The City: A Collection of Literary Debris

[LMNO]

Why not?

But I suggest, if it's going to be a multiple-post story, that you start a new thread, so we can easily reference it if needed.



...But I'm incredibly pissed about you equating emo and punk.

[Bob the Mediocre]

I liked the church scene. I'd like to hear more too.

[the other anonymous]

Hey, I googled emo and the first result said it was a sub-genre of punk.

And yes, a new thread is a good idea.

[ edit: and hre it is: http://www.principiadiscordia.com/forums/viewtopic.php?t=5807 ]

(PS. This one time, at band camp, I stuck a cat in my flute.)

[LMNO]

Hey, you can call Goth a sub-genre of punk, too.  But i doubt you'd call a goth a punk.

[gnimbley]

You're all a bunch of punks!

Just saying.

[LMNO]

You're all a bunch of punks!

Just saying.

::sniff::

That's the nicest thing you've ever said to me, gnimbley...

::hugs the gnome::

[gnimbley]

You could wait until I put down this bag of cookies. Damn! They are
all crumbs now.

mmmmm. cookie crumbs.

[Shibboleet The Annihilator]

I'm fairly certain that emo!=punk

[Iron Sulfide]

mm....no one's heard here yet.

i love giving people bad news, but PUNK is DEAD

emo and a few other 'genres' are what punk decomposed into (pun intended)

[gnimbley]

By the way gnimbley, would you have any inclination to write a poem about The City for the anthology?

Just for you, LMNO


Tammy bebops through the Crystal Lane
Heatseeking pips of that great white shark
Ogging the dudes in their greasy suits
Scanning the corners, dank and dark

Davey'd be hot at Maxi's tonight
Bright feral eyes and sharp devil grin
Bloodsweat a'drippin' off his handsome brow
Zoning for a snatch to plug right in

Tammy'd be a nova in her crimson chemise
Black silk panties with torn silver lace
Eyes drawn as dark as a jungle cat's ass
Lips like blood smeared across her face

Her weapons of choice, bright dangly things
That drip like sin from her powdered blue nips
As sharp as love, razor smooth, mirror bright
That end in stars with barbed wire tips

Like dying suns they spiral together
His loins fight hard to hold back their birth
Her head turns, he falters, then follows her on
Like a doomed star falls to the moist black earth.

They clash, they claw, they taste hot blood
They pierce their bodies with shafts of skin
The barbed wire stars rake a dark red net
And the fine white coating seeps right in

Tammy bebops through the Crystal Lane
Heatseeking pips of that great white shark
For her faithless lover's final tryst
And pay him back for her broken heart


Now, where are my COOKIES!

[Bob the Mediocre]

Nice one. And I did bake some cookies today. You can have one if you want .

[Zurtok Khan]

Uhh, here's my attempt:


Black-Rose Molly Rides Again
She stood on the street corner.  Ready.  Doing on this street corner what you know people do on street corners.  She waited.  She liked it this way.  A bit of excitement and the guilt of hearing her mother's voice in the back of her head telling her what she was.  But, the City didn't care.  It was just The City, and she was just Shirley, or as most people knew her, Black-Rose Molly.

No one quite knew why she liked to be known as Black-Rose Molly.  But, she didn't care.  She had her reasons.  Everyone has their reasons, she thought, secrets that they keep from everyone else, simply because they can.  They liked it that way.  She liked it that way.

It was one of those mornings where everyone feels the same feeling about getting up.  Wednesday, the worst of them all.  A cold dreary day, but it somehow hummed with the electricity of a thousand minds strumming the same long-forgotten tune.  Some folks would tell you that all days in the City were cold and dreary.  But, Black-Rose Molly knew that that wasn't true.  She remembered a man.  Not a name, just a face and a feeling.  His warm arms embracing her flesh that must've been ice in comparison.  Of course, it was more that he melted the ice that was her.  Then, like everything anyone loves in the city, he was gone.  POOF.

A black car had turned the corner up the street.  Expensive.  There was only one reason expensive cars drove down this street in the morning.  And, what a morning it was.  The subconscious vibrations seemed warped around the car.  Blue, dark blue, no the car was black.  It was the person in the car that was dark blue.  His presence so full that being in a room with him was feeling smothered, no matter how big.  It was useful for him, even though he never noticed it, he knew people gave in when he walked in, because it was him.

The car stopped in front of Black-Rose Molly.  Her dark maroon lipstick complimented her unfathomably deep green eyes.  The Client could tell that there was something about this broad that even penetrated him.  He'd never seen someone quite like her before.

"Goin' anywhere I'd like?" BRM asked.
"Depends on what you like," said the Client

She thought for a moment about this particular man, whether he was the right kind of client for her. "I suppose I like where ever you're going," she said with the perfect mixture of allure and thoughtfulness brought on by practice.

"Hop in."

They sat considering each other for a short while.  Each considering the other.  They were opposites, they knew.  He was so large (but of a normal stature and weight), and yet she was so...invisible, or perhaps intangible, that his presence couldn't force her to do anything.  Neither knew what the other was thinking or feeling, and that unnerved them both, so used to reading people at the drop of a hat.

The client bent forward and whispered something in the drivers ear.  She sat and wondered what it was, his face gave nothing away.

A short while later they pulled up to a coffee shop, a bit run down, but the place you knew had a great cup of brew because it had competed with all the Java-at-every-street-corner Inc. fads, and come out no worse for wear, if a little under the gun.  This caught her off guard, this was not the neighborhood that this car lived in.  The man would be powerful anywhere, but this car would be stripped fast.  Really fast.

He felt a bit of triumph, he could see the confusion on her face.

"Coffee?" he asked.
"Of course," she said, regaining her composure, but knowing that she had lost the first match.

They walked in and found a table.  The barista looked at them, and grinned a bit in a way that said he wished he could afford a woman like that.  No one could afford a woman like that.

They sat and talked, about nothing whatsoever.  It was something neither of them had done in a long time.  Equals.  She got him, and he got her.  They lost count neither was winning or losing.

The hive mind of The City was humming with the sound of a thousand voices strumming the same instrument in unison.  There was something going on here.  Until tomorrow, when Government Inc. shot all the band-mates.  Then Black-Rose Molly would be dead, or gone, or at the very least different.  And the Client would go back to do what he normally did.  Running the city underground, or maybe he was a senator.  Who cared?  Who knew?  Nobody, and The City didn't care.

[LMNO]

1.  Nice job, Gnimbley.  You're in.  ::hands over a metric ton of cookies::

2.  Zurtok, for an arch-nemesis, I liked your piece.  Was that a one-off, or are you consideing expanding on it?

[Zurtok Khan]

Dunno, my fiendish enemy.  I might, I might not.

[Shibboleet The Annihilator]

A slender woman wearing a black cloak walks gracefully through a forest thick with trees. You can hear chanting in the distance. She moves as if she is gliding more than she is walking. As the trees thin a massive cathedral becomes visible. She makes her way down the path... You catch a glimpse under her hood, her eyes are blood red and her skin is badly burnt and bruised to the point that it doesn't even look like skin anymore. You can hear a chattering sound as she breathes, like her throat is filled with dead leaves.

As she draws nearer to the cathedral you can see that it is very heavily guarded and there is something big going on inside. Four very large brutish men clad in plate-mail and wielding heavy swords and shields guard the doors. She approaches a set of stairs and almost seems to float up them.

A guard yells in a hoarse voice, "HALT! This temple is closed for the celebration. You may not enter until tomorrow."

She continues to move quickly toward the man that was talking.

The guard, now visibly irritated, growls, "Can you hear me you ugly old-"

His sentence is cut short as she picks him him by his neck and lifts him off of the ground. The other guards are shocked, they cannot believe that such a small woman could lift such a gargantuan man. The other guards advance and she hurls the man she is holding into one of the advancing guards. They both fall and do not get back up.

She growls in an inhuman voice, "Hey, let me call you when I get back to my apartment, ok?"

The other two are almost within striking distance when she holds her left hand up. They both fall to the ground without a sound, they don't look like they are injured at all.

With a wave of her hand the huge bronze doors to the temple tear away from their hinges and are thrown violently into the building, crushing everyone behind them.

She screams, "MOTHERFUCKING DUCKS! SQUIDS! JEEEESUUUUUUS!"

She enters the temple and as the screams of the people inside echo off the marble walls of the temple...

The leaves begin to turn orange and purple and melt off of the trees into puddles of bubbling ooze. Hunter S. Thompson appears wearing absolutely nothig but golf shoes and a samurai sword. Without warning both Mr. Thompson and his golf shoes turn into the A train.

It screeches to a halt and a somewhat haggard but reasonably attractive looking man with brown curly hair and a goatee jumps up from his seat; he rushes to the door. As it whisks open he mumbles something about unpleasant trips and the late Hunter S. Thompson.

As the doors seal shut behind him and the train lurches forward the view of the haggard curly haired man becomes obscured by the dilapidated pillars questionably supporting the streets above.

(yes, I know its shit; I'll write something that doesn't suck when I have more time and feel like putting effort into something other than masturbating and making fun of people)