04-27-2007, 03:02 PM | #1 (permalink) |
part of the problem
Location: hic et ubique
|
something i wrote a long time ago
digging through old stuff, i found this...figured i'd put it here.
i wrote this a few years ago.... lance boyle loved wood. his love for wood most likely originated when, as a child sliding down the wooden bannister in his grandmother's old victorian mobile home in the mountains of lousiana, he became sexually aroused to the point of full release. he spent a whole summer sliding down that bannister, and was the calmest kid anyone had ever seen, always with a glow and a lazy smile. while all his other freinds were making Revell brand plastic model replica's of the nitro burnin funny car of "big daddy" don garlits or a tank or battleship, lance made balsa wood models of the red baron's fokker d-8 triplane and british spitfires. when he was 14, while on a school trip to china town, he bought a set of wooden chopsticks, which from that moment on was all he would use to eat his food, shunning the cold, unfreindly steel of the fork and spoon for the earthy, silky feel of wood. he didn't do this to be pretentious or flashy, like the mornons who use chopsticks in thai restaurants because they want everyone to think they are cultured and "internatoinal" and they don't know thai people use spoons. he did it because he loved wood. lance also developed an affinity for cellophane. not a kinky fetish interest, like you see on the internet or in wierd bars in washington d.c. on a friday night, but a healthy appreciation for the way the plastic would cling to the outside of a bowl and keep his leftovers from spilling out into his tiny refrigerator. one day, while engaged in his favorite hobby, playing the jew's harp along with his cd of verdi's masterpiece opera, "la traviatta," the god's of the good idea smacked lance upside the head with the sacred two by four of inspiration, and lance had an epihpany that would rock the world.... lance went into his workshop in his garage, and worked and struggled for two weeks straight, barely eating or sleeping, not emerging until he had created pure perfection....lance had come up with the colored cellophane decorated toothpicks often found sticking out of cubes of cheese at ritzy social functions, weddings and bar mitzvahs. the early days' were heady and wonderful, lance was on top of the world. his hand crafted, cellophane decorated toothpicks were everywhere, and in high demand. he was on covers of magazines, chicks were all over him like flies on meat, and he was riding high. people were dining "ala boyle" and once details of his life came out, there was a large increase in chopstick sales and use. but we must all wake up from the dream sometime, and eventually, all the tying colored cellophane around toothpick jobs were farmed out to third world countries for thier cheap labor. lance worked and worked, but he could not compete, and soon, the industry he created rejected him and treated him like he peed in the pool at the garden party. lance boyle passed away, quietly, and was buried without even a service, with hardly any notice from the world he made so much better with his decorated toothpicks. |
04-30-2007, 02:21 AM | #2 (permalink) |
The Reforms
Location: Rarely, if ever, here or there, but always in transition
|
I enjoyed this story very much. A very original take on something so overlooked, then giving it a background and substance to bring it life.
I wonder if you have any more?
__________________
As human beings, our greatness lies not so much in being able to remake the world (that is the myth of the Atomic Age) as in being able to remake ourselves. —Mohandas K. Gandhi |
05-03-2007, 08:17 AM | #6 (permalink) |
Falling Angel
Location: L.A. L.A. land
|
I greatly enjoyed the subject matter, as well as the execution. I'm glad you posted it here.
__________________
"Love is a snowmobile racing across the tundra and then suddenly it flips over, pinning you underneath. At night, the ice weasels come." - Matt Groening My goal? To fulfill my potential. |
Tags |
ago, long, time, wrote |
|
|