 
Cliche
Not in the book.
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Uploaded on Jan 2, 2010
7 comments
So many hungers...
Not in the book.
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I recall the taste of Dreama Webster.
In August of 1996, as I sat on a park bench watching the sun go down, a woman with long, dark hair and angular eyes jogged past me. I sprung upon her, knocking her down, before taking a bite of the tender flesh of her right upper arm.
She burst beneath my teeth like a cherry, the metallic tang of blood saturating my mouth with acerbic ecstasy.
I chewed, easily. I swallowed.
There were no witnesses, but I made no attempt to escape my crime. We lay there, in the middle of the path, as she bled into the dirt, both of us silent.
She did not grab her arm as I would have done. She did not strike me, nor try to flee in terror. Her green eyes regarded mine with curiosity and, I chose to believe, a bit of dolor.
The police officer, the one with the paunch, said, “What have you done, man? What have you done?”
I did not explain that it was merely impulse. Like reaching out to touch the Botero at the museum, the one with the ripe woman in the green dress exposing her right breast, and being chastised by the docent and feeling I was back in school with a nun looming.
The officer looked down upon me, his breath heavy, one hand on his holster. He need not have worried. The moment had passed.
I remember nothing more of the incident.
Dreama cannot forget.
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Uploaded on Dec 31, 2009
30 comments
We become who we want to be.
Self-portrait from the book (though black & white in the book). Story not in the book.
Becca told lies to cab drivers. These are the lies she told 6 different drivers:
1) She was born in Monaco. She still cried about Grace Kelly’s death.
2) Her parents were dead. Her mother had watched her father burn to death inside their car after a crash. He was portly, and had gotten stuck behind the steering wheel after he’d pushed her mother to safety through a broken window. Her mother had died of heart-break a week later.
3) She had just auditioned to be a Rockette, a childhood dream. She was full of anxiety waiting to hear confirmation. She wanted to be the first person with a prosthetic leg to be a Rockette. (She had, for the first time since she began telling lies to cab drivers, combined this lie with the lie of the previous day, claiming she had lost her left leg in the accident that stole her mother and father from her. Her father had pushed her to safety, too. Usually, she had a one-lie-per-driver rule, but she had really liked this cab driver and wanted to give him a little something extra to think about.)
4) Her husband had beaten her and her 4 children for over a decade. She had, by the grace of God, found the strength to leave him. A women’s shelter had saved her and her children and she would be forever humbled and grateful. She was on her way to volunteer at a soup kitchen right now, as a matter of fact. She liked to give back.
5) As a child, she had been on Romper Room and on Sesame Street. She had sat on the back of Mr. Snuffleupagus and kicked him with the heels of her saddle shoes. Mr. Snuffleupagus was none too pleased and had told her to, “Fucking quit it!” They hadn’t put that part on the television, though; just the part where she spoke opposites in Spanish with Big Bird.
6) She had ten brothers and sisters. She was the youngest. Catholic parents and all. There had been an 11th baby, but it was dead at birth. They couldn’t afford a hospital (all the children had been born at home), so her father took the dead baby into the woods and buried it beneath a patch of Poison Ivy so no one would ever disturb the grave. He’d gotten a rash from digging about in the Poison Ivy. Her mother had caught it from him. They’d itched for days.
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Uploaded on Dec 23, 2009
52 comments
Elysian Fields
Not in the book.
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Ella had bird’s nest hair. He picked out bits of things she’d unintentionally collected; a small, white feather from her comforter; a small, brown one from her pillow; a blue fuzz from the scarf she had tied around her neck, beneath her curls. Her neck was long. She got colder than those with normal-length necks, she believed (though, how could she know?). She wanted reasons to be different. She’d cook pancakes for breakfast, but not round ones; hers were shaped like the butterfly and heart cookie cutters she’d pour the batter into. A bit of eggshell stuck to her finger as she cracked the eggs into the yellow mixing bowl. When her hand worried a drooping curl back into place, the eggshell stuck there. It danced, like an acrobat on the silks, trapped within the red strands, as she moved about the kitchen. That night, he saw the shard still entangled as she spread her hair about her head, a corona on her pillow. He watched it until he fell asleep. In the morning, it was gone.
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Uploaded on Dec 21, 2009
21 comments
I showed you mine, now show me yours.
Bigger?
These are some doodles I drew as a kid. Well, not the actual ones from when I was a kid - I just re-doodled them. I'd love to see yours. I created a Doodle group, so feel free to join and show me your doodles!
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Uploaded on Dec 20, 2009
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22 comments
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