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mainwaring
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« Reply #2970 on: October 23, 2011, 03:53:08 PM » |
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damp Volvo which doubled as a greenhouse.
Stearns was annoyed by Amanda's inability to recognise iambic pentameter by ear. Seeing her twiddling her fingers there, every time he read from a work in progress, infuriated him
"My generation", said Amanda....
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oilcanbody
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« Reply #2971 on: October 24, 2011, 05:55:20 PM » |
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"nearly destroyed by madness...."
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barton2
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« Reply #2972 on: October 24, 2011, 05:59:40 PM » |
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"...starving, hysterical, naked, walking the negro streets at dawn looking for an angry fix...wait, where are my bongo drums? Damnit!"
"That's no excuse, dear," said Tommy Stearns, as he measured out the remaining minutes of the evening with a coffee spoon. "Meter should be innate, even if some beatnik free verse is lying heavily upon you like a patient etherized upon a table. Feel the beat! Coming off the street!"
Amanda closed her damp Volvo and looked chastened, if not chaste. "I've got some friends coming over to talk about Michaelangelo. So we can try again later."
At that moment, a Higgs Boson shot into the apartment and, evidently drunk, deprived the fridge of resting mass. As massless objects are wont to do, the fridge shot through the ceiling at the speed of light leaving in its wake a rough-cut skylight and an excess of gamma rays, which rudely burned off Amanda's head.
In a burst of irony, Amanda's legs now drummed on the floor, a perfect iambic pentameter that went on for 40-50 seconds until halted by a lack of fresh oxygen to the pertinent tissues and such. T.S. shook his head, sadly, not only for the loss of his companion, but realizing that only a few minutes, or hours at best, remained to him before his own tissues melted into radioactive porridge.
"Alas, poor Amanda," he cried to the big ceiling hole (or roof hole, depending on how you looked at it), "your ragged claws shall never more...."
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mainwaring
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« Reply #2973 on: October 27, 2011, 06:08:09 PM » |
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tap pentameter after tea at four."
In his last hours Cholmondley sipped some Lapsang Souchong and watched The Boy Who Cried Woolfhardisorthy. It was a strange film with some awkward camera work and an obscure plot centering around Karl Marx's Doctoral Dissertation on Epicurus with probable influences from the work of Thomas Pynchon, specifically 'the ultimate plot that has no name.' It also - given Amanda's sense of humor -ceded to the author's penchant for silly songs.
We come across the first silly song, in the film's opening scene, witnessing two drunken sailors rowing away from the dark silhouette of a ship. Slurping his tea, Eliot hears for the first time, the words of the song as it plays out.
Old Tommy went to sea, sea, sea
To see what he could see see see
The claws he'll never see see see
At the bottom of the deep blue sea sea sea
Stearns gulped.
An intra-geometrical time-in-reverse intertwingling ran through his nervous system followed by a delicious anticipation of a slow-building poetic tension.
He paused the film and reached for ...
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« Last Edit: October 27, 2011, 06:10:33 PM by mainwaring »
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barton2
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« Reply #2974 on: October 29, 2011, 12:35:25 PM » |
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...an Interociter, poached by his grandfather from the set of "This Island Earth," it's spark junctions now corroded and green with age, it's power pack dripping a viscous brown fluid that reeked of ancient Roman footlockers and schadenfreude. With a slim hope of reversing entropy and the manifold quantum depredations that the uninvited boson had unleashed, he turned on the ancient device and strained his ears to hear the soft sigh that indicated the klystron was powering up. Sadly, there was only a faint burble and then a flatulent pop, followed by more fluid leaking from the power pack. Briefly, the screen showed a few dim and broken images, and then darkened again.
"Damnit," cried Eliot, as his heart broke from a despairing anapest into an even more despairing arrhythmia, "what I really need is a...
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« Last Edit: November 03, 2011, 12:36:27 PM by barton2 »
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oilcanbody
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« Reply #2975 on: November 29, 2011, 12:16:31 PM » |
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....a crumpet toaster that does single-side browning properly!"
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barton2
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« Reply #2976 on: November 30, 2011, 12:10:56 PM » |
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"Fuck it," said Eliot, "this thread is dead. Let us end with the most euphonious phrase in the English language and close....
....the cellar door."
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appaloosabeach
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« Reply #2977 on: December 12, 2011, 05:59:19 PM » |
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those of us that live on the west coast do not, we have no cellars, other than storage for spuds and carrots, beets? the wind blows in off the ocean, trees crash, the lights are out, cellar doors are from like, vampire movies, the wizard of oz, I went surfing the other night on the almost full moon, froze my butt off , didn't see a shark, didn't see a babe, didn't catch a wave.
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