Bellefleur

bellefleurThis I know, the symbol is the gateway to delusion,
Blurring to deceiving smoke
The border between fact and error.
Making havoc in the brain’s fine algebra,
By symbol, the fantastic structure is made too strong,
Too firm a palace against sad reality.

She has been kidnapped from her usual world of glitter and luxury, and now her narrative strides to one completion that has always been possible. The international star known as Bellefleur is depicted in the course of her murder by a mysterious assailant.
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Hedy Lamarr’s Tuna Salad Recipe

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One evening, Olivia de Havilland prepares — with great concern to adhere to the strict instructions on the tin, even to the extent of using her reading glasses — Hedy Lamarr’s Marine Fresh™ Skipjack Tuna Salad recipe, and finds it not good.

Lettuce, hard-boiled egg, apple, celery.
Cardboard, she reckons, multiply. As tasteless as. Redolent of. A symphony in. Nutritional value: cardboard.

Being unpersuaded by the bright endorsement of her peer.
Obvious, isn’t it — works fine on the great unwashed.

Cyd Charisse speaks out:—
For my part, I too have always found Hedy Lamarr’s Marine Fresh™ Skipjack Tuna Salad rather cold and lacking in any spritz, brio or zing. Nowhere near as good as Gene Tierney’s Royal Albacore Tuna Salad recipe, lovely with tomatoes and olives, and maybe a few string beans. Oh yes, perfection on a plate.
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In Parkland (Preview)

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The morose poet Mayakovsky sits down next to her,
And, just so that she cannot mistake his intentions, says:
—I do not exist.
Ok, she can cope with that.
—But you’ll have an orange juice… or a coffee, won’t you? You look like you need something.

The magic hour. He watches the bumbling carp in the dark green, ornamental, artificial pond.
The moths hitting the surface tension.
He notices the sun’s oblique ray and shifts himself slightly, such that it now comes in over his left ear — more raffish — although, since he and the woman are on the same bench, identically facing, the effect is rather lost.

After he has watched enough:
—You know what I’m going to bring you, don’t you, says Mayakovsky. What my message is going to be.

—I do, says the woman.
—So should I bring it yet?
—I think you should get something, there’s a cafe, it’s only a kiosk, but I’d be happy to…
It’s a false-start, he knows he must recover the situation quickly or lose the opportunity.
—It’s not really hunger, it’s more melancholy. I have medication for it.
He reaches over with his lips and kisses her.
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The 24 Deaths of MH – Part 2

The Journalist is persistent and dedicated; she has a lot of integrity.
Specifically tasked, she lies in wait for him, the Pathologist.
Winsome, that specific species of prettiness, she thinks she can probably screw herself up into, for a sufficient length of time to accomplish the job.
And the probity, on which she prides herself madly, is always there,
Which will hide her teeth vulpine. Continue reading “The 24 Deaths of MH – Part 2”

The 24 Deaths of MH – part 1

MH was a rock singer. By family he was a New Zealander, so was an Antipodean rocker. That’s the thing with birth: suddenly, out of nothing, you are something.
No one can say you are other than that.
Context has arrived, perhaps already too much.
You’re rolling down those rails.
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Submissions Welcome

No-strings publishing… can I commend this please to any out there into flash fic

Flash Fiction Magazine

Quill Flash fiction is generally accepted to have an upper limit of around 1000 words.
There’s no lower limit.
It can be of any genre or none.
It isn’t non-fiction or personal memoir (by all means fictionalize these).
We don’t want to get into rights issues, so no living public figures as characters, fan-fiction involving proprietary characters, Batman etc., also song lyrics – references to all of these are fine.
No out-and-out erotica – adult themes, yes, including sex, violence and even politics.
Perhaps similarly, children’s fiction isn’t really a good fit here.
We don’t demand this is previously unpublished work.
It should go without saying that any submission is your own creation.

Submit your flash fiction here »

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Signs

signsRarely revealing anything of their private universe, signs are forthright about which part of the signee’s universe is to be abbreviated. Signs are hectoring.

It has been at least a couple of years now since I saw a sign counselling: Go Forth and be Free. I saw it in my head. Anyway, these are fortunately rare in the real world.

Abbreviated, clipped or gelded, curtailed or mutilated, angelic wings furling as an effective blindfold, mopping up, all in all providing a good, simple, continuing salvation from trouble
And its attendant troublemakers.
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