| THIS IS A READ-ONLY ARCHIVE FROM THE SORABJI.COM MESSAGE BOARDS (1995-2016). |
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"I just had the most horrifying Sorabji dream! It was a nightmare! Everything in it was distorted and larger than life. I don't know how I made it through without activly realizing that it was a dream. Nate and Semillama were there. It was awful. Not because they were there, but because of what they did. We were sitting at some table drinking. Not really big bad alcohol, but mixers and coolers and stuff like that. Semillama kept pulling out these bottles and I'd say "Do I like that?" and he'd say "I think so." and we'd drink. There was this big bottle of vodka on a pillar right behind me and everytime I'd take a swig from the drink Semillama had, I'd turn around and take a swig from the vodka and swish it around in my mouth. Anyway, Semillama finally pulls out this bottle and gets all excited, because It's Time. "This is Nate's bottle!" he says. big spooky grin. Right away I start muttering no and I refuse to look and go face the window with my vodka. There's a little umbrella in the opening of Nate's bottle, and he takes it out and (this is the horrifying part) sticks the bottle onto the head of his penis. Semillama really wants me to turn around and look but I'm way too horrified. I don't even have to turn around because I can see the reflection in the glass of the window. But it gets worse! I can't see this part because I close my eyes, but somehow I just Know it's happening: Nate starts moving his hips back and forth making the little bottle go flying around in a circle. There's some woman there and she keeps screaming "ISN'T IT GREAT??" and Semillama is laughing and I'm drinking my vodka. Semillama asks me what I think and I (why? why??) say "I haven't had any." and all the noise and hub-bub stops right away and everyone's shocked. So Nate pulls the bottle off of his penis and hands it to me and that's when I (mercifully) woke up. god. I don't know if I can go back to sleep after this." I just about laughed til my guts bled when i read this one again. |
By Scaramouche [aka droopy, if I'm not mistaken] on Monday, August 2, 1999 - 03:02 pm: I had been living in the house for about a year and a section of the kitchen ceiling, just in front of the pantry, was water-damaged and sagging. Clete said he would fix it for me cheap. I had known him for a longish time because he was a friend of my boss. Clete is from Misssissippi, short, stocky, and swarthy and in his mid-70's had more energy than I ever had all through my 20's. He came to my house on a Saturday and had the roof looking good as new in no time. While we were settling on a fee, there was a scampering noise above the ceiling. "Whazzat?" Clete said. "Squarls?" I said yes; there had been squirrels in my attic since I moved in. At first it was annoying hearing them running around and gnawing on the wood, but after a while I got used to it and even kind of like it. I was alone in that house and it was nice to hear something else moving around. "You can't let them squarls live up there," Clete said. "Do no end of damage. Wait a minute." He went out to his truck, one of those patchwork jobs with a with a passenger door that's a different color from the from the hood, which is a diffent color from the bed of the truck. It was filled with all sorts of crap, and he pulled a frame box enclosed with chicken wire. "Squarl trap," he said. He baited it with some food from my fridge and put it up in my attic. "Call me if you catch somethin'" I checked it every day, but it remained empty for several days. I changed the bait every so often. then one day there was a squirrel in it. It looked bigger up close than it seemed in the trees. It was frightened at first and barked at me in that VW Bug kind of bark that sqirrels have. It's eyes were nervous and alert. "Caught one," I told Clete over the phone. "Bring 'im over," he said. Clete lived in a small, quaint little town about 25 miles northeast. The neighborhood he lived in was meant to be a modern suburb, but there was something old dry and dusty about it anyway. The front of Clete's house is a pale and unassuming one-story house, but his back yard has a large garden, a sort of pen for his hunting dogs, a peach tree, and a patch of bamboo which he says is for making fishin' poles. The inside his house is warm and woody, cluttered and simultaneously cozy and claustrophobic. I follwed Clete to the kitchen with the prisoner squirrel. His wife, Effie, was sitting in a chair in the living room reading a book. She is very obese, and I rarely see her moving around because it's too much of an effort. Mostly she sits there so quietly she seems almost like a piece of folk art. When she's up, it's usually to go to a doctor's appointment for one of her many ailments; that's when you see how close the two of them are - there is a lot of tenderness between them and Clete calls her "Mama". In the kitchen I set the squirrel trap on a kind of raised platform - a chopping block. Clete very casually reached into a drawer and pulled out a large ice pick. With quick and seamless movements he had the trap open, grabbed the sqirrel by the neck and spiked it through the brain before either me or the rodent knew what was going on. "Stick around," Clete said. "We're gonna have him for dinner." |
By Persephone on Monday, August 9, 1999 - 11:47 pm: all right. scaramouch and persephone are the same person - a 30 something male who has an active imagination. i had written the first part of the sqirrel story (which never happened and is coddled together from stories i've heard and my own imagination) on impulse after reading sheila's hunting thread. i stopped it at the ice-pick part because i had no idea how to cook a sqirrel. the next day i finished it using a "joy of cooking", guesses, and a few scraps of remembered dialogue. persephone was orginally just something i did for the hell of it. the second post was because margaret yelled at me. after that, though, i was becoming intrigued and was trying to create a vegetarian character. I eat meat every day and wear leather and have never had a vegetarian thought in my life until i started creating the character of german, lutheran, 13 year-old persephone. (i'm irish catholic, by the way.) it was nice to have the freedom of filtering ideas through a naive young girl. I had this whole answer written out by persephone about the importance of conviction and a few quotes from corinthians 1, and her father and so forth, but i deleted it. this isn't the first time i've done this here and i tend to get consumed in the characters and stay up at night thinking about it and forget to do stuff etc. i figure that by coming clean now i'll be too embarrassed to come back. i have really got to stay off of these boards. --droopy ************** I loves that boy. |