One more thing
Since I'm in a sharing kind of mood, here's something I've been working on recently. It's just a snippet, but I'm kind of licking it. Liking it, not licking. I try to refrain from licking my computer, I'm afraid it will short circuit.
Anyway, here is the beginning to my latest work in its pure, unadulterated mental vomit form. Enjoy - or not. Either way you know you're gonna read it.
His hair was green, somewhere between emerald and shamrock. It was cut close to the scalp and molded so that what little remained was gelled thickly and pointed like a row of spikes. It was clear not just from the vibrant coloring that this was a young man who was intent on standing out in a crowd. Despite this rebelliousness there was a grace about him, a straightness to his posture that demanded he be taken more seriously than your average delinquent punk.
I noticed him on the other side of the street waiting, like me, for the white stick figure that signaled the intersection was safe to cross. His eyes were downcast, staring at the pavement thoughtfully, darkly made-up eyes flitting back and forth from one concrete crack to another. He was wearing mascara which lengthened his already pronounced eyelashes into something androgynous and feathery. They fluttered against his skin like quivering bird wings.
The light changed and the crowd of impatient business people (who counted me among their numbers) surged across the staggered white blocks painted onto the pavement. I kept my eyes moving, but let them settle frequently on the face of the teenager, looking over his many piercings (including one which struck me as unique, a golden ring pierced through a fold of flesh at his chin so that it looked like the single golden curl of a goatee). As we passed I glanced at him again and found him sticking his tongue out at me, and not just the tip of it either, the whole tongue protruded from his darkly painted lips, every fleshy crack exposed in sunlight along with a rubbery green ball which twitched as he passed. Struck, shocked, I didn’t know how to respond and the moment was gone so fast I had no time to consider it. I reached the other side of the street, looked back and saw only green hair weaving its way through the crowd in the opposite direction.
Anyway, here is the beginning to my latest work in its pure, unadulterated mental vomit form. Enjoy - or not. Either way you know you're gonna read it.
His hair was green, somewhere between emerald and shamrock. It was cut close to the scalp and molded so that what little remained was gelled thickly and pointed like a row of spikes. It was clear not just from the vibrant coloring that this was a young man who was intent on standing out in a crowd. Despite this rebelliousness there was a grace about him, a straightness to his posture that demanded he be taken more seriously than your average delinquent punk.
I noticed him on the other side of the street waiting, like me, for the white stick figure that signaled the intersection was safe to cross. His eyes were downcast, staring at the pavement thoughtfully, darkly made-up eyes flitting back and forth from one concrete crack to another. He was wearing mascara which lengthened his already pronounced eyelashes into something androgynous and feathery. They fluttered against his skin like quivering bird wings.
The light changed and the crowd of impatient business people (who counted me among their numbers) surged across the staggered white blocks painted onto the pavement. I kept my eyes moving, but let them settle frequently on the face of the teenager, looking over his many piercings (including one which struck me as unique, a golden ring pierced through a fold of flesh at his chin so that it looked like the single golden curl of a goatee). As we passed I glanced at him again and found him sticking his tongue out at me, and not just the tip of it either, the whole tongue protruded from his darkly painted lips, every fleshy crack exposed in sunlight along with a rubbery green ball which twitched as he passed. Struck, shocked, I didn’t know how to respond and the moment was gone so fast I had no time to consider it. I reached the other side of the street, looked back and saw only green hair weaving its way through the crowd in the opposite direction.