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wk 2.7
Date: 2018/03/18 02:05 By: Jesus Status: Admin  
Karma: 2  
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Posts: 562
graphgraph
[Jesus, on the tiles, leafs through his current capital]

I've got Nicholas Stillman's Silken Slippers, guys. I've examined it a few times, once hurriedly and another examination nice and slow, and I've found it "not what we're looking for", that go-to for most or every lit magazine out there as far as rejection notices go. But I've little defense against a battering, because we here at TQR are actually looking for anything good. Anything slightly good, right. So...

[Jesus gathers up the capital and crumples it up, balls it up]

Stillman's capital is going out the window.

[Jesus shoots, and he scores! The balled up capital touches the rim of the Porthole but it goes through, and it sails into the storm outside, unfurling and becoming dust]
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Re:wk 2.7
Date: 2018/03/18 02:07 By: carol Status: Admin  
Karma: 0  
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Posts: 119
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[Carol has stomped her way back to the cherrywood where she's spread out some brand new capital. She resettles the pages, turning them this way and that, getting the first page near her, down stage. She leans in, focuses]

I'm going down on Monica Strina's The Castle on the Tree, so you all can just try and keep your voices down.

[She examines, focuses, and she swivels her hips]

And don't you dare play off that "going down on" line, Boligard. I'm focused here.
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Re:wk 2.7
Date: 2018/03/22 00:41 By: doomey Status: Admin  
Karma: -1760  
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Posts: 2260
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[doomey, hip up against the cherrywood, sucks some smoke from his current pall mall, and then he whistles it out through tight lips. he looks over at Carol]

if you'd pull your noze out of her snazzle-pot, you might be able to see the capital is pretty damn good, without any glaze, eh?
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Re:wk 2.7
Date: 2018/03/22 00:56 By: carol Status: Admin  
Karma: 0  
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Posts: 119
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[Carol stretches her shoulders, left and then right. She grabs up the capital in her hands, rolls it slowly in her fists]

You fucker, you went there.

[She angles up beside Boligard, hugs him. Strange. She steps to the side and raises the capital above her head]

This cunt is going upward!

[Carol twists the capital in her hands, and she twists and twists. The capital goes dust, and it rises past the mirrorball to that
horrible place known as the, um. Oh right, the Terminal]
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Re:wk 2.7
Date: 2018/03/24 13:58 By: deplancher Status: Admin  
Karma: 14  
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Posts: 1534
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[DeP's awake. She sleeps a lot now, like a bear in winter but without fur or a cave. The cap piles up on her desk. Some pages are curling and yellow. It is not cat piss; it is the wind of time. Possibly a bit of mold. You know where we are, quoi? You know where we are.]

I'm caught in a dream. Douglas Kenney and Henry Beard are on a rollercoaster and it's out of control. They're not afraid. Their faces are....oui, flushing with wild glee. I'm standing on a platform. The kind your mom used to perch upon precariously (because your non-carpenter dad built it in a hurry one Saturday before golf) to hang clothes to dry. I'm watching Kenney and Beard through squinting eyes like I'm watching a movie. A thriller. No, an action. Maybe a comedy.

Only it's a tragicomedy and now I have to go to confession in one of those small dark rooms from my childhood. Then there's penance and missed dinner. I'm hungry and I can't get up.

Where's my cat? Did anyone remember to feed the cat? I need a medicine ball. Maybe I can just put a cushion in this corner, light a yellow candle. Fold into some lotus and read these pages before they've gone to ash. Yes, say a prayer for the hardworking people. Raise a glass for the good and the evil. Something like that.

Forget for awhile about wondering did he jump or did he slip. We're all slipping. Doomey. Carol, give me a hand to stand upon. My wheels are unsteady and my children not yet born.

DeP
A Bluelight Dancer/Not a Pocketbook Romancer
of The Floor
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Re:wk 2.7
Date: 2018/03/24 14:11 By: deplancher Status: Admin  
Karma: 14  
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Posts: 1534
graphgraph
[Her pale arm reaches for the pages nearest. She reads the title. White Haze. She pulls it into the folds of her cloak and turns toward the corner. Her movements more lurch than liquid, but still vaguely reminiscent of a dancer. Maybe a worn out one, or just a wannabe-er. Her back to the room, DeP lights a candle...probably with her breath...falls into the dream of WH. Ooooohh. Eeeeeee.]
DeP
A Bluelight Dancer/Not a Pocketbook Romancer
of The Floor
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Re:wk 2.7
Date: 2018/03/26 23:36 By: doomey Status: Admin  
Karma: -1760  
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Posts: 2260
graphgraph
[doomey stumbles over to Dep's desk, stations his ass on the left edge, and he leans in, grabbing DeP's left arm, squeezing it]

holy shit, I thought I was caught in a bad dream, reliving days without DePlancher, but here she be, examining capital like usual. fucking fantastic. love you, girl.

[doomey gives her arm one more squeeze and then he hops out onto the tiles and dances to the throbs of Bass Drum of Death's everything's the same. he whirls and thrusts his hips and leans back his head, and he lowers his head, shaking it left to right, stomping his boots on the glass tiles, sweat flying. and then the song's over. it is a short song. next song to come over the Bose is Steve Tyler's sharp dressed man, and doomey wanders over to the cherrytop, snapping his fingers, wagging his heels]

god damn, we live well.
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Re:wk 2.7
Date: 2018/03/27 14:10 By: deplancher Status: Admin  
Karma: 14  
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Posts: 1534
graphgraph
[DeP watches her friend dance, her eyes shining. Yes, yes. He dips. He shakes. It flows. She shape shifts into a dusk shade of dove, but only for a second. The corporeal is required. The mind. The eyes. Her hands hold steady the pages of cap. The mirror ball grinds. Music rises. Somewhere, the faint sound of a ceremonial drum. Not death, though. Non, The Floor is alive. Death pirouettes but does not touch us.]

Mon ami, I am forever here even when I'm not. I could never leave you. Thank you for not chopping up my old desk and building bookshelves or selling it off for firewood. When we go, we all go, d'accord?

The mist of mystery. The creep of mortality. The place between. To weirdness of whom. And an electric question pricking existentialism whys... Oh, the horror of serenity!

All of it. And despite the typo on page I Can't Remember, here, dear overworked passionate hedonist Terminali, I float you this for your chomping delight:

[she flips pages, having forgotten title and VC though just temporarily while dipping bare fingers into the guacamole having been delivered by some unseen host or culinary ghost during the brief moments when Doomey, Carol, Jesus, and she had eyes averted or glazed over for reasons undisclosed and unimportant to anyone outside these walls and creaky doors.]

Rise, White Haze by Jacob G. Adams. Fly or fall as you may.

DeP
A Bluelight Dancer/Not a Pocketbook Romancer
of The Floor
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Re:wk 2.7
Date: 2018/03/29 00:31 By: doomey Status: Admin  
Karma: -1760  
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Posts: 2260
graphgraph
that's the spirit, DeP. you go, girl.

[doomey slides over to and rests his hip on DePlancher's desk edge]

i've ideas we are talking about death. i may be wrong. but if we are...

[doomey taps a pall mall from the pack and he swan vestas it, and he sucks in some sweet smoke]

then death is the absolute topic. it's the only topic. death is an end. ours or someone else's, and if it is someone else's then the wrongs and the maybe and the could have's are thick, like some monster skin on a puppet we've fashioned from our collective pile of memories.

[doomey thumbs in Arturo Sandoval's A Mis Abuelos]
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Re:wk 2.7
Date: 2018/03/29 00:47 By: carol Status: Admin  
Karma: 0  
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Posts: 119
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[Carol romps over to DePlancher's desk and gives DepPlancher a double high five]

Damn, girl.

[Carol backs away]

Just so we're all on the same ice field, lacing up our fucking skates, I've been examining Sheehan's Banjo.
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Re:wk 2.7
Date: 2018/03/31 00:33 By: Jesus Status: Admin  
Karma: 2  
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Posts: 562
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[Jesus moves up behind Carol, examines the capital laid out on the cherrywood's desktop, scratches his chin]

So I've the feeling this cat, er um VC, speaks a diff language than us normal TQR folk. He crafts like a guy on meth. And I want to follow the road he's led us down, but, wow, that be a bumpy road, Gilda.

[Jesus steps back]

But that's just my aside. I'm outside the vet. I'm just waiting for the potluck.
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Re:wk 2.7
Date: 2018/03/31 00:39 By: doomey Status: Admin  
Karma: -1760  
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Posts: 2260
graphgraph
[doomey twirls on the tiles. he comes about, locks eyes with Jesus]

hold on, cousin. we're doing a potluck? really?
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Re:wk 2.7
Date: 2018/03/31 00:54 By: carol Status: Admin  
Karma: 0  
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Posts: 119
graphgraph
[Carol watches the boys, and she smiles]

You know you need to rise to get any sort of potluck, right? I mean, I've been here seconds to your hours, and you don't know the boss refuses to reward us down here? We'll grind with no gold, we'll focus and produce and Terminalize and rub our asses raw...

[Carol shakes her head, forms fists, pounds the desktop]

Fuck Tom Sheehan.

[Carol grabs up the capital and she stares at it. She holds it up before her, and she stares at it. She stares at it. She stares at it some more. And the capital rains down as dust]
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Re:wk 2.7
Date: 2018/04/04 01:02 By: doomey Status: Admin  
Karma: -1760  
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Posts: 2260
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[doomey steps over to the cherrywood, and he gazes down on the current capital spread out on the desktop]

Paul motherfucking Bailey, bitches. A capital titled
The Whole World in Their Hands. Seems a bravo title, but we'll see, bravo.

[doomey shakes out a pall mall, swan vestas it, and he examines the capital]
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Re:wk 2.7
Date: 2018/04/07 00:41 By: Jesus Status: Admin  
Karma: 2  
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Posts: 562
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Wow.

[Jesus puts his ass cheeks upon the desk edge]

Okay. And wow, right?

[He'd examind Baileuy's The Whole World In Their Hands]

We won't allow this capital to go through, right? Yes, we know what we want and we know how to get it, and this capital is not what we want, thought it's not god awful.

But it is Portholed.

Right?
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