| T O P I C R E V I E W |
| the thing |
Posted - 04/26/2004 : 01:48:34
Would anyone be interested in writing a short story inspired by a Pixies/FB song?
Thought it might be a fun thing to do, maybe get a collection of stories together and publish here or somewhere on the web (maybe print - but not sure about that).
I imagine fictional stories based on song titles/themes/plots - not "first time I saws" or anything. Could be scripts / straight prose / poems.
Let me know, if anyones interested, if not I'll shut up and disappear back under my rock...
My head was feeling scared, but my heart was feeling free |
| 23 L A T E S T R E P L I E S (Newest First) |
| Bsharp |
Posted - 04/30/2004 : 18:50:40
my short storie: there wqs once three sheep and a cow and the cow went moo and the sheep went bahh and god trumped and everybody cried and bled three times. |
| Daisy Girl |
Posted - 04/30/2004 : 14:31:05
quote:
Originally posted by Bartholomew
Daisy,
That's a good idea, a "virtual" pixie/frank black songbook. BTW, That's not what I meant by private email addresses. I just meant if someone has a story then they should post it is all.
Cool...ok i see what you are saying... :) people should definately post their stories...
well if we get enough stories and artwork then we should do it... i think it would be cool. Should we start a separate Topic for Pixies based artwork or should we do it some other way??
we could put it together as a group thing |
| Bartholomew |
Posted - 04/29/2004 : 06:12:44
Daisy,
That's a good idea, a "virtual" pixie/frank black songbook. BTW, That's not what I meant by private email addresses. I just meant if someone has a story then they should post it is all. |
| Daisy Girl |
Posted - 04/28/2004 : 18:20:06
Bartholomew...that was great... you crack me up!!
Thanks for starting this this is fun. It is cool to see how diverse everyone's story is!!!
I started doning that in the 1st grade...the neighbor boys were smarter and made me go first but didn't show theirs. :) Of course it took me a good 4 or 5 times to catch what they were up to. You can email me thru the forum...I just don't like it posted openly becasue of SPAM.
Maybe if we get enough stories we can get some people to to Pixie song art, too and we can publish a virtual Pixie tribute book?? |
| Bartholomew |
Posted - 04/28/2004 : 14:06:06
Post away you guys. What’s all this business with private email addresses? Like I told that girl in 5th grade, I showed you mine, now show me yours. |
| neocalanus |
Posted - 04/28/2004 : 12:43:55
me too, me too!
i am currently working on a pixies inspired story. i would love to participate.
my email is oceandessa at bust dot com.
"stuck here out of gas, right here on the gaza strip" |
| Bartholomew |
Posted - 04/28/2004 : 06:27:56
Good one daisy. Thing, of course you should post yours. Here's a real frank black very short story inspired by a song. No cheating this time.
Plain
©bill oberg 2004
Boring. Dustballs, mothballs, boccie-ball boring.
Pihc should be working, he really should. He thinks about raising his head off his cool metal desk. He thinks about nothing; watersliding down nothing, eating a great big plate of nothing, taking nothing to the circus and buying it cotton candy, fucking it later.
He’s up and back pretending to work as the heavy footsteps of his boss come up behind him. He’s dizzy cuz he moved too fast.
He sees her reflection in his monitor and doesn’t even want to turn around. Why bother? In his mind, she has already bored him.
He’s tired of his boss’ voice, her constant praise and encouragement, he’s even tired of her four huge tits and the way she thrusts them into his face sometimes and makes him “earn overtime” sucking on them.
She is exactly like every other female he knows. For once can’t there be one who’s not so attractive? One less titted for a change. And what a delight if he could meet a girl frigid in bed.
“Not meeting all of your quotas I hope, Pihc. I warned you about that.”
She says something else. Though part of Pihc hears her, mostly he has tuned her out.
Home is no escape for Pihc. Home is where the monkey is and what was he thinking anyway that day at the petstore.
“This sucks,” says the mimic monkey as soon as Pihc shuts the front door.
No matter how long he’s had him it’s still weird hearing Fling-Poo talk. It was a neat idea at the time he was shelling out the bucks. A novelty.
“I hate mornings,” mimes Fling-Poo in his best Pihc voice.
“Aw, shut up, already.”
He scoops the monkey up and hugs him. The monkey is like an annoying wife he loves anyway.
The room darkens. Pihc holds a glass of water in his hand as he winds down the day. A big glass. Tonight, he wants to see just how drunk he can get.
Pihc lies back on his recliner enjoying the silence, the monkey opposite him on the couch. The monkey hates silence.
“I’ve had it with this town,” says the monkey, digging into the memory banks.
“Shut up.”
“I never saw no shifting skies. I never saw the ground, or the sunset rise.”
My God, he remembers every word I’ve ever said, thinks Pihc.
“I want to live on an abstract plain.”
Pihc takes a long drink of his water and sighs. |
| the thing |
Posted - 04/28/2004 : 02:03:26
Nice one Daisy girl, perfect hot sweaty pixieness...
Suppose I should really post my efforts soon - since this was my idea!
My head was feeling scared, but my heart was feeling free |
| Daisy Girl |
Posted - 04/27/2004 : 12:22:17
Hi eveyrone... here's my short story for those 18-years-old and up!
It is R rated!
http://daisygirlmn.tripod.com/daisygirlspixiessite/id6.html
Let me know what you think and also I'd like to see more of your short stories.
|
| klikger |
Posted - 04/26/2004 : 23:42:03
Can't wait to read it, Daisy. I'm sure it'll be great. :) |
| Cult_Of_Frank |
Posted - 04/26/2004 : 23:34:00
Go ahead and link it with the warning, that's cool.
 "Join the Cult of Frank / And you'll be enlightened" |
| Daisy Girl |
Posted - 04/26/2004 : 18:39:25
Wow Bart...that gave me chills. I will try to come up with something if I can get inspired.
Ok I have something but it's a little racy and R rated...if I post a link and say only those 18 or over allowed...would that be ok or should I just not post it?? Thanks!!! |
| neo |
Posted - 04/26/2004 : 17:50:34
I cried when she turned into the bay window. 
|
| Bartholomew |
Posted - 04/26/2004 : 14:23:22
Hey, Thing! Frank likewise turned me on to Ray. Who in turn turned me on to writing stories. Initially, Frank had turned me on to writing songs, but the whole voice thing/performance aspect never worked out. Incindentally, I hope to trek up to Ray's hometown, Waukegan this summer. It's the setting for "Dandelion Wine" and it's only five or so hours north of me. I've got a map of Waukegan with hand-drawn notes listing key sites written by the man himself. Now to convince the wife... |
| the thing |
Posted - 04/26/2004 : 12:51:34
Whether you "cheated" or not there is a distinct "Frankness" here, kinda reminded me of something Ray Bradbury might write - and you can't get more "Frank" than that.
I remember years ago Frank reading the Martian Chronicles on Radio One here in the U.K. which was eerily perfect, and I think the reason I turned on to alot of classic sci-fi
My head was feeling scared, but my heart was feeling free |
| Cult_Of_Frank |
Posted - 04/26/2004 : 11:11:59
Heh, true. Or that he requires minute shape-shifting abilities in order for his hands to do some of that leadwork... :)
"Join the Cult of Frank / And you'll be enlightened" |
| Bartholomew |
Posted - 04/26/2004 : 10:54:48
what bout the long harisWhat about the “long hair defiantly feathered back”? Come on, COF, throw me a bone, here. Actually, you’re right. The story is so ambiguous it could be about anyone. Though I like to think Rich Gilbert really is a shapeshifter. You could make an argument with some of the clothes he wears. |
| Cult_Of_Frank |
Posted - 04/26/2004 : 10:40:42
I was going to say that I coudn't see any ties to Rich here and that you could've used anyone's name in Rich's place... :)
"Join the Cult of Frank / And you'll be enlightened" |
| Bartholomew |
Posted - 04/26/2004 : 10:20:57
Thanks. Though I cheated a bit. This story was already written with the protag's name as "Davy". Alls I did this go around is insert Rich where Davy once was. If I get time between other writing projects I may try something more directly inspired by his Frankness. After all, he is the reason I started writing in the first place. |
| the thing |
Posted - 04/26/2004 : 09:11:13
Yep that's exactly the kind of thing I had in mind, excellent stuff
My head was feeling scared, but my heart was feeling free |
| Bartholomew |
Posted - 04/26/2004 : 08:08:08
Secrets
©Bill Oberg 2004
I know a secret about Rich Gilbert.
When he gets upset, Rich transforms from his human form into a pane of glass. If he’s at home, he becomes the bay window. Always the bay window.
I know another secret about Rich. Someone...an admirer from afar, is in love with him. Though I’m pretty sure he has no idea of this.
I’ve known Rich since kindergarten. My house is across the street from his. I wouldn’t say I’m obsessed with watching him, but living so close to him for so long, I’ve picked up certain things about him.
I cried the first time I seen him change shape. I felt for him, and the tragedy of it all. I guess we were both eleven or twelve that spring day. He was out on his front lawn when I came home from school. Back then I resented Rich for being home-schooled; no fair he was able to finish his lessons early and play in his yard half the day.
I was peeping at him from behind the curtain in my room; admiring the feature that made him stand out from the other boys I knew: his hair. It wasn’t short and combed-over like the style at the time. It was long and defiantly feathered back. It was different and I liked it.
I saw the rottweiler come around the corner before Rich ever did. It was old man Benson’s from down the street. Two thoughts entered my mind at that moment. The first was a remembrance of Rich telling me how he hated that dog. He didn’t say he was scared of it, but...
My second thought was I had to warn Rich.
I rapped at the window. Rich turned and pure panic whitened his face.
The snarling dog was within biting distance.
Rich didn’t move a muscle. Rich...dripped. His body melted into a puddle on the ground. It shimmered in the sunlight.
The dog dropped his lips back down over his teeth and was docile again.
In a reverse pouring motion, the puddle seemed to pour itself from the ground and up into the living-room bay window.
“Shapeshifter,” I whispered.
My heart ached.
“I’m so sorry, Rich.”
I knew about shapeshifters. Someone very close to me was one. It was a curse. It was the worst kind of handicap, because you never knew when it might be triggered. And of course, it was humiliating. Shapeshifters were looked upon as outcasts of society.
Poor Rich.
I think that’s the moment I fell in love with him.
Rich is forty-years old. As am I. Somehow, through all the years, my love for him has remained. So many boyfriends have come and gone. But not, Rich. He’s never left me and I can’t imagine he will anytime soon.
He’s getting worse. He has to be. I see him less and less –– in his human form that is. Mostly I view him as a window. It sounds silly, but he’s beautiful that way. The bay window is no ordinary piece of glass when Rich has melded into it. It sparkles. And there’s a depth to it. Like peering down into the clearest stream. Maybe part of it is simply knowing Rich is within it.
I’ve made up my mind. The next time I see him in human form I will leave my window and approach him. I only hope I can go through with it. The stronger my love for him has grown, the more timid I have become.
There once was a time when I easily approached boys. The first few years of high school I was aggressive, sometimes so much so that I scared them away. And then my symptoms grew worse.
I was never home-schooled like Rich. I never consciously withdrew from society in any way. Instead, I let it happen naturally. At eighteen, I watched my friends move away to college. I didn’t follow. I was scared to stray far from the sanctuary of my home; especially my room. Unlike the rest of the world I can control what happens there. I can keep it dark so that the shadows soothe.
But I’m not alone. There is always Rich. Though we’ve exchanged words only a few times over the years, I feel like I know him well. His presence is a comfort. He’s always there. Most of the time, staring right at my house –– at my room window, I wonder and hope.
Shapeshifters are born of fear. It’s awful knowing he’s so afraid. I want to go over and hug him. To cradle his head on my shoulder and rock him back and forth; whispering everything’s going to be alright.
I part my dark blue curtain and peep out. The bright daylight hurts my eyes and makes it hard to see clearly. At first I can’t believe what I see. But it’s him. It’s really him in human form.
I hear the blood rushing like a river through my veins. I come alive. It’s been so long since I’ve felt like this. My posture grows straighter as the confidence builds in me, or maybe it’s just adrenaline. This is it. Now or never.
I pull the curtains aside and raise the window. Brilliant light floods my room. Dust particles twinkle like glistening stars in the air.
He’s out barefoot in an old tee-shirt and shorts. He looks a little lost stumbling around. Like an explorer freshly arrived on a new planet. I smile at his vulnerability. I love him more for it.
His back is turned to me as I silently slip out the window, my bare feet cushioned by the cool earth. I want to surprise him.
Don’t turn around, Rich, I say in my head. Stay just like you are and you can’t possibly get scared... And neither can I.
My teeth chatter together twice.
At least not too scared.
I make it all the way to my mailbox at the edge of my yard before he turns and sees me.
I don’t know what I am expecting. Some miracle of love to descend from the heavens, wiping all the fear away?
Well, it doesn’t happen. His eyes bulge with fright upon turning and suddenly finding me, twenty-feet away.
Now that I’m face-to-face with him, I feel my own eyes bulge in the same way.
The muscles in my mouth tighten. My nerves shake. “I love you,” I manage.
For a split-second the terror on his face is replaced with what looks like joyful surprise.
“I––” he says, before his mouth drips off his face. Big red drops splash onto the ground.
“Wha––” I start, but I’m done for as well.
I watch for a moment as his puddle pours through the air and into the bay window.
That’s all I see before my eyeballs fall from my head.
As my puddle melds into my room window, I wonder what he is thinking. Does he think less or more of me now that he knows my secret?
I decide when the fear subsides and I regain my human form to approach him again. Maybe I’ll last a little longer before I transform. Maybe we both
will. That’s what I hope for anyway.
Once again I find myself staring across the street. Once again, the bay window stares back at me. |
| Bartholomew |
Posted - 04/26/2004 : 06:02:06
I might be. |
| Newo |
Posted - 04/26/2004 : 04:04:54
Count me in - I'm reachable from my profile info.
Owen |
|
|
