Speed Writing 4 -1-17

prompt: power, aversion, wrath

he was a complete waste of skin.
i still loved him, he was my little brother, but i had no delusions. i got some of mama’s crazy, and daddy’s lazy; he got full loads of both.
after his eighth trip through rehab, the court had him evaluated. he was deemed to be incompetent, and i was awarded guardianship.
he was 26… i didn’t expect him to see 27, no matter how closely i watched his every move.
i wasn’t wrong.
of course, i’m the direct reason he didn’t see his next birthday.
i was paying extra to keep an ankle monitor on him, so i’d know where he was. while i was at work one day, he didn’t leave the property.
he doused my house’s interior with gasoline, and stood in the front yard while it burned to the ground.
i live… i lived out in the country. no one close enough to call the fire department.
so, when i got home, saw what had happened… i doused him with gasoline, and cried as he ran through the ruins of my home, burning.
the official story is he died in the house fire he set. sad…

prompt: envy, rebirth, knowledge

i love the way she moves through any social circle, like she was born to it.
(first time i heard her discussing football with a bunch of frat rats, i damn near choked.)
i liked to pretend i’m wasn’t envious of her easy popularity, and smooth, chameleon-like social grace, but i was envious, and i never bothered to fortify my attempt at self-deception with action.
i just followed behind in her wake, and made do with quiet, and smiles. i was invisible, when she was around, and i was happy that way.
i had never asked her about it. i just assumed she had been born that way, as it was quite inconceivable for me to imagine a childhood that could have nurtured such an ability. it had to be nature.
whoa, was i wrong about that!
we were having High Tea at the Hotel Adolphus one sunday afternoon when she said, “Claire, we need to get you a make-over. let me schedule us a spa-weekend at ‘Deify’ and transform you. i know you’re happy as you are, but why be happy when you could be happy and fabulous?”

i need to work more on this… the idea of a spa truly worthy of the name “Deify”…

prompt: virtue, imbalance, delusion

“all truth hides behind lies.”
yeah, my grandfather was either full of wisdom or full of shit. i was too young to know which… twenty years after his passing, i’m still too young to know. i doubt i’ll ever be old enough to know.
he had lots of other pithy bits of supposed wisdom, but it was the ‘truth and lies’ one that stuck with me.
i played with theology in my twenties, almost as much as i played with myself, and i weighed ‘god is love’ against the ‘truth hiding behind lies’ thing.
made sense to me then. ‘god is love’ was the lie, or maybe the very idea of god was… but that struck me as too simple, too easy.
maybe an opposite… ‘god is hate’?
no, hate wasn’t it. hate was the opposite of the ‘like’, not ‘love’.
indifference?
god is indifferent.
that rang more true to me.
the big g, if he existed, just flat-out didn’t give a fuck.
some say adulthood begins when you realize your own mortality.
for me, the realization god didn’t give a shit was my dawn of adulthood.

prompt: gnosis, denial, industry

the greatest lie of contemporary civilization is the de-mystifying of man. “no god, no soul, nothing science can’t explain,..”
then explain this, motherfucker. hundreds of thousands of factory workers fueled the industrial revolution. a world of iron and steam, science and mechanical marvels nailed down the coffin-lid of romanticism and mysticism. realism ruled the day.
god died because we fired a shaft of purest cold iron through his heart, from a cannon the size of florida.
no.
the industrial revolution was fueled by the souls of those effectively-enslaved masses, and each one who died on the line strengthened reason’s grasp on the world.
the supposed death of mysticism was fueled by the mystic.
blood-soaked binding rituals under every factory floor.
and now, everything is poised for a return.
you lost your job to automation?
don’t worry. things will balance out, i suspect, sooner rather than later.
robots, machines, automated facilities have no soul to sacrifice, and the intellect behind their creation is a paltry substitute.
soon the soulless machines will grind to a permanent halt, and mysticism… magic… will return.

and talk about an idea i need to play with… whoa… lots of places this one could go.

prompt: misfortune, solitude, law

one-hundred-eighty-three miles-per-hour.
he briefly, very briefly at that speed, traipsed through a school zone.
lo and behold, every law enforcement officer in the state of texas was on his ass.
max prayed for now traffic congestion. he was faster than his pursuers, and hadn’t a worry in the world where they were concerned, so long as he had open road before him.
he wasn’t faster than radio waves.
road blocks appeared before him. spike strips, vehicles large and small, plenty of cops with drawn weapons, ready to shoot out his tires.
that would make his lamborghini a rolling ball of metal and fire… and his burning, shredded flesh.
still… the speed…
better to keep his foot on the gas, and die as a legend, than slow down and be just another rich asshole who bought more car than he could responsibly handle.
his sleek beast of a car wasn’t made to go offroad, and to be fair his wheels weren’t off the road for long before he was back on the blacktop, barricades behind him. his turquoise aventador still roared, no mysterious new sounds, as he laughed his way down the road.
the armadillo was beneath his notice until it was beneath his right front tire, and his motor beast began its death song.
he joined in on the chorus, as they cartwheeled, a flaming catherine wheel.

 
listening to: “Ashanti’s Letterbomb”, Dean Gray’s “American Edit”
mood: okay, overall

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