5 things I’m not afraid of thanks to Richard Pryor

1. I’m not afraid of being an amateur.

   Even the great Richard Pryor started somewhere.

2. I’m not afraid of being honest with myself.

   If a man can light himself on fire while freebasing cocaine and then joke about it on stage in front of thousands of people, I’ll be okay.

3. I’m not afraid of taking the heat.

   Even hostile audiences can be dealt with gracefully.
   

4. I’m not afraid of exploring issues that make people uncomfortable.

   Richard Pryor was fearless in this regard. Fearless.

5. I’m not afraid of having fun with it all.

   If it comes from the heart, there’s nothing wrong with cracking a smile once in a while. Richard Pryor did it at his own roast.

Vlad, Hailey, and the Blue Line

Vlad is speaking programming languages at his computer again, aloud. We share an office six hundred feet above sea level. I can’t tell if you’re talking to me when I have my headphones in, dammit.

“Say something?”

“Huh?”

“Ah, forget it man.”

I turn up the volume for good, gangster rap so loud Easy-E might flinch at the snare.

Here Today by Nicholas DiClementi

They’re demolishing
the house next door to mine.

The weatherboard cracks
and splinters
as it’s torn
from the building’s foundation.
Each piece is tossed
haphazardly
into a pile
like fallen soldiers
into a ditch.
The wrecking ball
crashes into the single brick facade.
“The single brick facade
gives the house character,”
a real estate agent once said.
Piece by piece
is felled or crushed until
nothing remains
but a cluster of grey rubble
where the neighbor children used to play hopscotch.

They’re demolishing
the house next door to mine.
It was here yesterday,
and now it’s gone.

It’s funny,
I think,
how some things are like that.

One Art by Nicholas DiClementi

I’m burning every poem
I’ve ever written.

Having collected all of my words
And stacked them in a neat pile,
I toss them,
No, hurl them
Into the metal wastebin
I keep under my desk
(How does it all fit?
I was sure
there was more than that!)
I strike the match
Against the side of the matchbox,
Watching the flame
Come to life
And dance
In front of my eyes.
I hold it there for a moment,
And then another,
And another.
My thoughts
Lead me astray.

Wednesday Write-in #31: White-capped King

Wednesday Write-in #31 @ CAKE.shortandsweet

Prompts: sniffle  ::  font  ::  northern  ::  powdered  ::  pick a card

WHITE-CAPPED KING

It’s in the northern part of this state that the mountain peaks are always white-capped, their slopes powdered with virgin snowfall. It’s where the children sniffle in the morning as they prepare themselves for the walk to the school house in the bitter cold. And it’s where King George always takes holy water from the font and crosses himself before finishing his walk to the mills.

Flash Fiction Challenge: Choose Your Random Sentence

Flash Fiction Challenge: Choose Your Random Sentence (courtesy of terribleminds)

The challenge is to write a story based on a sentence spewed out by this sentence generator.

“THE HYPOTHETICAL RECIPIENT COMPROMISES THE DIAGNOSIS”

October 15, 1995

I stole some medical records from my primary care physician today.

Actually, I am sleeping with a nurse at the office and convinced her to photocopy the medical record of a recently diseased patient which she readily obliged in that tingly, after-sex fog that so definitively suspends our faculties.

I just put in my two weeks, she told me. So what do I care?

Wednesday Write-in #30: Eggs Florentine

Wednesday Write-in #30 @ CAKE.shortandsweet

Prompts: overdose ::  gloss over  ::  poach

EGGS FLORENTINE

Some people cook from instinct, seldom from recipe. Marienka’s mother was like that; if you gave her a recipe, she’d gloss over it once to get the idea before setting out in her own direction, rarely in vain. It could be Cornish hens with red cabbage and potatoes; salmon with homemade dill sauce; potato pancakes made from scratch and served with apple sauce and sour cream; or catfish slaughtered fresh and then breaded.

It didn’t matter.

Wednesday Write-in #29: Hamilton Wedding (Revised)

Wednesday Write-in #29 @ CAKE.shortandsweet

Prompts: ‘I do’  ::  crockery  ::  torch  ::  capsule

HAMILTON WEDDING (REVISED)
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
March 6, 2012

Dear Brother John,

I was moving some boxes out of Dad’s place last weekend when I happened upon this gem. Remember how he used to send these out? Always pragmatic, he was. Anyway, I’ve attached the itinerary for the Hamilton Wedding that never was (with my own notes and revisions included for effect, naturally). I thought about torching the thing but decided that it’s not my place to erase such an informative time capsule–that you might get a kick out of it after so many years.

Enjoy, you crafty bastard (see insert):
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Wednesday Write-in #28: Three Days Removed

Wednesday Write-in #28 @ CAKE.shortandsweet

Prompts: farewell  ::  pocketful  ::  feeding  ::  thief  ::  maroon

THREE DAYS REMOVED

June 8, 2000

I have marooned myself with limited provisions. Tobacco and papers, yes. Some vegetables and bread.

I stole what I have.

I made no farewells.

I’ve a pocketful of regret already.

Flash Fiction Challenge: The Muse and the Minion

Flash Fiction Challenge: Write What You Know (courtesy of terribleminds)

THE MUSE AND THE MINION

A muse came to me behind the liquor store and put a gun to my head. She told me to write a story.

“Sit down,” she said evenly as she drew the hammer back. Her voice was velvety, masculine, the skin on her trigger finger fair. There was a desk there and a pencil and a pad and the steel of her heater chilled the skin on my forehead and sent a wave of sensation down to my heels so I obliged her command. One of her minions stood close by, a Kalashnikov hanging loosely from his shoulder, holding a quart of Russian Standard and a glass in either hand. He stepped and set the bottle on the desk and the little glass next to it and then poured me three fingers before quietly retreating into the shadows.