So I actually started coming up with the long-neglected form that is the Micro Novel this past week. I wrote like 6 or 7, I'll give you a few here. Don't say I never did nothing for ya.
BUKOWSKI AND ALCOHOL
(A Seriocomic Micro-dissertation in one act)
"You could toss the idea of cause and effect all day long, but consider this: If the hero of the story shows up in an Oldsmobile, what's the central point-----that he was in an Oldsmobile, or that he showed up?"
Wally skulked toward the back. The lecture had just begun and it was already too boring and pretentious.
He found the restroom and locked himself in. His salivary glands were going crazy. He knelt over the throne and spat repeatedly. His entire torso felt like it was about to implode. Finally the feeling passed. He sat down and shat like a horse. After that he stood up, turned around and threw up.
He puked standing, and all the blood vessels in his face exploded. He felt it burn hard across his cheeks and knew his face would be all red and blotchy when he came back out. He lay down for maybe twenty minutes. When he stumbled out the damned lecture was still going on.
STABBY STAB STAB
A Micro Novel
The Meet and Greet did not go well. Some people can bring the whole room up and some people can bring the whole room down. Jeremy had some imagined beef with Knuckles and he was going to sink the whole room with it.
"What happened to the other singer?" Jeremy demanded.
"I'm the singer," said Knuckles.
"You weren't the original singer..."
"Yeah, I am."
"You aren't the guy on the first album," said Jeremy. That guy had a really low voice. You sound like Janis Joplin on a crack bender." Knuckles' face was darkening, but Jeremy seemed unphased by the whole thing. "I liked that first album. What happened to that singer?"
"I am that singer," Knuckles growled.
"How come you changed your voice, then?" Jeremy stared daggers through him.
"It's called throat cancer, you idiot," screamed Knuckles. Jeremy glowered and decided that sounded like it might be important or something. He kept his mouth shut the rest of the time.
THE NIHILISTS OVER IN DOVER
A Micro Novel
All holy hell over the fragility of furniture and anything on the upended coffee table legally belongs to the floor. It's not an easy night as the goddamned spanking paddle has broken clean it half, cheap piece of crap that it is.
“Was”, not “is”. There's no time to get sentimental about these things.
The sad malfunction's not going to slow me down, though---I'm a bull in the China Shop writ large, bashing down norms, guardrails and your Mom's old bread pudding recipe. What'll I wreck next? What have you got?
I couldn't tell you word one about god, whatever that is---all I know is I go nuts when her lips form the word, “fondue”.
HOW TO GIVE PEOPLE SEPSIS AND OTHER PARTY TRICKS
A Micro Novel
All over the kitchen, up and down the stairs, losing consortium and tearing her hair out, “all the bags, so many bags, where are all the bags coming from?!” She hailed from the Midwest, so “bag” kept sounding like, “baig”.
Punky just laughed the whole thing off. He was eating like a King.
So there's some of the latest fun. I go back and forth on "Stabby" because to me it's less a Micro Novel and more flash fiction. But who am I to split hairs? I think I said what I wanted with it; you clowns can bandy theory back and forth----I got less important things to do.
Copyright 2020/C.F. Roberts/Molotov Editions
THIS WEEK'S PLAYLIST:
DAVID BOWIE-Heathen, Aladdin Sane
VAN HALEN-Van Halen I, Diver Down
THE RHINO BROS PRESENT THE WORLD'S WORST RECORDS