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-   -   parallel universe (http://www.zefrank.com/bulletin_new/showthread.php?t=10402)

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.

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