Monday, May 17, 2010
The final...
In the aftermath of the smoke and fire, the character's name that is/was drawn from the sack o' destiny to meet his/her final destiny is...the irony is deep and unrelenting.... Edith E. Evans...
Monday, May 10, 2010
Characters to include for #6
If you have written your 6th blog, you don't need to include any of these character. If you haven't--many people fit into this next category-- you should include one or more.
Luscious Lauryn
Altan Yilmaz
John Doestein
Murry Howard
Kandi
Schitzy McDowell
Luscious Lauryn
Altan Yilmaz
John Doestein
Murry Howard
Kandi
Schitzy McDowell
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
Setting #6
This week is a bit strange, but it should be fun:
1) The Christian right that runs the soup kitchen breaks into the library in the early A.M., steals multiple books--stacks of them-- and starts a huge bonfire of books in the empty lot behind the library. They stand around singing hymns.
2) A thunder storm occurs and a lightening bolt strikes the mosque and sets it ablaze. The fire trucks are slow to come.
3) Meanwhile the prostitutes from the local house, wander out into the street, head to the book burning fire and start throwing half empty liquor bottles onto the fire and dancing around the fire and the wind catches their robes.
4) The local homeless crowd, caught in the fervor of both scenes, breaks the window in the local liquor store, steals bottles and takes them to the prostitutes.
5) Finally, a small tourist bus of Japanese tourist gets lost and pulls in front of the diner. As the driver is inside asking for directions, the tourist get off the bus and wander to the book-burning scene and start taking pictures.
1) The Christian right that runs the soup kitchen breaks into the library in the early A.M., steals multiple books--stacks of them-- and starts a huge bonfire of books in the empty lot behind the library. They stand around singing hymns.
2) A thunder storm occurs and a lightening bolt strikes the mosque and sets it ablaze. The fire trucks are slow to come.
3) Meanwhile the prostitutes from the local house, wander out into the street, head to the book burning fire and start throwing half empty liquor bottles onto the fire and dancing around the fire and the wind catches their robes.
4) The local homeless crowd, caught in the fervor of both scenes, breaks the window in the local liquor store, steals bottles and takes them to the prostitutes.
5) Finally, a small tourist bus of Japanese tourist gets lost and pulls in front of the diner. As the driver is inside asking for directions, the tourist get off the bus and wander to the book-burning scene and start taking pictures.
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
Courtney Red
Hello !!
Welcome to Wilshire Tower! I’m Courtney Red. I bet you are wondering how I got such an interesting name. Well you see, I have these red boots that I wear almost every day. People can always tell when I’m coming because of them. They have the most districted click clack. This can be kinda tricky sometimes though, because when I’m trying to be sneaky it is very hard. You see I’m a reporter in this small jacked up town. I’m the only person bringing in any sort of news into this town. I report everything that happens. I have all the gossip, all the fights, all the secrets that go on in this town. People don’t know it but I’m always watching. I live in the apartment, with most of the rest of the town. I’m door 323, so if you ever have any information to spread make sure you come to my door. I’ve lived in this town since I can remember and don’t ever really see a way of leaving. But with all the information I have on this town, I plan on writing a book someday and putting us on the map. That's my dream for this town.
Welcome to Wilshire Tower! I’m Courtney Red. I bet you are wondering how I got such an interesting name. Well you see, I have these red boots that I wear almost every day. People can always tell when I’m coming because of them. They have the most districted click clack. This can be kinda tricky sometimes though, because when I’m trying to be sneaky it is very hard. You see I’m a reporter in this small jacked up town. I’m the only person bringing in any sort of news into this town. I report everything that happens. I have all the gossip, all the fights, all the secrets that go on in this town. People don’t know it but I’m always watching. I live in the apartment, with most of the rest of the town. I’m door 323, so if you ever have any information to spread make sure you come to my door. I’ve lived in this town since I can remember and don’t ever really see a way of leaving. But with all the information I have on this town, I plan on writing a book someday and putting us on the map. That's my dream for this town.
Aberdeen "Abbie" Angus
boy toy.
Abbie started drinking early today. Every once in a while, usually when she's had a bad day, she'll start at around 3, sometimes even 2:15. She has her own bar in her room, a glass case filled with different handles of different liquor. She hardly drinks beer, it's not good for her figure. And she hardly drinks wine either, she's not that classy. She has a shaker, a bowl of slightly moldy limes, a salt shaker and different sizes of glass cups, some of them nice. She gathered them from the shop most likely. She always takes the good stuff for herself. Other glasses were jelly jars that her grandma used. She never used them, but they're there.
"What do you think, kids?"
She turned to look at her ferrets, Adelaide and Mojo. Her only companions were sleeping in their rusting cage, curled into furry circles. She'd woken an hour earlier to the sound of heavy rain and still hadn't made it downstairs to the store. It was 2 in the afternoon.
"Mimosa or Mojito, my little darlings?"
She figured since it was sort of morning she'd go with the Mimosa. At least it had orange juice in it. She took the old champagne out of her glass cabinet. She took the half full jug of orange juice and poured them into a glass cup. She sniffed, sipped, and felt a little bit better about her day. She hesitantly dressed, slipped up her ripped tights, and placed her vintage heels on. Slowly, glass in hand, she made it downstairs to the store.
It was cluttered, as usual. Items stuffed in nicks and crannies, some things that Abbie had never seen before. She continued to sip. She made her way behind the counter and sat on her tattered revolving stool. She propped her feet on the desk, not taking care if her dress let a little something show.
She continued to sip. Luckily, if she ran out, she had another mini fridge under the desk. She drank fast, and refilled. She figured there was nothing better to do in the day.
She looked around. She had conjoining windows with Styx Meats. It served as a distraction.
Abbie has a list of men in her life. Can she remember all the names? No. But does that really matter? No. But ever since she moved here she's always had her eye on Dave. Yes, Dave Gorlomi. The butcher. Whether it's because he was the only man she really ever saw or because she was genuinely attracted to him, it is unknown. He's not the most glamorous of all men but she's not worried about the quality of men anymore, just how many she can squeeze into one night. She especially likes Dave because she can always smell the booze on him when she walks into Styx Meats. It's like a "coming home" type of feeling. She likes to think that she could have him wrapped around her little finger. Like a boy toy. She hasn't had one in ages. She's seen the way he looks at her when she "happens" to carry her martini into Styx with her. She knows he can't resist the juice. So she has a plan. She plans to lure him in with her collection of Jack, Jim and José. And if he resists, well then she'll bring in the girls. Her loyal girls, the high class girls. And if that doesn't work, then she'll have to roll up her own stockings (which she has no problem doing what-so-ever. Actually she would probably prefer to do it that way.) But until then, she watches him through the window peeking from Abbott's Dream Antiques in Styx Meats. She takes note of his peak times to take a swig. She knows that when he gets especially sweaty in the afternoons, with dried blood all over his hands and the lack of customers coming in, it's his prime time for a drink. And then it's time for a slow waltz into Styx with her own mix of rum and coke.
Abbie started drinking early today. Every once in a while, usually when she's had a bad day, she'll start at around 3, sometimes even 2:15. She has her own bar in her room, a glass case filled with different handles of different liquor. She hardly drinks beer, it's not good for her figure. And she hardly drinks wine either, she's not that classy. She has a shaker, a bowl of slightly moldy limes, a salt shaker and different sizes of glass cups, some of them nice. She gathered them from the shop most likely. She always takes the good stuff for herself. Other glasses were jelly jars that her grandma used. She never used them, but they're there.
"What do you think, kids?"
She turned to look at her ferrets, Adelaide and Mojo. Her only companions were sleeping in their rusting cage, curled into furry circles. She'd woken an hour earlier to the sound of heavy rain and still hadn't made it downstairs to the store. It was 2 in the afternoon.
"Mimosa or Mojito, my little darlings?"
She figured since it was sort of morning she'd go with the Mimosa. At least it had orange juice in it. She took the old champagne out of her glass cabinet. She took the half full jug of orange juice and poured them into a glass cup. She sniffed, sipped, and felt a little bit better about her day. She hesitantly dressed, slipped up her ripped tights, and placed her vintage heels on. Slowly, glass in hand, she made it downstairs to the store.
It was cluttered, as usual. Items stuffed in nicks and crannies, some things that Abbie had never seen before. She continued to sip. She made her way behind the counter and sat on her tattered revolving stool. She propped her feet on the desk, not taking care if her dress let a little something show.
She continued to sip. Luckily, if she ran out, she had another mini fridge under the desk. She drank fast, and refilled. She figured there was nothing better to do in the day.
She looked around. She had conjoining windows with Styx Meats. It served as a distraction.
Abbie has a list of men in her life. Can she remember all the names? No. But does that really matter? No. But ever since she moved here she's always had her eye on Dave. Yes, Dave Gorlomi. The butcher. Whether it's because he was the only man she really ever saw or because she was genuinely attracted to him, it is unknown. He's not the most glamorous of all men but she's not worried about the quality of men anymore, just how many she can squeeze into one night. She especially likes Dave because she can always smell the booze on him when she walks into Styx Meats. It's like a "coming home" type of feeling. She likes to think that she could have him wrapped around her little finger. Like a boy toy. She hasn't had one in ages. She's seen the way he looks at her when she "happens" to carry her martini into Styx with her. She knows he can't resist the juice. So she has a plan. She plans to lure him in with her collection of Jack, Jim and José. And if he resists, well then she'll bring in the girls. Her loyal girls, the high class girls. And if that doesn't work, then she'll have to roll up her own stockings (which she has no problem doing what-so-ever. Actually she would probably prefer to do it that way.) But until then, she watches him through the window peeking from Abbott's Dream Antiques in Styx Meats. She takes note of his peak times to take a swig. She knows that when he gets especially sweaty in the afternoons, with dried blood all over his hands and the lack of customers coming in, it's his prime time for a drink. And then it's time for a slow waltz into Styx with her own mix of rum and coke.
Marie Voulez
Chapter Two: Now What?
Sitting on the floor with her against to the door Marie Voulez pulled out her cold almost stale-looking burger and motioned to her mouth to take the first bite. Something about this burger looked very peculiar, but Marie brushed it off. She had only had about 4 hamburgers, if that, within the perimeters of her entire life and figured she didn't have much insight into the regularity, or irregularity, of beef. Aside from her speculations the burger tasted like heaven, and upon finishing Marie lit a cigarette. Her usual eating routine.
Marie contemplated reading The Lord of the Flies but after looking at it's silhouette from across the room decided not to. Instead, Marie stood up from the floor and walked over to her vanity. Aside from the grungy and disturbing location of her life the apartment she occupied was actually quite nice. She had a large window from which a desk perched in front of. On it, rested a laptop, her pack of cigarettes, and black notebook/agenda. There was no clutter.
If anything the apartment resembled a studio flat, to which Marie was very fond of. As she sat at her vanity the decided to bring Lord of the Flies back to the library, she was never going to read it.
The next day Marie stepped out to a fairly blue sky. The air was not too warm or too cold, just the right temperature for the jacket her grandfather had given her. Her grandfather purchased it for her when he went to Germany for a ski trip. Marie remembered the way back to the library, one of the only places she knew the way to. Today Marie made sure to dress conservatively, hoping to avoid any remarks about payable sex.
A rather short library watched as Marie entered the library, Marie was being rather loud. The librarian hoped she would not have to tell her to be quiet, that was the one thing she hated most about working at the library. If it was at all possible this short librarian would get a different, better, louder job, but Wilshire didn't provide many prospets. Marie asked the librarian where the drop off box was, and the librarian explained that there was none. Homeless had been steeling books from it. Marie pondered the difficulty and worthwildness of stealing books from the drop off box, wouldn't it just be easier to steal from the inside of the library? Or, better yet, just go and read the book, inside? As Marie thought about this her face kind of went blank, and the librarian looked at her and waited for Marie to come to. As the librarian waited for Marie she took the book and typed on her computer, putting the book back into the system. She noticed that Ms. Marie Voulez had just taken the book out yesterday. There were only two reasons somone would return a book a day after the checked it out; either they loved it and read it in one day or she didn't like the book at all. By the looks of Marie the librarian theorized the latter of the two. Maybe she was drugs, the librarian thought. It wouldn't be the first time this had happened to the librarian.
Maire did not loo for a new book, like the librarian suggested. Instead she made the whole library ordeal last as short as possible. As she left she realized that she needed another pack of cigarettes as she lit her last one. On the way back to Wilshire Tower she stopped in at a liquar store called D&D. She got a pack of cigarettes, but instead of turning right to go home Marie took a left. The perfect chance to explore this bleek oasis. She walked all the way around to the other side of the block where there was a playground. As she walked past she saw two figures sitting on a bench chatting. Marie stopped to light another cigarette, giving her the change to pause and observe the two figures. It looked as though one was carrying a somewhat hefty instrument. The cigarette caught the flame and Marie resumed her walk.
Once arriving to Wilshire Tower she walked inside, greeting the man at the front desk and with a smile, entered her apartment and look a nap.
Sitting on the floor with her against to the door Marie Voulez pulled out her cold almost stale-looking burger and motioned to her mouth to take the first bite. Something about this burger looked very peculiar, but Marie brushed it off. She had only had about 4 hamburgers, if that, within the perimeters of her entire life and figured she didn't have much insight into the regularity, or irregularity, of beef. Aside from her speculations the burger tasted like heaven, and upon finishing Marie lit a cigarette. Her usual eating routine.
Marie contemplated reading The Lord of the Flies but after looking at it's silhouette from across the room decided not to. Instead, Marie stood up from the floor and walked over to her vanity. Aside from the grungy and disturbing location of her life the apartment she occupied was actually quite nice. She had a large window from which a desk perched in front of. On it, rested a laptop, her pack of cigarettes, and black notebook/agenda. There was no clutter.
If anything the apartment resembled a studio flat, to which Marie was very fond of. As she sat at her vanity the decided to bring Lord of the Flies back to the library, she was never going to read it.
The next day Marie stepped out to a fairly blue sky. The air was not too warm or too cold, just the right temperature for the jacket her grandfather had given her. Her grandfather purchased it for her when he went to Germany for a ski trip. Marie remembered the way back to the library, one of the only places she knew the way to. Today Marie made sure to dress conservatively, hoping to avoid any remarks about payable sex.
A rather short library watched as Marie entered the library, Marie was being rather loud. The librarian hoped she would not have to tell her to be quiet, that was the one thing she hated most about working at the library. If it was at all possible this short librarian would get a different, better, louder job, but Wilshire didn't provide many prospets. Marie asked the librarian where the drop off box was, and the librarian explained that there was none. Homeless had been steeling books from it. Marie pondered the difficulty and worthwildness of stealing books from the drop off box, wouldn't it just be easier to steal from the inside of the library? Or, better yet, just go and read the book, inside? As Marie thought about this her face kind of went blank, and the librarian looked at her and waited for Marie to come to. As the librarian waited for Marie she took the book and typed on her computer, putting the book back into the system. She noticed that Ms. Marie Voulez had just taken the book out yesterday. There were only two reasons somone would return a book a day after the checked it out; either they loved it and read it in one day or she didn't like the book at all. By the looks of Marie the librarian theorized the latter of the two. Maybe she was drugs, the librarian thought. It wouldn't be the first time this had happened to the librarian.
Maire did not loo for a new book, like the librarian suggested. Instead she made the whole library ordeal last as short as possible. As she left she realized that she needed another pack of cigarettes as she lit her last one. On the way back to Wilshire Tower she stopped in at a liquar store called D&D. She got a pack of cigarettes, but instead of turning right to go home Marie took a left. The perfect chance to explore this bleek oasis. She walked all the way around to the other side of the block where there was a playground. As she walked past she saw two figures sitting on a bench chatting. Marie stopped to light another cigarette, giving her the change to pause and observe the two figures. It looked as though one was carrying a somewhat hefty instrument. The cigarette caught the flame and Marie resumed her walk.
Once arriving to Wilshire Tower she walked inside, greeting the man at the front desk and with a smile, entered her apartment and look a nap.
Geoffrey Marlowe
Backstage behind the scenes of "Henry VI part I" with Gabriela as Joan la Pucelle
He waded through a sea of chickens.
This might've startled some people, but not him.
He didn't even notice them, at all.
He probably didnt even notice the telephone pole directly in front of him.
No, he certainly did not notice the pole, unless he likes running into things.
I can't think of any character in Shakespeare that likes running into things, can you?
That what he is, I think.
If you took every personality from Shakespeare and tossed it in a blender, the outcome would look like Geoffrey's consciousness.
or almost like it.
The original personality is in there too.
Thats me.
I'm mostly forced to the subconscious, and therefore only get to affect him while he sleeps, but I witness everything he does.
Oh bother, I'm so rude, I forgot to introduce myself.
I call myself Chris, because that is my birth-name.
I began going by Geoffrey Marlowe almost 40 years ago.
It was my stage name.
It was part Geoffrey Chaucer and part Christopher Marlowe.
Get it? I thought it was clever.
A friend of mine pointed out later that my first name was Christopher, which was Marlowe's first name as well, so I could've been clever while keeping my first name.
I said that'd be too easy.
I wish I had thought of that though.
I kinda like my name.
He's mumbling some more Shakespeare.
We're walking down the street, its not a pleasant day.
We bumped into someone,
I didnt see who,
stupid me, not paying attention.
Our view moved back up to look at the other being,
Good God thats alot of light.
it hurts our eyes.
"Fair maid, is't thou wilt do these wondrous feats?" He said.
Why'd he say that?
The person is most obviously a man, and tall and strong,
with wings.
That was odd,
the wings bit.
who has wings?
And why'd he call her a maid?
It was Reignier to Joan of arc if I remember right.
huh.
The man has a halo, I wonder if he's an angel.
I just missed whatever they were saying. drat.
stupid musings on the significance of my other personality's choice of words.
He's walking away.
And so are we.
curses.
Angels can cure the mad right? They're all chosen by God and stuff. I need to get to him, maybe he can fix me.
I don't like being broken.
He waded through a sea of chickens.
This might've startled some people, but not him.
He didn't even notice them, at all.
He probably didnt even notice the telephone pole directly in front of him.
No, he certainly did not notice the pole, unless he likes running into things.
I can't think of any character in Shakespeare that likes running into things, can you?
That what he is, I think.
If you took every personality from Shakespeare and tossed it in a blender, the outcome would look like Geoffrey's consciousness.
or almost like it.
The original personality is in there too.
Thats me.
I'm mostly forced to the subconscious, and therefore only get to affect him while he sleeps, but I witness everything he does.
Oh bother, I'm so rude, I forgot to introduce myself.
I call myself Chris, because that is my birth-name.
I began going by Geoffrey Marlowe almost 40 years ago.
It was my stage name.
It was part Geoffrey Chaucer and part Christopher Marlowe.
Get it? I thought it was clever.
A friend of mine pointed out later that my first name was Christopher, which was Marlowe's first name as well, so I could've been clever while keeping my first name.
I said that'd be too easy.
I wish I had thought of that though.
I kinda like my name.
He's mumbling some more Shakespeare.
We're walking down the street, its not a pleasant day.
We bumped into someone,
I didnt see who,
stupid me, not paying attention.
Our view moved back up to look at the other being,
Good God thats alot of light.
it hurts our eyes.
"Fair maid, is't thou wilt do these wondrous feats?" He said.
Why'd he say that?
The person is most obviously a man, and tall and strong,
with wings.
That was odd,
the wings bit.
who has wings?
And why'd he call her a maid?
It was Reignier to Joan of arc if I remember right.
huh.
The man has a halo, I wonder if he's an angel.
I just missed whatever they were saying. drat.
stupid musings on the significance of my other personality's choice of words.
He's walking away.
And so are we.
curses.
Angels can cure the mad right? They're all chosen by God and stuff. I need to get to him, maybe he can fix me.
I don't like being broken.
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