This blog is devoted to a select group of poets. We're starting with poets from the Ann Arbor area, but, hey, if you're from Detroit, Grand Rapids, Saginaw or the Upper Peninsula, then that is okay, too.
Our goal is to provide you with a prompt every day from which you are to garner inspiration and submit a poem. How to submit will be very easy. Just put your poem or short story in the comments section and hit post. You may not immediately see your post, but it is there under the "Comments" section. You may need to click on "Comments" to see your poem. It is there on another page.
You may need to have a Gmail account to post in the comments section. Most of you do have Gmail, but for those of you that don't it's extremely worthwhile to open up one now! That way you've got a chance to get your work out there in the world.
Today's poem or short story prompt is the word "blocked"
Day 3 of 7: BLOCKED
ReplyDelete[I've decided that I will use this week's prompts to create a 7-part short story. Wish me luck!]
This is my strangest trip so far.
By my calculation, this is my thirteenth "jump" (or whatever the hell these are called!) I have no idea where or when I am.
I can see, but I don't know what I'm seeing. There are rows and rows of bright bluish neon lights that seem to stretch out in every direction. It's an optical illusion of some kind because no matter which direction I turn, I see parallel lines to infinity. It doesn't matter if I look up or down, right or left, or even straight ahead.
If I move -- that is, if I will my legs to shuffle me forward -- the perspective remains the same. There's no way to tell if I've really moved or not. There's a dreamlike quality to it, not unlike those flashes of clarity you think you're having when you're high. You know you're somewhere but you have no idea where 'there' is or how you got 'there'.
Far ahead of me, a white light appears between two of the rows of lights. It speeds toward me and, before I can respond, it floods my eyes and I feel it inside my head. I scream but there's no pain and I realize I was just startled.
A thought forms: "pet stores in Anaheim". I'm puzzled. Why did I think that? I'm even more puzzled when a stream of steady lights rush toward me from right, left, above, and below. I'm awash in white light, my eyes useless, my brain somehow remembering the names and addresses of hundreds of pet stores. K-9 Carousel on Lincoln. Jedds on N Red Gum St. Le Woof Dog Bakery & Boutique on S. Silver Star Way. The thoughts stop and it's completely black for a second.
Then, a single stream of white light shoots from my eyes and down the neon tunnel in front of me. It keeps flowing for ten, fifteen seconds. After that, everything is dark again.
Another light, another thought: "naked Jennifer Aniston". Rushing light, a stream, then black again. Another one: "electrical diagram solar generator". Another one: "single men Madison Wi".
It dawns on me then. I know what's happening but I reject the thought. It's too fantastic.
"Java write UTF-8 file" "purchase essay anna karen nina" "vespa tune up kit" on and on it goes and I finally have to face the fact. I am in the working memory of a server supporting a search engine.
-- see part 2 below
This comment has been removed by the author.
ReplyDeleteI try to listen to the content next time. The question is "personality tests for asshole husband". I smile -- that is, my mind sends the signal "smile" somewhere -- and focus on the incoming data. Links by the hundreds, by the thousands, short descriptions, icons and memes. I catch one of them and modify it. Just slightly. Just to see if I can. I munge the URL. Nothing stops me. I delete some of the pictures and I strip away some of the descriptions.
ReplyDeleteI get no feedback. Did it work? Did they get the right or the wrong results? Then I laugh (?). There's no way to know. Even if the person resubmits the query, the odds of it coming back to the same server are billions to one. I will never know if I succeeded or not.
I distort the next three porn requests so the poor schmuck sitting at their computer gets pictures of happy kitties. I filter some of the advice on child rearing so none of the "spare the rod, spoil the child" links get through. Requests for slam poetry get links to Emily Dickinson. And vice versa.
Someone types "has American culture devolved into pure consumerism?" I hastily filter the millions of results to move the "YES and here's how to fix it!" sites to the top of the list. Occupy. Anonymous. Buddhism and craving. Global Issues: Creating the Consumer. Jesus and piling up goods.
As I send them back, I see something I've not seen before. The stream I am returning is interrupted. Red flashes spark over and over and over. My stream is diverted and instead, the red flashes travel down the neon corridor to the requestor's machine.
I focus hard and manage somehow to slow down the stream. As it slows, the red flashes come closer. They get more distinct. I can read them.
"CONTENT BLOCKED - source is not reliable. Please contact your provider."