My Cardboard Balcony

We Tore The Scripts by Belinda Roddie We tore the scripts apart, burned them, and planned to start from scratch. The director was fired and stomped off in a huff. Our team then manned the set, and my oldest sister was hired as the new mastermind. She had the words needed to write a good movie. Her wife made casting calls. Actors came by the herds, and together, we worked to breathe new life into old characters with fresh stories to tell. And there I was, a humble grip, handling the camera with a subtle ease, the lens like a third arm. My mind would slip down childhood lane, when sis and I were kids. Now we were making more than simple vids.

(Crickets)

Frogs and Cheese by Belinda Roddie Feeding frogs brie by the sticky sliver outside, where the bayou breeze tickled my nose just right, I thought I saw the moon furrowing its rocky brow at me. Which I suppose could make sense, if, well, it was actually made of coagulated artisan dairy.

I'm guessing the OneWord webmaster is on vacation? We'll see if OneWord gets updated tomorrow. Fingers crossed.

I Smelled Bacon by Belinda Roddie It was everywhere. I swear, the odor - fucking everywhere. On my jeans, on my shirts, on the sheets of my bed. Even on the seats of my girlfriend's car. It wasn't accompanied by any other savory aroma. No bleu cheese, no chicken or barbecue. Not even a fluffy pancake to rival the salty jab to the nostrils every morning at six am when I woke up. So finally, I told myself that maybe, just maybe, having a "Cook and eat bacon anywhere" rule in my apartment wasn't necessarily the wisest idea when I had three unshaven, goofy, and very pork-enthusiastic roommates abusing the frying pans and sizzling enough butter to choke a horse.

No OneWord update today...again. I hope no one running the site has died. 'Cause that would be le sadness. Poet Corner's comin', though!

Everyone Except Laurie by Belinda Roddie Everyone except Laurie drank rum, smoked cigars, dipped their cold toes into colder water, and sang songs to appease the moon so it wouldn't get too full and drive them all half-mad. But Laurie stayed in her room, stringing and re-stringing her mandolin, the tuning never perfect, trying to strum a war cry for the cosmos to scream in rebellion, to suck the snobby planet dry.