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Miss Alister commented on the post, clout 1 day, 6 hours ago
Dot once had clout in imaginative circles. She drools now, into the porridge, spoon held aloft, eyes locked up, like an old hard disk drive. The larvae of bullwhip moths have gnawed her neurons. The cells, they’re lacy, like doilies. On armchairs. Dusty in attics. Where the sentinel sits, wizened, white, watching. Blind. At the window. Numb like scar tissue.
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Miss Alister commented on the post, shoulder 1 week, 2 days ago
“It’s a waste of time lookin’ over your shoulder, Buck,” Pop said. “You already know there’s a herd of folk behind you, better’n you at what you do, just waitin’ to pound you under their hooves, another competitor bites the dust. Speed’s the key Son, which you got, and cleverness, which you don’t, but long as you’re out there smilin’ ahead of the pack, you’ll seal the deal and no one’ll know they got took till the herd come through, and then, chances are folk’ll just be plain confounded by all the blather and tell’em to get the hell outta town.”
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Miss Alister commented on the post, ensue 3 weeks, 2 days ago
“Silence will ensue chaos!” the Dealbreaker said – the DB in pinstripes and adverse patterned shirt, tie, handkerchief and socks – floral, polka-dots, plaid, and houndstooth respectively. Does this mean he will be turning out in tan next? Or will he effect in those of us he promised to protect, a monochromatic aberration? I grasp at the colors I can still see and I seem alive – unless I’m typing this in an alternative existence – and yet my brain feels thick and slow and sucking down and down to the sound of the hound…
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Miss Alister commented on the post, clasp 3 weeks, 5 days ago
As I begin my reading, the crowd claps in offset clops, plops of loose pads of flesh, and I dare not look up. I soldier on as the crowd claps with encouraging snaps of taught hands, and so I peek, see their claps are accompanied by amused looks that conflict with the nature of my words, and strobe light visions of at least finishing this debacle begin to stutter and they stop abruptly with a unison jeer, “The word is CLASP, you idiot!”
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Miss Alister commented on the post, planter 1 month ago
Joe was a planter of peanuts, a Paraguay dirt king, come to Tennessee with his wife and pock-faced kids, farm hands all. They looked like peanuts, smelled like peanuts, ate peanuts–dry roasted and boiled—made peanut oil and flour and made a fortune. “Peanuts is the best thing God ever invented,” says Joe. “Next to peas and beans,” his wife added. Then one tragic day, their newborn went into shock after his first suckling of peanut milk. “Boy’s allergic to peanuts,” the Doc said. “You been foolin round, Wife?” Joe yelled. According to the DNA test, the kid was his but Joe had to deny it, lose his wife or lose his mind.
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Miss Alister commented on the post, flat 3 months, 1 week ago
It was a flat scenario all round, about a couple living near the Bonneville salt flats. He’s got a wife beater shirt on, hasn’t washed in days, stinks to high heaven. She’s pretending to be someone she’s not, has on a chic skirt with fine flat seams that she ordered over the phone from Macy’s. Now they’re flat broke. He’s had a few too many flat beers, wants sex. She gives him a flat refusal in a flat, nasal voice. He went flat against his promise that he wouldn’t do it again. At least it was over in 9.89 seconds flat.
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Miss Alister commented on the post, learn 3 months, 1 week ago
You’ve got to learn the language of weird, man.
And that would be…
That, Bro, would be triptific verbiage like broken toes oozing tangoes from past, sad lives and spurring on half-dead bodies along the Thames, dipping in and swirling around one last mouthful of fast living, before fizzling out in the violent fandangos of the holy black tide.
Whoa. I dig it.
Sing it, Dude!
Naw, man.
Why you wretched fowler of syncopated blissternation, you naysaying browser of doomed babes in a vestige of Valhalla, a wunderland of dead gone mirthful Vikings come to reap your dread parts!
Oh pop off your flap jack and dingle pling your jam dang, Assh*le!
Righteous, Dude! -
Miss Alister commented on the post, plays 3 months, 1 week ago
They plays with my head theys do, theys tricksy theys is, bloody revenges, bloody for no other reason but bloody, cut-throat barbers, poisonous Andronicuses slitting, cutting, and severing throats, hands, and heads from necks, the roots of horrors runs deeps and gangly, underground, under the sea, under the radar, gruesome drones of dread, terror, atrocity…
They plays with my head theys do, theys chops it off, theys kicks it about in theys Grand Guignol! -
Miss Alister commented on the post, ancient 3 months, 2 weeks ago
Ancient triple frogs began to so rapidly overpopulate the Triassic period that they soon burgeoned 250 million years into the future. The first drove of them popped out of the Mississippi mud in 1943 and each new drove pushed the one in front of it further west until the first drove made its fateful appearance in 1944 at high tide in Monterrey CA, tails and all. Doc woke one morning to The Seer’s horn, lit a cigarette and saw them surging in waves up onto his deck, best thing that could’ve happened. Doc’s research paper made him the hottest marine biologist in 1945, same time as the ex-sardine fisheries began canning the new most sought after delicacy.
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Miss Alister commented on the post, growing 3 months, 2 weeks ago
Barry was just another hippy too old to be a hippy, growing marijuana in the back forty of his property in southern Oregon. He was just another enthusiastic collector of funky bongs and pipes and suncatchers and fun times…until he was struck by lightning and became enlightened and folks assumed that meant he’d be amenable to giving free advice. He spent much time lovingly explaining that the definition of “intensely aware person” is not “blithering idiot”…until their terminal insensitivity took its course and Barry saw that to kill one of them would bring him his current peace in prison, smoking dope with the guards and reading Nisargadatta’s “I Am That” on his back in his cell.
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Miss Alister posted an update 3 months, 2 weeks ago
Threads of doubt dangled from the placenta, partially enveloped the fetus, and when it became so fat with doubt, it pounded with powerful fists to be freed and was expelled into an abysmal world of human games of survival based on levels of intelligence and arsenals of material wealth, and it saw that its height of power, of just being, floating and fat with doubt, was its finest hour.
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A world of amniotic fluid and warmth and maybe sometimes even music doesn’t sound so bad. I like this. It’s interesting. Do you ever curl up and pretend you’re in some kind of womb or egg where you don’t have to worry about anything?
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Hi F, that is so cool! Actually I do a sort of Egyptian mummy thing, creepy, maybe, the other end of the journey, but there you have it.. At bedtime after enduring daylight cruelties, I lie flat on my back, get the bed covers tucked under me all round, and I’m safe in my cocoon floating in the space beyond the earth’s atmosphere!
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Sounds relaxing! It’s funny how calming it i to just pretend you don’t exist for a little while. Or that no one else does.
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That’s it exactly. From Neanderthal to Now, existence has never been easy! Drugs, alcohol, imaginary wombs and mummy wrappings, and other such temporary havens, will always be in demand!
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Sounds like a money-making scheme waiting to happen.
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We could be escapism gurus of the Information Age!
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Miss Alister posted an update 3 months, 2 weeks ago
Gerald left the mailroom and headed down the hall. There was Verne standing by the water cooler. He tried to divert, but Verne had seen him. “Gerald!” Verne hollered, “How the hell are ya Buddy?” “Can’t complain, Verne,” Gerald said. “Say, Gerald, I got one fer ya: How can you tell when a salesman is lying?” Gerald grimaced, said, “His lips are moving.” Verne’s face fell then brightened again. “Bet you haven’t heard this one: A salesman said to an office manager, ‘This computer will cut your workload by 50%’ and the office manager said ‘That’s great, I’ll take two of them.’” Gerald chuckled. Verne glowed. “That’s a good one,” Gerald said. He gave Verne’s shoulder a pat and continued down the hall.
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Miss Alister posted an update 3 months, 2 weeks ago
I shall have to have another word with our darling king Kessler—the truly glorious master of oneword.com—regarding my Lost List and how names and account names can differ and therefore you can never find brilliant writers you would so much like to connect with…
Two more to add to the list:
Smnthbll of these fine words “…do you know how it feels to picnic on a strangers lawn,
among an abundance of milkweed and clover?Noah of the ultimate wall “Life hits you and becomes as boring as staring at the wall you just crashed into.”
The Lost List:
Smnthbll
Noah
Matty M.
A.Taylor
Audrey -
Miss Alister commented on the post, wall 3 months, 2 weeks ago
You could jump that wall if you wanted.
How you figure? I mean look at the height of it! I can’t see over it.
You could if you wanted.
I couldn’t, and neither could you, it’s way higher than you, even.
Oh I could jump it in a single bound. And so could you.
No. Look at it!
BELIEVE, Nala!
I do want to try, but I DON’T UNDERSTAND!
Watch what the human mind is capable of!
And with that Simon just walked through the wall. And there I was alone. It may be true, this thing about what you put your mind to and where there’s a will there’s a way, but I need it explained, detailed instructions, step by step, and I need practice runs and all, and Simon, he just ruined it for me, that’s NOT the way to boost my confidence! Now I will NEVER KNOW! He didn’t care! He just wanted to show off! I HATE him, I want to KILL him for this meanness, yes, I want him DEAD! Die Simon, DIE!
And from the other side of the wall there was a groan and a thud. -
Miss Alister commented on the post, baby 3 months, 3 weeks ago
“It’s your baby, Slade,” Lance said. Slade just looked at the kid and filled his mouth with Budweiser. Lance fumbled around for a cigarette. “I ain’t got nothin’ to do with this shit,” he said. Slade sozzled beer around in his mouth. Lance said, “The Judge’s kid ‘bout did me in when I was tyin’ ‘im up.” He shifted his eyes from Slade to the flame in his shaking hand, said, “What you gonna do with that dead chick you found in the trunk of his car?” He’d just about got his Marlboro lit when Slade busted out laughing, sprayed beer everwhere, extinguished Lance’s cig. “Same thang you gonna do with that wet death stick hangin’ from yo’ mouth, Boy!”
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Miss Alister commented on the post, visitor 3 months, 3 weeks ago
I was raised a visitor to Dry Land, thousands of acres of cracked earth with the occasional weed sprouting up out of it, and it felt like home ‘til I tasted the Wetlands, the next best thing to amniotic fluid that I’d found, not like I’ve been everywhere to look…
I became a visitor to the Wetlands, went and raised hell there whenever I could, and naturally I retired there, found out what “too much of a good thing” means…
Now I’m a visitor to the land of Inbetween which is comfy because I don’t know my ass from a crack in the earth… -
Miss Alister commented on the post, speak 3 months, 4 weeks ago
Don’t speak to me of the unattainable, the noumenon, the 1986 space shuttle challenger now missionless in the annals of easy querying, adaptive self-regulation already defeated by childhood conditioning, Cypher’s self-dooming drooling of steak juice and red wine on planet Matrix, Syd Barrett walking psychotic on the dark side of the moon… Speak to me of putting one foot in front of the other and getting through the day and that being deeply good, meaningful
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Miss Alister and
F are now friends 3 months, 4 weeks ago -
Miss Alister commented on the post, ahead 3 months, 4 weeks ago
Go ahead and pull the trigger, I don’t need you now, only when I am in pain when I need you to enable me to create truths that seep into seeing minds and drain down their veins to the dregs of their existence and their souls rise up and sing praises but the wrong ones, I am just the messenger, I am not enlightened you silly fools! and you will but forget the revelations in one blink of your blind eyes! So go ahead attendant, pull the trigger and let the booby out of its hatch.
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Miss Alister commented on the post, responsibility 4 months ago
I was given a catalogue of dark images to peruse, by hand, they held them for me, one by one, and as asked, I commented on each one, yet disinterested, indifferent, irritated yet obliging, it’s my nature, it tortures me, and then I saw the one, not shapeless, anomalous, formless blackness as were the rest, but more distinct, crystalline almost, and I had no word for it, but it represented a sort of divine absence of the weight of responsibility, and I snatched at the card, but they withdrew it from me
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