Plato Shrimp » LOVE, crumbsroom

Jinnistan · 8/14/2022 12:09 pm

crumbsroom wrote:
Jinnistan wrote:
But, still, it's a frustrating process to have all of these fragments that I can't made heads of tails of.
Let it flow. I like random heads and tails. Tales of headless tails.

Sorry, crumbs, I accidently zapped your post trying to quote it.

crumbsroom · 8/14/2022 1:03 pm

Jinnistan wrote:
crumbsroom wrote:
Jinnistan wrote:
But, still, it's a frustrating process to have all of these fragments that I can't made heads of tails of.
Let it flow. I like random heads and tails. Tales of headless tails.
Sorry, crumbs, I accidently zapped your post trying to quote it.

It matters not a piffle.

I know. And that is exactly what I was going for. But there is only so much stumbling around in the dark I can do before my fingers start realizing I just keep touching the same four walls that are surrounding me. I had been hoping enough words would supply enough light to make out the outline of a door. Something to at least give me another room to stumble around in for awhile

Rock · 8/14/2022 3:10 pm

Yeah, JJ totally zapped all of my brilliant, life-changing posts too, including one where I discovered the cure for cancer.

Thanks a lot, JJ.

Rampop II · 8/14/2022 5:28 pm

crumbsroom wrote:
Jinnistan wrote:
But, still, it's a frustrating process to have all of these fragments that I can't made heads of tails of.
Let it flow. I like random heads and tails. Tales of headless tails.

I like it; I think it works. Childhood memories are often fragmentary while being vivid in specific ways (a smell, an emotion, etc). I agree, let it flow. Each piece of the puzzle is its own vignette. Let them gently fill in the world in their own time.

Jinnistan · 8/14/2022 9:05 pm

Rock wrote:
Yeah, JJ totally zapped all of my brilliant, life-changing posts too, including one where I discovered the cure for cancer.

Thanks a lot, JJ.

I don't take the mistake lightly. I'm glad that it was a relatively minor post and it's a good thing that this was the first blunder in these four months, but that doesn't put me at ease. It was a wake-up to be a lot more careful.

If this happens to anyone else, hit the back key to the quote page, and then hit the "go back" which should bring up the original unedited post. Copy it and paste it back. Or else I may have to start taking daily screenshots of every updated page (which, actually, wouldn't be that big a deal now that I think about it).

crumbsroom · 8/14/2022 10:18 pm

Jinnistan wrote:
Rock wrote:
Yeah, JJ totally zapped all of my brilliant, life-changing posts too, including one where I discovered the cure for cancer.

Thanks a lot, JJ.
I don't take the mistake lightly. I'm glad that it was a relatively minor post and it's a good thing that this was the first blunder in these four months, but that doesn't put me at ease. It was a wake-up to be a lot more careful.

If this happens to anyone else, hit the back key to the quote page, and then hit the "go back" which should bring up the original unedited post. Copy it and paste it back. Or else I may have to start taking daily screenshots of every updated page (which, actually, wouldn't be that big a deal now that I think about it).

I did it to one of your posts a few weeks back, and I mostly just stumbled upon the solution to fix it.

If it happens again to one of my posts, be sure to know I couldn't care less if something I've written gets erased.

Rock · 8/14/2022 10:52 pm

I've miraculously never hit the delete button, although on other forums I use I tend to accidentally hit the report button a fair bit when browsing on the phone. Does this forum actually prompt you to confirm the deletion or does it do it automatically? I suppose I could test it myself...

Jinnistan · 8/14/2022 11:09 pm

Rock wrote:
I've miraculously never hit the delete button, although on other forums I use I tend to accidentally hit the report button a fair bit when browsing on the phone. Does this forum actually prompt you to confirm the deletion or does it do it automatically? I suppose I could test it myself...

I've never hit "delete", except for maybe a couple of my own posts that were garbage. I accidently hit "edit" and wasn't paying attention.

Jinnistan · 8/14/2022 11:12 pm

crumbsroom wrote:
If it happens again to one of my posts, be sure to know I couldn't care less if something I've written gets erased.

Ah, stop being such an Eeore. Your words are valued here.

Rock · 8/14/2022 11:23 pm

Jinnistan wrote:
Rock wrote:
I've miraculously never hit the delete button, although on other forums I use I tend to accidentally hit the report button a fair bit when browsing on the phone. Does this forum actually prompt you to confirm the deletion or does it do it automatically? I suppose I could test it myself...
I've never hit "delete", except for maybe a couple of my own posts that were garbage. I accidently hit "edit" and wasn't paying attention.

Ah ok, yeah, I just tested that and the interface looks exactly the same as the Reply interface.

crumbsroom · 8/15/2022 1:11 am

Jinnistan wrote:
Ah, stop being such an Eeore.

Neveyore!

crumbsroom · 8/15/2022 10:41 am

Rampop II wrote:
crumbsroom wrote:
Jinnistan wrote:
But, still, it's a frustrating process to have all of these fragments that I can't made heads of tails of.
Let it flow. I like random heads and tails. Tales of headless tails.
I like it; I think it works. Childhood memories are often fragmentary while being vivid in specific ways (a smell, an emotion, etc). I agree, let it flow. Each piece of the puzzle is its own vignette. Let them gently fill in the world in their own time.

Vignette, puzzle, fragmentary are all the end goal, so in most ways I know I'm on the right track for whatever it is I'm trying to put together here. And I also know that me wishing for some kind of specific direction or end goal, that if this suddenly came in a fit of inspiration, would immediately make me lose all interest in continuing. I've long struggled with finding the point in writing if I know what the point is.

Basically, me occassionally bitching and pulling my hair out, is the only real emotion that tethers me to this shit. After all, you can never trust enjoying yourself too much. Or ever feeling too secure that what you are doing isn't a complete waste of time. Because one of the great beauties of art is you always are doing everything wrong, and you are always wasting your time, but you do it anyways because it's one of the only things that really has any value at the end of the day.

crumbsroom · 8/17/2022 2:39 pm

GROOMSMEN

Part 4:

My cousin Cheryl knew Joanne better than me. Knew where she caught on fire. Pointed towards an apartment we passed on the highway. We could see it from the backseat of my mother’s car. And while at this hour most windows had their lights off, hers was somehow blacker than those that surrounded it.

I could feel the road moving beneath us as Cheryl told me what she knew. How Joanne slept as she burned. Everyone always said nothing could wake her and this proved it. The whole room had gone black and shiny with things that had melted around her as she died. And even though only the bedroom had been destroyed, now no one could live there anymore. Not the people next door. Not even Michelle or Troy who got sent away to live with their dad and could never go back.

“Were you sad when you found out she died?” I asked.

“Yeah”, she answered. “Of course.”

As for the funeral, Cheryl said I hadn't missed anything by not coming. “The casket was closed. They wouldn’t even let us look in it”. Not that there would have been much to see, as my cousin was clear on explaining to me. “They said nothing was left of her but a couple of teeth”. The rest of her had been turned to black smoke and stained the walls.

My mother listened in on Cheryl’s secrets from the front seat. Asked me what my father had to say when he found out what happened. But I didn’t say anything, even though I could see her eyes watching me in her rear view mirror. My mind was inside that coffin, by now beneath the earth. I imagined a little pile of charred teeth upon a white satin pillow. As for whether the wig had been buried with them, I was unsure. But I secretly hoped so.

crumbsroom · 8/17/2022 7:15 pm

ALAS, A BROTHER

My mother came up from his basement to marry him. His nose sometimes made a sound. High pitched and shuddering. Possibly calling to her through the floorboards. I don’t know what made her go up there. He had a collection of beer cans. And a room full of discarded electronics. And his legs were skinny.

After she married him he began to wear glasses with a particular tint that made one think of the screams of children. Pulled into vans and driven away. Faintly heard whenever he looked at her through them. Tiny palmprints appearing inside the lenses, wanting out.

He didn’t use soap. And he always looked scared. But harmless and dull in a way that was likely good for her. He wasn't my father with his dangerous boot heels. Or even that guy Cliff who wouldn't share his milk with me and smashed her head into the side of a McDonald's. Randy wasn't a tough guy like that.

So when my mother said I was going to have a brother, I was very happy. He'd be in a different house from me, which seemed the perfect place to keep one. I could continue to be alone, but it no longer would sound so lonely when I was asked if I was an only child. "Not really", is all I needed to say before I walked away from the sort of people who expect kids to talk about such things.

Last edited by crumbsroom (8/23/2022 11:37 pm)

crumbsroom · 8/23/2022 11:25 pm

ALAS, A BROTHER

2: Stop Flapping

I once wondered over hummingbirds. Their wings move much too fast. Surely, sometimes, they just stop. And surely someone out there has seen one hurtling towards the earth. Fed up and exhausted. Hitting the grass without a sound.

When my brother was born, he moved slowly. His limbs were heavy. And when he cried, it came out of him as very carefully, as if he was confused over why he was always upset.

I thought if he began to crash, I would have time to hold out my hand, and that he’d just tumble into it.

Part 3: Long Arms and Applejuice

Not all brothers grew the same. When you lived in the same house with them, sometimes they got long and tall and their limbs could reach through doorways and stretch far down the hallway. Made for a hard to escape from brother. Like the one Garrett had, who came out wrong from the very beginning. Pulled like taffy until impossibly tall. Like a basketball player with dents all over. And a bad heart which kept him from playing sports. Kept him inside, reaching down the hallway, poking and teasing Garrett and taking his stuff with those long arms which could slip in and out of rooms without ever being noticed.

But my brother didn’t grow tall and couldn’t reach far. His fingers were never able to leave the city he lived in. Couldn’t get to mine. Nothing for me to escape from. And when a hole appeared in his front tooth, I only watched it become bigger with every visit. Curious instead of concerned. Would blow on it to see if it whistled.

“Apple juice”, was the only way my mother knew to explain where it came from. “He likes apple juice. It’s all he drinks”

It would only be once that baby tooth fell out and was replaced by another, with the same hole already burned through it, as if a cigarette had been held to its surface before it had even broken through his gums, that it became clear there was a rot hidden inside of him.

And much like before, I just watched the hole in this new tooth grow larger and larger. Until I could see through it to his tonsils. Until it fell out like the other had. But this time, nothing came to replace it. And from then on everyone would laugh when he smiled with his tongue sticking through. Or when he struggled to chew his food. Or how he covered it with his hand so others wouldn’t see it when he talked, but would still laugh along with us, because we all knew what was behind it.

And when more cigarette burns began to appear on the rest of his teeth, it became clear there would be so much more laughter in our future. We all opened our mouths and waited for it to come out. Waited for the rest of his mouth to fall apart and scatter on the floor.

crumbsroom · 8/27/2022 8:25 pm

THE KILLING GAME

It wasn’t the best place to be dead. On their bedroom carpet. My head fallen near a stack of Playboys. I could see things under the bed, the place where my eyes were fixed and unmoving.

His parent’s could come home any time. If they found me here how could I even run away? I was dead and no longer had any choice in the matter. I was dead and I had no interest in changing this. Agreed it was for the best. I would just let me eyes glaze over, so they wouldn’t think I had seen anything I shouldn’t have. Silently worrying I might laugh if they started checking for a pulse. Or that they might just carry on like they didn’t even see me there. Take off their clothes. Fart. Start pulling out whatever was under the bed.

In our Killing Game I was always the first to die. I liked it that way. Even when it was in this place, where I knew I shouldn’t be. Even if the rest of them had by now continued their battle downstairs without me. I had responsibilities as the first dead, so couldn’t move. Knew that no one could stay still better than me, or make such a convincing case my breathing had stopped. A talent I didn’t dare waste wanting to be a hero.

I just lay there and listened to all my friends fight so far away from me. I could barely even hear them anymore. Their squealing and thumping maybe in the basement by now. I guess when you were dead, you couldn't expect to still have any friends. Even when they had just been with you upstairs only minutes ago. You had to let them all go. You just had to keep being dead and not moving and not looking. Only worrying that the sound of Merlin and Joy coming up the stairs would ruin everything. That my commitment would soon be tested. That I couldn’t stay this way as long as I promised myself.

Last edited by crumbsroom (8/27/2022 8:26 pm)

crumbsroom · 8/29/2022 12:12 pm

(I LOVE) BAD ART

One of the great loves of my life has been Bad Art that I would find at thrift shops and garage sales. Especially when it is over priced, as if the local Sally Ann is totally hip to what a crock of shit the established art world has become the last....thirty? years. How corrupt and rotten it is to the core. How rich people ruin fucking everything.

Is there anything more honest and revealing about a painting that doesn't work? That boggles the mind what its purpose can ever be? Is there any question that some of the best art we could ever hang on our wall was made by amateurs of an almost demented level? Can badness be the purest form of the surreal?

So it has been during these pandemic years, that there has been a legitimate joy for me when I found so many online sites devoted to this very thing. It has certainly taken some strain off of my relationship as I believe I've caused my girlfriend some amount of PTSD when we visit second hand stores, and she is left uncertain as to what piece of shit I might fall in love with and threaten to buy and haunt our lives with. I have already ruined our upstairs hallway with turn of the century photographs of ugly children. Now, because of these websites, I have less a need to bring these things home with me. I can satisfy this urge without harming probably the only healthy relationship of my adult life (relationship > bad art, by a hair)

How unfortunate it has all become then as more and more people have joined these groups and, guess what, have proven yet again that people don't know anything and even have monumentally terrible ideas of what is terrible. Paintings by Folk artists have regularly made appearances. Kitschy, yet slightly brilliant, fluff like Beryl Cook. And now obviously great work by Goya and JMW Turner and Klimt. Humanity is even a terrible judge of what is terrible. Can their be any hope?

I guess at least this time its stupid people instead of rich ones ruining my fun (stupid people > rich people, by a hair)

Rock · 8/29/2022 12:35 pm

Fine art is one area where I have absolutely no capacity for judging what differentiates the good from the bad. I mean, I took art in high school and developed some understanding of technique (which I’ve forgotten entirely) and the handful of times I’ve been in an art gallery or museum setting, the works were presented with enough context that I could kinda, sorta make some sense of them. But if I run into a piece in the wild, I have no fucking idea what I’m looking at, and then hearing how much some of these pieces go for (especially all those fuck ugly NFT abominations), I have to assume somebody’s trying to launder money.

Rock · 8/29/2022 12:36 pm

(I mean, I’m also stupid about music and literature, but with those things I still have some ability to navigate a work on its own.)

Last edited by Rock (8/29/2022 12:37 pm)

Rock · 8/29/2022 12:38 pm

But really, is the rich stupids you gotta look out for.