"A BARGAIN BASEMENT JACOB'S LADDER" is a superlatively special fast fiction based on this haunting photo by Alexey Uryevich Frolov whose site documents his photographic forays into abandoned plants, unfinished buildings and industrial sites in Russia.
Enjoy the following slice of linguistic absurdity....
"It's a clunk of junk, a scrap of crap and a haste of waste !!" Martin screams at the top of his lungs.
"No that last one doesn't work," Saul corrects.
Martin stands nude, his manhood shrunk in its toque of flesh, hiding from the cold.
"There is no working or not working in this instance. I'm expressing. At this point I'm expressing," he shouts, walking back and forth for warmth. He is tired of the foot dragging, the corrections and the hasty hesitations. Hasty hesitations, that's good, yes Hasty Hesitations !!
"This is full of hasty hesitations, snappy stammerings and breakneck dawdlings !!" he hollers.
"Once again that last one doesn't fit," Saul sits on one of the few remaining certainties of the dilapidated building: the floor. He is wrapped in three scarves which snake their way down through his army surplus jacket. His lower half has been doubled up with long-johns. He is warm but lacks passion.
"Fits of a coma, bursts of frozen nothing and jerks of an iceberg," Martin screams through the empty floor.
"Nope."
They stand in the wreckage of an abandoned building, preparing for the unknown. Their insanity has seeped into the cracks of each others minds and they are empty of purpose.
And nothing nothings some more.
"It's a clammer of stammerers, a cacophony of phonies and a din of gin drinkers."
Enjoy the following slice of linguistic absurdity....
A BARGAIN BASEMENT JACOB'S LADDER
"It's a clunk of junk, a scrap of crap and a haste of waste !!" Martin screams at the top of his lungs.
"No that last one doesn't work," Saul corrects.
Martin stands nude, his manhood shrunk in its toque of flesh, hiding from the cold.
"There is no working or not working in this instance. I'm expressing. At this point I'm expressing," he shouts, walking back and forth for warmth. He is tired of the foot dragging, the corrections and the hasty hesitations. Hasty hesitations, that's good, yes Hasty Hesitations !!
"This is full of hasty hesitations, snappy stammerings and breakneck dawdlings !!" he hollers.
"Once again that last one doesn't fit," Saul sits on one of the few remaining certainties of the dilapidated building: the floor. He is wrapped in three scarves which snake their way down through his army surplus jacket. His lower half has been doubled up with long-johns. He is warm but lacks passion.
"Fits of a coma, bursts of frozen nothing and jerks of an iceberg," Martin screams through the empty floor.
"Nope."
They stand in the wreckage of an abandoned building, preparing for the unknown. Their insanity has seeped into the cracks of each others minds and they are empty of purpose.
And nothing nothings some more.
"It's a clammer of stammerers, a cacophony of phonies and a din of gin drinkers."
posted by kevin spenst at 7:49 AM
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