First drafts & exercise to keep me doing something. I won't say that most of the stuff within here isn't shit because it is. Posted publicly to keep me accountable, or something.

Thursday, October 22, 2009

01 - Parataxis

Exercise 01: Patterns / Style / Parataxis: "Write a fragment of narrative in paratactic style. [...] This fragment of fiction should concern [...] a series of phone messages a nineteen-year-old man leaves for the woman older man [note: changing this because writing about heterosexuality is boring] who has just broken his heart. [...] 500 words."




YOU HAVE THIRTEEN UNHEARD MESSAGES.

MESSAGE ONE

Are you there. Pick up. Stop screening your calls. I need you to actually answer me. Fine, whatever, bye.


MESSAGE TWO

You're the worst person on this fucking earth and there was a time when you told me you loved me or something and what the fuck are you thinking with this and I swear to God if you lied to me about being disease free I will kill you and why won't you just pick up your fucking phone?


MESSAGE THREE

I picked you up from work almost every single day. Made you breakfast, regularly. Let you fuck me when I wasn't in the mood. Told you every single fucking secret I've ever had. Didn't get angry when your friends ignored me. Let it slide when I wanted to have sex but you didn't want to. Stole money from my mom to bail you out. Didn't laugh when you told me you were fucking abducted by aliens. Fuck you.


MESSAGE FOUR

Pick up. Please pick up.


MESSAGE FIVE

Please.


MESSAGE SIX

I know you're there, will you just pick up the phone?


MESSAGE SEVEN

Pick up the phone.


MESSAGE EIGHT

Jesus. What the fuck.


MESSAGE NINE

Are you really going to just not talk to me ever again? If anything I need to get my shit from your apartment. Maybe not. Fuck it, I don't actually care. Do you want your shit back? Fuck you, you can't have it. Some night I am going to walk to your apartment and make sure you aren't home and tear the fuck out of your bedding and try to ignore any come-stains that aren't mine or even yours and then piss on your bed so you know what it's like to have to sleep in an alcohol-piss-stained blanket for a week because you can't afford to do laundry and then I'm going to leave and when I do I'm going to leave your door wide open and blast music from your shitty stereo so hopefully some bum comes in from of the street and murders you.


MESSAGE TEN

I'm sorry. I didn't mean that. I guess I sort of did but not totally. I don't know. Whatever. I'm just a little pissed and depressed or something, you know? The shit you've pulled is kind of fucking me up. I seriously don't even know what to say about it. I can't articulate anything. I'm trying not to remember, like, any of the last year because it just fucks me up too much. Are you there right now? I'd just really like to talk to you. I broke my TV. I can't decide if that's your fault or not. Fuck I'm just pissed off.


MESSAGE ELEVEN

Like this seriously fucks me up, you know? How did you expect me to react? I'm sorry. I mean, whatever. I feel like totally fucking destroyed. It's really fucked up, I'm not used to feeling this empty. I didn't even realize I was that fucking dependent upon you. I feel really boring.


MESSAGE TWELVE

Never mind.

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