|Some of my best work|
The Good Doctor (Third Part)Dr Norbury passed through the curtains, delivering himself into the adjoining chamber. He switched a three-way lamp in a corner on ‘medium’ and rolled- rather than strolled- about the room. Second, Jacqueline came in, striding around with a secretive sort of smile. It pressed her lips to her teeth in a fashion that boasted ‘I know something.’ Entering behind her, Bruce glanced at all the covered cabinets positioned off the edge of the rug, each one spaced and presented welcomingly and individually like carnival booths. Jackie held his arm friendly. She remembered the feel of young appendages, and was glad to have a bit of nostalgia after an uneventful morning. Presently, Norbury began his explanation.The Good Doctor (Third Part) by bloedzuigerbloed
“See, now. There’s a reason for all this, Air Force,” he said, his gaze following Bruce around the room, ”Why you’re frustrated. Ever since he passed away, you ever feel like… getting rid of someone? Well, in particular, whoever
The Good Doctor (Second Part)“Are you in the military?”The Good Doctor (Second Part) by bloedzuigerbloed
They had arrived outside a country house. It was hot, desolate, and grey. A billboard stood next to them, advertising toothpaste to the only house for miles. Sorry plants gasped in the infertile dust around the house, and died in heaps around wooden planks. Unfinished projects. Rickety and peeling apart, the house was a sad sight, and its few occupants sat on the steps. A grey-haired woman, thin and aproned, was fanning herself with the daily paper. A spray of freckles, like the blotched forehead of an owl, covered any bare skin in great patches and then tucked beneath a floral dress. She looked so melancholy, and not quite old as much as worn down: a pencil blunted after a great amount of writing.
Another member of the house was a small, jittery man. He hid himself nearly behind one of the posts that held the roof off the porch. His hair stuck up, bleached from bronze to cream at the tips, and his eyes darted restlessly. He bent ever so slightly
The Good Doctor (First part)He could have vomited. The soles of his shoes were badly boiled by dust below his feet, heated in an all-encompassing inferno. Smells wormed their way up his nostrils and down into a dry throat and became tastes. Saffron, mint tea, (the traditionals were now grown in greenhouses) and an unidentified spice which he saw a group of people gorging on in boxed meals. He was tossed about by shoulders pushing shoulders in the conflicting two streams of people. Rapid Japanese was spoken in his ear once or twice, likely relating to several people waving banners about an election. He looked across the bustling street to the shops on the other side. A high-fashion clothing outlet, fast food restaurants from which the unidentified spice’s smell was emanating, a garage run out of business and become a spare parts stand. He looked up and remembered when you could see sky. It had been when he was a child, but it had been nonetheless.The Good Doctor (First part) by bloedzuigerbloed
Digging through his memory, he eventually fished out the addr
My Hollow'Yellow stems,'My Hollow by bloedzuigerbloed
The Hollow said,
'Upon the meadow white.
The grass is new,
A veil of dew
Conceals the green from sight.'
'And tipped, the stems, is gold,'
She whispered in my ear.
'Oh, what a play,
A grand array
Of light come once a year.'
She took my hand in hers,
The Hollow glaucous bright.
And so we raced
So quickly paced
From shadow into light.
The meadow lay before us
And Hollow breathed a sigh.
She left my hand,
Walked forth to stand,
And lept into the sky.
There floated my dear Hollow,
A grin across her face.
Bathed in sun,
She laughed and spun,
She shattered into stardust
As sunlight shrank to dusk.
The day was done,
My friend was gone,
The night upon me brusque.
I don't forget adventures,
How simple they may be.
And it will stay,
The special play
Of Hollow dear and me.
BurnShe turned up dead along the Seine.Burn by bloedzuigerbloed
No one was surprised.
Everyone who knew her
Knew her only dream was to see Paris.
She sat in the back of
Bars. And paid the bar tab for strangers.
She always sat in the back to hide in the shadows
And look mysterious
And possibly get cast in a movie
By a freelance movie director
With a beret
Looking for a girl who
Worked well with a dark face.
Born partially deformed,
She hated to smile
Because it was greasy and thin and dug into her mouth.
Born partially deformed,
She laughed without smiling at handicap jokes
Because those drunks had no idea what they were talking about.
She hoped to burn her lungs.
Partially the work of cigarettes and
Partially the work of arsonists
Who burned her low-paying boss’s house down.
He never liked her lip and
Burned to a crisp in his armchair.
It wasn't fair, she thought, that he got to burn his lungs
Instead of her.
She had no cousins
She had no sisters
She had no brothers
CoffeeWhen I was littleCoffee by bloedzuigerbloed
I saw a man in a café
Dressed all in blue.
He had coffee skin that matched his drink.
Which is peach like the color.)
He didn't have any money
(I didn't want to be broke like him but I had no idea.)
But he got the coffees for free 'cause he "worked there sometimes as a custodian" he said.
He smiled a lot.
(Just like me.)
When he smiled
His face folded up
Along the tiny crinkles
And creases and lines and pleats and stitches
Called wrinkles that held his face together.
A guy with tea not coffee told him a joke
(That I didn't get back then but now I do.)
And he smiled and his cheeks folded up into the caffeine that held his head on its neck.
That blue man,
He's the folding man
And the origami man
And sometimes the cleaning man
But that day he was the coffee man.
|Some of my best work|
And my extra feature-ee who was added on last-minute: