one-derment

Dada Monologue returns! (see previous posts where I introduce this style)

Green tiles swept through my stranded island dweller not to be upstaged by this harmful wonderkind. Hence why is orange now the favoured mastiff of a generation? Trains glide by and yet my word stays unmarred but unpublished and if this flower gives the lint of weeping to my hat then all is taken in jest. Here is where licking enters into a contract with the season just exiting to the streets down below should you see him, say I once knew nothing. But should you speakeasy to the wind then bring the rains of heaven and Post to the green light beyond the dock to where the bonds are. Green laid out from post to pillar and stern to stem but all I saw was forged faces to clown around the vented space.
Green they were but I saw only melancholy and the strain of fire that burned this particular brightness.

table for one

ahhhgggr. this is the life it really is let's see...where was i? oh ya. i remember the last time she came to visit... the door swung open and in she walked, with that slow sauntering sway of hers. the room would light up just anticipating her return and everything around me would hum just a little more audibly and god i miss her now. why i didn't tell her what she wanted to hear i'll never know - should have told her i'd stop messing around with those mittens they meant nothing to me. now all i do is sit on the corner smoking like it's going out of style and eating to kill myself to last one day longer to feel something, if only regret. but perhaps she'll call and so i wait at the corner i last saw her at, coming out of this drug store carrying her all purpose flour and the gatorade she loved so much. has she asked about me?

one-der bread

i told ya honey and i aint gonna repeat it you is livin on borrowed time she said to me as we walked through the aisles in the store and i could see her bright red hair and rainbow sweater screamin out at me where i stood at the milk fridge i phoned him today Shalina i told him to stop comin over and messin me up and eatin my food and what does he say he says you aint gettin rid of me that easy baby doll but i know you was gonna be all up in my face if i backed down but you know he does the sweetest thang when we go out he takes a bite first of whatever we is eatin and then lets me taste it after him aint that love sweets you tell me why you always so down on him but Shalina just keeps readin labels and shakin her head and goin uh uh girl you dont listen and its gonna be too late he already movin his tools in yo garage whas next his dirty sox and then we see some chocolate on sale and look at eacother and we know is gonna be all right

one o'clock

Nathan: Shhhhh! Shh. Just lay low man! We don't have far to go...

Blackie: I don't think this is such a good idea, Nathan.

Nathan: Look Blackie, we both agreed, we're getting a job and we're going to find a new place to live. Nothing wrong with the plan Blackie.

Blackie: I don't think you're listening to me - Nathan. This is as far as the train will go. It's the end of the line and we're now at Finch...do you really want to live on FINCH!!??

Nathan: ok ok, don't panic - there are options. We can stay on the train until we figure it out.

Blackie: Stay on the train. Nathan. I don't think you're hearing me. The next wave of crazy teenagers is due any minute now... oh god they're hear. They're probably going to set us on fire.

Nathan: Blackie you always exaggerate - always. Everything's fine. It's not even ...

Blackie: what?? not even what? ONE O'CLOCK??? Is that what you were going to say?
Because it is ...it is ...right now ...1 minute to one o'clock!

Nathan: Hmmmph. So it is. You are right my friend. It IS one o'clock. Ok so plan B.

Blackie: Plan B? what the hell is plan B?

Nathan: We get off now, at Davisville. You'll love it, it's French.

ten to one

**Author's note: this is an exercise called "Dada Monologue". Nothing means anything.

Red mitten wandered in to my life like a wind blowing the dogs from the trees and their booing at the stadium wrecked my feet and shoes and slowly slid into the mud of conscience and tethers. How was Frak to know which apples at the stand to sample in my hurried hunger for the news and carpet laid at my street lantern? No amount of peas could quel the raging tide of princes and frogs in my stock pile of grass and hair.
Where have all the windows gone? Why is candy like a box of lifesaving whales who dig until the channel is broken? We'll never understand the secret of my fingers.

did you hear the one....?

Max was good at his job and got paid well for it. But it was a lonely job and he missed his partner. Today's mission was interesting and he looked forward to completing it. Espionage was easy for a glove ...especially a glove willing to get into the grime and dirt and muck and blend in with the city around him. Now the waiting began. All he had to do was catch the three of them together and get it on film...and then a nice big payoff. Bus #90 came around the corner, right on time, and stopped at the designated spot - in front of the local bar, Mulligans'. The three of them stepped off the bus, one at a time, walked to the corner - and opened the door. The rabbi, the priest and the nun walk into the bar.

one fine day...

The box is finally open again, all I have to do is just sliiiiiiiide inside and I'm almost there. There's noone around and nobody will suspect. The inspection did not give away the wonderful quality of this magical box and now it just sat there under this table for who knows how long!

Plowing through the layer of styrafoam, now the plastic ..soon he would come through to the other end of the box and come into the mailroom of 77 King Street. Peter was so excited, he could almost taste the treats that waited for him on the other side. They had donuts there, and sunshine and laughter and would take him in. Not make him feel unwanted. They would not abandon him the way his owner had, leaving him on the floor to fend for himself. Here on the other side, he could feel like himself again. White and fuzzy and full of sugar.

one-way ticket

I told him to slow down. I said nothing good could come from this amount of speed but Alex thought he could have it all. His 4:47 mad dash for the 5:10 GO Train left me lying on the carpet of his dry stale office and as the hum of the fans died down I knew I was in for the weekend. I looked around me and noticed how much the carpet resembled the water in that Monet painting of the London skyline or the Thames River or the smog over the Thames River from the London skyline and it made me wonder I never continued with art studies in college.

I would have loved to see the expression on his face as he stepped off the train and tried to find me...the panic stricken look, the wildness in his eyes and maybe a little bit of that panic-drool that sometimes comes out when he's rushing somewhere and then he'd turn to the people behind him, around him and notice them all wearing their gloves, that smug look of hand-warmth on their faces and the certainty that they would survive the long trek to their cold cars, etched on their smug little faces. Even the word 'smug' would enrage him and before he could stop himself, he'd be yelling "Who took it??!!!" at the top of his voice and thrashing about wildly bumping into them...the smugs...and...

The Portuguese cleaning lady was back. Walking past the executives in the office, she felt lucky to work for such nice guys. They all gave her something for Christmas, a little envelope or a bottle of wine. Some chocolates. They were all so generous with her in December...all except for one. He barely muttered "merry christmas" as he raced by her that day. And, now, here was HIS glove, lying on the floor next to his cubicle... Breathe. Breathe. She's looking down at me...good good, I'm saved! And I watched as she bent down to pick me up and looked at me. She smelled me and stroked her face with me. And then tossed me in her garbage bin. Fuckin' Alex.

The Pretty One

"i am pretty. Oh so pretty and pinkish and warm! and i'll surely be be the belle of the ball. tonite All the other pretty gloves look at ME! all the pretty gloves look at meeeee now. "

Clara sang loud, so very loud -it was her way of not being afraid in a strange place as she waited for her owner to return for her. So loud that passersby were amused and entertained. Her fear almost subsided as she put smiles on their faces. She sang so loud though, that she could not hear the voice of her owner calling out to her... "Claaaa-raaaaa! Clara where ARE you?!!"

But Clara kept on singing.

One man's fool...

Unlike the others, Hendrick-the-right would make it back. The kind soul who placed him here would greatly increase his chances of being found by Charlie. Surely Charlie couldn't go more than a couple of yards before looking down and realizing that one of his beloved gloves was gone. Allistair-the-left was indifferent and would not call attention to the loss.
He could be so mean that way. Their relationship wasn't always like this, it had been wonderful until that horrible day last winter. Charlie was digging into his right pocket for his messy clump of keys and in seconds, a jagged edge had caught Allistair's finger tip and snagged a hole in the precious yarn.
When Allistair emerged from the pocket, Hendrick knew life would never be the same again.
It was a 50/ 50 shot. Handicaps sometimes turn their injured into nicer people, and sometimes they make them meaner, crustier, bitter.
In Allistair's case, the latter was true. He could not stand to think of Hendrick's flawless existence. It took almost a year for things to come to a head, but things did change one afternoon. Hendrick looked up to see Allistair on top of that scanky kitchen towel with the burned edges. And now he found himself on a street post waiting for Charlie to find him.
He knew Allistair was vicious but he only now just began to appreciate the depths of his evil.

FREE - take one

Randy couldn't believe his luck when he was picked up by the the starlet and her man. The sign did say that he was free, but he never imagined he'd end up with THEM! Life with his new owners was wonderful, they cleaned him and brushed him and treated him so wonderfully...he knew he did not deserve this, but it turned out ---they needed him as much as he needed them. The young investment bankers were right, there was no such thing as a free lunch.

Trickle down economics of the heart dictated that he pay them back somehow, perhaps a gesture of trust and appreciation on his part. She promised to be gentle with him as she slowly ripped each stitch along his back, and then he was naked. His insides out for them to see and he watched in horror as they carefully picked out pieces of him and laid them onto cigarette papers. Their fingers trembled as they worked away and far too soon, he smelled the flames and saw them dance with pleasure at his feet.

one-derful

"... and don't say that she's pretty, and did you say that she loves you?...baby I don't wanna know"

The painted yellow street line may as well cut right through me like a hot knife through butter. Time made no exceptions for the has-beens. The new kid in town was going to be on her hand soon and she had no use for me. So I made my move that bitingly cold morning as she waited for the streetcar and I knew she'd need me again right now, just once more.. for this brief time SHE would need ME. As soon as her face was looking up and away, I dropped down to the street - my timing was perfect as I could hear the streetcar rolling into the stop. She never knew how it happened. She couldn't know. She didn't care. I'd rather go that way than die in the bottom of a drawer or out in the trash when she replaced me.

"...turn around, you'll see me runnin'...i'll say I loved you years ago, and tell myself you never loved me...no..."

one night stand

I didn't know when i saw him laying there, that i would end up going home with him.
His smooth leather with creases that betrayed his worldliness made him all the more attractive.
he rubbed up against my faux fur ...by accident, he claimed, but that was his in.
oh, he was smooth. real smooth.
The next thing i knew we were making out on top of the token machine and he knew how to push my buttons. He knew me inside out. The humans walked by and snorted in disapproval but we didn't care - this night would last forever. Time stood still. He made my finger-holes curl!

I awoke the next morning on that same token machine, and all that was left beside me was a note... "Still searching for my right. Good luck out there"...and just like that, he was out of my life, like a song. Like a left glove.