Old story ideas

Because I have nothing new in my head right now...

This is based on something my friend, kt, came up with:


It sits upon a hill. It is there because the school house before it sat there. How I would dream that we actually lived in the old school house. Built in 1909; Burned down in 1947. The charm of the wooden school house with its boxy bronze bell tower is more significant than the flat local limestone brick new age modern grammar school that took its place. I know that the bell is bronze because it's sitting in Mabel's Museum located in one of the old classrooms.
Mabel refurbishes things. She found the first of them in our basement. The old bronze bell, the photos from the past, old ink wells, a slightly charred globe, etc. She's set up a museum to the history of our home. She is much older than us. Mom had her when she was 3 days shy of her 15th birthday. Now, don't go thinking that we are a bunch of hillbillies. Mabel was brought here in an attempt to save a life. Our mother grew up in the mountains. She and her childhood friend, Marvin Maybee were trapped after an avalanche. The only way the two saw fit to survive was to create heat with their bodies. As much younger children they explored each others bodies in games of doctor and house, so it was fitting that their first sexual experience was to be with each other, well that's what mom always says. But it was their last. Well, it was Marvin Maybee's last. He didn't die a virgin and he managed to keep the Maybee bloodline going. This was very important to his parents for Marvin was to be the last surviving Maybee. Now Mabel Zircon Maybee is the last surviving Maybee. Zircon is the mountain on which she was conceived.
As I was saying, our house sits on a hill and as you may have surmised, we live in an old grammar school. You know that Mabel and I like old things. I dream of the past and Mabel resurrects it. I'm not sure if Mabel knows it, but she creates my perfect environment. I spend hours in her museum pretending to live in the past.
As a matter of fact, I'm sitting on a rug Mabel found in the grounds keeper's shed imagining being read a story whilst sitting by the pot belly stove. Well, I'm trying to concentrate on that, but I keep looking at one of Mabel's recent acquisitions, I'm not sure what it was used for--oh, here comes Mabel--she's carrying something.

"Fauna, what are you doing?"

She knows what I'm doing, so I won't answer, but "What did you find Mabel?"

"I'm not sure yet, I need to study it further."

Wii Band

And then

we go

into a tunnel.

>>Wii band<<

snake, snake

snake, snake

excite.

excite.

Buh. Uhzzzzzzzz.

This is the book

it's a poem of stories

>We are Wii and we will rock you<

You come out on the other side

to find yourself

in another random story that has an

enviro-bent feel to it.

"We hired the band Wii for our office party, yeah, it was totally strange, but cool! No. It was really cool, I'm just now remembering..."

...hiccup in time...

"We thought they were just called Wii, but they actually played the Wii hooked up to amps. We were thinking, what the fuck!? We hired these people to play a video game?! No wait. It was right when Ermine was griping to me about the purchase of disposable salt and pepper grinders for the employee kitchen. She was saying, 'Nick, you know we could buy salt and pepper grinders and then fill them with bulk sea salt and peppercorns. You can't even REUSE these grinders! I just don't understand why someone would buy these! Nick?'

"Yeah?"

"Are you with me on this? Why do you think someone in this office would buy these?"

"Because someone made them for someone to buy?"

"Yes. Exactly. Where's the responsibility?! Where does it end?! These grinders, useless as they will be when they are empty will be with us forever!"

"Oh god! Where was I? Did I really go into all that? Anyways, it was right after all that Ermine noise that the band walked in with a bunch of cases that looked like instruments and amps. Oh man! No--Manny knew! That bastard! He let us nearly wet our pants! It's fear, I swear! Fear of being uncool. But who was to know that this band playing "instruments" from a video game would create a sound so sonic, synthetic, and pure?"

"Hmmmm. I'm going to have to check out one of their shows sometime."

"You absolutely must!"

"I'm going to talk to Ermine. See you later, Nick."

"Bye, Charlie! Where was I...."

Charlie left Nick to go on and on about whatever to the other employees that had gathered around and found Ermine in the office supply room.

"Hey, Ermine."

"Hey, Charlie."

"So I heard that band was pretty cool, eh?"

"Oh yeah, they were great! Amazing performance!"

"How? I mean, what was so spectacular?"

"Well, they had the full band Hero set-up and two DJ Hero decks----Hey, did you buy those disposable salt and pepper grinders for the employee kitchen?"

"No, but I know about them. Nick told me."

"It's irresponsible! How can we teach the manufacturers to not make this shit?! By not buying it! Jeez!"

"Ok, ok, calm down. You were telling me about the band."

Shaking off the disgust, she quickly switches back to her excitement of the office party band.

"Oh yes! I guess they had downloaded or recorded or maybe they created their own game, I don't know, but they had interesting music and sounds that they recorded and I guess put the game on the freestyle option and just jammed! I'm still unsure how they do it, but it was their own music, well, their own patchwork of obscure samples and found sounds."

She went back into her memory of the night and became animated as she found the words.

"The stage performance! Too cool! The coolest! Their dress was robotic like, but in metallic rainbow colors. And wigs! Oh, the wigs on the girl Wii D.J. and Wii guitarist reminded me of Michelle Meyrink in Real Genius, but more severe, and of course in colors of pink and blue. The singing was real avante garde--many sounds--like they were deaf mutes or cave people or babies, but with an authoritative and important urgency. I liked the hiccup song--real pop-y. I know everyone wants pop so bad, and I don't blame them. It feels good. It's funny that pop means something different now than just Popular music. It seems to relate more to the feeling of poppiness. Anyway, we were pleased with our decision to hire them and we invited them to party with us when their set was over. Real cool unusual group. You should've been there, Charlie!"

"I know! I tried, but I slipped down this tunnel and....."

Here we go again....

snake, snake

snake, snake

excite.

excite.

Fuh. Uhzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

Stuck in the fuzz and buzz of static until the next story...

Waste of Our Time [in editing]

[I am immediately putting this story, comment, post--whatever it is--in editing, cuz I see where I've quit or lost focus. I could add more about the singers. The title could reflect energy/singers. There could be one special singer that actively plays with her vocals to excite energy, like growling, singing from the belly vs. the throat, echoing the sound from the vocal chords off her cavernous mouth.. I don't know, I'm working on it, but I post it anyway to show that even though I'm underemployed, I am working--sort of.]

And scene....

A man walks into a theatre where a lone speaker is in the middle of his presentation behind a podium on the stage. In the seats, the audience represents a nucleus of serious people listening raptly centered in a wavy blob of wary individuals.

"...Energy Levels.

Singers.

Sound for energy.

Intricate harmonies producing sound.

Sure we can produce sound other ways: Banging on a drum, Car crash against a brick wall, hair spray can blowing up in a bon fire.

But why try to eliminate the human element?

Granted, humans do make a lot of waste. Each potential employee generates approximately 156 kg of waste quarterly. And yes, that is on their own time, but I don't want that responsibility on my conscience.

Every where we go we hear about going green or environmental awareness. I support this endeavor for the planet as a whole. I believe in interconnectivity and interdependence. Which brings me to why I am here. My company, Human Energy, has been in the energy business for 20 years and have expanded to something quite unique. How environmentally stable does energy from song sound? Pun intended and I apologize for it.

[A quick sputtering machine gun laughter decrescendos into muffled fairy laughs, then silence.]

Investors, you want to know the overhead. How much is one paid to sing? Will there be part-time gigs only? We have full-time singers that are the so-called work humans and then we have open rotating spots for part-timers. We have some employees that just sing some energy on their lunch break! Of course there are qualifications which determine salary. The qualifications are straight forward. How much energy can one produce? Each singer is entitled to a percentage of the energy revenue that each singer creates. Plus, each employee has a sliding scale, according to energy input, stake in Human Energy. What type of singers/employees do we employ? Perfect pitch is great, but we need those who understand harmonics as well. In our tests of output so far, we have noticed that a distinct assemblage of harmonics will produce the most quality energy. We are still improvising and expanding the benefits of constructive and deconstructive sound waves. We have found that some singers produce more energy and have adopted measures to protect these energetic individuals from overuse. Could you imagine, someday, someone, somewhere saying 'I love it when so and so's singing, my computer never runs better!'?

Of course, we became reborn with the potential reliance of the human element towards energy so we thought, why not use plain ole physicality to provide energy? You know what? We did! Bicyclists. That's right! We currently employ over 1000 bicyclists. Depending on the rider's strength, our bikes generate 300 watts at 12 to 25 volts DC.

Now, you are wondering how environmentally sound is a facility that houses that many stationary bikes, people, plus all those microphones and singers?! Yes, we thought of the crowd waste--I told you myself, I don't want that on my conscience--so we have made the majority of our jobs offsite or home based. We do have a stationary facility that houses the main computer and cell that converts sound/human kinetics to energy. In order to work from home, our employees are equipt with special microphones and bikes, both of which have stationary and portable capabilities, and are connected to our converter facility.

As you all are quite aware now, in fact, it's the main reason I get to talk to you today, that our contribution to the waste equals energy diagram is what put us on the map. We began this endeavor by utilizing energy from methane by capturing fumes exhausted by what? Yep, human waste--our local dumps. It's not everything and it won't solve the energy crisis--yet. Believe me, we humans are waste machines! But, I do believe every bit helps. However, if we can eventually repurpose most of our waste--we strive for 100%, mind you, then Human Energy won't have our CH4 from the dumps gig much longer.

With foresight, we are in the process of collecting leachate from landfills and creating different containers of sorts that will ring out all that this vile residual waste has to offer by squeezing every last bit of gas or whatever surprises we may find into use. Hopefully in this process, we will, at the very least, safely dispose or destroy this foul ingredient.

We also have other future plans to provide compostable toilets with a CH4 adapter energetic output to our employees. You know how I hate human waste on my conscience!

Anyways, we are Human Energy. Producing energy humanely through might, sound and waste. Thank you for listening."

Later refreshments are served in what one would suppose the theatre players would celebrate the cast party. A man we read about in the opening sentence gathers up the courage to talk to the man behind Human Energy.

"How did you get into this? I mean, what brought your passions into fruition?"

The man heartily laughed and with a salesman smile and a vaudevillian tone slurred, "I always say it started with a microscope!"

"No," his disposition turned genuine as he continued to chuckle, "the story is my mother gave me a microscope when I was really little--too little to have outdoor adventures. Still, I was drawn to the intricate instrument and wanted very much to use this precious gift. My first specimen was my own booger!," he flung his torso back to survey his audience expression, then straightened up and went on randomly, "then, you know, my earwax, wet and dry eye goo, plaque from morning mouth and after drinking sugary drinks, er, urine...and ahem, yes, even feces. In fact, when I was finished with all of my own output and also grown enough to venture outdoors, I delved into the exploration of other species output or waste. My dog, my cat, bird, squirrel, deer, rabbit, fish, caterpillar, some unidentifiables. I have quite a feces slide collection. It's so large that I had to create a library for them. I keep them in a special refrigeration unit I designed, otherwise, well, it would smell like shit!" After a quick guffaw, the speaker smiled sly eyes, leaned closer to his querier and under his breath he said, "I even collected some of my wife's menstrual blood." Then solomnly, looking his conversant in the eye, he soberly nodded, "with her permission, of course."

"Of course." garbled the uneasy listener, all of the sudden finding himself concentrating on his shuffling feet.

"It's important." declared the speaker as if clearing his throat and jolting awake from a drunken daydream only to fall quickly into his best philosophical persuasion, "to know the capabilities of an organism."

"You see, I started with the point source, me, and I'm slowly expanding from there. Plus," he added, "I love thinking that one day someone might actually be humming an energetic tune."

Humming an energetic tune.

Humming an energetic tune.

Oh, by Humman Energy

We're Hummin an energetic tune!

Cornflower blue

A woman with a blonde bob adorned with a bronze flower clip barrett and horizontal oval glasses leans over to scrub the stain off the sky blue polyester golf shirt. She wants to stitch up her husband's tennis shoes with thick green thread so he can call them mocashoes.
She wishes for lavender bushes to cut and put in vinegar to make a cleaning solution. Will she ever try to make that parsley perfume?
Colors are magenta rose, lilac and cornflower blue. Ah, cornflower blue. She practically had an orgasm for this crayon. Oh and forest green. Yeah, forest green. She wanted to color that color so hard.
Her heart almost breaks because the pincushion flowers planted before she moved here, don't appear to be coming up this summer. She salivates over a dark leafy green weed growing along the gravel path. Are they those French lamb's ear greens she's been wanting to try? Oh please, god, make it so.
She decides to chop the volunteer mulberry tree she had been cultivating. Maybe it will grow back. Inside the columnar cut stem is light green. Not that verdant. She hopes the mulberry is as tough as it's known to be. She decides to make the little cut tree her wand. She will add it to her wand collection, which consists of a dogwood wand.
She has a small dried root collection too. Pods, seeds, nuts, feathers and rocks coveted and loved. Snail shells, piece of a bird skull, crow's feet, green june bug, weird irridescent blue fly, and a dragonfly in a jam jar that should never be opened unless one wants to unleash a scent to draw demons from the depths of putridity.
Remember the yard that summer on Wyoming where the wild garlic looked like fiddlehead ferns?
Remember when the yard was purple?
Oh, I loved that time too.
She wants to master the stove. She envisions four swirling pots spinning as she maneuvers over them like a dj.
She thinks a purple kitchen will make it her own.

Whose Beauty? (Zombieville) [In editing]

Now that the aesthetic movement has been in effect for a few years, the citizens of this country have torn down the ugly homes and buildings that shouldn't have been built in the first place.

The restoration of edifices that were begat of real craftsmanship have begun. The government plans to unveil a new campaign to reclaim green space. Most of the campaigns have progressed smoothly. Most city, town and village inhabitants of this country have decided on an aesthetic scheme for their dwellings that dignifies, sustains and appeals to the sense of sight belonging to the majority whom voted in the localized beautification election.

The folks of the town of Harkness, however, could not agree on a singular beauty. In a town so small, I never imagined how diverse it could be. We never knew the creativity hibernating in each Harknessian individual.

I was renting one of the ugly houses. The town leaders put me up in an old renovated Bed and Breakfast until a more beautiful abode was built for me, er, well, I can't lie, for any renter.

The town folk gathered at the Harkness town hall to deliberate on the Harkness beautification plan. Joshua Stangl, the director of the Harkness Museum, desired a historic aesthetic, Merry Tuttle, owner of the Harkness Nursery wanted an Olde English look, Turk Collins, proprietor of the local bar, Zoot, coveted a 1920s Art Nouveau visage, Harkness postmaster, Shill Kramph liked modern and clean lines. The Hamilton family, of the the Hamilton Family Farm, pined for edible landscapes as far as the eye could see. The Comic Book shopkeeper, Fitz Pringle, volleyed for a wooded glen dotted by Hobbit-style earth homes, The Harkness School District superintendent, Arlyle Mock, requested red brick for everything. Holly Mezner, the Harkness librarian, was keen on green, the color and the application. John Flax, the town drunk, envisioned a Scandinavian ski village to go with the Arkness mountains, which were ancient and nothing more than high plains.

Mayor Vernon Kronon introduced his wife, Midge, to the discussion as she took over the podium. Lips too close to the microphone, she puffed, "Listen everyone. Your aesthetic is wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong! All wrong!," she darted her eyes around the room before she reasoned, "This town needs to move beyond the past and look towards the future." Pausing to pose an airless face stoppered by a fish mouth, she gathered untempered courage and proclaimed "I suggest the town of Harkness embrace our clean slate and create a masterpiece of old Rome--a better Rome!"

Instinctly, a few of us chuckled at Midge's foreward thinking plan.

"Better Roam home!," flew from the back of the crowded room; a comment which vibrated the congregation in stifled laughter.

"Yeah, real futuristic--an aesthetic that was dreamt thousands of years ago," flipped Harold the Funeral Home Director.

"I want lightrail!"

"I want cobblestone!"

"I want gaslights!"

"I want gothic!"

"Green roofs!"

The meeting adjourned in a frazzled state of incompetence. I went back to my room at the Bed and Breakfast. Gerry and Terry Marsh, my hosts, weren't going to let me stay forever. I had to find a place to rest my bones.

The next morning I went to my job at the Funeral Home. I'm a carpenter by trade and I can build a good box. Yeah, I make caskets for the deceased citizens of Harkness.

Harold approached me as soon as I turned the lights on in the shop.

"What did you think of last night's meeting?"

"Well, its a shame nothing came of it, but I heard some good ideas."

"Yeah, I kind of liked Superintendent Mock's red brick conception."

"I liked that one, and I'm rather fond of Holly Mezner's green plan."

"Oh, that green stuff. That will never last."

"I think that's the point, Harold, it's called Cradle to the Grave."

Harold searched my face to see my angle. Unanswered and still unsure, he turned his back and offered, "Hmph! Green! Doesn't have any business being in Harkness."

"Why's that, Harold?" I uncharacteristically taunted him further.

He mumbled something with expletives and wandered down the hall and up the stairway to his office.

I rolled my eyes and simultaneously turned toward my current project. It was a casket for Torly Striker. He is in his eighties and figured he better have himself a nice home for the thereafter. We designed it together.

As I added the small details for Torly's next home, his words came back to me..."a home for the thereafter." I smiled.

"Maybe even a home for the right now," I thought. A slight notion fogged my mind. I could sleep in here. After all, I just need a place to rest my bones. Click.

My thoughts churned and calculated. Yeah! That's all I need is a protected place to sleep. The rest of the world will be my living space. I can shower at the High school gymnasium or in the pristine Arkness creek. Eat at restaurants or on the go. Have my mail sent to the post office. Buy a plot of land in the cemetery and wake up to a solitary lifestyle.

I did this. Right between the headstones of Murray Castberger circa 1812 and Lorelei Chambers circa 1921, I slept in the grave yard in my personalized casket designed to hold a few belongings and influence a satisfying slumber. My approach to living was at first considered strange and macabre, but after the town leaders got ugly over beauty, many Harknessians were left without a beautiful home.

I was now considered a hero of sorts for the new homeless Harknessians. My portable sleeping quarters fulfilled a void in the town. Made to order, my caskets or casks, as I now call them, are customized for complete slumber comfort and satisfying minutia needs of the individual. The homeless needn't be bedless. Nor should they keep one eye open whilst engaging in rejuvenate sleep. The health of the down trodden improved. Not only did they get enough sleep, but they watched less television, became more physically active, and many were released by the nasty grip of pack-ratism.

At first there were only a few of us and the company was welcomed in a Hobo aesthetic kind of way. We had campfires next to the Pauling Mausoleum every Thursday and spoke like frontiersmen. I will report to you my journal entry from several months ago so that you may see where my mind was when I invented the new fad of Harkness:

More neighbors, I think I'm going to add wheels to my cask and try nomadic living for awhile. At least until I can once again wake into solitary enjoyment. Maybe I'll buy an orchard and rest my bones among the fruitful groves.

Now all the casks have wheels. Mobile portable sleeping quarters, are wildly popular in this region. Everyone is pulling them along with designer or creative, handmade ropes. Some casks are bedazzled, spray-painted, toled, decoupaged, Pollacked, big and little wheeled, hydraulic, and on and on. Everyone is expressing his and her creativity and displaying his and her version of beauty.

Most of the Harkness citizens sleep in the graveyard now. The town is known for its living dead. This acknowledgment was resurrected when weary travelers witnessed a mob of Harknessians groggily, weaving and lurching down through the cemetery gate in search for a cup of morning joe. We are also known as Zombieville.