"Novermber WTF - Written Works" (2024)
by Richard F. Yates (Holy Fool)
For November 2024, I decided that I would create a new post every of the month, right here on NEOCITIES!!! Thirty days = Thirty posts; and I did get that accomplished. However, I was also hoping to have a WRITTEN piece for each day of the month... I did NOT write every day... Bummer... (Maybe next time!!!) But I did get a few stories / poems / bits and bobs created, and those can be found below!
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1 Nov. 2024 - WTF #1
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Greetings Citizens! My name is Richard F. Yates, and today is DAY ONE of our NOVEMBER 2024 W.T.F. Festival! For the next thirty days, I will be posting ONE NEW ENTRY, EACH DAY, on my NEOCITIES account until the month is over. The main point of both my NEOCITIES page AND the WTF process is freedom to do whatever the fluff I want, so that's what I'm gonna do. The only "rules" to the game are: 1. Post at least once a day for the entire month. 2. Try to make at least one original DRAWING / PHOTO / SCRIBBLE / VIDEO / or AUDIO piece for each day. And 3. WRITE SOMETHING NEW for each day... The point of ALL OF THIS is to make shit. And I'm gunna!!!
Here, below, is my new FICTION / PROSE / POETRY / WRITING bit... ENJOY:
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Vick and Toby were sitting in the closet. The door was closed, and this particular closet had no internal light source. It was shallow, so the designers didn't think it NEEDED a light. Toby held a flashlight, but he was afraid to turn it on...
Their breathing was heavy, and they both tried to listen beyond the door to hear if IT was coming... They could barely make out a wailing sound, but it seemed far away.
"What if she finds us?" Toby asked in a shaking whisper.
As the old brother, Vick tried to protect Toby by shushing him, silently, but it was so dark in the closet, he didn't figure Toby could tell that's what he was doing. He whispered as quietly as he could...
"If she comes in here looking, we'll try to run past her and get down the stairs then outside. We can go to Herb's house, or something..."
"She's gonna git us," Today started to sob. Vick put his hand over his brother's lips. The stairs began to creak and strain. They both thought they could hear nails running along the walls of the stairwell. They shivered and twitched...
After a few seconds, the house went silent. The boys listened, holding their breaths, for half of Eternity. Toby even started to relax when it seemed like the danger may have passed them by, and then the closet door flung itself open!
"God! There you are!" shrieked the teenage girl. She was holding a cell phone in her hand and wearing a college sweater...menacingly... "I said it's time for dinner! I know you heard me, so let's go!"
"NOW!" screamed Vick, and both boys scrambled out of the closet, rushing past the ripped jeans covering the legs of their pursuer. They tore across the room, slammed the door shut, and rushed down the stairs, every fiber of their being reacting to the smell of liver and onions coming from the kitchen. The strench grew stronger as they flew down the steps. "Come on!" Vick screamed! He opened the front door and bolted outside, followed a pace behind by his brother, who squealed a horrorific whine as he ran.
"GODDAMMIT! Get back here! I'm telling your parents, ya little brats!!!" The wicked screeching coming from the open front door of the house propelled the boys even faster, as they rushed across the street and fled through the side yard of the Grumpy Guy's house, his ancient basset hound growling, half-heartedly, as they passed his doghouse, and they continued away into the night.
"This job is NOT worth $50 bucks a night," the girl said into her phone as she ducked back inside the now empty house and smashed the front door closed.
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2 Nov. 2024 - Nov. WTF #2!
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Today, I'm sharing a "LOW-KU" poem for my WTF writing segment. A "low-ku" poem is like a "haiku" in form, but LOW BROW in content. Got it? Here it goes...
Please please please please please
Let this goddam election
END already! GOSH!
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3 Nov. 2024 - Nov. WTF #3!
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For today's WTF writing bit, I'm gonna write [a freewrite] in this [notebook. Then I'll type the sucker out on the compooter.] (I don't care if that's a cop-out!) Freewriting (as opposed to trapped writing) can be very enjoyable --- and even theraputic... But can it ALSO be magick? Let's find out together... (Ha!)
I'm not sure if this should be a timed freewrite or a quantity freewrite... (30 minutes or five pages...???) Let's just feel it out.
Deep in the recesses of the Pacific Northwest lives a land outside of time. Surrounded by lush greenery and furry wildlife, the environment is also dotted with cell towers, sattelite antennae, and smoke stacks. (A disgusting mixture of Nature, Technology, and Industrial destruction.)
It pisses Bigfoot off. Of that, we can all be certain... And there certainly aren't enough dance clubs... Huff huff huff...
True horror? False horror?? (Which is worse?)
Spring forward --- Fall back... Last night, we all fell. For an abstract concept (and mathematically unstable quality), TIME sure has a grip on humans. Why do we let arbitrarily defined elements such power over our lives? Is the almighty CONSENSUS REALITY truly worth the mental bondage?
Don't worry about it. Have a sandwich. The U.F.O.s will be here at noon with our new wiffle-ball gear. That's all we've ever really wanted... "We" "Us" "Our" LIES... We all shower alone...
Maybe I need more coffee. Calm calm! Chill mutha-fucka! Skeletons of chickens dance with vigor and verve. (Probably with Glen Miller playing over the HI-FI...)
Witches. Whiches... Wishes. Whispers. ESP. Thirteen o'clock. Who are you??
The hard part about writing, when you are me, is not breaking down into fragments. However, if the essense of writing is actually a form of meditation, then allowing the strictures of LANGUAGE to melt away into pure thought --- or pure nothingness (flip side of that 45) --- might be a successful session...
I don't know... Do you?
Conjure? Contact? Create? Who am I TRULY communicating with here?? ME? What if I'm not home... ???
Window is open again. CONFLICT!! Resolution?
My mind is a black + white, DRIVE-IN movie full of monsters; and cheap, painted backdrops; and bad acting. Ha!! (I love that show.)
Is that enough? Did I fulfill my "writing quota" for the day? Who's to say? (Probably me...) I wrote for about 20 minutes. Sadly, I might be running out of steam... Need to STOKE THE BOILERS!!! What's the best way to do that? Probably different for each writer... I'll try to keep track of which variables help contribute to EXCITING writing days... Jah!
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4 Nov. 2024 - WTF #4
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Let's get today's WRITTEN BIT out of the way! There are, perhaps, one or two ideas here, (SHADOWS of ideas), but there is not necessarily anything that screams, "THIS IS GOLD!!!" That's okay. The attempt was made... (Yes. I know that is passive voice...)
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Listening to tunes, drinkin' coffee, and refilling my pillbox. (I can't remember shit, so I have a "daily pills" contraption... Helps keep me "regular.")
What's the plan today?? [ ] Bed, [ ] Laundry, [ ] Writing, [ ] Audio / Vid thing?, [ ] NEOCITIES post, [ ] Laundry mat (for blankets...), [ ] Share some ARTS
WTF #4 Fragmento Joins the Circus! Then quits when he realizes that the "horrible, exploitative, evil, traveling circus" is a thing of the past...
Escapist Wish-Fulfillment... (Good stuff...) Pulp Heroes!! Escalito! (Little Skeleton...) Zoom!! Writing should...(fuck language)...CAN be fun.
Eyes like snakes. Fingers on hands (and other appendages.) Incomprehensible... Chug chug... Intake-Output. (Transformation?) Slate...
Mariah will be home for lunch soon. GOOD!
Baked 65% LESS FAT guaranteed fresh until printed date.
We have no idea how to do it...
A stunning series of robberies rocks the nation! END of the past. Present is what we have to work with... Pizza is not a verb. Extra virgin...
Everything = Nothing. Therefore zero = infinity...
A Sock of Fleagulls... (That shouldn't have made me laugh...) Christmas is coming. I am getting fat... Ain't got a penny to put in anyone's hat! HA! Of course, that's okay. We just cruize... Windows down. Tunes on just a bit too loud... Enjoying the journey, until we have to stop and pee... That's life...
Puppet rights are no laughing matter!!!
Obviously, my life is a collage. Less obviously, SO IS YOURS! The question boils down to what you choose to cut up and build with!
T-Shirt slogans... Slogan? Slogun? Shogan? Shogun??
Derive to survive... It was hailing outside this morning. (Not inside, thank Bob.) Now, here comes the sun... Does being concerned about weather make me old?? FOCUS! Go DEEPER!
Pills and thrills. Ride the coaster... Fug it. Time is an unknown...or an illusion. A NON-SOLID, at the very least. HERE NOW. Some strange addiction...
FRAGMENTS ARE THE WHOLE because our brains can't GRASP everything... Doesn't NEED to grasp everything... But what if we are filtering out something important? Baby with the bath water and all that JAZZ... We might be out of applesauce...
What if "IT" isn't entirely about what we buy and consume. When do people MAKE?? Isn't that activity important, too?? Or am I just a jack-ass??
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11 Nov. 2024
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MICRO PLAYS (My new favorite thing again...):
"Chocolate Bar" by Richard F. Yates (Holy Fool)
Scene: Curtains open. Late at night, or in a world with no natural light. A skinny, frightened, possibly male figure sits on a park bench beneath a lighted LAMP POST. From stage left, a brawny but feminine figure walks onto stage and sits by the male figure.
KATKAT (the feminine figure): You are experiencing distress. What is the cause?
LAZLO (the possibly male figure): I have only one remaining chocolate bar.
Previously unseen lights on the park bench begin to glow and strobe.
KATKAT: My goodness. The Apocalypse is upon us, most likely because of your chocolate deficiencies. I hope you lived a good life.
LAZLO: I did not.
The lights on the bench go out (but the LAMP POST remains lit.) Both figures stand in unison, clap three times, and explode into a cloud of glitter.
VOICE (from off stage): We ask that you, in the audience, hold what you have seen here in the deepest of secret recesses. If you do not, we will hunt you down and force you to take your admission money back.
The lights on the bench go berzerk again. The LAMP POST may walk off stage at this point if the actor playing this character has another gig to get to.
VOICE (from off stage): Now leave...
All lights go out and curtains close. END.
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16 Nov. 2024
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The POPCORN was cursed. They knew from the very beginning, but the temptation was too much. Carnes was the first to break, and he was instantly changed into a rocking-horse as soon as his teeth crunched down on the fluffy, white popcorn bite. Sears and Jenkins went next, and the rest found the room suddenly two gooses fuller. Blake sank to his knees, said goodbye to his Corvette, and took a bite. A bowl of pudding appeared on the floor, but the remaining humans all agreed that it still looked a bit too much like Mr. Blake, so they decided not to set the bowl on the fireplace mantel, out of direct sight. The remaining guests sat slowly back down around the table. Four left... The Whinny twins went next, each taking a single piece (they were both on diets), and they both popped like balloons.
Down to Ernesto and Mrs. Blibble. Ernie was a beast, but even a beast gets hungry. Crossing himself, he grabbed an entire handful of popped corn and shuvved it into his gob. With a slight "hiccup," he became a potted geranium. Mrs. Bibble wiped a tiny dribble of sweat from her brow with a silk napkin, but she held strong. (She'd eaten a cheese sandwich before leaving for the meeting...) Just before she broke and reached for a piece of fluffed corn, she heard a laugh and the door to the kitchen swung open.
Mr. Castro, the HOST for the evening, came thru the door carrying a large platter filled with potato chips and pepper-poppers. He stepped towards the table and stopped, seeing a nearly empty room, with only Mrs. Bibble, two gooses, and a geranium still sitting at the table. "What the hell happened in here?" he asked in a choked voice. Mrs. Bibble and one goose pointed at the large popcorn bowl in the center of the table.
"But I warned everyone that the popcorn was cursed! Why didn't they listen?" Castro stammered...
"What do you expect!?" the geranium said. "We were starving!" The gooses and Mrs. Bibble nodded furiously.
"I TOLD you weirdos that I was going to get snacks!!! I was only out of the room for ten minutes!!!" Castro set the tray of food on the table next to the popcorn bowl, and quickly reached out to smack Mrs. Bibble's hand, which had started to reach for a bite from the popcorn bowl... "Sorry!" she said and snagged a pepper-popper, instead. The pudding on the mantle let out a laugh...
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That's basically all I did... I mean, I wrote OTHER things, usually nonsense, stream-of-consciousness junk in my notebooks, but I didn't share them for WTF... Maybe I'll be more prepared next time, or more disciplined. (Too hedonistic for my own good! HA!) Anyway...that's it!!!
LATER!!! ---Richard F. Yates (Holy Fool)
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