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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 - April 2007

I Dream of Geeky

April 30th 2007 13:13
The best fiction is warped fact, it's actually the only fiction.

What better why to tap into potential warped fact than, you guessed it, your dreams. Helps with writer's block too

So I had a dream a couple of nights ago that could easily be made into a bloody story of sorts.

Here it goes:

My dad was involved in a massive accident.

I went to the DVD rental store and set my backpack down at the entrance, like I would at the bookstore at uni

The manager talked to me about something, he looked just like that other manager from Dick Smith, and his nose was a bit like this annoying flock of hair I had that wouldn't stay flat (in real life), he was continuously pushing his nose down to flatten and straighten it out.

There was a problem with the database system, he decided to take me to the 'RSS Boy'. We go through this huge campus that looks just like my uni and find RSS Boy who's a regular kid. Anyway, RSS boy is in charge of writing up the RSS for the store.

He's just like my cat.

He gets aggressive.

Manager tries to keep him down, he's on a lower ledge and jumps up and bites onto my pants and starts pulling.

I slip and fall to the ground, he jumps on me and starts biting me... like my cat.

Anyway, manager gets him off me and walks off.

He shows me this RSS he wrote, he says whatever RSS he writes appears on the DVD rental store website.

He shows me a story he wrote, about a person in an accident, he says it involved my dad, but was written before the accident. I told him that was a coincidence, he said no, he said half the things he wrote about the future came to reality.

I woke up, 7am, uni. Damn.
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It Makes Me Cry That I Remember

April 30th 2007 12:58
It makes me want to cry sometimes that I played a prank on some unsuspecting folk.

It makes me want to cry sometimes that it wasn't just me but someone else.

It makes me want to cry sometimes that the prank backfired severely.

It makes me want to cry sometimes that good people were wrongfully accused of being part of the prank.

It makes me want to cry heaps that people who were my good friends were dealt the worst.

It makes me want to cry heaps that I forgot about the prank and tried to move on.

It makes me want to cry heaps that I made and lost friends due to misunderstandings from the prank.

It makes me cry sometimes that two of my friends were dealt terribly.

It makes me cry that one of my two friends is doing better...

It makes me cry heaps the other friend is completely shattered...

It makes me... cry heaps that I lost both of them because... I forgot about the prank...

It kills me all the time knowing that if he had waited, just two more days, it was in the mail, two days later, just two days and everything would be better again.

What really kills me most is that one person single handedly managed to completely and utterly... destroy my trust towards any other human being.

It was bad tasting medicine but the patient needed it.

I learned my lesson, I moved on...

Yet it makes me cry sometimes that every time I go back to my work I remember.

It makes me cry that I remember.



(It really is a pain that I can't rhyme )
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BOOK IV: STAN\JAMES
James the bold walked boldly into the cereal isle for three steps before his alter ego Stan the unbrave took over. Suddenly the room seemed full of hidden dangers all waiting to destroy him. The Rice Popsies seemed sinister, the Froot Hoops evil, the Wheetie Bricks intent on his destruction, and everything seemed to be sitting there waiting for their opportunity to jump on him and pummel him into the ground. He screamed and ran through the isle. The rice popsies at the end, although being a peaceful species were enthusiastic tricksters, and they flowed from their packets and molded themselves into a horned rice popsie demon. Confronted by the sight Stan screamed and ran the opposite way where the Eggplant rice popsies had moulded themselves into a large purple nose which walked towards him and shot green broccoli rice popsies out it’s nostrils. The Wheetie bricks at the back who were also a peaceful species, yet lacked a sense of humor were unimpressed.
“I can’t solve this problem” Mumbled one.
“But I know who can”
“WHO?” They cried. Suddenly out of nowhere music blasted out.
“BAR BAR BAR ROU BOU BOU! BAR BAR BAR ROU BOU BOU! IT’S COWBO! IT’S COWBO! COWWWWWBO!! COWBO! BAR BAR BAR BAR BAR LIP BOU BOU. COWBO! DUN DUN!”
Swinging into the isle on a jungle vine was a large Mexican cow wearing a Sombrero.
“Yes it is I, Cowbo. If a problem is near, then do not fear, Cowbo is here. The rice popsies seem to need stopsies, Haha! Hahahahahahahahahaha!” Upon seeing Cowbo, Stan screamed uncontrollably and ran into the horned rice popsie demon and screamed and ran the other way where the nose and Cowbo stood. Cowbo stepped forward.
“It is time I think, to blow this nose. Hahah! Hahahahahahahahahahahaha!”
Cowbo grabbed his vine and swung forward where the nose turned and shot broccoli rice popsies at him.
“Now it is time to face up to the consequences. Haha! Hahahahahahahaha!” He grabbed the nose, which scattered back into the packets from whence it came.
“Those bubbles are too nosy. Haha! Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahah a! Now for the demon! Please excuse me for not beeping my horn Haha! Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahah a!” He stepped forward. “I hope this demon is not scheamin’! Haha! Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahah ahaha! Or Steamin’, Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahah ahahahahahahahahaha!, OR DREAMIN’!!!HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA HAHAHAHAHAHAH!!!!!!” By this time Cowbo’s jokes had somehow changed Stan back into James the bold.
“Shut Up! Shutupshutupshutup! I’m sick of your jokes!” Cowbo’s bottom lip trembled, tears welled in his eyes and his tail flopped between his legs. Then he shot his milk-ray at James. A wave of milk hit him and pushed him backwards into the demon who shattered back into a mass of rice popsies, and washed them both out of the isle.
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Sanity

April 18th 2007 05:51
Taste the sweet dissolving sugar upon my tongue

Piece by piece I feel myself slowly come undone


[ Click here to read more ]
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BOOK III: MUDD MULLIGAN
Mudd stared into the sinister toiletry isle. It lurked with unknown fearful dangerous dangers. He started walking through the isle. He leant on the side of the isle and the products burst into song.
“What’s your problem?
[ Click here to read more ]
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Pieces of You

April 18th 2007 04:47
In my chest there is a box
Filled with a dim blue light
That slides through my veins

[ Click here to read more ]
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BOOK II: AUNTY OXIDANT


Aunty Oxidant was first to leave, harboring through the perilous walls of tempting temptation. One foot at a time she walked. She had journeyed almost halfway across the isle when a lolly snake burst from it’s packet and whispered in her ear.

[ Click here to read more ]
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Prose

April 13th 2007 05:36
That’s what I’ve been given here. I’ve been given a ticket straight out of here. I’ve been told the truth about just how crazy and scary and dangerous this is going to get. I’ve been told, ‘this train is heading straight to somewhere dark and scary and evil.’ ‘Oh, and here is a ticket off.’ And you know what? I’m staying on.
It’s not that I’m being held back. There’s a total emotional agreement here. She’s ready for me to leave her. She’s prepared for me to get the fuck out of here, hightail it back to where things are right and fine. She’s ready to cut away all the emotional strings.
You know what it is though? I’m not going to get off. I’m staying on. So I’ll be affected, well I’m ready. So I’m going to get hurt? I’m ready for that. I’ve accepted that where you have love, you have pain. And if I end up a quivering mess on the bathroom floor, then well Jesus, just think of the fucking quality poetry I’m going to get out of it all.

[ Click here to read more ]
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Everyone's a VIP to someone

April 12th 2007 06:27
Nobody is willing to fly these days. Shackled by chains and trapped by barbed wire wrapped around an ankle. We just huddle together in our nest of millions. Lie together and look up at the moon.

We can still dream, as we tell our tales. Laugh and celebrate something. Touch sight taste and sound


[ Click here to read more ]
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Space Maggots

April 11th 2007 06:03
Write a piece of prose under the theme 'Trapped'.

not so much a gas as a liquid, he’s breathing in grease and oil as though it were CO2G4G (G = Grease) or something, rather than being plain old CO2. His clothes are dripping grease, his face covered in it, clogging up his pores, turning his head into a slimy bulbous pimple. He just wanted to slam it in the cash register and pop it open.

[ Click here to read more ]
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Flopping my Snerk

April 3rd 2007 02:31
If you flop your snerk about
Causing Wombs to scream and shout
Then the police will come to you


[ Click here to read more ]
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Verisimilitude in writing

April 2nd 2007 12:14
There's an Ad I remember. It features a mother searving soft drink to her two flawless kiddies. They yell out, "Hey Mum, what's to drink?" and she's like "Oh it's SunnyJuice (or something)" and the kids yell out "Wow, SunnyJuice that's our favorite!"

This is the point where a computer animated anthropomorphic Sun jumps off the bottle, yelling "That's because SunnyJuice is made with the goodness of real juice


[ Click here to read more ]
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