Fiction... For Realz

Ok... No more G-Eel handle. I am officially Pinche Quedito moving forward.

In my absence I've been pondering the reason why this blog was created. Ultimately, T-Eel and I had decided that we needed a vehicle to vomit our self-important thoughts and views upon. Unlike T, I do not roll with a posse of "classically" creative peeps. I used to - but not no more.

Now, deep inside what is left of my soul (the part that has not been sold to the highest bidder) lies a virtual critter that is in need of satiation. We will call this critter "Yahweh"... better yet, "The Divine ShitSpinner (TDSS)". TDSS lives in all of us. I suppose Metros (present company included) spend a bit more time petting and nurturing the critter to see what it is truly capable of offering the world. While, on the other side of things, Men's Men poke at it with sticks and force it to tell colorful stories that revolve around a 30 pack of Schlitz Lite and a set of twins from Romania.

Rambling aside, this is the canvas that I will use to set my ShitSpinner free and I publically prod T-Eel to do the same. Now I can surely find plenty of creative ways to bust T-Eel's balls as he is abundantly ripe with faults to criticize and belittle, and I will be sure to address these on occasion, but I feel I'm in need of a more structured exercise.

So today I am going to cast out a digital tarpaulin (as everyone knows tarpaulin is one of those words one can never overuse) to cradle our literary embryo. This writ-child of T's and mine is sure to mature into the greatest "Great American Novel"... no the greatest "Great Greek/French/American Novel" of our time. You, as the reader, are simply required to sit back in awe and wail at the beauty of our words. Here we go.

Kendra pondered the stickiness beneath her limbs. "Of all the places to collapse", she thought to herself. A slide show of images spilled through her consciousness as she tried to imagine the origin. Discarded Cola? Bodily fluids? She was fully aware that the answer was immaterial, that this was simply an exercise to keep herself awake.

Somewhere an amateurish version of Tchaikovsky's Violin Concerto in D Major was being played. It echoed off walls and railroad cars until only a shell of its intended form reached her ears. She thought it somewhat strange that she could actually discern the tonal layers of concrete and steel that shaped it as it made its way about. Kendra lifted her cheek an inch off the floor in an attempt to spy the source of the music but it was no use.

Ok T-Eel, take it from here