November 2009
5 posts
serial fiction: turkey out of joint
Part 5: The Fullness of the Lips (part 1) (part 2) (part 3) (part 4)
A deep-focus shot of a warm orange room: first the edge of the ottoman, a blotchy velvet street find of the kind you’d leave in a sealed bag for three weeks to ensure the bedbugs were dead before using it. Then the narrow view of the hardwood floor, lacquered cheaply at some point in the seventies or eighties to maintain some...
serial fiction: turkey out of joint
Part 4: The Recesses of the Gums (part 1) (part 2) (part 3)
“Are we there yet?”
“No. Stop complaining.”
“This is maybe the most awkward thing I’ve ever done.”
“Yeah, listen, that goes both ways. If someone pulls me over with you in the car I’m going to claim diplomatic immunity or something.”
“Wait, you’re not a citizen?”
“No, I—what do you care?”
“Making conversation.”
Her name was Delia...
serial fiction: turkey out of joint
Part 3 of 5 The Tip of the Tongue
(part 1) (part 2)
000lvidal000: @xubaihan si sabes nada, bailas mucho
The café was empty, save for the girl at the counter with a boxy dark grey cap on her head and a red checked keffiyeh around her neck. She was reading Franny and Zooey, making notes in the tiny margins with a purple Uniball pen that she occasionally used to brush her short hair back behind...
serial fiction: turkey out of joint
Part 2 of 5: The Whites of the Teeth (part 1)
“Ah, how do you say it, an adaptation.” He put one hand on the bar, the other on the girl’s shoulder. “An adaptation for our times. Pinocchio, you know, but, uh, he is a robot. And he just wants to be loved. But a girl robot. And he wants to be human. She. Wants to be human. And, uh, there is big boobs, so no one takes her seriously, they just want her...
serial fiction: turkey out of joint
Part 1 of 5: The Roof of the Mouth
On the Wednesday evening before Thanksgiving I was expecting a call from my then-girlfriend, so when the phone buzzed I left the knife in the peanut butter and dove across the floor of the kitchen to unhinge it from its charger. In the seconds between my belt-less jeans falling down and my own tumble onto the linoleum, I felt vaguely graceful, silhouetted in the...