tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post3844948207119369940..comments2024-03-29T07:29:32.276-04:00Comments on Janet Reid, Literary Agent: Writing Contest! (opens 6/12 at 7:18pm)Janet Reidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00615380335938685231noreply@blogger.comBlogger82125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-81079874607922778822011-06-13T18:55:32.509-04:002011-06-13T18:55:32.509-04:00Silas kept only what he was willing to the childre...Silas kept only what he was willing to the children: his purple heart, his wedding band…<br /> He uncovered a photo – a stunning woman, posing by a streetlight in Paris. <br /> “Es-tu un intuitionist?” Celine had asked, when he’d told her she’d make it in Hollywood.<br /> “Me? No, I’m a dope!” He’d said. She’d smiled wider. They’d gone to dinner.<br /> He’d been deployed the following day. <br /> Silas remembered the colors of her hair, neckline, dress, florid as parrots’ wings. Remembered hoping his Silette camera could capture her. <br /> But the photo was black and white, unclear. Shadows seeped in from the edges.Katihttps://www.blogger.com/profile/06377068075742161319noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-46845272434307716022011-06-13T18:55:29.740-04:002011-06-13T18:55:29.740-04:00“Eddie, come here!”
“Eddie, here!” Tonya parroted...“Eddie, come here!”<br /><br />“Eddie, here!” Tonya parroted.<br /><br />“Stop that, Tonya!”<br /><br />“Top that, Tona!”<br /><br />Avery sighed, willing the toddler to be quiet. Eddie pulled up beside his big sister. She displayed the old cyclops camera she found in Granny’s attic. Poor little Tonya had found Granny “asleep.” <br /><br />“It says ‘Silette,’” Avery read.<br /><br />“Stillette?”<br /><br />“I wonder if it works.” Eddie looked it over.<br /><br />“It works!” Tonya grabbed and it fell open, exposing the film inside.<br /><br />“Tonya, you dope! Now we’ll never know what was on it.”<br /><br />The mimicking intuitionist grinned with an evil gleam in her eye as she repeated, “Never know.”Tara Tylerhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/07587802105993889515noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-14631417661787060562011-06-13T18:13:03.345-04:002011-06-13T18:13:03.345-04:00'Caught an old bastard last night. Big-ass pro...'Caught an old bastard last night. Big-ass professor. Asked how he was doing. He told. Only word I thought I understood was "intuitionist".'<br />'Flashed him?'<br />'Tit, dove <i>and</i> parrot, baby.'<br />'You classy bitch, you’re learning. Was he willing?'<br />'Dope helped.'<br />'Was he generous?'<br />Mary showed. 'Gave me this.'<br />'A book? Was he one of them Jehovahs?'<br />'It's a dictionary, stupid.'<br />'Hell you need this shit for?'<br />'To learn, I guess.'<br />'Shit. Well, I'm off to the bar. Friday, many dicks to work.'<br />'Later, sis.'<br />Mary found words "paradigm", "epistemology". Got stuck on "Silette". <br />Then she had to go too.Sasha Barinhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/02630497823609674807noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-17038842522368389362011-06-13T18:03:59.663-04:002011-06-13T18:03:59.663-04:00I'm channeling Saba from Moira Young's YA ...I'm channeling Saba from Moira Young's YA "Blood Red Road."<br /><br />___<br /><br />I nose wot I nose, an’ I ain’t willin’ to stan’ dere like a dope, waitin’ to git trampled on. Tha rumblin’ gets louder. Horses. Spittin’ up dust an’ sand.<br /><br />“Move,” I yells at the peoples surroudin’ me like a bunch of flappin’ parrots cryin’ fer help. Theys all scatter in tha witchy sand wind, like fire was in der britches.<br /><br />I dig for tha Silette picture taker to count. But tha lens is too scratched up. <br /><br />“How many, Baena?” someone hollers. Pa use to call me a intuitionist.<br /><br />“Sixie-sevin,” I says unner my breth. An’ theys comin’ fer me.<br /><br />____<br /><br />Kelly S.<br />VAKellyhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/00290821701075835533noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-25542080427766887752011-06-13T17:43:48.492-04:002011-06-13T17:43:48.492-04:00"You on Dope?"
"No, sir."
Dad ..."You on Dope?"<br />"No, sir."<br />Dad looked at his son. "You've become a what?"<br />"An Intuitionist."<br />The man ran his blue-collar fingers through his hair. "I sent you to college to think, not parrot the beliefs of some professor."<br />"Pop, you should meet Dr. Silette. He's brilliant."<br />"You did this willingly?"<br />The boy nodded.<br />The man thought then a smile rose to his lips. "I think I'll join you. Not another cent in-tuition-is-t/hat clear?"Rick Andersonhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/04056568654507239730noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-3441328010778669852011-06-13T17:41:48.602-04:002011-06-13T17:41:48.602-04:00Mother’s hands stroked her ancient silette adjusti...Mother’s hands stroked her ancient silette adjusting the f-stop. I had to pee, but I stayed as still as a small, sweating statue can. <br />“One, two, three . . . ” my mother intoned, so we could hold our breaths. A long exposure.<br />I let my mind parrot the words to take my mind off my bladder.<br /> My brother, the dope, sneezed. Inuitionist, he felt her disappointment. She said we would do better. And we, her willing slaves, promised. <br />We held ourselves, the light, the shadows, the long summer afternoon for Mother’s keeping. Our gift to her.Anonymousnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-60075070092541551872011-06-13T17:39:45.322-04:002011-06-13T17:39:45.322-04:00Ned eyes the silette.
“No,” I tell him.
“Come on...Ned eyes the silette.<br /><br />“No,” I tell him.<br /><br />“Come on, Nan,” he wheedles, “I need it.”<br /><br />His eyes seem to spin, and I know I can’t trust him, not now, not ever. He is my twin brother and I hate him. <br /><br />I glance down at the little camera, at the parrot sticker my daughter slapped across its back with her four-year-old fingers. I am not willing to part with it.<br /><br />“No,” I repeat. “You’re going to sell it for dope.”<br /><br />His expression turns from forlorn to resentful. A failed intuitionist, he has read me wrong.<br /><br />“I knew it,” he lies.Anonymousnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-71913120592759421212011-06-13T17:31:42.449-04:002011-06-13T17:31:42.449-04:00The Intuitionist had no name from the beginning. ...The Intuitionist had no name from the beginning. Time for him was an illusion, a trick to wield and bend. It was the strength of his mind that gave him identity willing his being to be and to become. He did not need any dope like others who did not know their capacity for mind-bending. He could be something animated and gauche like a brightly-plumed Amazon parrot or an inanimate obsolete thing like an Agfa Silette. His mind and his will were one. He was the Intuitionist.Cherry Lou Syhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/14815459586272004552noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-80132094034633553412011-06-13T17:25:05.939-04:002011-06-13T17:25:05.939-04:00The cellar air stands thick with the smell of bals...The cellar air stands thick with the smell of balsa wood, aircraft dope and blood. I pause near the bottom of the steps, willing that final tread not to creak. But it creaks anyway, as it always did, and bile taints my words.<br /><br />“What have we got?”<br /><br />“Self-inflicted shotgun wound. Professor of Institutional Psychology or something.”<br /><br />“Intuitionist Philosophy”, I correct.<br /><br />I glance over Lawson’s shoulder, past the chrome Silette camera, and on to the photographs which hang from every surface; photographs of a wind-blown and anxious looking girl with a parrot on her arm. Photographs of the 7-year old me.Kate Outhwaitehttps://www.blogger.com/profile/12294866010972517265noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-86366708658666466442011-06-13T17:23:47.193-04:002011-06-13T17:23:47.193-04:00A dead pirate was what he looked like. Why the eye...A dead pirate was what he looked like. Why the eye patch? Beau wondered. The mortician couldn’t just sew the lid shut? <br /><br />The obit called him an ‘intuitionist,’ but Uncle Jack preferred psychic. Bullshit, either way. He’d spent the last year doped up on Svedka and Adderall filched from Beau. Jack must’ve been high, willing his Haitian-speaking parrot and a Silette to his nephew. What was a twelve-year-old supposed to do with a defunct camera and an immigrant bird? <br /><br />Too bad dying only proved him a fraud; Jack hadn’t seen the mark’s gun until the bullet passed through his eye.Laurie Dennisonhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/01089552813955890768noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-85603892211228909072011-06-13T17:16:07.242-04:002011-06-13T17:16:07.242-04:00I'm no intuitionist, but I'd be willing to...I'm no intuitionist, but I'd be willing to bet that we've seen the last of Kathy's parties.<br /><br />Friday night's soiree seemed more like a funeral. She must have sensed it, too, because she clapped the room to attention, grabbed her Silette, and unveiled her pet parrot's cage.<br /><br />"Step right up and give Max your drink order," she announced.<br /><br />I went first. "Manhattan."<br /><br />"Scotch or brandy?" the bird squawked.<br /><br />It was fun until Charles, a neighbor who'd recently lost his wife, stepped forward.<br /><br />"What's the best drink for a man in sorrow?"<br /><br />"Hey, dope! Do I look like your fuckin' bartender?"Anonymousnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-25979494830692044442011-06-13T16:46:37.080-04:002011-06-13T16:46:37.080-04:00Dear Ms. Reid
The crime-scene techs departed, an...Dear Ms. Reid<br /><br /><br />The crime-scene techs departed, and the photographer packed-up his Silette. As a cop I’m willing to compromise to catch a serial slasher, especially one mauling my undercover informants, but psychics give me agita. This dope called himself an “Intuitionist”.<br /><br />He eyeballed the carnage, lips quivering. <br /><br />“I’m getting a hunch!”<br /><br />“Put a parrot on your shoulder, Quasimodo, and maybe no one will notice.”<br /><br />He sighed.<br /><br />“Your snitch rambled, editorialized, made messy queries. You sent a minnow to ensnare a shark.”<br /><br />“We gave that kid an airtight cover-narrative. What went wrong?”<br /><br />“Classic bungle. He didn’t tell what his fuckin story was about.”<br /><br /><br />ddylanhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/09258261414344799869noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-63068102134050786292011-06-13T16:30:24.619-04:002011-06-13T16:30:24.619-04:00Walking in, the first thing I see is the camera on...Walking in, the first thing I see is the camera on the pawnshop counter.<br />“Is that a vintage Agfa Silette?!” I cry.<br />“Vintage?” parrots the bargain hunter. I ignore him - a weekend dabbler who thinks intuition is the only tool needed to find that magic sale.<br />“Frankie,” I say to the clerk, “If you’re willing I can give you seventeen bucks today, another fifty tomorrow.” <br />“Forget it!” says Dabbler. “I’ll give you sixty now!”<br />Frankie sighs at me but takes Dabbler’s cash. The poor dope swans out the door.<br />“You are evil,” Frankie says. I grin and slip back behind the counter.Sarahhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/03029615886562584784noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-57625530955061158952011-06-13T16:17:06.842-04:002011-06-13T16:17:06.842-04:00"Mister Owl?" Johnny Frostbite asked his..."Mister Owl?" Johnny Frostbite asked his parrot, Sassy. "How many stokes does it take to saw off someone's thumb?"<br /><br />Sassy, staring at him, said, “Let’s find out.”<br /><br />Johnny figured you didn’t need to be an intuitionist to know that if you’re going to steal a guys dope and vintage Silette, you have to be willing to pay the price. He lined up the blade on Mel’s thumb.<br /><br />“A one.”<br /><br />The blade cut skin<br /><br />“A two” <br /><br />Deep into bone.<br /><br />“A thrrreee.”<br /><br />The thumb fell onto the rug.<br /><br />Sassy flapped her wings. “Three.”Sean Patrick Reardonhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/14051252366031997054noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-57039526980529350592011-06-13T16:03:07.135-04:002011-06-13T16:03:07.135-04:00The silette disappeared behind the cardboard flap ...The silette disappeared behind the cardboard flap as Mother packed up my stuff. It didn’t take an intuitionist to understand.<br /><br />She was sending me back.<br /><br />Back to where they housed crazies and my roommate had repeated things like a parrot on dope. <br /><br />Not that it mattered. I’d spent most of my time in the Safe Area. The toilet seat I’d broken had sliced through my arm more fabulously than expected. But it had earned me a night out to the ER with a hot male nurse. <br /><br />This time I would go willing. Mother would get hers when I got out. <br /><br />BONUS GUESS: Things you lose when you're committed. :)Melindahttps://www.blogger.com/profile/16046117203206391843noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-26448009084710460002011-06-13T16:02:31.846-04:002011-06-13T16:02:31.846-04:00Why do I want to attend your school?
I should prob...Why do I want to attend your school?<br />I should probably tell you some beautiful fallacy, like it’s my dream to cure diseases. However, truth is beauty, and the truth is I don’t want to end up like my parents. My mother, the “intuitionist,” spends her days coning tourists. My father, the dope fiend, sold my Silette-F for a parrot that was “hilarious.”<br />Despite many hardships, I’ve maintained a 3.9 GPA. My goal is to achieve a 4.0 at your institution. I know it won’t be easy, but I’m willing to work hard to achieve it. That is my dream.jessehttps://www.blogger.com/profile/16489502078962823639noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-8488727569567995732011-06-13T15:57:47.221-04:002011-06-13T15:57:47.221-04:00“Intuitionist willing, I’ll silette your parrot’s ...“Intuitionist willing, I’ll silette your parrot’s dope.” <br /><br />“Don’t do that, I pleaded. He can’t help it that he dislikes Rush Limbaugh!” The conservator of the Conservatory was angry tonight. He waved his right hand for emphasis, mainly because he did not have a left hand.<br /><br />“That’s not it,” he said. “That bird thinks Paul Revere rode to warn the Americans the British were coming. The truth is, he rode to warn the British the Americans were coming.”<br /><br />“You are a Sarah Palin fan, then,” I said.<br /><br />“I can see Russia from my house. And my house is in rural Nebraska.”Steve Stubbshttps://www.blogger.com/profile/10051363877066768708noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-5380761612117973872011-06-13T15:57:04.894-04:002011-06-13T15:57:04.894-04:00Brown's Last Arrest
Detective Brown didn’t th...Brown's Last Arrest<br /><br />Detective Brown didn’t think of himself as an intuitionist. But he was always willing to listen to the voice in his head.<br /><br />“Stop the parrot act. You’ve told the same sorry story over and over. Now, where did you get the Silhouette?”<br /><br />“The what?” the young man said.<br /><br />“The camera.” <br /><br />“It’s a Silette.”<br /><br />“Whatever. You steal it so you could buy some dope?”<br /><br />“You mean drugs?”<br /><br />“From talking bird to smart ass.”<br /><br />“Like I said, my dad bought it for me.”<br /><br />“Again with your daddy? And just who is he?”<br /><br />“The man who will probably fire you in the morning.”Joel Q Aaronhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/00967390514247903846noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-18571192841126743342011-06-13T15:32:53.502-04:002011-06-13T15:32:53.502-04:00She was willing to let the giant mutant parrot eat...She was willing to let the giant mutant parrot eat the intuitionist, after all, the guy was a complete freak, a dope, and he broke her favorite silette.Anonymoushttps://www.blogger.com/profile/11055313918231775213noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-1184153346911309772011-06-13T15:30:55.402-04:002011-06-13T15:30:55.402-04:00I had just become willing
(because I would make a ...I had just become willing<br />(because I would make a killing<br />and leave this chilling garret)<br />to sell my wondrous Oracle parrot,<br />my feathered intuitionist,<br />who, perched on someone's fist,<br />could say things that gave them hope,<br />til some smart New Yorker dope<br />muttered the magic word "silette"<br />and left my bird a silhouette.richardhhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/13185041659054023609noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-29876414774834521032011-06-13T15:04:56.583-04:002011-06-13T15:04:56.583-04:00“Mind the parrot, he bites.” Lars handed the dope ...“Mind the parrot, he bites.” Lars handed the dope across the scarred teak bar. The Key West humidity hung thick, a storm a rumbling threat in the background.<br /> The runner rolled the packet into a lump and glanced at the perch near the door, noted the hyacinth macaw’s beak capable of snapping off a finger. “Silette sends her regards, said you should make like an intuitionist before the tourist crowd descends for happy hour.”<br /> Lars watched the man tuck the bundle inside his speedo; the visual gave new meaning to the word package. He nodded. “I’ll call. I’m willing.”Lesann Berryhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/08020812155089083232noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-43873208858991836902011-06-13T14:57:42.068-04:002011-06-13T14:57:42.068-04:00The year was '68, and I had just come to Salzb...The year was '68, and I had just come to Salzburg, a willing grad student, to work with Professor Marx, the famed intuitionist. I stood outside the door of his quaint little house and rapped on the door.<br /><br />It opened, seemingly of its own accord. "Du bist ein Dumpkoff!" someone screeched. <br /><br />Hesitant, I peered inside. It was a parrot. Below the bird's cage, a man lay crumpled on the floor, a tiny packet in his hands. I sniffed. The sweet sickening smell of dope hung in the air.<br /><br />I snapped a photo with my Silette and called the police.<br /><br />@Nancy_Adams_Anonymousnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-5748191699330482732011-06-13T14:52:40.856-04:002011-06-13T14:52:40.856-04:00I told her I was too ugly to be photographed, my w...I told her I was too ugly to be photographed, my willingness notwithstanding. The woman -- Silette, showed me her special camera that could erase the hunch from my back. An intuitionist by birth, a dope by happenstance, but an optimist by heart, I agreed to become the latest cover model for <i>High Times</i>, Nautical Edition.<br /><br />A month after the shoot, I received eighty-seven copies of the magazine, my requested payment. I stared back at myself, smiling. My pirate costume was glorious; made even better by the green parrot that replaced my oft debilitating physical anomaly.<br /><br />I’d never been happier. David S.https://www.blogger.com/profile/08817217067647332879noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-43279200208077295172011-06-13T14:42:52.581-04:002011-06-13T14:42:52.581-04:00Call me a silette. Yeah, my graphics card may be a...Call me a silette. Yeah, my graphics card may be a bit dated, but this memory? Razor sharp and photographic, babe. That’s how I knew Jarred was lying. <br />Did he expect me to believe that the strange, parrot green substance I’d seen was a harmless houseplant? Looked more like a deformed piece of rotting coral, but I knew it for what it was: dope. He said I’d been imagining things, and I was almost willing to believe him. Jared’s a good kid. But it’s this damn photographic memory: I know what I know. <br />I ain’t no intuitionist.Bethany Elizabethhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/12829932931010851406noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-30939877627079125122011-06-13T14:32:51.304-04:002011-06-13T14:32:51.304-04:00"Damn it Janine, I ain't gonna tell you a..."Damn it Janine, I ain't gonna tell you again, git that parrot outta my house! Silette if you have to! Damn bird knows when imma dope up like some sort of intuitionist and I ain’t willing to keep on hearin’ it sing the dang song from COPS no more!”<br /><br />@thansenwritesT.M. Frazierhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/05939952453919459227noreply@blogger.com