The City: A Collection of Literary Debris

[LMNO]

What with Scribe's new Shadow-hunting adventure, and Sepia's tentative foray into Detective work,  I would like to suggest, and open up to all writers, an idea for a collection.

A series of semi-connected stories/writing dealing with The City, the psychotectured monstrosity of human tragedy and triumph.

That is, the common thread of the stories will be that they take place, in, around, or somehow at least mention The City.

When we've got enough material (or the stories finally end), we'll collect them, edit them, and perhaps even publihs them on something other than a PDF format.

So, calling all writers/poets/scribblers!  What do you say?

[LMNO]

Of course, this does mean that I eventually will have to finish LMNO-PI...  

I was also thinking of treating The City itself as a sort of Stone Soup/Potluck thing, as in whenever somebody elaborates on an aspect of The City, that addition should apply to the other stories.

So I'll probably have Scribe's "bad part" of town figure into LMNO-PI at some point, and maybe even reference the Shadow Hunt.

I hope I'm not just spinning castles in the air here...

[Cain]

I kind of had the feeling alot of the City was a bad place myself.  You're description kind of conveyed a menacing aspect to it, and I just built on that abit.  But each to their own interpretation.  Psychotropic landscaping o whatever the phrase is.

[LMNO]

The City is a bad place.  Why anyone would want to live there except out of neccessity, I'll never know.

It does have a certain allure, though...

[Cain]

Yeah, the excitment of never knowing what may try to kill you...

Of course, the City is strikingly similar to Fat City, contained in one small area. To me, anyway.  I like the whole idea of this, and I'm sure the other will do also.

[The Open Bar]

Snapshots of The City 1 ,Äì by The Open Bar



What,Äôs that sound?,Ķ.hmm,Ķthat,Äôs just Mang,Äô,Ķ.he,Äôs in his office hammering countless strings of words into his gematria processor. Occasionally I hear him yell out when he stumbles upon the latest holy convergence of letters and numbers. Then there,Äôs silence. He,Äôs probably slouching in his chair, self-satisfied and knowing; tilting his head back to prevent his nose brushing against the monitor. There,Äôs some idle rustling of paper followed by fevered & disjointed scribbles then silence again. The keys begin to click once more, slow and unsteady at first but gathering pace until each stroke blurs into a seamless mah-jong tile chatter.

He,Äôll work until the early hours, typing, reading, contemplating, scrutinizing and all the while scatting musical quotations from his favourite Charlie Parker solos. The scrid, meanwhile, lies indolently at Mangrove,Äôs feet, dreaming of the sea.  

In the main bar area, LMNO is lining up a trick shot on the pool table. He examines wryly the cue ball before placing it back onto the blue baize.  ,ÄúDamn, that Mangrove,Äù he chuckles to himself, ,Äúwho else would have pornographic pool balls?,Äù. In an instant LMNO,Äôs mind conceives and processes the vast possibilities of nudity & trajectory before making his shot. The cue glides noiselessly through his hands in harmony with his focussed exhalation.  Flesh, lingerie and contrived ecstasy spin and slide in all directions.  The remaining patrons may stare in awe, but his mind is perfect and still,Ķ.and that,Äôs really all that matters.  

The last surviving pool-zen master retrieves his crumpled jacket, crams the night,Äôs winnings into his back pocket and weaves his way among the tables to the door.  As he eases through the exit, the insidious miasma of The City finds him, stinging his throat, releasing in him waves of nausea and memory.

It,Äôs going to be a long night.

[The Good Reverend Roger]

So, calling all writers/poets/scribblers!  What do you say?

I'm in.

[Bob the Mediocre]

Maybe. Depends on where I go with what I'm working on.

[the other anonymous]

Flight of the Hemmingway

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[LMNO]

WTF is up with the above emo?

[Iron Sulfide]

i dunno...

i'll have to set some time aside and more carefully read (or read for tje
first time, shall we say) these said stories....

i'd have read them previously, but...you see....i get antsy, easily.

fuck the excuses! i'll read em eventually, but for all intent and pupose,
count me in...i've needed a modicum of direction for creative writing
anyway

[the other anonymous]

WTF is up with the above emo?

Emo? EMO!? It's not emo; it fodder for cameos!

...walking down the sidewalk, and as we passed the Hemmingway Crater...

And besides, it's the end of what should probably be a longer story, which I might write, if I can find a way of completing it without the entire thing being emo. (I first have to find out what emo is...)

[edit: oh. I guess I'm not actually offended... I think. Maybe. I've never really listened to punk though. I prefer PJ Harvey.]

[the other anonymous]

The Future of the Hemmingway

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[the other anonymous]

The Folding of Hemmingway

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[the other anonymous]

Okay, I think I figured it out.

First: Not only am I writing this story in no specific order, but I also have no idea where to go with it.

Second: This story is complete shit and should be deleted.

I'll leave it up to the audience:

Does anyone want to read about the lab experiment gone wrong, the trip to the mystic in the bar, and the touchy-feely scene in the airplane where a hooker with a heart of gold teaches him about love in the airplane's bathroom?