Rooster Land — Dig Site

Recent Replies

8:21 PM 20 Apr 19
Falcon replied to At About Sunset
I feel less tired for having read this. Thanks, @elk.

2:06 PM 30 Mar 19
Horse replied to Face Value
I had this in the hopper for two years, originally as a longer short story. The ...

11:43 PM 10 Mar 19
Horse replied to Under the Radar In Bat Country
Vegas is a body of knowledge that even someone from the far flung reaches of the ...

7:18 PM 09 Mar 19
Elk replied to The Answer Is What You Have to Do
How would we rename the Comma Committee in such a land — and what would its ...

9:43 AM 03 Mar 19
Rabbit replied to The Answer Is What You Have to Do
If we strike the quotation mark down it shall come back more powerful than we can ...

8:23 AM 03 Mar 19
Bear replied to The Answer Is What You Have to Do
In the name of keeping a neat and tidy home I motion that going forward the ...

6:05 PM 02 Mar 19
Rabbit replied to The Answer Is What You Have to Do
As the prophet Axl said, I used to love her, but I had to kill her.

5:54 PM 02 Mar 19
Bear replied to The Answer Is What You Have to Do
I say we crack open a cold one and pour some out for our dead homie, ...

2:28 PM 02 Mar 19
Rabbit replied to The Answer Is What You Have to Do
I think it’s valuable to have a platform where we can play around in this way, ...

Recently Revised

Simultaneous Dialogue » 5:15 PM 18 May 19 » Elk ⟳ Horse

At About Sunset » 8:15 PM 20 Apr 19 » Elk ⟳ Elk

Face Value » 3:52 PM 06 Apr 19 » Horse ⟳ Horse

The Phoenix » 11:42 PM 10 Mar 19 » Horse ⟳ Horse

Trains » 11:15 PM 10 Mar 19 » Horse ⟳ Horse

K » 3:25 PM 01 Mar 19 » Horse ⟳ Horse

Todd’s Saga » 8:19 AM 25 Feb 19 » Bear ⟳ Bear

The Answer Is What You Have to Do » 2:35 PM 23 Feb 19 » Horse ⟳ Horse

Labyrinthine » 5:37 PM 18 Feb 19 » Horse ⟳ Horse

Twelve-Sided Die (Desert) » 7:41 PM 14 Feb 19 » Bear ⟳ Bear

The Widow » 7:37 PM 14 Feb 19 » Bear ⟳ Bear

Debtor to the Way » 10:48 AM 11 Feb 19 » Elk ⟳ Horse

Dear World » 10:31 AM 11 Feb 19 » Elk ⟳ Horse

Making Your Own Bolo Tie, Part II » 7:55 AM 10 Feb 19 » Bear ⟳ Bear

Walk, Run, Romp » 7:53 AM 10 Feb 19 » Bear ⟳ Bear

Recent Haiku

Simultaneous Dialogue at 4:08 PM 18 May 19 by Horse

(Standard)

And the whole exchange took half as long:

Hi.
Hi.

How are you?
How are you?

Good.
Pretty good.

What are you up to today?
What’s going on?

Nothing really, just grabbing coffee.
Not much. Walking the dog, you know.

It’s beautiful out.
It’s a great day.

Yeah.
It sure is.

It’s good to see you.
It was nice to run into you.

Awesome, yeah, yeah.
Cool.

Yeah well have a nice a day.
Take it easy.

Let’s try this in every conversation, I thought. I wonder if he was thinking that at the same time, I thought next.

At About Sunset at 8:15 PM 20 Apr 19 by Elk

(Standard)

I made music for the first time in a long time today. The hardware closet had become home to an old touring case full of tools for amplified music. I took that out and put its contents to work.

Tuning the factory strings on a generic Fender minted nearly thirty years ago was oddly satisfying. I dropped the E-string to a D and tore out a riff part 90s this and part millennial that. I twisted the knobs on the distortion pedal until the various amplitudes aligned and its artificial thunder sang out.

I went around the room, to the piano, then the drums.

* * *

There was fog over the water about a mile out — not warm, but an early spring sort of balmy. Low tide completed the invitation; I took my first swim of the new year.

I ran down the beach on the balls of my feet, knees up, feeling strong. I settled my heartbeat walking back to a fair spot, where I strode out to my thigh and dove under.

It was cold. I popped out of the water and ran down the beach the other way, walking back again, and diving under again, this time in a shallower place.

The little waves were delightful, and the ripples they made in the sand were therapeutic. There was nothing but sand, water and the stones I had skipped from shore at high tide. I collected those and took them back up above the line.

* * *

I wrote in front of Fear & Loathing.

Face Value at 2:04 PM 30 Mar 19 by Horse

(Standard)

After a class. An unlikeable intellectual to his colleague. Hallway outside main office. Coffee. Passersby.

The usual. Oh, but there’s this guy who talks like an MTV VJ. He goes, “Cuz it’s wack. Straight wack.” And he dresses like that, too. But he grew up at country clubs from Scarsdale to the Dallas Fort Worth Metroplex — Trophy Club specifically, where his oil cousins have their third house. He didn’t tell us that when we were doing introductions, but I know. Southern Methodist is loaded with these New York City kids like that. I can tell. His name’s Alec.

Anyway, this kid, Jay, he goes, “Pray tell, what is ‘wack’, friend?” Jay’s from a large town outside a medium city in a small state. He launched into, I don’t know, this sorta pseudo intellectual grammar war culture war analysis, when he — I think — plagiarized for us something he read in high school about how people like Alec unselfconsciously appropriate ebonics because they don’t have to always be aspiring, like him — a confused kid from a whitewashed strip mall boulevard of mediocrity who thinks knowing what authors say means you’re in the club. Anyway, he never said any of that exactly, but I can tell.

So then there’s Mateo, whose parents make sure surface areas of Trophy Club look trophy clubesque. He didn’t say much. He flipped his pencil in his hand to remain calm, though. I didn’t want to ask him to explain that “wack” was real for him, not something he feels comfortable saying just because, as a matter of privilege like Alec, he’s not constantly afraid of slipping down the razor’s edge of middle class life into permanent mediocrity, the way Jay feels. I didn’t want him to be the mascot of diversity in the room. I just wanted him to talk. He’s authentic. I know it. He didn’t have to say anything. I can just tell.

And then there’s Anne. She was bored out of her skull. Vapid. You know. Connecticut. Prep school. Days in Gramercy park looking at the shoes of women she could imagine being someday. I can tell she’s just here at SMU to meet and marry even more up. We see them in flocks on college visits in the spring, right? We must have SMU billboards up and down 95 up there. Half the class, her hand was planted into her face, her body planted into that chair like a plant. She’ll be a plant the whole semester. I was just waiting for her to blow her bangs out of her eyes for the twentieth time, but she must have nearly killed herself being that bored. I thought the other side of her face was about to melt off. At least a plant’s got the oxygen going for it. And it’s going to be all semester with these people.

OK, Jennifer. Well. Ah, so how’s that sabbatical looking? Oh, hey, look it, there. It looks like you have a student waiting for you outside your office.

Oh, that’s Anne. Ok, here we go. She’s probably looking for a drop form. No cute boys in the class.

Hi, professor. My name’s Anne. I was in your 10:30. Anyway, I just wanted to let you know that sometimes I have seizures in class, and today I had one. I can just freeze up. But don’t worry, they can come and go and I’ll be Ok. Here’s my doctor’s note. Oh, by the way, I just loved your book. I’m majoring in English because of you. What a fascinating class, today! Anyway, sorry about the seizure. Everyone thinks seizures are big, but it can be hard to tell.

Todd’s Saga at 5:49 AM 25 Feb 19 by Bear

(Standard)

There was a man called Fragg. He owned all of the land in West Fraggsfjord between the sea and the river and Chef Roberto Valentino’s Panini Palace. He was of a very notable disposition and grew more and larger meatballs than any other farmer in Fraggsfjord.

There was a man named Todd Toddsohn. He had a small farm on the edge of Fraggsfjord and only grew small meatballs and quite a very few. He harbored jealousy toward Fragg and Fragg’s persistently large meatball crop. It seems, Todd would say, that my bad fortune is equal in proportion to Fragg’s good fortune. If our fortunes were to switch, it would be fortuitous for me and a boon to my farm and people.

There was a man named George Glass. He had left Lazenbjord after insulting King George Lazenby the Unambiguous, who never minced words and preferred deeds to maxims. George Glass had called himself in the company of King George Lazenby’s people the best of all possible Georges. When word got back to the king, there was nothing for George Glass to do but pack up his cloning machine and sail to Fraggsfjord.

Todd met George Glass’s sailing ship as he was gathering seaslop at the shore-border. George Glass explained that he had become an itinerant cloner due to his quarrel with King George Lazenby. That is good to have insulted George Lazenby, said Todd. He is no king of mine.

Todd took George Glass in as is customary and gave him food and shelter at his farm all of that winter. George Glass sailed his ship up the river to Todd’s farm and carried his cloning machine into Todd’s barn. In the spring, he told Todd that he could increase his meatball yield in both size and quantity. All he would have to do is steal a single meatball from Fragg’s meatball orchard. Todd agreed it was a good plan.

But what neither Todd nor George Glass knew was that Fragg’s meatball orchard had a hi-tec security system, and that its cameras were monitored in his palace by King George Lazenby.

The Workshop

Rooster Land is a private and pseudonymous writing workshop. You're currently located where the writers come to work. A selection of their pieces are elevated to superfeed status and made publicly readable on a rolling basis. You may want to start there. But certainly feel free to look around while you're here, or to open and travel.

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