My Cardboard Balcony

Let's shift gears for a bit, shall we? Let's focus on something a little more superficial, a little less significant to the grand scheme of the universe and this little speck of dust that we call an inhabitable planet. Let's not talk about the orange man and his fascist regime and his slippery pussy-grabbing grip on the country I used to love so dearly. I think we'd all benefit from some sort of tangent for the time being. And while we're at it, let's not talk about my writing, either. I've done a lot of whining about my writing - or lack thereof - in regards to larger projects. The bottom line is: I'm busy as a teacher, I have projects underway either solo or with friends, and I'm still updating my blog. Signed, sealed, delivered. Done. So instead, let's talk about something totally different. Something more personal and aesthetic to me. Namely: How I view myself as a potentially attractive person. I have fairly low self-esteem when it com...

My Heart Went Boom! by Belinda Roddie I tried to bottle love, but it was rather...explosive.

The two sisters walked into the car shop to find it in complete disrepair. Their father hadn't taken care of the place in his old age, nor had his hired mechanics, who had been paid so meagerly that their morale was obliterated, and they felt no need to keep the business running smoothly. Sarah and Laura both knew what they had to do. They stripped off their jackets, pulled on some gloves, and got to work.

That Blue Light by Belinda Roddie That blue light up ahead - was that where Mom died suddenly on the side of the road, a beer can in her lap, and a sweet song stuck in her throat? I know her car was towed with her body still in the driver's seat, her blonde hair spilling from its regal bun, her lion's mane, her lips red like raw meat and her eyes glazed like glass. They found a gun lying at her feet. There were no bullets in the chamber, no wound upon her flesh, no trauma, either. One quickly forgets how Death simply decides to take your breath and stick it in her pocket. She is cruel, but she maintains the dichotomous duel.

No update on the OneWord website today. Oh, well!

Knocked Down Dreaming by Belinda Roddie Always wanted to be a southpaw: In the boxing ring or on the baseball diamond, I'd reign supreme with a simple flex of my wrist. Maybe I'd wear leather gloves, or maybe I'd throw leather instead. Either way, someone would get creamed in the fight. But I lost my left hand in a freak accident involving a dumb kid in science class and a flagon of potent chemicals. What remains is a phantom feeling, an itch to hit someone with a fist that isn't there, like a ghost rising in a plume of hot air from the withered stump. Always wanted to be a southpaw: Now I use my one paw to scrape at a can of beer, wet my mouth with cheap foam and belch out a new anthem. On one TV in the bar, the home team loses in the ninth. On another, some poor sap gets TKO'd. He falls to the floor with his upper lip split and bloody. His rival stands triumphantly over him. His left hand rises to catch the roar of the crowd in his leath...

She was acting strange, so they sent her to the guidance counselor. But by the time the session was over, the guidance counselor was acting strange, too. Neither of them cared about the future anymore. They were caught drinking bourbon behind the school gymnasium. She was laughing, and the guidance counselor was telling stories. These stories dated back to several millennia. They were all about peace, love, and sex. Lots of sex.