Monday, May 26, 2014

Beckoning Bill Burroughs: Three Women on Power, Eating, and Costumes

left to right: Antoinette, Brosh, Lawson, Burroughs

Almost three years ago to the day, I penned the last installment of one of many short-lived features on the old blog. The feature, Beckoning Bill Burroughs, celebrated the cut-and-fold technique the author used in the 1960s. In short, he would create a story by piecing portions of selected manuscripts together. Inventive or not, the patience required in putting scissors and glue to such a task remains remarkable, even if, in doing so, an arsenal of liquor and narcotics serves as the primary motivator.

Tonight I revive 'B' cubed, and the source of inspiration comes from a video I saw on Facebook:

Sunday, May 18, 2014

Dream Fiction no.1: Therapists and Baristas

 It was a black sedan. Something fancy. Maybe a Lexus. And we moved, ignoring the traditional-space responsibility associated with lanes. Dusk doesn’t quite grasp when it was. The vanishing of the day’s last glows had transpired recent enough that you could measure their absence in increments so fresh that the group did nothing in the way of speaking or assigning value. But there were still chunks left before the driver -- my therapist -- would engage in the inner monologue associated with whether or not to turn on the headlights. Streets signs were still legible without a squint. The sky had been clear enough that the brightness lingered, a child hindering bedtime efforts.

            My therapist was good at breathing. She used the technique to control time and emotion in a contagious fashion. Once while on retreat, she smudged me. It’s of value that showers and changes of clothes don’t wash off that sort of thing. In the back of that sedan, though, I could hear a foreign form of panic trying to make itself known. A second cousin of sorts. I didn’t like it, but I knew she still had the reins. The way she multi-tasked as we wove made me think about her. My back-seat view of her head was unfamiliar and as I watched her juggle the wheel, her cell phone, directions from the stranger in shotgun, and the group’s emotions, it occurred to me that maybe someone had body jumped her.