Category: Splinter Stories

Adagio Syzygy

On By dancingpalmtreesIn Emu-Gene, Emu-Jean, Fantasy, Kenda, Kenda the Shipwreck, Kendall, Serial Story, Short Stories, Splinter Stories, Uncategorized

Adagio Syzygy

Snippets of Stories Lead to Treacherous Tales

Splinter Stories from the Hardware Store

Cassiopeia, Delphinus, and Monoceros squared off circling each other, leaning in ready for attack yet bouncing off each other’s zones in the manner of opposing magnetic forces.

They continued to circle each other in an unholy alliance glued to one another through a parasitic orbit. Until Jhamer Von Tick-Tock crushed their magnetic bond like a free wheeling asteroid. Von Tick-Tock took pride in accomplishing his first full fledged Quantum Leap excepting the fact that he had no idea where he had leapt to nor the identities of the strange beings lying deathly still before him.

Jhamer Von Tick-Tock had them laid out on the ground like a visiting evangelist under the Summer Revival Tent. One could never in his/her wildest imaginations that Von Tick-Tock who had the mousey appearance of Hickory Dickory Dock possessed such startling and stunning powers. In a burst of energy Von Tick-Tock ripped apart their interplanetary High Noon Showdown.

Wondering if he had propelled the prone populace before him Von Tick-Tock gave them each a nudge with the toe of his well shod foot which only elicited a few twitches and grimaces. They all appeared to be stuck in stasis a not too far distance from rigor mortis. Planted inside furrows in the dirt. Future victims of the Super Blood Moon.

Bad Moon Rising

Bad Moon Rising – Creedence Clearwater Revival

https://youtu.be/w6iRNVwslM4

Mid-Nudge Kick among the deactivated beings Von Tick-Tock, Ever the Dandy could not help but admire his sartorial splendor reflected back to him in the crystalline silicates surfaces scattered across the florid field. Looking sporty if I must say so myself.

Some called him Princess Fedora, Queen of Shapeshifters. Along with Wearer of Snazzy Skypieces. Often magical Mystical changes of hair color occured on a Whim.

Shoes in order. Jacket in Order. But Von Tick-Tock became miffed at the state of his Bunn Hat that was seriously disordered by this dimension journey.

Crushed Bunn Hat

Transport across the Thin Place encapsulated at the House on Ruxton Road often was not thin enough Challenging ones ability to escape damage. But that was the place. Sometimes the only place to Leap as 924 Belmont Avenue was wonky and often unreliable.

Moans, groans and sounds of retching interrupted Von Tick-Tock’s reverie. Once supine the humanoids began to arise at which point the dizziness catching heads and stomachs spun in a centrifuge as they tried to sit upright. Blue-green iridescent sparkly vomit irrigated the surrounding meadows. After several moments of glitter spew one of the Anthromorphic shapes made eye contact opening its mouth emitting garbled garbage of what I took to be their mother tongue. As more of them became semi-lucid even more jabberwocky issued forth from their tongue tied lips.

Back Through the Cosmic Vortex

But Why Quibble over details?

The Uneasy Culprits

Cassiopeia, Delphinus & Monoceros

The Unseen Head

On By dancingpalmtreesIn graveyards, Righteous Brothers - Unchained Melody, Splinter Stories, Splinter Stories from the Hardware Store, Sulfuric acid, Tchaikovsky - 1812 Overture, The Unseen Head, Uncategorized

The Unseen Head

Splinter Stories from the Hardware Store

The Silicone was a little too life-like even more so than the wax figures in Madame Tussauds on West 42nd Street near the Port Authority Bus Terminal. Even down to the round Charlie Brown skull the head devoid of any cranial or facial hair gave the aspect of a John Doe murdered corpse or a recently discovered bog man released from millennia into time.

The beak like hooked nose overshadowed a somewhat weak chin with the beginnings of jowls but bolstered by a piercing gaze of false eyeballs. Eyes that kept blinking and rotating throwing its caretakers off balance with the morose intakes and outtakes. A side show freak from an abandoned carny encased in double Plexiglas.

The Original building Art Science Museum dates back to over 170 years. The building had many uses during that time period. Built by prisoners whose bones and bodies are rumored to be mixed in with the cement, concrete, masonry, stone, brick and mortar over time its been a Bordello, Playhouse Theater, a Civil War hospital, a prison for debtors, delinquents and those deemed Delirious, Sanatorium, mortuary, Theater, Speakeasy until finally deciding to become ASM just prior to World War Two.

Silicone headcase was housed in the section where Madames and courtesans once entertained morally staid upper class males. Workers in that area have complained of hearing raucous phantom music, dancing and laughter long after business hours. Given the century and a half existence and its various incarnations the building four city blocks or a quarter mile long is a Labyrinth of mazes series of interlocking tunnels connect both old and new museum sections.

Many township Villagers nicknamed it the Castle for the turrets plus other intricate architectural flourishes. The Townies though proud of their history gave this building a wide berth. Many suffered here and died under gruesome circumstances in the Castle. Specters of translucent doctors, nurses and rotting patients have been seen patrolling the hallways replaying a long past gone.

Max Headroom

Internally it was coursing with two gallons of human blood supplied by a network of pipes tubes and other external spaghetti carefully hidden from view. In order to keep the circulation going methodically the gauges always had to read 98.7 Fahrenheit normal human body temperature with no more than a five degree fluctuation up or down otherwise coagulation would begin.

Each time Victor had to babysit this horrendous sanguinary cranium he would break out in goosebumps along with the accompanying spinal chills. This horrid graveyard reject was twice the size of a normal human skull. Victor had to monitor all the external and internal equipment plus be ready to make adjustments when necessary. Just looking at the nasty disgusting thing gave his goosebumps, goosebumps. He quivered and shivered not only from the ice cold temperatures of the galleries but anxiety and nerves.

The “Whooshing” sound of the pipes and tubes each time he made the required visitations. When it was his turn for overnight guard duty, Midnight to 7 am the next day he always prepared himself with several Father, Son & Holy Ghosts plus a few Hail Mary’s thrown in for good measure.

For the last few times he sat beside the demented Max Headroom he had dozed off with a resulting weakness with each session. Victor could have sworn that Dawn came onto too early. Sometimes when Winkin’ Blinkin’ and Nod called his name he felt the creaks and groans. Noises he chalked up to an old house forever ever settling but never finding rest as he too struggled to find his place in a world gumbo Marsala mixture of Art and the dark halls of Science. Victor’s milk and coffee complexion got more milky and less coffee over time.

Dr. Elgin Elgore refused to allow the customary security knaves to guard or even enter the room. Only he, Victor and Ms. Elsa Gonner were allowed entrance. Nor would he allow the Janitors to clean that area or section of the building fearing the the clumsy wipes, mops and dusters would detach Max as he was called from its various umbilical cords that lined the surrounding floors and walls.

In an aquarium off to the far right was a mixture or Plant Growth and steroids that periodically mixed with the blood as a nutrition element.

The machines were the heart and nervous systems of the beast. Throbbing and pulsating with such a convoluted rhythm and pace causing the features to warp into Orgasmic Grimaces and contortions which only added to the Lewdness of its features. The features took on an even more sardonic, malevolent and lecherous tone when my Fem Bone ZyKaiLeiLani arrived on the scene. She was one of a hand full of outsiders sworn to secrecy and silence let in mainly because her father owned the building and contributed heavily to the dual causation and manipulations of science and art.

Honeysuckle. I always smelled Honeysuckle whenever ZyKai was near.

If ZyKai as we called her wore a particularly revealing frock the jibes and leers seemed to increase as those the blood, steroid and plant food combination gave its hellish soul an unnatural understanding of the female frame. ZyKai was luminous on her own radiating outward from an internal solar system. As for her father our Patron we had our lions and lines drawn up bowing, scraping plus all the courtesies to keep the money flowing

ZyKai sat in on board meetings where Dr. Elgin Elgore threw her furtive glances whilst her poker face betrayed nothing all while playing footsie with Victor under the massive oaken table. Often when he passed locked doors he could hear the clinking of champagne glasses, laughter, giggles along with intermittent pleasure groans and moans.

Dr. Elgore’s greatest fear was not the numerous couplings between Victor and ZyKai but that her father the major funding for the Art Science museum would discover them In flagrante delicto and gone would be the Number 1 Funder.

Loss all from disembodied voices in the throes of passion. Light footfalls followed by heavier ones on their way to rendezvous. Speak easy. Speak easy as we take our fill of passion and pleasure. A Smaller tiny tombstone mirrors the Large Grand One behind. Ponds washout to Rivers. Rivers washout to Oceans.

With each performance the head came closer and closer to bursting with frustrated desire and anger.

The evil face turned a purplish blue burgundy under our apt tutelage of what it could only imagine but never do. The pushing and shoving of serums within the Max Headroom’s tubes became too much to bear. Finally the double Plexiglas chamber seem to fill with a noxious Sulfuric acid ectoplasm.

A Great Symphonic Boom Erupted during our 1812 Overture.

Nomadic Dreams and Discourses

On By dancingpalmtreesIn Fusion Poetry, Giles and Niles Take On The Town, Hodgepodge Poetry, Monocle, Nomadic Dreams and Discourses, Poems, Poetic Transposition, Poetry, Prose and Poetry, Splinter Stories, Uncategorized

 

 

Giles and Niles Take On The Town

 

What is it to Occupy a Body that is not Your Own?

 

Oily rags on Fire

 

In My past life I must have been a suppressed Pyromaniac for whenever I smell smoke or see sparks and flames I get horny. My only desire is to merge with the intense inferno of whatever nearby flesh.

 

Fragments of explosives were distributed like Holy Relics

Monocle smeared with rancid body fat

The smell of putrid body odor pushed Convulsions up and out of my Center quickly bringing me to the surface of blessed relief.  Flotsam and Jetsam of  Orbiting lives coming together then separating

During his ramblings around the canvass stopping as he spied me. His eyes dissecting and classifying me as a new species of insect or bird

 

No nod of the head but his eyes moved up and down my person as though my body was an ancient scroll or flag being unfurled. We riff and reverberate off each others bones.  Licks and Riffs all night long.  Conviviality shared.  Towels and Cocktails all around.

 

No Galumphing around.  He had pride in his stride.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Incendiary Guest House

On By dancingpalmtreesIn Abstract Art, Camila Cabello - Havana, Fantasy, Fusion Poetry, Gabriel Garcia Marquez, Hodgepodge Poetry, Incendiary Guest House, Magical Realism, Mystical Realism, Poems, Poetic Transposition, Poetry, Prose and Poetry, Quantic & Flowering Inferno - Cumbia Sobre el Mar, Santana - Maria Maria, Splinter Stories, Uncategorized

 

 

Incendiary Guest House

 

Splinter Stories from the Hardware Store

 

Every time I left the Boarding House to explore the town outskirts my fellow lodgers gave me looks of lit torches ready to set me afire first change they got.  Malevolent Bleak-stone Villagers Willing me to return with Blazing Fury.  Her was an abandoned Bohemian kept on a short leash. Apparitions wandered about seeking solace with the solitude.  Slaying dragons only they could see.

With the Ascending Sun ushering in Daylight we are bound by the Eternal Truths of human nature not easily displaced or dispersed by culture, religion or tradition.  For the heart, emotions and feelings over rule dogma, doctrine, regulations and rules.  Skies willfully approached us beckoning forth our path.

 

 

Psycho Barn House

 

 

In the Caves I saw She who was without nose with bubs for fingers shoveling earth with scooped perdition.  Her looked into my questioning eyes spoke forth, “The Krocodyll ate my fingers and cut off me nose.  As she snorted, sniffed and shot up another dose. 

 

 

Frozen Dead stare out blankly from the casements as thick fog obscures, increasing the rift between reality and fantasy.  Embryos seemed to sprout from thin spaces of adjoining floor planks. Babies manifested like flies on dead bodies. Despite dusty streets kicking up sand and sawdust, shaky hovels ready to collapse if the occupants sneezed too hard the Town was Vibrant and Overwhelming. Attacking all five senses encompassing the wearer in pure pleasure sensory of overload. Each individual sense fighting for its turn to experience Village Succulent delights. The inhabitants levitated elevated on unseen puppet strings guided herky jerky marionette Punch & Judy Dance moves.  The church that sprang up in the very spot where a journalist was blown to bits not many years ago. His blood and entrails mixed in with adobe mortar.

 

 

This small city was like a Grand Bordello in tastes, textures and sounds all reverberating off each other.  Walking the streets was discovering  a series of abandoned unlocked room that had been sealed for 200 years. Push aside the cobwebs and dust to find hidden personal and historic treasures. Interiors frozen in time still waiting for the original owners return.  Invisible inhabitants ~~ Ambassadors to times long past.

Merlin snapped his fingers, wiggled his nose, clicked his heels together and waved a magic wand transporting us to a city ideal in imagination.

 

 

Stepping from the heady aroma of fragrance filled perfumed streets visitors were ushered into exotic elaborately decorated quarters decorated with expensive Persian rugs, medieval tapestries, silk draperies hung upon windowless walls, tables adorned with Tiffany lamps. A subtle scent of incense permeated the airways. The decorations seemed incongruous yet harmonized together in an irregular yet pleasing manner. Palatial taste a bit ostentatious like a Renaissance bordello. The furnishings were highly articulated and faceted Baroque/Rococo objects, many with deep gouges and gashes suggesting transparency and interior penetration. This room and much of the house as well as the street urchins who passed through seemed to us a surrealist Orientalist fantasy. At the far end of the living room hung a painting of a Minotaur coupling with a Centauride.

 

He waited an lifetime for his passion which never came.  The poorly dressed country boy from the backwoods was now an elegantly attired Metro-sexual, fop, a dandy of no substance.  He knew the price of everything but the value of nothing.

As he walked out from the restaurant where we had all dined his body shivered and shook in the 90 degree heat.  Such quaking was a premonition of times to come.

Not my type. Not my type at all she thought at first glance. He was tall, thin with curly hair wearing a handlebar mustache and mutton chop sideburns that had gone out of style ages ago.  But he proved to be a sorcerer, wizard and warlock drawing her gently into his web.  He spoke images, pictures and portraits weaving together words that appeared onscreen before your eyes bringing you places you only envisioned in your dreams.  He said I was a Rosebud of Great Elegance and I bloomed before his eyes. 

He was tender. Oh so tender. Like slow cooked meat falling off the bone.  Breathe. Breathe. Breathe, said my mind.  Fall inside his soul said my Heart.  Fused into one.  From this Fusion came a girl child wild and free willed.  So much like her Father.

 

 

Broadway Junction
L Train Views & Vistas from Broadway Junction

 

He had not a penny, peso nor centavo to his pocket and I am not one to live solely on air and dreams. His claim to fame was the largesse of his friends.  Such generosities soon ran out as his artistic abilities ceased to translate into food, clothing, baby food, diapers or rent.  Our lives resembled Cubist paintings populated by beings with both eyes on one side of their heads. 

I had to become a She-Wolf protecting my lone cub. Zasu!  Zasu My Love!  I could hear his cries as he ran alongside the train. But I neither looked or responded for to have met his gaze would have melted my resolve.

Even long after I left the bond was still there. So strong. Unbreakable. What is joined together in spirit cannot be thrust apart by circumstance or physical distance. Later his best books written in the depths of poverty were celebrated and honored long after his infirmities prevented him from accepting previously designated awards.  Undiscovered he had worn his books like a Dunce Cap.

Books once frustrated and flustered now burst forth bursting with confidence and pride.  Posh parties, syrupy words and embarrassing praises sprung up out of nowhere. Famine had turned Feast. Gentrification aliens spouted slick words of little understanding for experiences  only glimpsed from behind gilded windows, Red doors with brass knockers leading to golden paved streets.  Claiming a world known best to their maids, nannies, butlers, doormen and house servants.  Those who live in mansions and estates know nothing of tin roofed shacks and shanties bereft of indoor plumbing or expected amenities.  Then you know that it wasn’t rain that hit you but a flock of birds resting on the pole lines above your head.    .  

 

Figures on the Paddle-wheel encouraged us to sing and dance to pass the time.  Sparks of madness couple with insanity flew out from street cars and trams attempting to ignite my swollen spirit. Broken down Market Boats moored in temporary docks became Non-Stop parties until parts could be found to continue journey crossing.  Such a trip morphed from a Vacation into a Vocation.

One event can easily split history in two: Before and After.  Narrated stories like Jig Saw Puzzle pieces come together from different perspectives as though looking at the same event from various angles and distances.  Yours could be a date stuck in history like the Ides of March, Armistice Day, Dec 7th or 9/11.  The story and the people are One.  Always.  Revolutions, Revolutionaries eventually become the Establishment Status Quo.  There’s that flock of birds again. Blessing all those who sit below them.

Her was an unknowing prisoner in that house for a long time.  Her mind a thicket of brambles and nettles. Stinging with cunning hooks and sharps.

Her ~~ Returning to the home time and again.  It was a part of her distant past and daily present. The House was a gifted sanctuary to her brittle psyche. Within the burning hot coal city I was surrounded by icy cold rains, pounding sleet and frequent blizzards.