(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

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.