Below are three stories I wrote for my friend Sarahs thesis design project. Each story is about the picture, more or less.
The Dishwasher
There was this one time, a long time ago, when I used to be great. I really was great too. You should have seen me—I was an expert at what I did. I sat at Caesars table, dining with the kings and queens of the world. Exquisitely, with ecstasy, eating our refined dining dinner. We would go to balls and orchestras, music halls and Yorkshire. But then one day, it happened. It was slow, and it was most definitely painful. It started with a moan, and then a chattering. The chattering led to shuttering, the shuttering led to gun fighting. The gun fighting led to death, execution style, as they threw me out here, on this green…stuff (I don’t even know what it’s called.) And here it comes. The decay. The iron oxidizing, my privates rusting. My shiny things gone grey. My harbor a polluted bay. I used to be great once, I really did. You should have seen me. And look at me now.
The Shower Cap
She sat on the Max, docile and resolute. She had green scrubs and yellow handbag. The handbag resembled a flower. It only resembled a flower because many things tried to pollinate it, to no avail. It was the single most celibate handbag in the history of humanity, not by choice, it was the cruel fate of the gods really, or some ironic strand of fate. She tried her best every day at work. She really did. And most days she did all right, but not today. No sadly, today was not the nurse’s day. She was hoping for something else when she signed up eight years ago on December 28th, it also was a docile day—the most docile day in the history of Decembers. She was going to save lives you now. Lives! And she does, sometimes. Sometimes (she tries her hardest, she really does.) The max was especially rickety today, a fitting metaphor. The sky was especially red today, some fitting symbolism (do you see where this is going?) There was still blood on her scrubs, just a tiny bit, hardly noticeable. She barely noticed it. The max is now at 42nd and Hollywood. That’s her stop. She gets off. She walks a block north. Then two west. Then one block south. She’s not the same as she once was, when she left the max station 10 minutes ago. She is missing something—her headwear. She threw it off at the Max station, by the newspaper stands that look like robots. Sad day. She accidentally threw it off. It was an accident, a fitting metaphor.
Skateboard
We were some boys on trucks and wheels
With hats and skulls and tats and reels
We left it all to come down here
And sing and dance a song of work
Just look at our garage in there!
It’s huge and big with shiny forks
We built it big we built it huge
Our empires raised with deeds and wealth
But still our dreams in night and stealth
Creep in and beg us to return.
To rebel, and steal and grind
The handrails down on skaters avenue
No! we scream, and shout and curse
We are adults and big and proud
We must amass our wealth in bins
Ignore the past of richer fins.
The Dishwasher
There was this one time, a long time ago, when I used to be great. I really was great too. You should have seen me—I was an expert at what I did. I sat at Caesars table, dining with the kings and queens of the world. Exquisitely, with ecstasy, eating our refined dining dinner. We would go to balls and orchestras, music halls and Yorkshire. But then one day, it happened. It was slow, and it was most definitely painful. It started with a moan, and then a chattering. The chattering led to shuttering, the shuttering led to gun fighting. The gun fighting led to death, execution style, as they threw me out here, on this green…stuff (I don’t even know what it’s called.) And here it comes. The decay. The iron oxidizing, my privates rusting. My shiny things gone grey. My harbor a polluted bay. I used to be great once, I really did. You should have seen me. And look at me now.
The Shower Cap
She sat on the Max, docile and resolute. She had green scrubs and yellow handbag. The handbag resembled a flower. It only resembled a flower because many things tried to pollinate it, to no avail. It was the single most celibate handbag in the history of humanity, not by choice, it was the cruel fate of the gods really, or some ironic strand of fate. She tried her best every day at work. She really did. And most days she did all right, but not today. No sadly, today was not the nurse’s day. She was hoping for something else when she signed up eight years ago on December 28th, it also was a docile day—the most docile day in the history of Decembers. She was going to save lives you now. Lives! And she does, sometimes. Sometimes (she tries her hardest, she really does.) The max was especially rickety today, a fitting metaphor. The sky was especially red today, some fitting symbolism (do you see where this is going?) There was still blood on her scrubs, just a tiny bit, hardly noticeable. She barely noticed it. The max is now at 42nd and Hollywood. That’s her stop. She gets off. She walks a block north. Then two west. Then one block south. She’s not the same as she once was, when she left the max station 10 minutes ago. She is missing something—her headwear. She threw it off at the Max station, by the newspaper stands that look like robots. Sad day. She accidentally threw it off. It was an accident, a fitting metaphor.
Skateboard
We were some boys on trucks and wheels
With hats and skulls and tats and reels
We left it all to come down here
And sing and dance a song of work
Just look at our garage in there!
It’s huge and big with shiny forks
We built it big we built it huge
Our empires raised with deeds and wealth
But still our dreams in night and stealth
Creep in and beg us to return.
To rebel, and steal and grind
The handrails down on skaters avenue
No! we scream, and shout and curse
We are adults and big and proud
We must amass our wealth in bins
Ignore the past of richer fins.
2 comments:
Yes! finally dude
Luis! add me as your friend!
Post a Comment