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trisherina 11-17-2006 02:19 AM

parallel universe
Write about things you do, what happens to you, the way you live in a parallel universe. It's easy, and all the cool kids are doing it.

In a parallel universe I live alone in a tiny gingerbready bungalow with flocked yellow wallpaper, ferns, and only dim indirect light, in a very old neighbourhood. At night I wait in terror for a poltergeist to appear and open doors and cupboards and leave strange smells.

zero 11-17-2006 05:21 AM

there is no need to speak; each of us hears the other's thoughts; through the music and voices they all run together, not just sounds but scents and scraps of vision: lights, moths, perfumes, tunnels, shells, streams. half ideas: the notation of a tendency towards the circular, a neatness we have known about for years, expressed in a strange algebra of island names and symbols on marine charts.

12"razormix 11-17-2006 05:47 AM

the constant seesaw motion of a boat. endless stream of thoughts read from a book, the book, no book at all. feeling your heart beat and wondering whether it's yours and knowing yes it's yours. yours not mine. ours. this is the way it is. no doubts no regrets.

dddrum 11-17-2006 01:09 PM

I have, mysteriously but with dead certainty, become aware that my life is being observed by a group of young people from another... planet, plane... place. I can sense them watching my everyday goings-on with excitement and anticipation, sort of like a favorite TV show that has you running home from school so you don't miss a minute of it, and I'm pretty sure they are sizing me up for induction into their... club, troop... organization. I hope I can measure up to their expectations, and I try to appear courageous and clever in every situation, no matter how trivial. I am hoping they contact me soon, especially because I have been sensing an extra measure of interest from one of the girls... the brunette with the electric blue eyes and dimpled smile who resembles that girl, Donna Warner, who sits diagonally across from me in Civics class. I think she likes me, a lot. This other girl, I mean. Donna told Mr. Ocenasek that I was staring at her, and I got laughed at by pretty much everybody. I hope the Club wasn't watching me at that particular moment. Maybe there was a commercial on, or perhaps they were having lunch...

trisherina 11-18-2006 12:34 AM

I stare at the stuccoed ceiling; I can see a cameo lady directly above, slightly angled to the left but always there. Sometimes I look out the bars of my crib/bed into a dim room, at the doors of a closet on one side and at the door to the room on the other. I prefer the latter because sometimes someone will pass by, or sometimes people will even stand in the doorway and chat. They don't think I know anything, but I do, and I like the one who ties up the little wisps of hair at the top of my head in a ribbon the best.

Jack Flanders 11-18-2006 01:29 AM

OK - I want to contribute but need to figure out what happy *stuff* I need. (I'm not editing, either! FFS)

trisherina 11-18-2006 01:52 AM

Do you ever imagine yourself as someone else?

Write about it. :)

Jack Flanders 11-18-2006 02:14 AM

I want to be Trish and walk all those miles and have her legs!!! :)

Odbe 11-18-2006 07:10 PM

In an alternate universe, I write about a girl who has nothing better to do than post on a message board...

zero 11-19-2006 06:36 AM

always the wet whisper of silt when tidewater seeps away and the estuary rises to the boatyard through copper light. forever a tender of blue beachglass and scales and driftwood crusted with salt. now a circle we walk for miles in search of shells, picking starfish from a sheet of silver tension, bemused by the trails of viscera, the threads of bloodless meat and resurrected forms that have no names but offer us kinship and memory in an unknown tense. then the pulse between the water and our hands, and always a feeling of something old and buried deep. heartbeat and vision. quickening sand.

Brynn 11-19-2006 09:13 PM

Instead of talking fast and confidently, (ending with me getting out of the car and into the fresh air and bright sunlight, trembling but alive), instead I believe him and decide to place my dreams in his hands.
He drives me back up the hill to the big empty house, throws me a fancy dress and shows me the make-up. He tells me to put lots of it on. No, more. He tells me we're going to an important party and to do what he says. He gives me a little pill to relax me, and the next several hours are indecipherable from dreams and nightmares. I wake up shivering, naked and beat up on the side of a road. I feel relieved and lucky. I don't know where I am. There are no lights anywhere. The empty highway runs alongside the ocean. Even though it's November, I run into the ocean to hide and cry and wonder how to get back to where I was.

nycwriters 11-20-2006 01:38 AM

Sorry for third-person but this popped into my head.

For the past three days, when Fred Bear emerges from his house to run errands for the wife or head down to the the local fishing pool to play hookey on life's chores, he's been accosted by a little blonde girl with bowlsful of porridge. At first the shock of hot sticky gruel running down his fur coat stunned him to silence. Then after a subsequent attack, and then another, he grew nervous at every creak or groan his house would make or jump at the sound of a child's laughter (when before it used to make him smile in a fatherly way). His wife tells him he's silly, it's only a little girl after all, and it's not like she's spraying him with bullets. But he can't help it. The memory of those little blonde ringlettes, the blue-blue eyes, the rosy cheeks, the flowered dress and kneesocks, the delerious laughter .. well it keeps him up at nights. He thinks, 'maybe next time I'll just eat her.'

rapscalious rob 11-27-2006 06:52 PM

I walk into the thick of the crowd, past the fish markets and glowing neon signs, the massage parlors and the bao kiosks. As I plod down the stairs, the rumbling sounds of construction reminds me of the distant shock of homelessness and the smell of mud.

Brynn 11-28-2006 07:11 PM

In a parallell universe, I am flying over empty white sand and blue water. The sun is very hot on my back. I spot a flash of silver swimming below. I fold my outstretched arms to my sides, and dive deeply past coral beds and underwater cafe's, where I stop for a bite of sushi and some sake. Feeling refreshed, I make my way to the surface, climb into the air, and feel the water evaporate instantly from my skin as i continue my gliding.

trisherina 12-11-2006 01:19 PM

Perhaps in a parallel universe, I married one of my father's colleagues, and he owns a couple of yachts that we sail around in with clients and family at the holidays... the remainder of the time I pursue a preoccupation with botany and secretly yearn to go to a women's Ivy League college and smoke cigarettes and pursue a career of my own, like so many of my friends did. But there's a lot to be said for just being caught up in the day to day hubbub of keeping up three homes, one in St. Lucia and the others in Boston and California's Sonoma County -- and the two yachts, one sailing and one motor -- maintenance and bills and friends to see and family to tend to and our own two small children -- there just never seems to be time for a career, and I'm happy. Why wouldn't I be happy? He was so handsome when he was younger, and so gallant, and he loved to go shopping with me and watch me try on the dresses and we'd have long lunches in the watercolour sunlight, bags at our feet, and I hardly noticed back then that his breath smelled just like my father's did in the morning and that his toenails were old toenails, thick as antlers. I'll grow older, too, won't I, and have these things happen to me? You bet I will, and he won't mind a bit.

zero 12-18-2006 02:45 PM

we'd be on a trip following double yellow lines in the middle of a long straight road and the road would become steeper and steeper and steeper until finally it was plunging vertically down and the stars would come out around us and we'd fall past the strata and then somewhere along the way another road would form on the side of the cliff and we would land on it and begin striding as hard as we could up what's now become a very steep hill and when we finally crested on top of the hill that's when we would be in the parallel universe.


Brynn 12-20-2006 05:53 PM

Candles, scotch, a fireplace, eight soft red chairs around a round table and uproarious laughter in three different languages. An abandoned hand of hearts mixed in with crumbs of good bread. Eye contact and secrets and stories. Everyone's essential tribal nature has not changed, and all that made them laugh and feel loved was intact tonight as they rediscovered who they had been before everything changed.

trisherina 12-28-2006 12:52 PM

She sits at the table across from the window open over the sink, the moldy dry dishcloth caught up with bits of an omelette and sausage that she had for lunch, smoking, exhaling at the window but not really caring; the frigid breeze is to cool her hot and clammy skin down before the next flush. An ice cube in the tall plastic cup at her right hand pops and bobs in the clear fizzy liquid but she pays it no attention -- she is perfecting what she thinks of as her absent gaze, indifferent, aloof and slightly melancholic -- but without benefit of feedback she does not realize that the look is merely vacuous.

Coffee 12-28-2006 02:33 PM

The tedium only slightly relieved by the ever present possiblity of total and complete destruction should one of the thousands of critical systems fail, he completed his routine engineering checks, returned to his seat by the view screen and put up the latest E-novel retrieved from the databanks. It was a historical novel, about pre-spaceflight Earthers and the day to day struggles they encountered while trapped on the gravity well, the only place they had to call home. It seemed metaphorical of the same dynamics we experience today amoung the varied crews bound together on these interstellar behemoths we call home these days...."days"...what a retro term that was now. It struck him how hard it was now to imagine a time when our species lived out their entire lives planet bound, their clock lives regulated by the spin of their planet, their lives dependant on the clemency of natural random forces...forces that caused the destruction of the Earth's biosphere just 2 hundred years ago with the help of ingnorance, greed, and a black asteroid that went undetected till it was far to late to do anything about it. He wondered what it would be like to be on a planet, and wasn't sure if he could bear to live planet side, even if he had the option, which he didn't since the ship wasn't due to make planet fall for another 4 generations. No, he decided, despite the risks of a life in space, at least the risks were "man"agable...and preventable. With any notion of "indestructableness" a total farce out here, living in a tiny duranium bubble in space, people worked now for the common good, and our community was strong, our bonds tight. All of our lives depend on the diligence of each other, just as it always had been, but now it was obvious to everyone. It was a good trade in his opinion, giving up the bright illusion of "security" for the stark reality of "dependence".

zero 12-29-2006 08:30 AM

mid november and i'm standing outside in the garden watching the bonfire i've built of driftwood and leaves. letters for kindling and apples amongst the flames. the last of summer is dropping through the embers, and there's that perfume again. it's in the shade, rive gauche, nearly viburnum. iceblink hangs in solid air, a blank ness along the canal waits to be filled and given the silence, the promise of frost. i welcome this as something else: the taste of windfalls moving on the millstream, a faint god's partial emergence through yew and oak.

the riverbank is darkening now and fades. the garden is recovering its creatures: blackbird and crow sifting the dead in the still of the damsons, pipistrelle and frog insinuating dusk. across the estuary evening is bleeding the trees. my neighbour's garden blurs to smoke and rain: i'm thinking that strembonita is over the eastern horizon, standing in her own garden she rakes leaves then bends to clutch a handful of twigs and straw to breath a life into our fire.

Mun Chee Chee 01-24-2007 12:56 PM


jasmina 01-24-2007 01:03 PM

somebody's rather testy today

hahahahhaa :)

trisherina 03-04-2007 12:36 PM

Every day the fish and chips place is the same: the light on the blue-and-white checked oilcloth overbright but friendly as though a rainfall just stopped, and the oily scent of bergamot and everyone quiet, reading their newspapers. And every day the notepad has only one line at the top: "Telling you something is like putting money in the bank." And the lodgepole pines climbing the hilltop behind, hanging on for dear life, unaware of the busy seaside drive filing past at their feet. Nothing comes but thoughts of the washer and dryer stacked in the tiny closet next to their bedroom and how they've never once eaten breakfast in the sunroom overlooking the sea because it would mean a climb up the stairs with dishes.

Bman 03-04-2007 07:00 PM

In a parallel universe I am a sound that you hear when strange things are afoot.

Not to mention that feet are almost always strange things.

lostsadie 03-04-2007 09:17 PM

Which is why Trish dosn't wear hers

One of my happy places:

A large old house surrounded by old trees with big porches and dim lighted windows. Honeysuckle permeates the air and wisteria vines grow up the low stone wall. Everything is quiet but the song of the crickets and the wind playing the trees like an instrument. The red on the horizon blends from purple to blue lighting up the wispy clouds with orange fire. It's warm enough that you feel like you could run barefoot and naked through the soft grass, twirling and laughing for no other reason than life in you and around you.

zero 05-09-2007 06:17 AM

picture us as shadows on la moon. twins gathered together for warm conversation while down there the owls are shifting aside, unlocked from the visible world and the rain in the trees. each of us knows the other as water knows the bodies it transforms. see that colour? that colour is the colour of horizon. la moon's blue. the same blue as the blue of the blue room at the end of the mind where what we love goes on uninterrupted.

12"razormix 05-10-2007 02:09 PM

there he was. standing perfectly still in his own solitary world secluded from the rest of the city on a detached old bridge segment. the beautiful heron, viewing the chaos in front of him across the water as i was leaving the chaos behind me behind me. none of this has any meaning to him. beautiful.


Frieda 05-10-2007 06:18 PM

only when i close my eyes i can see it. the true beauty of mother earth. her love makes me feel honored to take part in this, to exist. for years i denounced myself her beauty. but now i understand that i have as much right to be here as everybody else. just because i am. what a great gift to give, and such an honor to receive. me, humble me. just sitting here.

lukkucairi 05-11-2007 02:11 AM

the sound about splits my head open. a rolling chime, so loud that my bones resonate.

upstairs, right now. hand on the railing, stairs two at a time - the rooftop door against my elbow (that'll leave a mark) and then out onto the silvered tarpaper, cool breeze against my face.

a fog has risen from the lake, to the east. cars on the highway by the lakeshore have stopped.

even the gulls have ceased their wheeling, and perch atop lampposts and rooflines, all facing east, all expectant.

sudden wind. the fog is torn into strips and flung skyward.


hanging over the lake, hanging impossibly in the cool morning air, is a mirrored sphere perhaps a mile in diameter.

brightpearl 05-11-2007 11:47 AM

In a parallel universe, I can't imagine wanting things to be any way other than they are.

lukkucairi 05-11-2007 03:14 PM

^^^ in a parallel universe, your eyes are a different color :)

trisherina 05-11-2007 11:49 PM

It isn't about wanting to be someone else.

auntie aubrey 05-12-2007 01:16 AM

in a parallel universe, i have no navel. i stand surrounded by a mob, while heads identical to my own bob in unison as we acknowledge en-masse our identical existence. we accept our similarities and forgo the desire for individual expression. where there is uniformity, there is harmony. we fail to see the purpose of discord and seek to eliminate disparity. with minds as one we seek not to innovate, but to obey. will is neither sensible nor optional. we raise one foot, then another, and as a single organism we march.

lukkucairi 05-12-2007 01:26 AM

hanging over the lake, hanging impossibly in the cool morning air, is a mirrored sphere perhaps a mile in diameter.

at first, there is chaos.

news crews. national guard. UFO freaks and conspiracy theorists. the sphere is probed and prodded, all to no effect. it cannot even be scratched. nobody can figure out how it defies gravity.

the sphere hangs there, unperturbed, for five years.

during this time I change jobs, start and end an unfulfilling relationship, and acquire a small dog from the local pound. I name the dog Felix. I do not move from my tiny apartment, though, because it has an unparalleled view of the sphere.

brightpearl 05-12-2007 05:08 AM


Originally Posted by trisherina (Post 343925)
It isn't about wanting to be someone else.

Yeah, that was kind of my point. [/melancholy]

12"razormix 05-18-2007 06:44 PM

in a parallel universe i hear every word that you say.

your eyes reflect everything i see and i feel your words on my skin.

laughter has taken the place of punctuation and i no longer worry.

never again.

zero 05-19-2007 04:18 AM

molotov, early. it's warm enough, so we're sitting out on the balcony we know from a dream. talking quietly. then, haunted by winds, we're slipping out through miles of light to unfold, one heartbeat at at a time at the wet edge of horizon. a wavelength given form beyond the ebb and the flow. a flock of birds, mingling like rain.

brightpearl 05-19-2007 06:26 AM

Time and space are as masonry clay:
As I so choose, here they may be set like baked bricks, trustworthy for hanging pictures and shelves of beloved books, or the whole of life. They shelter my decisions to go in or out, to own or not, to grow or not.

Here, they may smooth out the edges of the mind's wide plain, cover the nicks and bumps of dissatisfaction. I forget, if I wish it, what is underneath.

Or there, they may be nothing but change and process -- I may squeeze two points together and step from here to there as a child across a puddle, I may skip time or slow time or merely watch as it erodes, and in this way there is the illusion of choice. For a time I may pretend that I've set a course for a point marked on a map, that there are no loved ones separated from me by distance or the permanence of death, that there are no broken teacups or wounded birds or berries rotting on the vine. I dream that I may grasp all loves and eschew all pains at will. But Process is the master here. There are no hanging places, no shelter worthy of confidence.

All is outside, nothing is owned, and there is no choice but to grow and die eternally, together in the same breath.

Frieda 05-30-2007 07:06 PM

the heat of the rocks is vibrating, radiating into my soul. the rhythm of the earth, my molecules dancing, i am part of this. i am. i am the universe.

Brynn 05-30-2007 08:42 PM

I am floating in liquid diamonds, and breathing pure love. I am floating up and up and up. I am speechless. My mouth is open wide. My eyes are full. It goes on forever, and I become one of the diamonds.

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