My Cardboard Balcony

New Year's Revolution by Belinda Roddie Past the empty bottles of gin and vodka and Russian and Spanish and French neglect, there's a swell of energy from the dawn of a new grandfather clock with overgrown second hand whiskers. There's a need for running and cheering and clapping and hoping and praying and thinking that maybe, just maybe, a miracle will occur that didn't happen the year before. While in other parts of the world, people gnash their teeth, others slosh their innards with peach-spiced influenza, while you, on your handheld recorder of galaxies, start to contemplate conquering a post office for James Connolly, with his stone hands raised high, as Easter meant revolution over resurrection - so a new year will mean to you.

"What did the kidnapped person look like?" Michelle recited it all mechanically. "Female, blonde, five foot four, one hundred twenty pounds, mole on chin." The officer scribbled everything down on a notepad and nodded, wrinkled his nose, and nodded again. "Any relation?" Michelle fought back tears. "My sister."

“Sure.” “Sure?” “Yeah, sure, I’m sure that sure. I’d love to go.” Erik couldn't believe it. He just kept staring at Josh. Beautiful, beautiful Josh. The quarterback with the red curly hair. "Um...I..." he nearly swallowed his tongue. "Are you sure?" Josh laughed. "Erik, c'mon. I've been dying to go to that restaurant. We can get the mozzarella sticks!" "Yeah. Uh...that'd be great."

by Belinda Roddie Personally, I'd prefer getting run over by a motorcycle. Or a regular bicycle. Or anything on wheels, really, instead of this. I hate this. I hate it with more than just the clichéd fiery passion. I hate it with a passion heated over the stove, simmered in molten lava, and dipped in spicy cream sauce and served to a lactose intolerant, mild-tongued individual. I can't even pay attention to the TV, I'm in so much pain. I can't even stand up from the couch. I have to be helped from the cushions like they're lifting an animal, sloshed into a wheelchair, and pushed around. My legs are immobile from the knees down, and the painkillers aren't helping me much. That's what happens after two tremendous surgeries. My mom tries to make me feel better with my favorite soup and my favorite hot drink and my favorite ice cream (which happen to be baked potato and cheddar, hot chocolate, and pistachio, by the way). But the food's only a temporar...

"Hello, officers!" crooned Farley from the rooftop. "How's the weather down there?" "Oh, geez, not another one. You know, I was hoping this would be an uneventful night." "Shut up, Ronald." Jane raised her bullhorn to her lips. "How are you, Mister Farley?" "Euphoric! Thanks for asking!"

Hope everyone had a Merry Christmas, and I hope everyone has a very Happy New Year. In the meantime, I'm going to cuddle with my girlfriend. Here's a writing quotation to tide you over (I know! Long time no see, eh?). Writer's Quotation of the Night: You fail only if you stop writing. - Ray Bradbury Have a great night and a great weekend, everyone.

Riddle of the Sphinx by Belinda Roddie I know the riddlers of the world who claim themselves the kings Of answers from the comprehensive to the petty things A fool’s demise, the lions’ pride, and all things in between But I can say not one can solve the riddle of the sphinx The lady who looks ravishing yet hidden in her minx Her wealth will melt, for she can’t solve the riddle of the sphinx I know two boys named John and Joe, both cunning as the lynx But swift device will not suffice the riddle of the sphinx The wanderer with treasure borne from relics of the weak His jewels to gruel, his stories lost, sans answer to the beast His travels will mean nothing with no answer to the sphinx And Oedipus, contraire to tale, did cower on his knees Incestuous throne was overthrown by dodging prophecies Yet it was failure to reveal the riddle of the sphinx I know the riddlers of the world who fall among the rest When their old tricks irrelevant are thus...