Naked (at) Lunch
I am twenty year old guy from Sweden, so english isn't my native language. This is the first time I'm trying to create longer segments of more story-like character, where before all I wrote was short poems. Any feedback is highly appreciated. Jack Kerouac is I think my greatest inspiration in the following texts.The grammar i use is new to me and somewhat experimental, so any input would really help me out!
Please note that these texts are excerpts from larger pieces and in many cases incoherent to each other.
...
We came thundering down city-intersection twelve in Dave's silver Chev and the sun was caught between two towering buildings of Haywire Square. I guess it could have made its escape by sliding sixteen billion miles to the north: but I tried to stay realistic; the sun was not to set until it was released - Fist in the air.
- Where are we heading?
I had the backseat all for myself and with my hundred and sixty-five centimeters I could lie straight flat on the back: the fly was there again – sitting upside down in the gray, upholstered ceiling, looking down upon me. For some reason she had decided to follow me today – I guess she wanted to make sure I didn't do anything stupid: she was to ward over me. And remember: a fly would never lie – her gesticulated messages and lucid insinuations said more than words. It helped me a lot.
- I have to pick up Donna at work – she wants us to come by her apartment, her cousin's in town.
- Female I hope.
- Female.
The world is kind to me today.
- I can see where she's going with this.
- Don't say too much.
I know what that means, hehe, I thought as the fly put up a warning finger and flicked her wings with the sound of rustling autumn leafs: don't rush to conclusions!
- Better than doing too much; remember?
We parked at visitors at Cosmopolis Business Center at which profit had jumped from the top floor window years ago. The buildings now stood and fell with the governmental support – the tottering coin stack that was its allowance was propping up the whole city. If I just knew in what corner of town that stack was, I would push it. I wanted the city for myself: this being nothing but a velleity. Dave ran away and disappeared behind the tower and I waited, leaning at the hood, inspired by the movies: it was nothing special. A paper worker changed the top news leaflets outside the tobacco store with a cigarette in his mouth – in some way all this had an idyllic feel to it. I could picture the new leaflets: "Man eaten by zealous lobster". The man drew the leaflets with his brush with swift deftness; he had done it before. Big black letters said: "Disagreements at town hall!" – That's a new one, I said to myself. I wonder if the paper worker reads 'em. A root from a cedar tree crawled through the asphalt with the strength of time and in eon speed and then plunged back into an ocean of tar. Nature's ambition will always be greater than the economical visions of man. The ants where too busy to even notice me. They raced forward indiscriminately and climbed across my black leather shoes as no obstacle at all. One of them, the philosopher ant, lost itself in a thought, stopped and looked up at my face; zoomed in between my ears and scanned it with its antennas. It came to a conclusion that was to revolutionize the philosophic thinking of the ants – it would probably have its facial features depicted in gypsum busts. It then went on with his march like a true proletarian: a purpose to fill in the anthill. God save the ant queen. As dalliance I counted a hundred and fifty-six strong ant legs. I finally saw Dave's sharp Miles Davis face over the roof of a Cadillac – sharp as a bird of pray: you know the eyes. He wore sunglasses like jazz but no cigarette: walking as to the rhythm of "All Of You"; strolling – cool as a cat. Long red hair danced in the wind beside him: she was a bit shorter hence I could only hint a few strokes of her hair – and that too was beautiful. Her body was hard to read but it all went well together: cold, pale skin working its way up in round female shapes. Secretive breasts hid under red silk and left a little too much to the imagination. Finding no luck there one's eyes tended to move up her body, over her lips and over blue eyes to finally find itself at peace in the hair of red. Too much a lady and she seemed to hate me for being short: summed up; a wicked woman, shaped as of Asmodius. I looked at her with an indifferent smile on my lips – she looked at me: hand on her hip, raised her left eyebrow looking skeptical – manifesting her feelings towards me. With her jaw askew, her lips took on the shape of a pouting petunia: an as effect-full as self-evidently contemptuous mien. Dave worked his way to the front seat of the car like a klutz and just looked at us with excitement behind a mischievous smile; emitting hen like poah-poahqwah's. He was worked up to skies; he was everywhere. "Great plans" as he put it – immense - It was ecstasy and the plans were great. He turned around in his seat and looked back at us since we both, for some reason, had chosen to go in the back.
- So... here we go! Ehee! Grab on to something. Eheehe!
And that was giggle.
Short story by NDF
Read 788 times
Written on 2011-08-22 at 14:08
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