Friday, September 23, 2011

We Wrote In A Room Next To The Park Beside William James


Haru parked on the forth floor of the Chemeketa Parkade. She grudgingly took the stairs. Her head throbbed like a bad high school pep band rhythm section. The elevator was her usual mode of transportation, but today it was out of service. He favorite café coffee shop was the Coffee House Café on Liberty and Church Street. That was two blocks up and two blocks over, she calculated in her head—long walk for a Saturday morning, especially, a Saturday morning hangover. She kicked herself for not parking closer, but there probably wouldn’t have been a spot in front of the door, anyway.

All during the five-minute walk, Haru was looking forward to a pastrami on rye slathered with vegan mayo, hot Chinese mustard, sprouted grains, tomato, American cheese, and a single dill pickle on the side. She salivated over the orchestra of flavors she’d soon be experiencing.

When she reached her destination, the sign on the door read closed. “Shit,” she said, as she turned on her heels, “what am I going to do now!” the best coffee place in Salem has gone out of business. Angry, she walked a half a block back to the Starbucks.

The line was ten people deep and only one worker was servicing everyone. “Fuck,” She said to no one in particular, “This is going to take for ever!” An old man in front of her frowned. He looked like Danny Quayle. He drawled out in a musical tone, “watch your tongue missy!”

“Yes, Sir,” she said sharply and added in hung over tones, “I stand by all the misstatements I’ve made.” The old man looked puzzled by her remark. Haru wondered if he caught her sarcasm. The old man took out his wallet and handed her a small tract. She unfolded it. In bold print it read “Four Spiritual Laws of Happiness.”

“Great,” she said as she handed it back to him. She tried to hold her tongue, but “fucking Jesus freak,” slipped out like a baked bean fart held too long. The man simply said, “it’s your soul, do with it as you please.”

After 20 minutes Haru finally made it to the counter. The weary boy asked her what she wanted. “I want a quad tall soy late with extra sugar,” she pissed out in a stream of annoyance. The boy smiled back a fuck you and said, “that will be $4.69 mum.” Haru reached into her purse and fished out a Styrofoam Jack-in-the-Box head with an “O” face, purple pointy party hat, a noisemaker, and a card that read feed me.

Here are the prompts Carla gave me to work off of:

  •  “Haru turned on her heel, ‘yes sir she said sharply.’”
  •  Place: My favorite coffee house.
  •  Person: Dan Quail: “I stand by all the misstatements I’ve made.”
  •  Object1: a “Jack in the Box” head with a New Years Eve hat blowing a horn
  •  Object2: Card — “Feed Somebody”

  • Here’s the odd thing about this weeks write in the park session. I found out afterwards that part of the exercise was to write about something you wouldn’t normally think to do. I guess even though I am separated from the group by 230 miles, I was able to sync up with everyone on a super-conscious level. It is odd how the group mind works. But I wasn’t expecting it to happen from such a great distance. I hope I will be able to stay with this group for a long time.

    Also check out my new wordpress website. It's a literary journal called Randomly Accessed Poetics! Submissions are open. We've also recently published our first e-literary mag. It is available for $1.99 at It is called: Randomly Accessed Poetics, Issue 1: The Texture of Words.

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