Harry took down the number, said ‘thank you’ and hung up. Betty and the kids were shocked by this display; they covered their eyes and screamed like knives through glass. Harry’s face screwed up and he hobbled back upstairs. The cat switched on the telly to channel 396 and settled down inside the unzipped beanbag with the little white things spilling everywhere and the whole house like a dry sea. Ben pounded his fist on the roof and racked his brains. The tiles slid off smoothly revealing the attic office and its dark wooden calm. The scene was interrupted by Tilly and her underage girlfriend bursting through the door completely hammered. They proceeded to undress each other, feet first.
Harry found a wiry black hair on his chin, and he pulled it gently, hoping it would get longer. But the house shook with sex and the hair was plucked. The bathroom dripped and rotted. The tiles had a tea party that got gate-crashed by the king silver fish who wore toy guns in real leather holsters. Betty burst into the bathroom ready to start a row, but slipped on spilt tea and crashed through the floor, back down to the kitchen. Of the children who survived, Johnny was the greatest. He was new-born, but he’d already written a few poems and I quite liked them.
This was my favourite:
The ceramic fell and I gaga
dummy-squished by bathroom tiles.
The cleaning lady’s little bottom
sticking out the rubble.
Through the hallway came my daddy,
he upset and started crying.
He is coffee, and other drinks:
all the hot chocolate powder things.
Parents are to be eaten raw:
creatures that drink cold blood
churned up in their insides.
I’ll never be one.
When he died seconds later, I immediately took it to a publisher and passed it off as my own. The critics were confused. Why would a cleansome young Christianillionaire pretend to be a broken misogynist? They tickled their testicles awhile, then made up their minds. Two stars **.
Beardless Harry
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Haha! I love your writing, it's so funny and enjoyable to read.
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Because you kept having to stop reading and tell your cat to stop talking to you.Charles wrote:Hmm, why does it seem so strangely appropriate that I had "I'm going slightly mad" playing when I read that?
You either love these or hate them, I fnd myself searching for them and have never been disappointed. I have one irk and that is, the channels...preposterous and doesn't do much for ur research credenitals - where does this family or did this family live?....the USA
Ok cat...move over, my turn to comment.
Ok cat...move over, my turn to comment.
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Most excellent.
One of the first books I read when I started on the road to "real reading" was Sexing the Cherry, this reminds me of that book, or at least the wierdness I felt.
I could read at least another page.
cheers
Kris
One of the first books I read when I started on the road to "real reading" was Sexing the Cherry, this reminds me of that book, or at least the wierdness I felt.
I could read at least another page.
cheers
Kris
http://www.closetpoet.co.uk
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Thanks,
I just read this synopsis: http://www.jeanettewinterson.com/pages/ ... ?PageID=14
It looks insane, maybe I shoulsd read it.
Ben
I just read this synopsis: http://www.jeanettewinterson.com/pages/ ... ?PageID=14
It looks insane, maybe I shoulsd read it.
Ben
this type of thing i do too. its unpredictable and funny, in parts.
you could either keep going with this 'write what pops into my head' notion and see what else pops out, or attempt an approach where you have to put a bit more work in and, ultimately, get better stuff out of it.
obviously you can only write what pops into ur head. im trying to suggest a step away from the immediate and a step toward the considered. not too many steps mind or you'll turn to dust that which was at first a bag of small gems.
i think ur also still finding ur voice. a cliche but a truth aswell.
you could either keep going with this 'write what pops into my head' notion and see what else pops out, or attempt an approach where you have to put a bit more work in and, ultimately, get better stuff out of it.
obviously you can only write what pops into ur head. im trying to suggest a step away from the immediate and a step toward the considered. not too many steps mind or you'll turn to dust that which was at first a bag of small gems.
i think ur also still finding ur voice. a cliche but a truth aswell.