Title: Cut in Parque Bonaval
Subtext: A place for very little rest.
Date: 11 Dec 15 (Friday in the AM)
Time: 1 minute
Replies: 10
Revisions: 4
Publicity: Superfeed

The plum was soft. I had it in my hand. The more I had the plum in my hand, the warmer it got. I had the plum in my hand when we looked for parking. She drove because the city was small and medieval. I could not park in it. We were going to the park near the cemetery. It wasn’t a cemetery any more. It had been an aboveground cemetery, but they took all the bodies out, so now all that was left was the structure that had held all the bodies. It looked like the shell for a building. People who visited the city asked what it was.

“Where are the bodies now?” I do not know where they are. Every other year, though, it’s very odd because a coffin will be back in its place. No one knows how it gets there. Coffins could be vehicles. We thought they were receptacles, but they are vehicles, apparently.

We found a spot not too far away from the cemetery, and she parallel parked fantastically. We laughed that, after she parked, we looked at the space on either side of the car, and the spaces were just longer than my hand. She wanted to park and leave a space that was less than my hand.

I still had a plum in my hand from the market. She had eaten her plum, and it was bothering her that I had not yet eaten my plum. “Why don’t you eat your plum?” At the market, the area where you could buy fish was special to me. The floor was concrete and cold. The walls were white tile. On all the scales for weighing fish, there were the scales of fish. You could see fishmongers bleed if they cut themselves. You could see fish bleed. I often forgot that fish bleed, that they have blood in them, so it was good to go to the market and see them bleed. Whenever we visited the market, I was afraid she’d steal one of those sharp fish knives, hide it, and then place a deep cut in me. I’d pinch it together with my thumb and pointer, which is something that would do very little for me.


Myna » Authorship
Myna » 11:31 AM 11 Dec 15
Myna » 11:28 AM 11 Dec 15
Myna » 11:25 AM 11 Dec 15

The Thread (10)

 Author's voice in grey. 

  1. Repetition of repetition – I’m dying to know why, and more than that Georgia O’Keefe quote about artistic prerogative.

  2. Some of what’s up top maybe could go. Counterintuitively though, the repetition in these pieces speaks to a speed of delivery that I always enjoy.

  3. I can feel that.

  4. It’s difficult to deliver something like this and not have it come across like one is trying too hard. But this one works for me. The pacing, repetition, story arc. There’s a lot of momentum.

  5. Still really interested to hear from @myna on technique, in particular the use of repetition.

  6. I agree with Falcon’s speed-of-delivery observation. That alone is an enlightening insight, and I find it enjoyable to cruise over this piece with the momentum Rabbit cites.

  7. Many little surprises here – scales with scales, coffins as vehicles (cars as coffins?), fish blood.

    I’m not sure technically how repetition affects the mind, but on a nontechnical level, I think it creates a lulling sensation that is more forcefully disrupted by these little surprises. There’s a sense of peace, then accentuated disturbance.

    Is the plum a heart?

    Agree also with the momentum idea. The word “cruise” is appropriate.

  8. Nominated, seconded, superfed.

  9. Thanks for all this interesting feedback, everyone! There is a lot to think about here.

    As far as repetition goes, it’s not something that I think about at all before I write or as I write. It seems to happen, and then, after the fact, I decide if it stays or goes, and I often decide to keep it. And I’m not all that sure why I keep it. It’s because I like it, I suppose. It goes well with me. Or, if I had to justify it with some precedent, I’d say that repetition is all over the place in other forms of art that I spend a lot of time with – like painting, especially portraiture. Over and again, in the visual representation of humans, there are lines or forms or strokes that surface and repeat and recede, and I like that. To me, it feels better than if there weren’t repetition.

  10. Good thoughts. I learn immensely from disclosure.

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