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By Vince (Vince) on Wednesday, January 23, 2002 - 06:32 pm
It can�t wait until tomorrow, when all the shimmering clarity has gone dull, each corner, now sharp to slice diamonds, then hazed and distant, each color razed and stripped, tied or tattered in a bleaching sun, vision smudged with smoke, everything solid put to the torch. Today, now, it�s clear. There�s a thrum in his veins. A coiled confidence of nerves waiting just beneath the skin. Bats have sailed clear of the belfry. Snakes slither under some other�s bush. One other voice is heard, quietly. About tomorrow�s headache. About tomorrow�s job. About the naked lie that will be proffered, with full blush and stammer, for all to see. About simple decency. That one, that voice is easy to stop. It�s for later, when the drug has gone it�s way, drifting off to someone new with a few dollars and too much spare time. Now it�s opening the garage door. Now it�s easing behind the wheel. Now it�s starting the car with held breath, fumbling to find reverse, slotting the stick to the right and down, twisting over the shoulder. Now it�s the hysterical clucking and screech of all the chickens, quiet and forgotten in the back seat, as the car horn accidently blares, sending a flare of feathers into the air and a slip of the foot on the gas and the hard jagged-silver sound of fender ripping through passenger side door on his way out towards the street. |
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By Eithne (Eithne) on Thursday, January 24, 2002 - 09:15 am
I just love the sound of that first paragraph especially the first sentence. It has a whole spectrum of sound color/feeling--really vivid. Why on earth does he have chickens in his back seat and how did he forget about them? I had to read this a couple of time to see if I had missed something. It has a real dreamlike quality, complete with the confusion. |
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By KateC (Katec) on Thursday, January 24, 2002 - 12:23 pm
I loved "A coiled confidence of nerves waiting just beneath the skin." Brilliant. I got hooked, and want to know about the chickens. I like the way the cold clarity at the beginning disintegrates into chaos at the end. |
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By Anonymous on Thursday, January 24, 2002 - 11:39 pm
This is absolutely lovely!! I love the chickens- keep them. Don't try to explain them, either. It has a very acid-dreamlike quality that I really liked. I could almost taste that strange metallic taste in my mouth. I like the fact that he thinks, in his state, that the bats have flown from the belfry... and then proceeds to rip his car door off. I also like that he refers to "it" rather than "him" in the last paragraph. It has an effect of distancing that is very effective. |
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By Eithne (Eithne)
on Friday, January 25, 2002 - 10:19 am
Oh yes, definately keep them! They add beautifuly to the whole messed up disinigration at the end and are really intriquing. That said, I still want to know what they're doing there. Is he a farmer who bought these chickens as a part of daily course and then forgot them in his haste to escape reality? Did he "rescue" them from somewhere after he got wasted? Are they a hallucination? Do they live through the day:-)? |
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By Eithne (Eithne)
on Friday, January 25, 2002 -
10:26 am
Oops, I left something out. It's not that I want the chickens explained in the story, that would probably ruin it. I just want to know! |
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By Anonymous
on Monday, January 28,
2002 - 08:06 pm
There's a really striking sense of disorientation in this piece, and a sense that the narrator is about to encounter trouble. I love the first paragraph, which seems like it must have been effortless for you. It sets up an expectation that what follows will be quite an adventure; in this regard the chickens don't seem as out of place as they might otherwise be! I'm on the edge of my seat for the rest of the story and a follow up on the dilemmas posed by the narrator's line of work or co-workers, who are so obviously on another page (so to speak!) from him. |
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By
Anonymous on Thursday, January 31, 2002 - 11:23 am
There is also a sense of being contained inside this person's head. Imprisoned almost. Chickens seem to be a good thing to add to just about any story. |
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By
Anonymous on Thursday, January 31,
2002 - 12:06 pm
You're all fools and maggots! This piece verges on Pulitzer thresholds, or did anyway, until those damn chickens showed up....then it all just went to Hell. God I hate chickens! |
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By John
(John)
on
Thursday, January 31, 2002 - 12:14 pm
I think I'd like to NOT know whether this person was insane or on drugs. The voice of shame in the middle remains valid regardless, and even gains a tragic edge if you make genuine dementia possible here. I'd also like "just a hint" of where our hero is going. Not for us to know, not at all, but more to take us a bit deeper into his space. This single minded obsession, what does he call it? What are the scattershot words that must rumble, like a train on a treadmill, through his mind? |
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