I swear to God I didn’t want to go. My mother told me that those things are sinful and play on the desires of the flesh. I really didn’t want to go. But the guys in my department said don’t be a stick in the mud, get out of your sorry pitiful self, do something different, dare to live. Then when we got there there was a woman in full process of denuding herself, hardly anything was left, and customers kept inserting bills in her panties. We all sat down, and the only girl who had come along, Allie, came to sit next to me. Jack ordered a round of drinks, shots of tequila, and Joe ordered a second one. By then the first woman had walked off with swaying hips and another one came out with her hips swaying and shouting something at the crowd, I don’t know what. I think it may have been something obscene. Terry ordered the third round. They’d taught me how to drink it with the lime and salt, so I knew the motions by now. The woman had taken off her black bra and thrown it at somebody. She had silvery metal triangles dangling from the tips of her breasts. Do you like it? Allie asked, leaning towards me. Well, I don’t know, I started, but before I could continue she had leaned over all the way, touched my lips with her open mouth and inserted her tongue and wound it around mine.
– James Steerforth (© 2019)
Posted in Bland observations, Creative writing, Flash fiction, Fun, Life, Literature, Satire, Sweet dreams and nightmares, Writing
Tagged bar, desire, drinking, Flash fiction, flesh, going out, kissing, lifestyle, microfiction, repressed, short story, shy, sinful, striptease, tequila
it’s going to be a slow movie if the hero takes about ten minutes to enter the place, drag his feet across the floor turtle-like and sit down on the sofa sloth-like, eventually putting his mustachioed head in his hands. And the villain comes in through the other door just as slowly, holding a long knife with blood on the tip, ultimately settling on the two-seater opposite the hero at snail speed. They look so much alike one might think it’s before and after. More I won’t give away for now. You’ll need some suspense to sit through this one.
– James Steerforth (2019)
Posted in Bland observations, Cinema, Creative writing, Enigma, Film, Flash fiction, Literature, Sweet dreams and nightmares, Writing
Tagged art movie, crime, fiction, Film, Flash fiction, hero, microfiction, movies, murder, mystery, sloth, slow, turtle, villain
I boarded the train in X. Smoking was much more common in those days. In France, in particular, some people would smoke even in nonsmoking compartments. Even though I had a seat reservation, I changed compartments after two men, who both looked more or less like Jacques Brel, lit up their Gauloises and merely laughed when someone pointed out this was a nonsmoking compartment. In the other compartment, I came to sit next to a young Spaniard who started a conversation. I could tell he liked me. We shared a sandwich and exchanged addresses. I got off the train in Y. Those were the milestones of this eight-hour train ride. Z., a lesser known nouvelle vague director, turned it into a ninety-minute movie which, someone told me, won an award at a festival. I was, at the time, the girlfriend of the director’s camera man, who suggested to the script writer who wrote all the scripts for Z.’s films to write a script based on what I’d told him about the train ride. The writer added a few things to make the movie more palatable. The sex scene with the Moroccan in the toilet did not happen. The only Moroccan on the train I remember was asleep standing up in the aisle outside the compartment. He’d been riding trains for twenty-seven hours, someone said, all the way from the south of Spain. There was an Algerian across from the young Spaniard and me, who kept butting in on our conversation and was giving me smoldering looks under hooded eyelids.
– Jacqueline Maisdemois (© 2019)
This text was submitted by the author, who is unknown to me, in English in the form of a comment to a previous blog entry. – James Steerforth
Posted in Bland observations, Cinema, Creative writing, Enigma, Film, Flash fiction, Life, Literature, Movies, Time, Writing
Tagged 1970s, Flash fiction, France, French film, Gauloises, Jacques Brel, microfiction, nouvelle vague, short stories, smoking, train, train ride, train travel
Where would I find glass slippers nowadays? – I’d make such a wonderful cinderella!
– James Steerforth (© 2018)
Trieste, somewhere near Piazza dell’Unità d’Italia, a youngish woman exiting a gelateria with a cone stacked high. Made me think of a sack due to the shapeless brown dress, which seemed to cover a heavy structure. And immediately I thought of someone in a movie recently seen who wore sack-like clothes until the very end, when she revealed herself as quite shapely in something much more revealing. All premeditated audience goading, of course. But not so likely to happen here.
– James Steerforth (© 2018)
Posted in Bland observations, Cinema, Creative writing, Enigma, Flash fiction, Life, Nonsense, Writing
Tagged clothing, dress, Flash fiction, memory, sack, sack-like, shapeless, short story, Trieste, ultrashort story
You see, my immense success is all due to that watch – it all started with that watch, which projects just the right image of wealth and manliness. And now I’m the owner of a nice red car, a monkey and two slaves … err … employees. And have been touring the world teaching and enabling personal success. Call me at 1-800-C-O-A-C-H.
Posted in Creative writing, Fun, Life, Literature, Nonsense, Photography, Satire, Sweet dreams and nightmares
Tagged advertising, coaching, enabling success, manliness, money, monkey, satire, success, watch
“WTF – I wonder how that is pronounced…”
“Not that easy to say, it being Proto-Srpko-Pannonian.
Not at all what you would guess from the spelling.
Probably sounded like hwiss, the final f generally
being mute for all we know.”
“And, pray tell me, what does it mean?”
“Something like What the heck.”
– James Steerforth (© 2018)
One of the pieces from the forthcoming Erudite Matters.