his teeth for a few beats. he grabs up the fresh cap and tears into it, shreded brown paper flying around him and the cherrywood as if he sat within his own personal snowglobe and someone had just violently shook the bejesus out of it]
let's see here. Miller's Out, huh? let's see what you got, Kamila. bring it, sister. light my fire.
[out drops a few GQ magazines, a few pages stuck together. doomey arranges these on his desktop, then he rearranges them, eyeing his handywork. old issues, these. clive owen and tom cruise. and what's jack black doing on the cover of a GQ magazine? hm. doomey upends the remains of the parcel and out drops a pamphlet on alzheimer's disease. doomey glares at the pamphlet, leafs through it, and then he shakes his head]
i...don't think so.
[he gathers up the stuff on his desk, stands and walks to the porthole, and then he tosses it all out into the deluge]
Kamila Miller's Out has passed on. it is no more. it has ceased to be. it's expired and gone to meet its maker. it's a stiff. bereft of life, it rests in peace. it's pushing up daisies. its metabolic processes are now history. it's off the twig! it's kicked the bucket, it's shuffled off its mortal coil, run down the curtain and joined the bleedin' choir invisibile. THIS IS AN EX-CAP!
[saying that, doomey returns to his desk and sits]
Posts: 2149
[Rorschalk stalks the battlements like Hamlet's father's ghost ... or is that just a sack of flour Doomey showered him with whilst he slept? Anyhow. Rorschalk stalks the battlements, preparing his defenses for the time ere Burnham Wood comes to Dunsinane and his tomorrows have dwindled to almost yesterdays...]
Fie! This world is royally besnookered and guiled not unlike a lily and the blush is off the rosay savignon blanche and if I had a hammer, I'd hammer in the mooring that scoundrel's head calls a desk, were it not for the fact that I, once bounded in that nutshell, cannot find the antecedent necessaries with which to extricate my person.
Lo, the quarter has slipped into the bottom half and my cap runneth not over, but empty. Like an overunder scatter gun that finds itself naked in the breach! Nay. I shan't call this efficacy defeat, but a way to sling my narrows and necessitate this buxom prose onto the historical record of fury and sound accumulating nada, e puis nada now and forthwith, publius.
The topic has been locked.
Re:Week 3, Fall Issue
Date: 2010/08/03 04:06 By: doomey Status: Admin
Karma: -1760
Admin
Posts: 1482
[doomey wakes. he sits up, looks around. he stands and takes up DeP's cloak where it'd fallen at his bootless feet. he walks over to DeP where she lies aslumber in her hammock]
thanks, sweet lady.
[doomey covers her with her cloak and he pats the heavy-lidded cat that guards her from its perch atop her stomach]
good kitty.
[doomey wanders over to his cherrywood, sits, taps out a smoke, lights up]
so where are we?
The topic has been locked.
Re:Week 3, Fall Issue
Date: 2010/08/03 04:24 By: Jesus Status: Admin
Karma: 2
Admin
Posts: 199
[The door to the cleaning closet bursts open and out slides a modernist office set up. Jesus sits at a glasstop desk, its supports are made of sparkling metal. An iMac with a 27 inch flatscreen holds his attention as he flicks his fingers over the mouse, the glow from the screen underlighting his facial features, making him look ever so slightly bogeymanish. The only things out of place in this sharp(er) image are Jesus's grimy robes and the Ledu L557BR Traditional 60w Incandescent Banker S Lamp with the green shade (yeah, that lamp) that lights up the few notes scribbled on the spiral notebook at Jesus's left elbow. He's scanning the screen of the iMac]
Let's see. The deli called. Looks like they're out of pastrami. Which is ridiculous. I mean, come on. How can a deli be out of pastarmi. So I canceled your order. You'll have find something else to eat. Um...David Perlmutter sent you a work entitled Please Don't Talk About Me When I'm Gone. And...oh, it looks like you've already opened and examined Please Don't Talk About Me When I'm Gonnnnnnnnnne...and you've made a note to rename the work Don't Worry We Won't.
[Jesus squints at the screen. He shakes his head, rubs his eyes, looks over at Doomey]
That's not very polite, Boligard.
The topic has been locked.
Re:Week 3, Fall Issue
Date: 2010/08/03 04:30 By: doomey Status: Admin
Karma: -1760
Admin
Posts: 1482
no. it's not.
[doomey puffs at his pall mall. he grabs the t.v. guide that rests atop the ripped-open parcel on his desktop. it's a special edition, all about cartoons. he stands and walks to the porthole. he tosses the guide out into the deluge]
what else we got?
The topic has been locked.
Re:Week 3, Fall Issue
Date: 2010/08/03 04:45 By: Jesus Status: Admin
Karma: 2
Admin
Posts: 199
[Jesus scrolls, reads the screen]
A woman called, left no name, wanted a message passed on to you. An unmentionable message, something about a blender and yourrrrrrr...well. There's a fresh cap up for your perusal, over there on the corner of your desk, sent to us from Kamila Miller, a work entitled Out.
[The iMac beeps and growls]
Hold on just a sec.
[Jesus slaps a Jabra STONE to his ear, clears his throat, speaks into the bluetooth headset]
Yes...Certain aspects, from a particular perspective, yes...Do not even dare to try and misquote us...Sounds good...Alright. I'll let him know.
[Jesus pulls the bluetooth from his ear, its tangled itself in his long, dirty hair. He wrestles with the device, pulls it free, docks it]
And...it looks like your dry cleaning's ready for pickup.
[He crosses his hands on the desktop, pops a few knuckles]
That's about it.
[He stares at Doomey. A few beats pass uneventfully]
And, yyyyyeah...I'm not gonna pick up your dry cleaning.
[The office set slides back into the cleaning closet and the door slams shut]
The topic has been locked.
Re:Week 3, Fall Issue
Date: 2010/08/05 23:19 By: deplancher Status: Admin
Karma: 14
Admin
Posts: 1058
[DeP rolls out of the hammock and yawns. Rimbaud lands with a thud, shakes, and walks off somewhere behind the wardrobe. Is that where the catbox is now? For a few seconds, DeP stands still, listening. Then she checks her ears.]
Bien! Give me one of those PMs, Doomey. Merde! I am having the dreams again.
[She flings the cloak onto the hammock where it lands, curiously giving the illusion that someone still sleeps there.]
Was Jesus here? [She pauses to light the smoke Doomey has reluctantly passed to her outstretched fingers. She touches her ears again, then sits down at her desk, shuffling through the checkerboard and camouflage bandana-wrapped caps, then pulls on the one with the finger attached to a shaved head.]
Doomey, would you ever have your ears clipped?
[Doomey appears to be thumbing through the phonebook, under the Ps. She looks down at the Pall Mall and wrinkles her nose but says nothing. Outside, someone shouts in a Farsi accent: 'Bean me up, Scotteee!']
The topic has been locked.
Re:Week 3, Fall Issue
Date: 2010/08/05 23:41 By: deplancher Status: Admin
Karma: 14
Admin
Posts: 1058
[DeP's attention is scattered. She sings almost inaudibly along with the tune she can vaguely hear from somewhere out on the street. Do people still imitate Bob Dylan?]
If today was not an endless highway...
Je regrette...non! No regrets at all. This is a tough business, mademoiselle. A tough one in all respects.
[DeP breathes in, breathes out, then gathers up an old truck panel, a pint of blood, and a half-eaten video tape, shoves all the fragments into a stained brown backpack, then out the porthole.]
Au revoir, Mlle Thornton's Tomorrow, which is not yet ready for TQR today.
The topic has been locked.
Re:Week 3, Fall Issue
Date: 2010/08/09 06:40 By: doomey Status: Admin
Karma: -1760
Admin
Posts: 1482
[doomey stares at the spot where the office set sat moments prior, he grinds his teeth for a few beats. he grabs up the fresh cap and tears into it, shreded brown paper flying around him and the cherrywood as if he sat within his own personal snowglobe and someone had just violently shook the bejesus out of it]
let's see here. Miller's Out, huh? let's see what you got, Kamila. bring it, sister. light my fire.
[out drops a few GQ magazines, a few pages stuck together. doomey arranges these on his desktop, then he rearranges them, eyeing his handywork. old issues, these. clive owen and tom cruise. and what's jack black doing on the cover of a GQ magazine? hm. doomey upends the remains of the parcel and out drops a pamphlet on alzheimer's disease. doomey glares at the pamphlet, leafs through it, and then he shakes his head]
i...don't think so.
[he gathers up the stuff on his desk, stands and walks to the porthole, and then he tosses it all out into the deluge]
Kamila Miller's Out has passed on. it is no more. it has ceased to be. it's expired and gone to meet its maker. it's a stiff. bereft of life, it rests in peace. it's pushing up daisies. its metabolic processes are now history. it's off the twig! it's kicked the bucket, it's shuffled off its mortal coil, run down the curtain and joined the bleedin' choir invisibile. THIS IS AN EX-CAP!
[saying that, doomey returns to his desk and sits]
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