About 7 lugubrious minutes

 

She was compassionate yet sexy in her own way, despite her politics. What she was is a storyteller without an audience, with only a typewriter to hunt ‘n peck on, disturbed child-poetry creeping out of every pore…

“Semi-blazing eyes watering my cactus, 

pretentious tongue tasting shooting stars, 

shaky hands grasping at impermanence, 

shaky confidence sleeping in.”

I swear I meant every word. I wasn’t being cheeky or ironic. It came straight from the aorta. I was inspired by my lack of initiative. I didn’t mean it to come out funny. It just did. I write it seriously, but it comes out funny. It puzzles me. I wrote a two-character play. A man and a woman are sitting on a couch. All they do is sigh and yawn. Taking turns. The audience couldn’t stop laughing. What’s so funny about sighs and yawns? I don’t even think a laugh track would laugh at that.

But what do I know?

Very little.

Less than that.

Reviews

[Philip Gaber]

Thank you, , Curly. Appreciate the read.

[Curly Grace]

I like how the piece wavers between sincerity and accidental humor. That wobble feels real.