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Sunday, October 12, 2008

Short Story Spillage 10/12/2008

There once was a man named Jonny, who had a house on top of a hill. Jonny was a simple man, who lead a simple life. He raked his yard and kept his fence mended. Mondays Jonny cooked a stew. Tuesdays Jonny broke bread. Midweek was porridge. Thursday was a treat of cheese. Friday was left over stew. Weekends, Jonny walked all morning Saturday to visit his parents and all event Sunday to return home.

Every day, Jonny built a chair. Every weekend, he sold five chairs to his father. His father owned a shop and sold the chairs. The only interesting thing about Jonny was that every week he made a different style of chair. He had never made the same style twice. He enjoyed the craftmanship. His chairs were popular, although no customers realized they came from the same man. They all looked hewn from different hands. Jonny liked anonymity.

The chairs always stacked up, to make easier to carry on the long walks to his parents every Saturday morning.

It was one of these long walks that made a story about Jonny worth writing about. It was on one of these walks that he came across a young woman, who was trying to sell flowers at the side of the road. She was standing and looking tired and the day was already young. Jonny suspected she had not eaten well that week and was exhausted.

"A flower for whomever you are visiting, sir," the woman asked as he approached?

"My mother. She likes daisies," he replied, trying to seem nice as he felt sorry.

"One pence."

Jonny had no pence. He carried no money with him on his trips. "One chair. Will you trade?" And she did, happily. She sat comfortably on one of Jonny's chairs as he sat it down for her and took a flower. She would be more comfortable, look happier, and sell more flowers.

Jonny knew his father could easily sell four chairs. He often sold only four of five he sent, and the fifth on its own. People often like chairs in fours. He bid the woman a fair day and departed.

Jonny walked further down the road. Eventually, he came across a young boy headed the other way. The boy looked sad and Jonny asked him why.

"My mother and father have gone into down for the day and I have gotten myself locked out of the house. I can't get into the high window and I'll have to wait until nightfall for their return," the boy told Jonny his plight.

"That is a problem, but I am carrying the solution on my back," said Jonny. He felt bad for the boy and he took another chair from his stack and gave it to the child.

"Thank you sir!" The boy gave Jonny a pence for the chair, which was all he had, even tho Jonny had asked for nothing.

Jonny walked further down the road. Some time later, he saw an old man walking down another road which met his at a crossway. He was walking slower and had a cane. The man was carrying with him a basket, with many pieces of wood sticking out of it.

They both got to the crossway and Jonny noticed the wood in the basket was what was left of a broken chair.

"You have a broken chair, and I have three good chairs, sir," Jonny said to the man.

"My chair was nearly as old as I and without it I have no where to sit within my home. I am going to sell its wood for someones stove and hope I can buy a new chair."

"I sell my chairs and will sell you one for that wood," replied Jonny. He liked that he did two good things with his chairs so far that day and would like to do a third.

They traded the basket for a chair and went on their ways.

Jonny walked further down the road. He had the basket of wood on top of the two remaining chairs, all carried on his back. He walked along, getting much closer to his parents.

When Jonny reached his parents house, he had a surprise.

"We've been robbed," exclaimed his mother!

"I'm ruined," cried his father!

"We have no wood to burn, we're a pence short on the store rent. Never in our lives have I been so lost in my own home."

Jonny went to embrace his sad mother, and then realized he could help all of their problems.

"Where are your chairs, son," his father asked him?

"I sold three of them. Here, you may take the remaining two," he said as he placed the two chairs into the empty room for his parents. "Sit and rest after your ordeal."

"I sold the last chair for some fire wood," he said as he began a fire with the wood in the basket, using the basket as kindling.

"I sold the chair before that for a pence," he said handing the pence to his father, "and you will keep your store."

"I sold the first chair for my mothers happiness," he said, handing his mother the flower."

Saturday, February 09, 2008

Climbing Over Lows

I am climbing over the valleys
Peak to peak with nothing under my feet
Depression is discovery of the next ascent
Under hand and foot is air, I am supported by anticipation

If I fall from my climb over the dip
I will fall into the pit
The walk from depression through realization is downhill to the top
How can I walk on the sky when I feel lower than dirt?

Expectation of joy pulls the straps on my boots
When I cannot smile I must think
And when I think I must realize
That if I have all these reasons to be smiling again, its only a matter of time

Monday, May 28, 2007

I Am Not A Poet

I don't even know what Slam Poetry is
Words take wings
like birds with bricks in their claws
ready to drop bombs
knock me on my ass
birdy in the sky

Life is sex with the world
and I am a virgin
I had no vision quest
I had EverQuest
Don't know the secret to happiness
Do know the secret to infinite lives
I know the secret to sadness.

One stanza, Two stanza
Good stanza, Bad stanza
I am not a poet
I write thoughts and think rights
Rhythm and rhyme rock the mind
What I think does not go with itself
Or make sense from apple to orange

Once I took the road everyone travelled by
On that road I was mugged, beaten, and broken
I'll trek through the woods, off the trail
Branches beating at my face
Wolves circling at the shadows
Just to reach again the road less travelled by.

Sunday, May 06, 2007

Story Spill: Pop (1)

My spills are when I write without much context and plan to rework and place the "spill" into a larger piece and connect with other parts later.

Greg had a good day, because Greg didn't hand anyone a burger that day. Even a job that barely pays the bills is better when you have less of it. Waking up for lunch was the perfect way to start his day. Greg went out for a burger for lunch. He paid his work move for a ten minute meal than they paid him for two hours of work the day before.

Tuesday, May 01, 2007

Sunday, February 25, 2007

My Favorite Desktop

I've been doing some work helping my wife get her jewelry store ready online. Meanwhile, the creative air got me going and I pulled out the new sketchbook Mom bought me for the holidays. I drew what I saw.

Saturday, December 30, 2006

Art Supplies as Presents

My mother bought me a ton of art supplies for the holidays. I'll be sure to make use of them, and take the hint.