MIDNIGHT CONTINUUM
posted @ 6:14 pm in [ SPASMS ]
(thanks to Sarah Lynch-Walker)
By the way, this is purely fabricated. Sarah’s words reminded me of Gertrude Stein, which reminded me of Alice B. Toklas, and as usual, something melancholy resulted. – Amy
Alice awoke to music. Bright sunlight slanted through the curtain. Sitting up hurt her head, but she sat up anyway. Gertrude burst into the room and whisked a book from the bedside table. Almost as an afterthought, she leaned over and kissed Alice. “Leo and Pablo are here, and Pablo’s brought a marvelous girl with him.”
Alice nodded sleepily. Marvelous girls always excited Gertie. “Who’s playing the piano? It’s lovely.”
Gertie beamed. “Yvonne.” She swept from the room as quickly as she’d come.
Oh, lovely. So Picasso had brought her another nubile young thing. Another offering. Good for Gertie.
She found the foursome in the salon. Pablo was leaning back in a wing chair, sketching a voluptuous young blonde whose finger tripped lightly along the keys. Leo had just decanted some wine. Gertrude sat near Pablo, chattering a mile a minute. Alice smiled.
Leo held up a glass. “Hair of the dog, Alice?”
She gulped greedily. Whiskey burned her throat in a pleasant sort of way. “Merci, Leo.”
Yvonne finished playing and leaned forward, her breasts resting gently on the keyboard.
Gertie patted the arm of the chair next to her. “Come, Yvonne, sit. Leo, bring Yvonne a glass.” He brother poured a half glass of white wine and handed it to the young woman as she passed.
Pablo grunted and began another sketch. Leo draped himself across a divan, amused as always to watch Gertie work her magic on Yvonne. Despite Gertie’s small stature and dumpy frame, she had little trouble impressing pretty young things. After all, she was a celebrity.
Yvonne relaxed into the chair. She wore dark trousers and a sweater that clung to her skin. She wore no shoes. Her toenails were pink and perfect.
Alice poured herself another whiskey.
Yvonne listened politely as Gertrude read some of her own poetry, and commented that she was familiar with Gertrude’s “continuing present” concept. She turned her head to look at Alice. “I’ve read some of your poetry, as well, Alice. I like it very much.”
Gertie’s eyebrows rose. “Is that so?”
Alice blushed and tried to divert Yvonne’s attention back to her beloved. “Trifles, really. Gertie’s poems, however…”
Yvonne’s eyes lingered on Alice’s strong cheekbones, the peachfuzz mustache feathering her lip. “You are beautiful, Alice. Not pretty, but very attractive.”
Gertie beamed. This new turn of events pleased her. “Alice, you must show Yvonne your collection of Pablo’s early sketches, in the boudoir. I think she might like the charcoal of you.”
Yvonne was beautiful… And it would clearly please Gertie. Alice nodded her assent and motioned the younger woman to follow. The only consequence would be her own misgivings, later. For now, she would live in Gertie’s Continuing Present. Why not.
She could hear Pablo’s soft chuckles all the way down the hall.
Copyright 2006 Amy Frushour Kelly. All rights reserved.
Reproduction by any means prohibited without prior written consent.
Protected: Chapter 18: HELENA AGAIN!
posted @ 9:25 pm in [ Snake & Freaky John Novel ]
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A PRAYER
posted @ 6:11 pm in [ SPASMS ]
Waiting breathlessly in the emergency room, the child’s father uttered a silent prayer that his child might survive the asthma attack, with a minimum of trauma and a full recovery with a long, healthy life. It was hard for him to pray, not having believed in a god in a very long time, but now… he was desperate now. Anything for his son. At the very moment he nodded an “amen,” his son’s bronchial spasms ceased, and he responded to the epinephrine and albuterol. Within a day, the boy and his parents were on their way home from the hospital, right as rain.
For years afterwards, the father struggled with the result of his silent prayer. He didn’t know whether to offer a prayer of thanks to God for his son’s miraculous recovery, or to simply offer thanks to the doctors and nurses in the E.R. who had given his child excellent care. It gnawed inside of him sometimes when he least expected it. Was the recovery divine intervention? It seemed too dramatic to have been mere coincidence.
God, meanwhile, didn’t take a hand in people’s day to day lives. The medical team had done its job, as they were supposed to. And if the father had ever bothered to pray and ask if the boy’s turnaround were due to medical treatment or divine intervention, and if She were to bother to listen to this prayer, God would have replied, “things happen.” There is such a thing as a coincidence, and coincidences transpire more often than one might expect. Which was why God wasn’t often sure she believed in Herself, either.
The boy grew up healthy and happy, unaware of his father’s doubts, or the state of God’s involvement in his life. He grew up believing that he was loved and that all was well within the Universe. And he was right.
Copyright 2006 Amy Frushour Kelly. All rights reserved.
Reproduction by any means prohibited without prior written consent.
THE LAVATORY
posted @ 6:08 pm in [ SPASMS ]
The lavatory was unappetizing. Not that a ladies’ room should be appetizing, but this one was clean in exactly the same way you wouldn’t want an operating room to be – all right at a cursory glance, but on closer inspection, hairs and smudges and all sorts of unsavories were in evidence.
Even the faucet on the sink was a trifle dubious in terms of cleanliness. Ugh. She pulled a paper towel from the dispenser and polished the faucet before touching it. A steady stream of smoke poured from the tap, and a genie appeared next to her.
“Thou hast released me from my bondage, fair lady! My gratitude is thine! I offer my humble servitude and three wishes as—”
She broke his nose with her clutch bag and ran from the lavatory, screaming.
Copyright 2006 Amy Frushour Kelly. All rights reserved.
Reproduction by any means prohibited without prior written consent.
THE WIZARD OF OZ IN UNDER 30 SECONDS
posted @ 6:06 pm in [ SPASMS ]
Kansas is boring. TWISTER! It’s a TWISTER! Wicked Witch of the East. Look out below! Oops! New shoes. Toto, I don’t think we’re in – Munchkins. Lollipop Guild? Mayor. Follow, follow, follow, follow, follow the yellow brick – Scarecrow. Needs heart. Join forces. Follow, follow, follow, follow, follow the yellow brick – Tin Man. Needs brain. Comes along as we follow, follow, follow, follow, follow the yellow brick – Lion. Lion snarls. Oops, Lion needs nerve. Four now as we follow, follow, follow, follow, follow the yellow brick – POPPIES! Getting verrrrry ssssleeeeeepyyyyyyy… Wake up. Follow, follow, follow, follow, follow the yellow brick – FLYING MONKEYS! There are FLYING MONKEYS!!! Aaauuuggghhh!!! Wicked Witch of the West. Attack. Follow, follow, follow, follow, follow the yellow brick – Emerald City. Wizard. Weird. Frightening. Wizard unmasked. Wizard is just some little dude. Glinda the Good Witch. Clicking heels, “No place like home, there’s no place like home, there’s no place like home…”
Oops, it was all a dream. Kansas isn’t so bad after all. Maybe we should cut back on the poppies.
The End.
Copyright 2004-2006 Amy Frushour Kelly, who hasn’t watched “The Wizard of Oz” in years, and who has never, to her knowledge, seen the film — or read the book — in its entirety. All rights reserved.
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Protected: Chapter 17: SNAKE HATCHES A PLAN, HUDSON HATCHES SOME BISCUITS
posted @ 7:08 am in [ Snake & Freaky John Novel ]
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BUNNY!
posted @ 5:40 pm in [ SPASMS ]
Here’s a cute little bunny, hopping for joy! Smart bunny! Look at him bouncing around, looking so clever and capering with glee! Oh, what a good bunny! Sassy bunny! See that big bunny smile? Groovy bunny! What a huggable, sweet, snoogy-woogy bunny, don’t you just love him so much?! Don’t you just want to pick him up and hug him and cuddle him and stroke his… sandpapery… little fins…
Good heavens. It’s a baby lemon shark. Well. That explains what it was doing in the aquarium. Drop it, for god’s sake.
Copyright 2004-2006 Amy Frushour Kelly. All rights reserved.Reproduction by any means prohibited without prior written consent.
THE INTERNATIONAL BROTHERHOOD OF FLUTEMASTERS, PAN-PIPERS AND PICCOLO PLAYERS
posted @ 5:26 pm in [ SPASMS ]
(or: Never Mess With a Flautist)
Like most coalitions of its kind, the Union was started in 1922 with the best of intentions—to serve its members, ensure that the best jobs go to the best workers, encourage fairness in the workplace, and set a standard for aspiring flautists. And it did, for many years. But inevitably, corruption and foul play transpired.
The downward spiral did not begin until the late 1930s, when FOCATS (Fraternity of Clarinetists and Tenor Saxophonists) interfered with an IBFP strike, sending in third-rate clarinet players as scabs to do a Flutemaster’s job. Several times, the brethren of the IBFP implored their fellow musicians to cease, to no avail. Shortly afterward, a mysterious fire destroyed the FOCATS headquarters in Cleveland. The implications were obvious.
Thus began a long decade of rivalry between the IBFP and FOCATS, ending only when the clarinetists’ union merged with UBOP (United Bassoonists and Oboe Players) to become FOCATS-UBOP, tripling their ranks and conspiring to take even more flute jobs.
IBFP engaged in back-door discussions with the Drummer-Percussionist Guild, Brethren of the Brass, and the Keyboard Coalition Front, but nothing significant resulted[1].
The woodwind rivalry was ended in 1952, with the inauguration of IBFP president Dom Panzir. Panzir, a shrewd businessman as well as a flautist, used the bulk of the IBFP pension fund to quietly buy up manufacturers and distributors of reeds. Soon, every time a woodwind player bought a new reed for his instrument, he unwittingly padded the coffers of the IBFP. The Flutemasters’ treasury swelled. In 1954, Panzir and his brethren approached the Union of Sheet Metal Workers with a lucrative merger deal. The non-musical sheet metal workers leaped at the opportunity, and IBFP ranks swelled with tough, strong men unafraid of physical aggression.
Needless to say, the next time FOCATS-UBOP scab musicians attempted to cross an IBFP&SMW picket line, they were quite violently surprised. In fact, it was these picket lines, combined with Panzir’s aforementioned business savvy, that firmly established the Flutemasters as a force to be reckoned with. By the 1960s, a rumored (but never proven) Flutemasters-Mafia connection surprised no one.
The following decades brought more of the same. In the present day, mothers place protective hands on their children when they see a Flutemaster on the street. Flautists are portrayed as the “heavies” in such mainstream programs as “The Sopranos.” And the flute remains an instrument trapped in the balance of heavenly music and devilish greed and power.
Copyright 2004-2006 Amy Frushour Kelly. All rights reserved. Reproduction by any means prohibited without prior written consent.
Protected: Chapter 16: A STAIN
posted @ 7:08 am in [ Snake & Freaky John Novel ]
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WELL, LET ME TELL *YOU* SOMETHING
posted @ 6:27 am in [ SPASMS ]
So you think you know so much, hah? Let me tell YOU something, youngster. You don’t know nothin’.
That’s right. Back in 1923, we didn’t have no penicillin. Don’t go telling me you need some fancy anti-bioterias every time you get a sniffle! Only sure cure for a virus is onions. Onion soup, garlic cloves, and a raw onion, peeled, every two and a half hours. Oh, and whiskey, of course.
You think you know so much? I’ll tell you something you never knew. Polio is a myth. All those people pretending to be crippled? They’re just doing it to get attention. Jonas Salk was a fool. Ain’t no polio, never was. You get that polio shot in the arm? Water. All it is, fancy-pants. Good old drinking water. They get it from the faucet back of the house.
And let me tell YOU something, youngster. There ain’t no Statue of Liberty, neither. Course not. There’s no way on God’s green earth that the French could make a statue that big. Why, those Frenchies sit in little cafes all day, drinking their fruity wine and twirling their mustaches. You think they could build a statue that big? You’re fooling yourself. Let me tell you something. And this is our little secret. I have it on good authority… The Statue of Liberty is a cardboard cutout. Sure. The way they keep it looking fresh is they give it a new coat of paint every spring. That’s straight from the horse’s mouth, kiddo.
You think you know so much? Hah. You don’t know nothin’.
You don’t know nothin’.
Copyright 2004-2006 Amy Frushour Kelly. All rights reserved. Reproduction by any means prohibited without prior written consent.
