December 18, 2008

I’ve decided to discontinue this blog, mainly because I think it has allowed me to become accustomed to instant gratification. Most of the stories I have posted should have been left in a spiral notebook for a few more months and revisited at a later time to clean up and enhance more thoroughly. Although this blog had few readers and did not ask much of my time, it was a well intentioned, trial and error experience. Looking toward the future, I plan on reworking old pieces and submitting them to various journals, creating a blog directing interested readers in where my pieces are posted on the internet.  Recently, I just published two stories, which can be seen at the following links.

http://apt.aforementionedproductions.com/eighteen/weigel.htm

http://www.unlikelystories.org/weigel1208.shtml

If you have been reading this blog, I assure you I’m more determined than ever to experiment with writing and challenge my creative habit. I assure you that there’s much more to come.

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October 21, 2008

But you can never truly love it till you can love it’s alleys too, she says smoking in the cold, watching her breath catch fire while her frail bones tremble without notice. It’s Christmas time. The streets are filled with wreaths, lights, and illusions of magic but the alley doesn’t promise Maggie anything. The snow is grey and the rats are out. She laughs at the crowd of people in line for church as she stares at her own sanctuary.

Maggie and Jack smoke cigarettes together, noting how much they have in common: their interest in punk music, their distaste for college students, their obligations as an oldest child with a single parent. They both know the money for cigarettes should have gone toward tonight’s dinner but they’d rather have an empty stomach than an itch that goes unscratched.

Maggie works everyday, watching her friends go off to school as she scoffs at their transition into a life of isolated academia. Jack and her know about how the government really works, how the police force deals with crime, how the church takes away her mother’s money. He stayed home too, working. They call each other at night, when their siblings have been put to bed and smoke in the alleyway in between their houses.

The city gets quiet at night. House windows are open and lights illuminate the life that exists inside. Outside, they only hear the sound of teeth chattering. Such a monotonous life calls them to cling to each other for excitement.

After their cigarette, Maggie sleeps over at Jack’s house. The basement hides them, as they take off their winter jackets and scarves and begin to sweat. She’s weak from lack of food and tired from lack of sleep, but somehow her weakness turns to anger. At her mom, her younger sister, her coworkers but not Jack. She wonders if the absence of any anger means love but she doesn’t think so.

They work dull jobs for money. Sex is free and way more enjoyable. Sex is not dirty; it’s just innately private. Everyone spares the details. No one wants to hear about how unavailable Jack’s eyes are after sex or how they never felt self-conscious even with the light on. Jack and Maggie’s life together was a secret. All lover’s lives are. It seems that the line between art and dirtiness exists in every culture.

She screams at night; he pulls out.

“Wait,” he whispers.

“What?”

“The condom broke. It’s fine though.”

He kisses her while she pulls away. “The condom broke?”

“Don’t worry. It’s fine. I pulled out.”

She’s never been one to talk while having sex. Even now, her speech is broken, saying little in the situation. Nodding, she turns to her side. Nothing to worry about, and she believes it. So much to worry about but not this.

We look in the mirror, wondering what to do with our hair when we haven’t showered for days. We sit, questioning what to talk about after we realize we have everything in common. We listen to lyrics that sing about love when all we want is sex. It hurts when the music stops, la de da de da.

May 24, 2008


“If people bring so much courage to this world the world has to kill them to break them, so of course it kills them. The world breaks everyone and afterward many are strong at the broken places. But those that will not break it kills. It kills the very good and the very gentle and the very brave impartially. If you are none of these you can be sure it will kill you too but there will be no special hurry.” – Hemingway