The Contradictite

[Author's Note: This was a story I wrote either as part of my Creative Writing class or else as part of my school's writing group, a product of the class. It's a black comedy about Christmas.] “Season’s Greetings” said the Christmas card. It featured a painting involving a white mother sitting in a snow-covered barn, holding a white baby in her arms. Her white husband sat next to her, admiring the glow coming from the baby’s head. To the right of the barn gathered a flock of white shepherds. To the left stood three white men in fancy silk, holding a chest, an incense ball and some burial spices. Above the barn was a bright star, centered above an Aryan angel. Matthew Waine held the card in his hand. He shook his head at it. “I never knew there were so many white folk in the Middle East,” he said to his preoccupied cat as he set up the Christmas card on his fireplace mantle, to show off all the Christmas cards he had received, in hopes of adding to the Christmas décor t...

[Author's Note: This was written for my college Creative Writing class, in which we were to write a story that had ten detailed objects in it. The story itself is loosely based off of real events that happened near where I grew up.] Immaculately ordered, yet covered in a fine layer of dust, the mausoleum-dark room warded off visitors. Serena Valicek, known on her Internet journal as “Lady Sanguine,” abbreviated to “LS” by those who do not know her, sits at her computer within her darkened room. She taps the keys, making a slight clicking noise as she updates her Internet journal. She writes about how her parents don’t understand her, and how she is made fun of at school, and how one of these days, she will formulate a hex so horrid, so powerful, that they will be talking about it for generations. Her current song is VNV Nation’s hit "Solitary." She has never purchased a VNV Nation album, but has an entire spindle of their CDs, burned, using her off-white chop-shop model...

A child in Rome is like an ostrich in parliament, The house of lords and the house of god. Understanding, with an eye larger than a brain, The child, cooked medium well has a texture like beef. The emperor gazes at the feathered boy; The lords feast on Ambrosia, Boiled, and covered in cheese. They sip tea while debating, As the right and left squabble for squab. He is an ostrich, Hatched from an egg the size of a human head. Worshipped in the temple As a Deus Ex Ovum. Only in Latin, For the child was in Rome, Disrupting the proceedings. The representation for the queen. The child squawked and fluttered about, Causing a ruckus among the lords. Causing a ruckus among the gods. Jupiter restrains Mars from killing the boy. He is just a figurehead, holding back the true power. Venus and Pluto laugh together at the child’s innocence, Lust and death far from the boy. Mercury sees something, and then runs off quickly, The courier gone to seek out a listener. The templ...

[Author's Note: I wrote this poem in ten minutes as part of my college Creative Writing class, and tried to make it as confusing as possible.] As a needle throws steeds to stead or seeds to the wind (or wind) of the clock, A voice drolls from the closet, a robed ward with a voice. Freely a plague upon the teeth (avoid such a mishap) surely Will put you in need of deconstructive registry. ‘Tis better to have lathered, rinsed and repeated and then to get Dirty and stained, swimming amongst blackberry bushes, Than to have never washed at all. Mother tells me stuff and she sells me tough, For cannibals don’t enjoy skin & bones (bins and stones), Aside from to lick the marrow, and use the remainder as a spoonerism.

Jordan Stiles sat in the chair, overlooking the central chamber of the space station Mastock. He made a few remarks with his pen upon his notebook. Setting down the pen, he spoke into a nearby recorder. “I am speaking with the creatures known as BEK-102, alias Becky. Today, we are going to discuss the creature’s past.” He flipped on the intercom leading into the central chamber. “Good morning, Becky. How are you this fine day?” A voice, sounding like many voices, ranging from male to female, young to old, connected to detached, human to animal: “I am doing well, Doctor Stiles. And yourself?” Jordan looked at the giant eye staring back at him through the glass. “I am doing well. Nothing to speak of.” “It is good that you are doing well.” Jordan made a few notes. “Becky, in our last conversation, you mentioned that you were a Demon. Would you please elaborate on this?” “In my world, Doctor Stiles, there are creatures slanted towards good and creatures slanted towards evil. Th...

[Author's Note: This is a tripartite triolet based on the painting Peasant Wedding  by Peter Bruegel the Elder. It's about the dog on the right side of the painting.] At the wedding, the dog sits under the tables, Hungry and excited and looking for attention It is the member of a popular fable: “At the wedding, the dog sits under the table, Always ready, always able, Awaiting a bit of crust’s descension. At the wedding, the dog sits under the table, Hungry and excited and looking for attention.” There it sits, growling, whining, Wishing solely to be fed. Like a dog, it’s constantly pining, There it sits, growling, whining, Beady dog eyes always shining, Up until it’s dead. There it sits, growling, whining, Wishing solely to be fed. That it likes people, to lick their hands, To sniff them, to know them Shows that from many, it demands That it likes people, to lick their hands, Or lay about in the floor’s sands, To haw or to hem That it likes people, ...

[Author's Note: This is a poem about a fictional location, which was the subject of an abandoned story. I have recycled some elements from that unpublished story and used them in different stories (which I'll publish here). The poem is intentionally strange.] There is a landmass that is orthogonal to reason. It exists between the aether and phlogiston. To get there, one must have been there before. To return home, one must have never left. The land is called Dimpus by none, But is loved just as much. The creatures who do not go are Humans, Clinkebeans and Koepans, Who would instantly fall apart due to Interdimensional instability. They are the only three three-dimensional sentient beings. Common denizens of the land called Dimpus by none Have six 14.721-dimensional parents Which all love their children equally as much With the exception of the anti-lunreght, Who is incapable of love. The Jesuits are an organization holding Beliefs handed down to them by Thos...