Jellyfish dance©2008 Robert Sommers
Today I start with an experiment - with your help we will write a mosaic novel. I will write the first chapter a little later today, just a page or two and then I will stop. You will hopefully continue it and I may step in from time to time. E-mail me submissions for the next chapter, either with your name or anonymously if you prefer, to blheron@pacbell.net. I will pick what I think is the best chapter and we can see where it goes. Nothing too freaky or pornographic. But take it wherever you want to. Please don't get discouraged if you don't get one picked. I will be very democratic. For a tyrant.
3 comments:
At first glance, looking East you can almost imagine you are looking at one of the lost seven citys of Cibola. Across that stream they call the Colorado River is Needles twin whore sister, Golden Shores. It has all the charm of its neighbor to the South Topock Arizona, which means it is in the devils triangle of lost glory and rusting double wides. In spite of it's tranquil name Golden Shores sucks just like Needles. It should be called Golden Showers.
Only now you are lost ten years in time from California, in the Arizona Territory where the laws ease up. Golden Shores is a depressing mixture of aging Medicare poverty stricken desert rats, waiting for St. Peter to scalp them a ticket to the big desert in the sky, PWTT (poor white trailer trash) a handful of ex-flower chidren, would-be bikers on welfare and toothless meth chemist, waiting for the Feds to break the down the front doors of thier mobile homes.
Don's amigos anxiously waited for his return from Needles, unaware that Don had just commited a Federal crime of Interstate Transportation of Stolen Goods. He returned at dusk narrowly avoiding being bit by Corky's pitbull dogs and immediately spread his pawned treasure wealth of a newly acquired bottle of cough syrup, Marlboros, sunflower seeds, Popov and family sized KFC gut bucket on Corkys coffee table. It was a kings ransom for the court jesters of Golden Shores. Tommorow it would be Rocky's turn to dazzle the Pawn Shop owner with a turquoise bracelet courtesy of a Ford Windstar's glovebox in a dark parking lot of Blythe's Motel 6.
Banged in through the side door, huh? Well a good effort and the Popov was certainly a nice touch so you get posted. thanks, masked stranger.
Robert
Oh ya, I reserve the right to correct your shitty spelling and syntax.
The Editor
Post a Comment