(no subject)

[realexplodingcat]

Today I wrote a poem using other people's words. The non-italicized words are my own, the rest are from three other sources (one of which I actually don't know if there's an author to credit). Bonus points to those who recognize the other two. Should be fairly obvious if you like the same sorta stuff I do.

Home is where the heart is.
The heart is under three planks from the flooring of the chamber.
It was a low, dull, quick sound,
beating a rhythm to the vision that's in my head,
a beat to the sight of me lying.
That unmistakable sound I know so well.
Tear up the planks!--here, here!--it is the beating of his hideous heart!

Comments

[daddys-girl.livejournal.com]

how interesting... predominatley Edger Allen Poe, I see...

[explodingcat.livejournal.com]

You keep an eye on writing101 community? I posted it there, too. You can find the other source there, because I mention who the sources are. But, yes, lots of Poe in there :)

[quasigeostrophy.livejournal.com]

Mmmm... Poe...

[explodingcat.livejournal.com]

You got the easy one. The other one isn't so easy unless you pay attention to the lyrics of a certain contemporary rock band. I know there's at least two people on my friends list that would know it. One of them didn't post, but I already know he recognized it.

Sorry it took a bit to get back with you but this is what I have.

[adoka.livejournal.com]

It all sounds a little mad now, I know, but at the time I was so unnerved. I left the Bluff City in a rush, crossing the ‘old bridge’ in a car that I liberated from the drive way of some homeboy in Peach Tree Square. It was a big Lincon Towncar with no alarm and duct taped seats. The plates were good, the engine was remarkably quiet. In no time at all I was in the wind. The rucksack that I took from the hole in the wall in my closet sat on the passenger side floorboard, lost in the darkness of the night.

It was uncomfortable to drive with the thump tf my chest. The vest had taken the brunt of the low velocity slug, but a hit like that still hurts. Who knew the little rat had the balls to pull the trigger. I sure didn’t. Well, I put stamped paid to that ticket. No need to return to Memphis now.

I had a passel of money, a plan, and a destination. All I needed to do was cross through Arkansas under the cover of darkness before the law could catch me and bury me in 201 Poplar, or worse, The Bull or his gumbahs catch me and nail me to a tree. No, they wouldn’t leave a body. I would take a one way trip out to the river and be food for whatever mutant fish called the Mississippi home. The more distance I put between me an Memphis the better.

I drove. Interstate forty took me through Forrest City and lead to Little Rock. I would have to catch I30 west but felt I needed to pull over before then. I kept having to make myself relax, and lean back in the seat, untwist my fingers from the wheel and let the pain in my chest ease up. I didn’t think anything was broken, really. I was sure that I just had a severe bone bruise. Corpus Christi was a fair piece. I wasn’t going to be able to drive it straight through.

It was at an all night diner and filler-up that I started getting crazy ideas. Belize was my end goal. Belize was always the lure in my mind. The gulf coast, sunny weather, scuba diving, my own bar where I would run my own games, maybe a few women on the side in a real high class way of course. I started to get an itch way down and I didn’t think it was a hemmeroid.

I liked Memphis. I like Memphis in May when the heat just starts squeezing the mercury to the top of the glass. Why should I have to leave when I could just go back and clean house. I could do it, I thought. It wasn’t the smart play, but if I worked it right, I could send the Bull and buddies to the bottom of the big Muddy instead of me.

I wrestled with that idea for a long while before I turned the key on that old Ford. I pulled out onto the road and headed deep in thought to the on ramp.

Re: Sorry it took a bit to get back with you but this is what I have.

[explodingcat.livejournal.com]

Awesome start. No problem about taking some time to get it started. It's going to take me a little time to follow up.

Whoa...Didn't think I'd write this much. This is what I got...

[explodingcat.livejournal.com]

Late into the night and rubbing up against the next morning, I sped through Little Rock. Traffic thickened a little, but not enough to slow me down. The brief stop at the all night diner to cool my jets and ease off the tension did wonders for my attitude regarding a sleepless night. Maybe that crappy Earl Grey was helping, too.

I felt like an old lady ordering tea instead of coffee, but I heard tea delivered the caffeine in a smoother dose. With adrenaline already running high and my heart pounding behind the bullet bruise, I thought a hot shot of coffee might kill me. I took a chance at the Earl Grey to wash down some jelly donuts. Stuff tasted like dirty water, but I wasn't shaking in my seat. So, It seemed to do the trick, or so I thought.

Less than hour beyond Little Rock, shooting down I-30 W on my way out of Arkansas, I found myself doing 80 on the shoulder. I woke up in time to avoid careening any further off the road and pulled the Lincoln back on track. The car wasn't going to crash, but I was. And hard. I decided it was only a sugar high from the donut that had me feeling so fine before, and that tea hadn't done shit. I couldn't keep my eyes open. My head felt like a rotten melon.

I wasn't going to make it out of Arkansas that night. Pissed at myself, but not eager for more punishment, I began to search for a place to stop that wasn't in a ditch. A lone car cruised miles behind me and I was getting nervous about that, probably unnecessarily, so I decided against pulling off the side of the road, figuring it would be too conspicuous. I rolled down the window, welcoming the blast of air in my face, and pumped up the volume on the radio. Guitars twanged and some guy whined about his truck. Sensory overload, but it was keeping me awake until the next exit.

I took exit 78 for Caddo Valley and hung a left on AR-7. Just outside town I rolled into a small industrial park, driving around a building sporting a sign that read Nommonia. I recognized the name. I had an uncle, Stinky Pete, who worked for the Lonoke branch of the same outfit. They made a chemical for mixing into farm dirt. It prevented the release of ammonia, so cows wouldn't choke to death on the smell of their own piss.

At this hour, the placed looked quiet. I backed into a spot near the building, between two trucks that could hide the Lincoln. I could see most of the lot and the road which went around the corner to the front and returned to the highway. I closed my eyes and fell asleep in an instant.

Two hours later the cell-phone in my rucksack started ringing. I shook myself awake and grabbed for it. Pain stabbed through my chest where the slug nailed me. The bruise took the opportunity of my nap to flare up bad. I reached for the sack more carefully. It took some time to find the cell, which had slipped down to the bottom beneath the clothes. By the time I got my fingers on it, the ringing had stopped. I held it in my hand, waiting for a message to show up. A phone number I didn't recognize, but it was one with a Tennessee area code. I thumbed a button to hear the message.

"Hey, it's Jackie," said a soft, woman's voice.

I almost dropped the cell, missing the next few words. A ghost! I saw Jackie catch a sniper bullet in the chest, yesterday. No way she could've survived that. I held her and I swear she died in my arms, but I had to ditch her and run before the Bull's toadies caught up with me.

"I can't talk long. I'm sorry about what happened. Sorry, I can't explain--"

I held the phone, but I wasn't hearing it. A beam of light caught my eye. Someone on foot with a flashlight in one hand, walking this way across the lot. The light blinked on briefly and went out. I tossed the cell back in the sack, figuring I'd dial up the message again if I survived the next few hours.

Re: Whoa...Didn't think I'd write this much. This is what I got...

[adoka.livejournal.com]

Good, Very Good. I like it a lot.

my new installment

[adoka.livejournal.com]

writing 101 my second installment of co-op writing project
I drew my piece out of the bag, checked the clip and slid it back in. It was a good pistol. No one thinks of the Czechs making good weapons but the CZ-75 is an good piece of work and it takes a silencer with a bit of work from a gunsmith. Ok, I told myself, it's probably only a security guard. Ratchet it down a notch. You don't need to whack a Wackenhut goon.

http://www.livejournal.com/users/adoka/183861.html#cutid1

Re: my new installment

[explodingcat.livejournal.com]

If you have an eye on my journal, you might have noticed me post my 2nd installment there already. It got too long to fit in a comment. But it probably makes sense to keep at least keep references to the installments in the comments of this post. At least one central place.

"I decided Jackie ought to remain a mystery. Trying to focus on remaining hellbent for Corpus Christi, I didn't want to stop again until at least the border. But Jackie Belancourt's voice still whispered in my ear..."

http://www.livejournal.com/users/explodingcat/37873.html#cutid1 (http://www.livejournal.com/users/explodingcat/37873.html#cutid1)