Tilted Forum Project Discussion Community - View Single Post - Collaborative Novel Experiment: write a town

roachboy · 11-20-2008, 04:59 PM

Calle Reine Sofia, upper left corner of the map

He turned off the television in the kitchen. He could hear murmuring and snatches of music, the film continuing on other monitors in other rooms.

He walked across the white and black tile floor to the granite counter-top, to the space-age coffee machine and poured himself another coffee. He watched coffee cover the picture of a grouse on he bottom of the cup.

The house is enormous and tastefully appointed thanks to the interior designer he had hired after seeing her work on one of the hundreds of versions of the same reality show. She had been America's Second-or-Third-to-the Top Interior Designer. He felt badly for her, thought the judging unfair. He complained loudly at the television when the verdict came. Plus he thought she was attractive. So he hired her to redo his house, hoping to spark a relationship. It didn't work out. It didn't really matter. Mostly he wanted someone to talk to. He talked to himself instead. Sometimes this worried him.

He stood by the counter for several minutes.

"Petula Clark," he concluded.

Thin sheets of dust descended from somewhere. He could see them in the sunlight.

"I feel like such a degenerate when I watch tv in the morning I don't know why I do it."

He was wealthy now. Sensing the collapse of the old world, the world from which he came, now he wanted to put distance between this new self and the life he had lived previously, between this new self and others. He understood that wealthy people relied upon servants trusted underlings who were of course less than their master, but who were devoted to their master. With this image in mind, from a thousand miles away he located a house, arranged inspections and purchase without having ever set foot in the town.

To do this, he gathered maps. He prevailed upon real estate agents repeatedly to photograph the house. He insisted that all the polaroids be mailed to him. These same agents provided him with a floor-plan on which was noted the dimensions of the rooms. He would take the mound of paper he accumulated with him on bird watching excursions, stuffed into a knapsack along with binoculars and his notebook full of lists. When he found a suitable field, he would he walk off the dimensions of various rooms while holding up photographs. He would locate the spot in the living room where his chair would be positioned and sit. He would carefully study the abstract maps, filling in details.

His imaginary house was in a field at the edge of town, set off from the others, an idyllic spot, private, away from neighbors and their networks of gossip, a theater of his eccentricities. The imaginary house was a series of projections based on photographs made sculptural by his walking, gaps filled in by memories of telephone conversations with his real estate proxies. It was vast and low and smelled like grass; it was open and airy and close to the birds.

After a while, his imaginary house would begin to flicker and break up. Then, still sitting in his imaginary chair, he would fumble around in his knapsack, pull out his binoculars and notebook and begin watching birds.

The actual house was in a development. The actual house had neighbors whom he could see, who could see him. In a moment of pique he had ordered telescopes from a catalogue. He set them up in the windows facing his neighbors. He never looked through them: he didn't care what they did. He wanted them to imagine that he watched them. He wanted them to shy away from his side of their homes. He wanted them to avoid him. He wanted them to not be there. "Communites should be elective" he said.

In his office, he tacked to the wall the lists of birds that he had seen from his imaginary chair.

What drew him to this town of all possible towns were the grouse. What drew him to these grouse of all possible grouse was the Grouse People, an organization devoted to the grouse in ways that he did not yet fully understand.

Tonight will be his first meeting with the Grouse People. He must set to work.

11-20-2008, 04:59 PM	#8 (permalink)
roachboy Super Moderator Location: essex ma	Calle Reine Sofia, upper left corner of the map He turned off the television in the kitchen. He could hear murmuring and snatches of music, the film continuing on other monitors in other rooms. He walked across the white and black tile floor to the granite counter-top, to the space-age coffee machine and poured himself another coffee. He watched coffee cover the picture of a grouse on he bottom of the cup. The house is enormous and tastefully appointed thanks to the interior designer he had hired after seeing her work on one of the hundreds of versions of the same reality show. She had been America's Second-or-Third-to-the Top Interior Designer. He felt badly for her, thought the judging unfair. He complained loudly at the television when the verdict came. Plus he thought she was attractive. So he hired her to redo his house, hoping to spark a relationship. It didn't work out. It didn't really matter. Mostly he wanted someone to talk to. He talked to himself instead. Sometimes this worried him. He stood by the counter for several minutes. "Petula Clark," he concluded. Thin sheets of dust descended from somewhere. He could see them in the sunlight. "I feel like such a degenerate when I watch tv in the morning I don't know why I do it." He was wealthy now. Sensing the collapse of the old world, the world from which he came, now he wanted to put distance between this new self and the life he had lived previously, between this new self and others. He understood that wealthy people relied upon servants trusted underlings who were of course less than their master, but who were devoted to their master. With this image in mind, from a thousand miles away he located a house, arranged inspections and purchase without having ever set foot in the town. To do this, he gathered maps. He prevailed upon real estate agents repeatedly to photograph the house. He insisted that all the polaroids be mailed to him. These same agents provided him with a floor-plan on which was noted the dimensions of the rooms. He would take the mound of paper he accumulated with him on bird watching excursions, stuffed into a knapsack along with binoculars and his notebook full of lists. When he found a suitable field, he would he walk off the dimensions of various rooms while holding up photographs. He would locate the spot in the living room where his chair would be positioned and sit. He would carefully study the abstract maps, filling in details. His imaginary house was in a field at the edge of town, set off from the others, an idyllic spot, private, away from neighbors and their networks of gossip, a theater of his eccentricities. The imaginary house was a series of projections based on photographs made sculptural by his walking, gaps filled in by memories of telephone conversations with his real estate proxies. It was vast and low and smelled like grass; it was open and airy and close to the birds. After a while, his imaginary house would begin to flicker and break up. Then, still sitting in his imaginary chair, he would fumble around in his knapsack, pull out his binoculars and notebook and begin watching birds. The actual house was in a development. The actual house had neighbors whom he could see, who could see him. In a moment of pique he had ordered telescopes from a catalogue. He set them up in the windows facing his neighbors. He never looked through them: he didn't care what they did. He wanted them to imagine that he watched them. He wanted them to shy away from his side of their homes. He wanted them to avoid him. He wanted them to not be there. "Communites should be elective" he said. In his office, he tacked to the wall the lists of birds that he had seen from his imaginary chair. What drew him to this town of all possible towns were the grouse. What drew him to these grouse of all possible grouse was the Grouse People, an organization devoted to the grouse in ways that he did not yet fully understand. Tonight will be his first meeting with the Grouse People. He must set to work. __________________ a gramophone its corrugated trumpet silver handle spinning dog. such faithfulness it hear it make you sick. -kamau brathwaite Last edited by roachboy; 11-20-2008 at 07:44 PM..