A Dark Bell Picked the Juicy Cat

On Saturday, January 21, a few writer types gathered at the Freed-Montrose Library in Houston, Texas, and wrote on a variety of prompts for roughly three hours. As we always do, we broke up the day with rounds of Exquisite Corpse, the surrealist parlor game that you can learn more about by clicking the hyperlink.

Below are the results of our fun.

The aching lizard promises the putrid jugs.

A boastful urethra cumbled a musical city.

A vibrating urn does the funky lovers.

The ashen loon offers the pensive nose.

The bitter hellscape tore an insignificant penis. (There may have been some anger bubbling beneath the surface of the room that day.)

An arrogant cellphone will caress a forceful chair.

The troubled anaconda grinds a cooling bottle. (I hope the anaconda reaches out for help.)

The naughty napkin eats the slithering volume.

The articulated bitch slept a funny pony. (This prompted another discussion about transitive verbs, but for the most part, articulated bitches don't care.)

A raunchy flower transposed the aging mountain.

A wonky barmaid sings the purple triangle.

A rotund tiger kicks the potty sloth. (I'd go off on the use of "potty" as an adjective, but there's another one coming up that requires my own confession.)

The burnt spider ogled the plaid activity.

An idiot finger undulated a smelly spoon. (This also has transitive verb issues, but I think I just got the idiot finger.)

The wanton bowl wears the popular grunt.

An apple man screams his yielding hardhat. (Ah. Here it is. My handwriting on the paper. No denying it. I had a lapse and put a noun where we needed an apple. Someone tried to save it by saying apple is sometimes an adjective, as in "apple red," but it was a weak defense, I fear. I am my own bad example.)

A good elf judged the shiny bores. (I don't care how shiny you are, if you're a bore, you're a bore and good elves are going to judge you.)

His shallot jumps an orange shower. (I'm not sure what was going on here, but it gives me an idea for next time . . . I hope I remember it . . . )

They yellowing Labrador romances three sweating dinner plates. (More innovation from these rowdy, rule-bending writers. Cats, I'm herding here.)

An area-like box painted a peaceful actor. (No earthly idea what "area-like" means.)

The squeaky boot walks a purple cake. (Sometimes noun and verb agrees too perfectly. And then I accuse them of peeking.)

A crinkled cold unfolded the pregnant paradox. (Not gonna lie. "Pregnant paradox" is my new favorite phrase.)

The glass kangaroo captured a sweaty wallet.

The strange book throws the perfect fence.

The monumental cat recedes the fresh leaf. (A transitive verb is . . . oh, never mind.)

Those feminine Cheetos lights a handsome toe.

A foggy clown bounces the azure cloth.

The divine razor pardons a better fellow.

The demure bastard squishes that mojo ballpark.

A rude rock
hits the golden kiss.

The intrepid bus steps the snotty urologist.

Those lizards bobby socks cut the sleepy gate. (I hate that I gave away my high ground with my apple slip above.)

The heart professor confines the angry coffee.

A rainbow painting pushed a peppery Keanu.

A soapy hobbit herded the brown squirrel.

That's it for this time! You can find more weird and surreal corpses in this blog's archives. Just look for post titles that make even less sense than the rest!

Voting by Association

Having already cast my own ballot in early voting here in Texas, I've been thinking about ways to improve making our voices heard.

I know this varies from district to district, but here in Houston, there were a lot of down ballot elections for people I've never heard of. Despite efforts to find out what races were on my ballot two months ago, I was still surprised to see how many completely unknown candidates there were on it.

Who has time for all that research? A friend calls it "advanced citizenship." I call it a pain in my hairy patootie.

Looking at social media and online retailers, however, I think there's a better way than taking time out of my busy life to read up on people I don't believe anyway.

We all get friend suggestions on Facebook, LinkedIn networking recommendations, Twitter nudges for who to follow. All these are based upon who we already know, who we already network with, who we already follow. Amazon is always telling us, "people who read this book also read this other book."

How hard would it be to set up our voting machines to give us similar guidance to cut out all that reading and googling and general paying attention?

Basically, how I see this working is that you make your choice about a big election or two, and based on that, the computer offers suggestions down the line.

"People who voted for that presidential candidate also voted for this county clerk."

Or, if we want it to give more reasons or even options, it could possibly offer choices like:

"We see you voted for Presidential Candidate A. If you are buying Presidential Candidate A's lines about Issue A, B, and D, you may also believe that County Official Candidate C has a chance of changing anything. If you are voting Presidential Candidate A because of outlandish promises X, Y, and Z, then you're likely gullible enough for County Official Candidate D."

See how easy this would be?

Okay, maybe it would take a wee bit longer, but isn't a few more minutes in the voting booth worth the feeling that we actually considered each candidate? Isn't voting for someone you're unlikely to ever understand exactly what they do anyway worth the same consideration as your next purchase on Amazon?

Sure, you can just go vote straight party ticket and be done in 60 seconds because that at least gives you the feeling you're participating in democracy and maybe that's enough. Most of the time.

But if you want to get a little extra surge of pride in how you care about your right as a citizen . . . well, I think you should forward this idea to your congress person.

Or whoever it would be that can make this change in voting procedures.

The Bright Octopus Smears the Balmy Outhouse.

Here in Houston, we just had another Saturday morning of free-writing and playing rounds of Exquisite Corpse. If you don't know what I'm talking about, see former postings on this blog with nonsensical titles. If you want to be in touch about future such Saturdays (we're doing them quarterly), I suppose the best way is to follow my Facebook author page. We haven't set a date yet, but we're hoping for early January for the next one.

Thanks, as always, for my lovely and talented assistant, Margo Stutts Toombs, who is really the one who makes these events happen. I just show up, emcee, and act a fool.

Without further ado: our exquisite corpses for October 22, 2016:


The self-absorbed desk floated the rotting net.

The juicy frog devours the high mirage.

The forgetful professor gripes a fine train. (Herein we have a good example of a non-transitive verb and I used it as a teaching moment. One does not gripe anything, one just gripes. It will take a preposition, "at" for example, but it needs that help to make the sentence work. We did suggest either grips or gropes as alternatives.)

The tiger-striped sofa wrapped the chilling jalopy.

The raucous toilet trips an open horn.

The salty cup shouts a rigid egg.

An accidental alien shakes the silver victim.

A rotting goat eats an opulent problem. (There was some rotting going on today, you see.)

A slinky acrobat stomps a pernicious baton.

A curious boat is inspired by a shimmering kiss. (The person who wrote "is inspired by" said she was trying to play with the form. I sternly put my foot down and informed her that we don't do that here. There are serious rules to this serious game. As if I could control anything.)

A meticulous goose kissed the creamy window. (Is it getting warm in here or is it just me?)

The elegant buttercream dreams the fecund fence. (Whatever else, this one has nice sounds.)

An orange sheep bites the divine gatekeeper. (When a black sheep dresses up for Halloween . . . )

The phosphorescent pumpkin twirls an unfamiliar crown.

The adventurous dancer sodomizes the creepy moon. (I'm just reporting here.)

A lavender sandwich munches the fair librarian.

The peculiar grasshopper shines an active vision.

A meaty stalker pounced a silly jumper.

The gritty rhino munches the bitchy spider.

An animalic zebra attacked the colorful zombie. (Yes, animalic is a word, I just looked it up. It seems a shame the noun offered was, in fact, an animal.)

The common writer spooned a perfect parasol.

A malicious skyscraper writes a creepy carcass. (We like creepy things, too.)

The whimpering blackboard counts an appalling question.

Its annoying pants siezes the ugly pizza. (Another attempt at innovation on the rules. Okay, so it works. Whatevs. Cats. I'm herding cats here.)

An angry scientist blocked the starry biergarten.

A cranky footstool killed a flimsy pineapple.

The mellifluous egg punches a deviled bee.

The artsy crane mashed the red chair.

The bigly boots pummels the heartless door. (Sigh. I get it, it's in the news and whatnot and it may even be a word, but it's, pay attention, an adverb. Okay? There are no adverbs here. So you've had your fun, ha ha! Now, when I say "adjective," that's what I mean. Thank you.)

An adversarial trunk stabs the messy grocery.

The moist crown gobbles the hearty Moscow. (Whoa. I'd just cooled down from that creamy window!)

A tricky wallboard sips a fluffy chariot.

The sloppy rug leapt a tethered mouse. (Intransitive alert!) (Maybe it works, I'm getting tired of typing, but it seems to me that one jumps a direct object, leap and it's forms require a prepositional phrase as a modifier---on, over, up . . . )

An obnoxious aardvark headbutts the fuzzy zoo.

The favorite bitch carried the violet lie. (This one had something else besides bitch first, but not even the person who wrote it could tell what it was. I can't even imagine what would happen if we had alcohol at these events.)

The fragile tablecloth drives the nasty janitor.

Substandard Tattoo Artist Foresees Steady Work With Trump Presidency

HOUSTON----The small storefront leased to Feldman Hopps might be described as claustrophobic, but it is also remarkably organized and sterile, as befits the work space of a tattoo artist. It's a slow day for the tattooist, in fact it's been a slow week, and frankly, career for the young Hopps who is barely hanging onto his lease.

It turns out, he's not very good at his job and word has gotten around.

"Yeah, the last client, that didn't go very well," Hopps admitted. "This guy wanted a big heart on his back, with his and his wife's name and the date they married in the middle of it. It was really the sort of thing that should have paid well and been fairly easy, right?" He shakes his head. "When his wife came to pick him up she wanted to see it so he showed it to her. She kind of scowled and said, 'Why did you get a tattoo of Australia on your back?'"

Hopps pulled up a photo of the job on his laptop. The wife's description wasn't entirely accurate but it was definitely hard to recognize as a heart.

Shaking his head, Hopps continued, "I'm really not very good with representational art," he said and shrugged but then pointed to the wording. "But check it out, the writing is really clear. Even they admitted everything was spelled right and the letters and numbers very plain and readable."

Which gets to the point of our visit to this tiny tattoo shop. Hopps is a supporter of presidential candidate Donal Trump.

"Yeah, he's kind of a creep, but you know, so is every politician," he says. "I do kind of like his idea of identifying immigrants and other specific, you know, subgroups. I think tattoos is a great way to do it. I've even written an email to him suggesting it."

Hopps pulled up an auto-reply email from the Trump campaign with instructions for how to make a donation. "Yeah, he didn't really get back to me in detail about my idea," Hopps admitted, "but you know, he's busy with his plans for the economy and Syria and whatnot. I've planted the seed."

Hopps was realistic about what he's recommending. He realizes that he's not likely to get rich being a tattoo artist for a Trump administration. "I get it," he said. "Government jobs don't pay as well as the private sector but you know? The bennies are good and I doubt I'd ever have to do a heart again. The pressure of running my own shop would be lifted and I bet it'll even be banker's hours. No evenings and weekends!"

Confronted with the latest polls that show opponent Hillary Clinton in a comfortable lead, Hopps shrugged. "I guess she'll be okay, you know? I just don't think she's going to be needing any staff tattooists. When it comes down to it, I have to go with the guy who is more likely to create jobs for people like me."

Not one to put all his eggs in one basket, Hopps has already made moves to keep his shop afloat.

"Oh yeah, I've already got ads on Craigslist," he said. "You know, there are tattoo artists who do amazing pictures on flesh, mountain ranges and sunsets and all that, but they can't spell to save their lives. I've put the word out that I'm here to put that finishing touch on their clients. Also, there's money to be made on grieving folks. Sometimes, like, a baby dies or something and the mom wants the kid's name tattooed on her arm or wherever. I've put out ads for that market, too, saying that I'd give them a clear, no frills remembrance of their loss right on their body."

He continued, "It's not my dream to always have to hustle like that, but having a businessman like Donald Trump running for president sort of juiced my entrepreneurial spirit, I guess. I like to think that even if he loses, here's one supporter he can be proud of."

In conclusion Hopps said, "I'm just trying to use my God-given gifts, you know? Not everyone can spell and penmanship is a dying art. I have them both and I know how to use tattoo equipment. All that should add up to to a career, right? If not with a federal position, then I just have to believe in myself enough to make this whole thing work."



___________________________________________
Okay, this is darker than I usually care to go in my writing, but I'm in such a dark frame of mind with this election cycle. Make of it what you will. And please don't vote for Donald Trump.

An Overlooked Hummingbird Ate the Sweet Conundrum

Saturday, June 18, 2016, found a bunch of writers in the community room at the Freed-Montrose Neighborhood Public Library three hours of writing exercises. It's a laid back time of drawing words out of a cup/box/whatever and writing non-stop for a pre-determined length of time.

To break up the writing and give our hands a rest, we pause to play games of Exquisite Corpse, a parlor game of the surrealists of the early 20th Century. Better than she has to be, Margo Stutts Toombs made this video to explain how it is played. The game results in nonsensical and, occasionally, profound sentences, all by accident.

Without further ado, here (in addition to the title of this post) are a the results of our most recent Writing (Re)Treat:

A mangy grape walked a long van.

A photogenic marmalade slapped the rolling dragon.

A happy horse pinches the metallic dog.

A rotten warship crouches (an example of a intransitive verb, by the way) the petulant dishwater.

A beautiful robot peels the high tree.

A happy woman sneezes the lengthy whale.

The strange crocodile rung the boxy outlet.

An incredible cheetah drives freedom to wall. (I don't know what happened here.) 

The sweaty road talking a perky dragon. (This is why we don't use -ing verbs [or gerund forms])

The angry lemur runs the greenish precipice.

The relevant boy ran a horny carton.  (It's best not to think about some too much.)

The red Paris runs a stiff line. (Some sound like euphemisms.)

The lacy watermelon devours a violent light.

An elderly can treasures the melodic soup.

The funny turtle shouted a moist train.

The pink car leaves a running field.

The crooked penguin hassles the pink feather.

The dark poet brought the active balloon.

An electrifying record takes the swinging balloon. (Balloons are fun and popular.)  

The precious monkey swallows the sloppy dress.

An arrogant skyscraper drove a smelly stallion.

The funny mermaid expects a bright riverboat.

An artistic debutante shuddered a happy gorilla. (Shuttered?)

A juicy beagle yells the lost drum.

An absolute salesclerk ripped a poetic mink.

A restful guy held the ugly ball.

The clunky puppy eulogizes the rosy cop.

A fretful scientist pranced an orange candlestick.

The shy queen rides an elusive lemur. (Lemurs, too, are fun and popular.)

The naughty boy ran a low volcano.

The lively graveyard gulped a screwed-up hula-dancer.

A puffy orchestra floods a football umbrella. (What kind of an umbrella? A football umbrella, of course.)

A hasty rabbit waters a gooey woman. (This one, Margo stood up to read.)

The plump goat plays a sneaky nurse.

A loose lizard pees the pithy zebra. (Worse than kidney stones, I hear.)

An orange onion sprang a boxy bucket.

A nerdy plumber conjures the operatic snake.

An amazing joke gently a loud chest. (Adverbs do not work in place of the verb.)

The delicious bastard reads the sparkling devil. (Mmmmm, that's good bastard.) 

The fellow writer stepped an ugly crawfish. (Have you stepped the ugly crawfish? It's the latest craze down at the dance halls.)

That's a lot of exquisite corpses. It goes pretty quickly, though, and we still managed to write several pages of raw material (not all usable, admittedly, but still). Hope you enjoyed these flights of whimsy

The Artist D: Emptiness Concealed

I received this image from D and I'm immediately take by shift from human food containers to cat food containers. His eye and imagination surprises and delights.

The first thing to notice is that this can is opened. Did you have a Pavlovian response to the imagined sound of the ring tab popping the seal? I did. D knows what power an image and implied sounds yields.

But that doesn't begin to engage the image. Met in isolation, with no further context, we do not know if the can is still full or empty. Aha! Here we have the genius at work.

Do we approach this image with hope? With suspicion? Will we be sated or disappointed? What is concealed by that confounded popped lid?

I've been holding onto this image for a few days and I find that when I'm feeling "down" or pessimistic, I experience this micro-installation as discouragement or misfortune; I've missed my supper! When I'm feeling "up" and optimistic, however, I find that themes of satiation, even purring emerge. I don't mean to suggest that the work of D is some sort of cheap alcoholic drink that goes straight to your head and amplifies whatever you're already feeling or---worse---an easy substitute for a Rorschach test. No no no no no! What I'm getting at is that work like this meets us where we are, draws out our emotions, makes us examine ourselves and our desires.

Rich! Such a rich image, indeed.

Introducing the Artist, D

I have recently come into contact with an artist, named only by the letter D, who is creating a stir in the art world with their ephemeral micro-installations. They are works of small scale using items at hand---often items meant to be discarded---to make short-lived 3-D art, which ultimately only survives in its documentation. 

I hope to bring this art to the world as the body of work grows. Here I present two pieces, connected and yet each stands on its own merit. It is only a nibble of the veritable feast awaiting us all. While the work clearly stands on its own, I cannot resist making my own commentary, offered in hopes that it will deepen and broaden your appreciation of what is clearly a monumental talent. D---remember that letter. 

finished/not finished

"finished/not finished" The journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step, but not all journeys are completed. This seems to be the message of the artists in this installation. The tiny spoon can savor the yogurt, but ultimately, the tiny bites could not take us to the bottom of the cup. Ah, but therein lies the question of the piece. Are we truly at the end or do we come upon the cup in media res? There are points in life when we ask, "is this it? Or may I savor a little bit more? And how will I feel if I do?"  Note that what is left is the fruit compote at the bottom of the cup. There is still sweetness to experience if we are willing to lift the spoon again. Moving beyond the object(s) at the center of the installation, one notices the textures and colors in which the object(s) is/are set. Darkly stained wood, woven placemat, and other layers of textured browns and greys set off the piece with a dark beauty that makes the white of the yogurt stand out as a beacon of hope---and yet the dark textures are beautiful in themselves.  Journey, desire, fullness, emptiness, savor, letting go, darkness, light . . . layers to engage every intellect. 

 

Tiny Bites Empty the Yogurt

"Tiny Bites Empty the Yogurt" This work finds the artist working with similar materials but a slightly different mood. The bowl, holding the off-centered yogurt cup, speaks of room for more. More what? Life, of course. The small spoon speaks of taking time, savoring life, because a big spoon scoops life too quickly. Death is ever present, as we see in the darkness of the larger bowl, but we can get there in tiny bites or one gulp. The artist asks us all, "why not tiny bites?" Again, the dark textures of the stained wood offsets the piece, drawing our eye to the empty cup---which speaks of a sated eater. D reminds us that not everything finds its completion, but oh how satisfying it is when completion comes. Unless the completion means death---but does it? Ah, therein lies the delicious tension of this piece. Sated hunger or completed life? Are they mutually exclusive? I leave you to wrestle with that question.