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Downwrite - Every writer is a frustrated actor who recites his lines in the hidden auditorium of his skull; Rod Serling

Downwrite - January 2007

Right, so. Introduction.

January 31st 2007 22:12
My name is Shea, as implied. I'm an online friend of Brenton's and he requested I join him here on Orble/Downwrite, so here I am. Heavily into creative writing and the like, the victim and perpetrator of many artistic endeavors including writing (obviously), photography, most mediums in drawing, graphic design, martial arts, music, film, theater, etcetera, etcetera.

Atheist, humanist, self-proclaimed geek. Heavily addicted to procrastination, possessing an apparent affinity for sentence fragments. I think about writing much more than I actually write, so we'll see how this goes.

Uh, so.

Hello, hi, heya, salutations.

Cheers.
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The fishcakes had been left alone to their own devices for many years, at the deepest darkest sector of the Woolworth’s freezer isle. Through this time they had grown in size and power, and the six strongest rose to their feet and began to teach the other fishcakes the ways of the warrior, honor and the fishcake lord, Wedginald…
Not until a year later, when the fishcakes were a huge threat, did the jolly PM of Australia react.
“Oh Robert!” He called.
“Yes?” said Robert the small fat ugly Prime Minister helperouterer.
“Fetch me the six boldest warriors in the land and have them assemble before me at 7.26 and three quarters eastern standard time on the 27th of March this year.”
“Err, OK” Said Robert, looking at his pad and wondering how to spell ‘quarters’. After a month of vigorous trials and hard decisions (Channel 7, 7.30 weeknights) the six warriors were chosen. Aunty Oxidant - the obese aunt from Ballarat, Loci Brokili the cool and funky disco breaker, Fred the ugly entrepreneurial DJ, Max the short waddling circus freak, Stan the unbrave and his alterego James the bold, and finally Mudd Mulligan the billionaire creator of ‘Mickey Dugong: Secretish agent man’ TV show (Channel 7, 8.30 Saturday.) They assembled before the jolly PM at 7.26 and three corters Eastern Standard Time on March 27 that year because Robert didn’t know how to spell it properly.
“Greetings oh great bold warriors! I have you assembled before me to go yonder and fight the evil fishcakes to destroy the impending doom which awaits us! The fishcakes all serve the six fishcake lords - Agmort, Cruze, Wibble-snits, Mebumsnum, Charlie and Mr. Chunderbum. Our plan of attack is…” The jolly PM stopped talking to read the note Robert gave him. You’ve forgotten to put your pants on again. The jolly PM looked at his boxer shorts and sat down embarrassedly.
“Er, yes, our plan of attack is to send you in, each through a different isle. At the end of the isles is the freezer isle. From there you’ll journey boldly together two the shopping center level two until you arrive at the fishcakes sector where you will attack mightily with your Rubber Chickens and Cane Toad Launchers. In your bags you will also find Trolley Repellent, Spare Fingers, A Guide to Safe Shopping and A Trap for Catching Rabid Elephants. Robert, take the bold warriors to Woolworth’s!” Robert took the bold warriors to Woolworth’s. “Now, you must go boldly forth and defeat the evil fishcakes!” He cried.
“ But first may I have your autographs?” The warriors signed their names onto Robert’s Tissue Box and journeyed onward into the shop. They entered and went to the checkout desk.
“Biscuit? Offered MY NAME IS JIM, the sales clerk.
“Twenty Percent off” Aunty Oxidant reached out greedily but Mudd, who had seen a small piece of fishcake up JIM’S nose and knew he had been evilly twisted by the brain-churning influence of the fishcakes, flung the packet out of his hands screaming
“WE WILL NEVER FALL TO YOUR NEFARIOUS SCHEME YOU DERANGED BAD GUY!!!” JIM yelled in surprise and anger, before ducking under the desk and returning wielding a large machine gun. He opened fire as the bold warriors ran for cover, then cackled at the top of his voice-
“FLY MY PRETTIES!!!” The Trolleys to the right suddenly grew large mechanical wings and flew into the air, swooping down and attacking the warriors. Luckily they had their trolley spray to ward them off. When JIM ran out of ammunition Aunty Oxidant ran up to him, dodging trolleys and spraying repellent everywhere. With a fierce war cry she swung her arm forth and poked his nose. JIM screamed, his head fell of, and he crumbled into dust. She went back to spraying the trolleys. James the bold was the first to run out of trolley repellent. He ran forth, wielding his Rubber Chicken and entering into fierce battle with the trolleys. One by one the warriors ran out and entered into battle. Almost an hour later the battle was over, the floor strewn with fallen trolleys, blood, fingers and an eyeball belonging to Fred who put it in an empty freezerbag to have it put back in later. Looking at the scene while the other warriors put on their spare fingers, Aunty Oxidant fell to her knees and wept.
“I’m not worthy of being a Fishcake Warrior” She cried.
“The test of temptation came to me and I was so overcome with it that I foolishly accepted it and almost cost us our lives. I cannot show my face ever again. My name is mud!”
“That’s my name” said Mudd Mulligan.
Aunty Oxidant fell to her elbows and screamed,
“I AM NOT WORTHY!!!”
“Oh Shut Up” Said James. They walked forward, through the maze of dead trolleys to the six isles that they would separate into. Aunty Oxidant was to lurk through the confectionery isle, through the walls of temptation, Mudd Mulligan was to pass through the Toiletries isle, James went through the Cereal isle, Loci Brokili the cool and funky disco breaker was to journey yonder through the pet food isle, Fred was to go through the herbs and spices isle, and Max was to waddle through the flour, pasta and other stuff isle.
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Great Part Two.

January 29th 2007 03:39
Continued from THIS POST

hj


The idea was great, but they all seem like that at first. After the reality of everything sinks in, ideas loose their edge of perfection.
And now, what? I’m in the car with the girl, going down a highway. The appropriate thing to do is to talk, but there’s nothing to say. I should never have come. I’m going to fall back into my big black puddle of glum; she’ll put up with me until I make her so miserable that she’ll ditch me. Then when I’m gone she’ll feel guilty for it.
I should have stayed in my apartment. I should have stayed in bed. I should have jumped on the track instead of the train. A hundred or so people late for work. My final inconvenience.
Capitalist wet dreams fly past my window. The immortal golden arches. Starbucks. Subway. Hungry Jacks. A flock of bats flies through the still light sky. I give a little smile at that until I see the huge machine tearing apart the trees they used to live in.
She slows the car down and stops in a small parking space. She looks at me.
Are you OK?
Yeah. I guess so.
Do you want to go back?
No. Not want to. I don’t know. I’m not the happiest of people. I tend to dampen atmospheres a lot. So if I’m getting a bit too doom and gloom, feel free to, y’know, tell me to take a walk or something. I won’t mind. I just don’t want to be a burden.
Righto.
There is a short silence. I’m almost uncomfortable right now. Her presence is demanding of all attention. She lasers me with her powerful brown eyes. Then looks away. I’m hesitant to breathe, in case I inhale too much atmosphere and drown.
I… she begins to say, then looks down. She moves her head back up and catches my eye for half a second, before looking straight past me.
I’m feeling… I’m feeling very close to you. I think… Um. I’m sorry. This is really, really uncomfortable, isn’t it?
A bit… I guess, yeah.
I’m sorry. Sorry. Maybe… maybe you want to leave. I don’t know. I, dammit. Shit, sorry.
You want me to go?
You can go if you want.
I don’t mind.
OK.
There is a longer pause, where I try to piece together everything. Limited success.
I um, she says. Um… yeah… are you in a relationship?
No. It ended. Badly.
I’m sorry. I thought… you mentioned sore but I didn’t really know what… You know what I mean.
It’s OK. It was my fault really. I have a really bad effect on people. I can be really destructive, like brutally destructive. I just hurt people. The more I care about someone, the worse they’re hurt.
She looks me in the eyes. I know what that’s like, she says.
I breathe in. I can smell her deodorant, and the Marijuana leaf shaped air freshener dangling from the roof. She looks in the window to fix her hair for a moment.
This girl is a mystery.She is a contradiction in terms. It’s as though she is powerful and timid, confident and uncertain all in one, and every tiny stimulation knocks her into transit, like an emotional chameleon.
OK, she says. This is what I want to say. I don’t know you. You don’t know me. I’m trusting you, I suppose. I’m a very complex person. If this ends up not working, I can say the word and you have to go home. Is that OK?
Yeah, sure.
OK. Other thing. Ah, would you be willing to, embark, I guess… bad word. Would you be interested in a temporary, non-committal relationship? Along with just, basic friendship. Would that be something comfortable for you?
Ah… sure.
OK. Good. I like you, you know?
Thank you. You’d be one of few to say so.
I have weird tastes, they say, she says.
Oh. OK.
She starts up the car again, and we’re on our way. This is so surreal. I’ve… I’ve what? What just happened back there? Was I promised sex? This is weird. No need to deny it. This is straight odd. But… on an upper hand, I’m feeling a lot better now. Almost cheerful.
Almost.
In retrospect, I realise I’ve fallen asleep. I decide this as I’m waking, and in my sleepy state I congratulate myself for having such comprehensive and logical thoughts while still waking. MigraineFM are promoting some Greenday tour. I count six clichés in the first half of the ad, but quickly loose interest in counting. I look out the window. Evening has come. There are plenty of houses and small roads around the place so I presume we’re near her place. I crack my neck.
We pull in to a driveway. Her house is an incredibly small Victorian design. The fence is a grossly kitsch crème tinted twirly metal, with tiny flowers. Her house is biodegradable. The wood is rotting, with a black lining to the bottom of every white post. Her door is covered in peeling red paint, with a gold seven hammered to the centre. She unbuckles and gets out of her car, and I follow her lead.
Sorry about the house, she says. It’s kind of a mess.
I don’t care. It’s all good.
Yeah, she says. Better than nothing. My parents own it, and they’re letting me stay in it. It sucks, but it’s better than renting.

IMAGE
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MATURE CONTENT
   


Great (Part One)

January 23rd 2007 11:16
Write a post romance piece.

Great

[ Click here to read more ]
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Microcosm

January 17th 2007 05:07
If I fall
Help me up
I’m stupid and clumsy


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Power and Passion.

January 15th 2007 02:15
Write a story with characters from real life.

This story is set in the 2004 Australian Federal Election


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Purple

January 7th 2007 09:13
Write the middle of something - no beginning or end.

And then the music changes


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