tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-189924072011-04-21T19:16:31.044-04:00<strong>Rantallion</strong>: (<em>n</em>) one whose scrotum is longer than his penisUtopiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01188274993445361686noreply@blogger.comBlogger221100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18992407.post-1164657405001968992006-11-27T14:56:00.000-05:002006-11-27T14:56:45.016-05:00

I really hate when I come up with a great title for a story and then have nothing that backs it up. Most of the time when I write I simply write, then let the title come, but occasionally I make up a title and try to force something into the mold. I hate when I have a great title and nothing else.When I write, I don’t sit down and write for three hours revising over and over again. I write, I

Utopiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01188274993445361686noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18992407.post-1150747243823781062006-06-19T16:00:00.000-04:002006-06-19T16:00:43.833-04:00

I could hear her tears. They made me jealous in a way. Those tiny, precious tears. I could not see them from the other side of the door, but I could hear them. The soft whimpers filled me with envy.She had loved and not been loved in return.To feel like that. To feel so strongly that she was reduced to tears of pain. They were not tears of frustration or anger or joy, but of pain. Sorrow. These

Utopiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01188274993445361686noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18992407.post-1147969967493392652006-05-18T12:32:00.000-04:002006-05-18T12:32:47.530-04:00

I am colorblindCoffee black and egg whitePull me out from insideI am ready, I am ready, I am ready, I am ...Taffy stuck and tongue tiedStutter shook and uptightPull me out from insideI am ready, I am ready, I am ready, I am ...fineI am covered in skinNo one gets to come inPull me out from insideI am folded and unfolded and unfolding, I am ...colorblindCoffee black and egg whitePull me out from

Utopiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01188274993445361686noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18992407.post-1146839663964794632006-05-05T10:33:00.000-04:002006-05-05T10:34:23.996-04:00

It was my birthday. Well, maybe it wasn’t my birthday any longer, it was dark and I couldn’t tell the hour.Surgery. Again.Appendicitis.see also: ruptured appendixsee also: agonizing painsee also: toxic shockI couldn’t move very well, the incision across my stomach had left me raw. You don’t know how much you rely on the stomach muscles until they’ve been cut open and remain held together by wee

Utopiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01188274993445361686noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18992407.post-1144333911530281272006-04-06T10:11:00.000-04:002006-04-06T10:31:57.573-04:00

“God, can’t you just shut up for two minutes?!”She stomped off, leaving me incomplete. I watched her hair sway against her back as she turned away from me, a scowl on her face. Her walk scowled at me, each step a look of disapproval. For a moment, I basked in the silence. The soft sound of nothing drifted past now that her footsteps had fallen into silence.She was my muse. My bitter, foul

Utopiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01188274993445361686noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18992407.post-1141676199055172412006-03-06T15:16:00.000-05:002006-03-06T15:16:39.100-05:00

I watched the happy couple as they came down the street. Hand in hand they laughed and smiled, oblivious to the world around them. The wind caught the girl’s long, curly hair and blew it across her face. Without thinking, the boy reached up with his free hand and brushed it behind her ear.The act was so simply and yet it struck me as something so caring and meaningful. The pair looked at each

Utopiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01188274993445361686noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18992407.post-1141418770723699082006-03-03T15:45:00.000-05:002006-03-07T10:11:49.156-05:00

The park was cold and windy, empty of most life save for the people huddles beneath the gazebo singing happy birthday to an old lady. The old woman looked happy, smiling as she was presented with her bit of cake.They didn’t ask her to blow out the candles. The wind had already done it.Lucky broad, nature was working for her it seemed. All it seemed to do was thwart me.I looked around for Benny,

Utopiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01188274993445361686noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18992407.post-1141417525861897172006-03-03T15:25:00.000-05:002006-03-03T15:25:25.880-05:00

I was bored and uninspired. So I loaded a new blog design. It’s not bad, but not mine. Maybe I’ll do something else later. If I feel like it. But, I’m lazy, so probably not.I also have a new story for you.

Utopiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01188274993445361686noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18992407.post-1138200606866536252006-01-25T09:49:00.000-05:002006-01-25T09:53:17.596-05:00

&nbsp The pulse of midnight&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp slows to a steady grind.The dance&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp The sway&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp The driveRock with me&nbsp&nbsp lips on lipsand hand on thighPleated skirts, knee high boots&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp Dance with meLet me touch you&nbsp&nbsp Untouchable&nbsp&nbsp Blind&nbsp&nbsp Hurt.The dancing angel on the street&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp in the crowd.The rolling asphalt

Utopiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01188274993445361686noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18992407.post-1137010512946608142006-01-11T15:15:00.000-05:002006-01-11T15:16:18.430-05:00

Swing for me baby.I ran my hands through her hair, the fragrance of fresh shampoo reaching my nose and filling me. That long rich hair was still slightly damp underneath. I could feel it cool texture on my fingertips.I grabbed her waist and began to lead her back. Forcefully I took her hand, twisting her shoulder to the right. The slow steady rhythm of tight strings led me as I moved her.Spin for

Utopiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01188274993445361686noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18992407.post-1136832502576939362006-01-09T13:47:00.000-05:002006-01-09T13:53:14.253-05:00

I should have known when he got rid of his cat.It was the first clue but I just wasn’t paying attention. I had seen Trainspotting more times than I care to recall, I should have seen it then: the fear, the paranoia in his eyes. But I didn’t see. I was too wrapped up in my own selfish desires. My life was a train and it was going full steam ahead.I suppose his life was also a train.Looking back on

Utopiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01188274993445361686noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18992407.post-1135309260886252972005-12-22T22:38:00.000-05:002005-12-22T22:47:48.303-05:00

Outside, clear day, blue sky, summer. A street lined with phone lines and electrical wires. Old adobe houses line the streets. Most houses have an A/C unit in the front window. A small square house on the road with a particularly loud A/C unit on the window. Inside house, a row of wine bottles in front of Ac. David Bowie plays in background, something slow. Cat hops up on the sill and knocks a

Utopiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01188274993445361686noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18992407.post-1134499293694019622005-12-13T13:40:00.000-05:002005-12-13T13:43:13.860-05:00

“So, now what?” she asked me. I drew a blank and gapped at her. With a morose shrug I turned from her pursed lips. I could hear her snap her gum. At that moment I wanted to strangle her. I could see my hand slipping around her throat as I forced her to the ground, my knees on her chest.“Don’t fucking test me woman.”I turned back to her and shrugged again. “Why are so indecisive?” I could feel the

Utopiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01188274993445361686noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18992407.post-1133359537988380352005-11-30T09:04:00.000-05:002005-11-30T09:05:42.073-05:00

The hair stood on end on the back of my neck. I could feel every inch of my skin prickle. I held my breath, unaware I was even doing it. The silence was stifling and forced. I forced myself into deafness. The fear was irrational.I always had been irrational. I don’t even know why I had it. The fear turned me not to ice, but to fire. Every sense came to life, over-reacting to the slightest sound,

Utopiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01188274993445361686noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18992407.post-1133206026518897442005-11-28T14:26:00.000-05:002005-11-28T14:29:47.406-05:00

DO NOT ENTERThe sign hung on the door. I looked up and down the hall. Those bright yellow letters were daring me. Taunting me.DO NOT ENTERI could only imagine what lay on the other side of the door. In the distance, I heard Catherine Wheel playing. “Her skin is black metallic, her skin is black metallic..” I heard a door open, the music got louder.DO NOT ENTERWhat treasure could possibly lay on

Utopiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01188274993445361686noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18992407.post-1132868303264113002005-11-24T16:37:00.000-05:002005-11-24T16:38:23.270-05:00

"Piece of shit!"I kicked the tire of the car again, as if this would magically make the alternator work again. "You don't know it's the alternator.""Yes, I do. It's the god damned alternator. Trust me."I looked at the car, then back to the road where the traffic was backed up for about a mile due to the construction. The u-haul attached to the back of the Jeep lurched slightly on the side of the

Utopiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01188274993445361686noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18992407.post-1132764772583785262005-11-23T11:51:00.000-05:002005-11-23T11:52:52.590-05:00

Scott died in the shower.He slipped and fell and suffered a brain aneurysm. His room mates found him. Can you even imagine that? You walk into the bathroom (probably angry as shit because the bastard has been in there for a fucking hour and a half) and find your naked room mate dead in the shower, water pouring down on his body.I can’t even picture it.What a shitty way to die.He was 24, the same

Utopiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01188274993445361686noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18992407.post-1132676439370659082005-11-22T11:19:00.000-05:002005-11-22T11:22:34.536-05:00

Grey. Everything is grey here; the carpets, the horrible walls of the cubicle - everything. Some days the lights are even grey. That is, of course, a lie.The lights are never grey. In fact, they are a blaring piercing white. This is to better enhance the grey of everything else I think. Even the people look grey here. The lights add to the pallor of everyone, making them look sickly. It brings

Utopiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01188274993445361686noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18992407.post-1132599242599522572005-11-21T13:53:00.000-05:002005-11-21T13:54:02.606-05:00

“Candy, Candy, Candy…” Iggy Pop crooned in the background somewhere, barely audible above the din. The bar was crowded; I stood shoulder to shoulder with people I didn’t know as I shoved by way to the bar hoping to get a drink. Lunging forward, I touched the bar with my hand.Claimed.Or not.I was thrust aside by a larger man. My hand fell away from the sticky wood and I resumed by shoving.All I

Utopiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01188274993445361686noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18992407.post-1132349657547542592005-11-18T16:14:00.000-05:002005-11-18T16:35:14.656-05:00

Rancid meat.Stale cheese.Fetid milk.That's what she reminded me of when I awoke in the morning. I wanted to flee, to vomit, to die. I needed out.What the fuck was I thinking? How drunk was I?She wasn't ugly. By no means, if anything she was quite pretty. But the squeezing feeling in my gut told me I had to get out of there. I was the one who didn't belong. The urge to run welled up within

Utopiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01188274993445361686noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18992407.post-1132115406631098692005-11-15T23:29:00.000-05:002005-11-15T23:30:06.636-05:00

He’s drunk again. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. I wonder what will be on his breath today. Vodka? Beer? Gin? The Everclear Demon? Jesus, why the hell am I still here? I hate the way he can’t even wash the stink of alcohol out of his skin, I hate his cold beady eyes as he looks at me through his drunken stupor. “Are you drunk also?” “Yes, of course. I am pleasantly plastered. Can’t

Utopiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01188274993445361686noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18992407.post-1132064485492899112005-11-15T09:19:00.000-05:002005-11-15T10:16:17.983-05:00

Rantallion: n one whose scrotum is longer than his penis"I need a smoke."I turned and stared at the man as he took a puff of his lit cigarette. He held the smoke in his mouth, but wouldn't inhale. Smoke began to seep out of his beak-like nose. I watched in awe as he took another drag."Yeah, I need a smoke," he repeated, smoke billowing from his mouth as he spoke."Fuck you."I could still feel the

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