Belly: Chapter Three

All ages show
By Francis Scudellari

"To see life in its totality is a very special gift."

"He won't appreciate it."

"He'll learn to. He has no choice."

"Maybe that's because we don't give him any."

A slow trickle of warm drool tickles Jonah's chin and startles him awake. For a brief moment the raised edges of the trailing liquid sit clearly on the front of his necktie. Then, as quickly as he notices it, the drop sinks into the dyed material; its outline lost in the twisting shapes on the cloth.

Embarrassed by his mouth's impolite leak, Jonah nervously turns toward the window and searches the mirrored faces. Had anyone seen? The glass, at this hour black-backed by the stubborn night, usually casts a perfect but inverse depiction of the cramped car's interior. Today, oddly, the portrait is indistinct.

The picture of row upon row of cushioned pews that stretch along each tin-can wall contains only strangely featureless faces. Jonah sees no eyes glancing disapprovingly at him. He sees no eyes at all; nor noses, lips, and lashes.

Even the bloodless hands that wrap themselves around the steel poles welded from seat top to ceiling are lacking form. No knuckles, wrinkles, ragged nails or wispy hairs are visible on the pale blobs.

But it's only the human flesh that lacks its customary identifying marks. Everything inanimate stands out sharply in the yellow light cast by the dim, domed bulbs that cling to the arched ceiling. He can make out the fibers of scarves and the creases on pant legs.

Grown brazen by confusion, Jonah rotates on his seat and stares at the man seated next to him. He sees only a swirl of browns, pinks and yellows, as if the wool-clad shoulders support a color wheel in constant motion.

Jonah strains his eyes into focus. Like a thumb on the flipped pages of a book, his gaze halts the face in flux. The salt and pepper coloring of the middle-aged man who he remembers boarding the train suddenly returns. The nose takes its recalled bulbous shape. The chin sprouts its noted stubble.

Then Jonah blinks and the image becomes as unsettled as his mind. Intricate networks of cracks spider-web their way across parched patches of the man's skin. Cheek bones push their way out and draw the now loose skin up under them. Once burning eyes cool and recede into shadowy caverns.

Another blink shifts the man's face back in time to the smooth, pudgy countenance of a teen. Frightened, Jonah spins away from his neighbor and stares at his own face captured in the dark glass. His features, drained of color, are otherwise unchanged. He peers deeply into the dilated pupils, and the glimpse of a new path flashes before him.

Doodle Week: Repose

Doodle Week wraps up with the most classic of artistic themes: Doodle Body. After another successful stint of doodling, all of the wonderful participants have earned a moment to kick back and savor the memories. For on the seventh day, we rest.

Doodle Week: Pet Project 2

It's the penultimate day of Doodle Week, and today's theme is Doodle Pet. If you've been following along since the last doodle-extravaganza, then you may remember that I previously drew a portrait of Albert the pug. Since that day I've had several friends ask about a drawing of his sister Lucy. Their patience is finally rewarded.

Doodle Week: Sinister

Doodle Week Day 5 gets a bit philosophical with the theme Doodle Evil. I'm not a subscriber to the black-and-white world view that sees clear external divisions between the holy and profane. Rather I perceive myriad contradictions in humanity's perpetual internal struggle to determine whether our worse or better nature wins out. When an evil act is committed, it's usually by the hand of someone who has given in to his or her baser, most selfish instincts.

Doodle Week: Lost at sea

Doodle Week Day 4's theme is Doodle Vacation. With the US dollar trending downward and travel abroad becoming very expensive, many Americans are taking stay-cations. This means doing interesting things close to home. There are also the frequent journeys into the imaginative world of books and movies that are on my itinerary.

I'm currently immersed in a book about early 20th Century cartoonist George Herriman who penned the strip Krazy Kat. Herriman's comic scenery verges on the surreal and inspired the following dreamy ocean landscape, which is where you'll find me during my mental summer vacation.

Doodle Week: Garden variety

It's Doodle Week Day 3 and the theme today is Doodle Garden. This is a genetically modified, fruity vegetable hybrid. It's designed to withstand all Doodle Bug infestations. It may not taste very good, but it ships great.

Doodle Week: Nebulous

The theme for Doodle Week's Day Two is Outer Space. Astronomy isn't one of my strengths, so I offer up a crude rendering of a galaxy. Be fair warned: If you stare long enough at the center, you may lapse into a trance.

Doodle Week: Larval stage

Day One of Doodle Week dawns with the theme Doodle Bug buzzing around the blogosphere, and I kick start my week of contributions with everyone's favorite larva: the caterpillar.

Sketchy plans

As the badge in my sidebar so colorfully announces, Doodle Week II begins next Monday. That means I'll be revving up the blog with daily posts very shortly. I'll also sprinkle the latest chapters of my short story Belly into the mix, so don't let your eyeballs stray far from this space.

To get you in a properly artsy mood, here's another illustration I created for Hanna's poetry book. It's called "Virgole di lacrime" (Commas of tears).

A thick-stemmed bloom turning

This didn't turn out quite the way I wanted, but the show must go on ...

In this Iris Garden

Continuing on with my next installment of comment-inspired titles (see the original post), I've written a poem based on the phrase "In the Garden of Iris" (slightly modified to suit my rhythmic purposes). It was suggested by Angel, the amazing poet and artist behind the site Here and Now 4 Angel. I'll post a companion drawing for it later.

In this iris garden
By Francis Scudellari

In this iris garden,
An uninvited guest
Not wanting, to intrude
I risk a sidelong glance

At the eager pupils,
Orderly arrayed round,
Budding blue-capped beauties'
Prayerful heads tilted

Upward to drink air thick
With instructions of love,
Selfless do's pouring forth
From a mistress aglow

Her tendered messages,
Felt but never spoken,
Chuteless slide lightly down
On rainbows' liquid backs

Till reverie re-moved
By nosy, nudging wind,
A thick-stemmed bloom turning,
Reflects my tactless gaze

And, self-aware I tip-
Toe a trail away, leave
Faint prints, one day retraced
For more eavesdropped lessons

Drips a crooked path

Belly: Chapter Two

After a much longer than expected delay, here's chapter two of my short story "Belly" (read Chapter One if you missed it). It's still very much a work in progress, so I appreciate all feed back.

Further back, and forward
By Francis Scudellari

"Where does a circle begin and end?"

"Wherever we choose to slice it ..."

"What if I place the blade randomly … here?"

"Go ahead … you'll see. We'll capture something important."

The train leaves the station and Jonah's stomach knots. A trailing memory of suggestive whispers causes Jonah to shift uneasily on the vinyl-covered cushion. Their words were spoken abruptly. The full conversation floated by in the short time it took him to find his accustomed seat.

Needing distraction, Jonah thumbs through the indexed list of songs displayed on the sleek, white device with a recall more agile than his own. A small pointer travels the recollected streams of sappy ballads and bouncy anthems. The blunt arrow settles on a track he hopes will mask the lingering echoes of those voices that slipped in uninvited on his morning train.

Jonah presses play and this time the expected words are piped through his inserted ear phones: "I was born in a cross-fire hurricane …"

Jonah drums his fingers to the catchy beat. The dull thud of his flesh against the briefcase's faux leather shell is strangely soothing. The rhythmic vibrations carry up his arm and down his leg. Before, so lulled, his once obedient thoughts would have steered him on a meandering but sure course toward slumber. Now, recently turned mutinous, these same thoughts scatter to unruly corners. Unmanned and tempest-tossed, their containing vessel is set adrift over uncharted, black depths.

After a few short verses, the calming fog of music is pushed aside, and the hallucinatory dialogue's dark-tinged drone looms again on a shortening horizon. Elusive shadows, impossible to grasp, flit across his mind's eye. Words stacked on top of words swirl in a gathering swarm that Jonah can only glimpse as a blur of rapid movement.

The hiss of stale heat pours from a vent below the seat. A drop of sweat trickles down from Jonah's left temple. It drips a crooked path across his cheek and soaks into his well-starched collar.

Jonah, cramped and ill-at-ease, loosens his red silk neck tie. Beige, geometric shapes spin hypnotically from its center. Still restless, he cracks the window. The gush of icy air gives him a moment's relief, but it can't chase away one lingering question: "What will I see and hear today?"

Jonah is certain that his brain is being hacked.

Muted tongues

This is the first in a series of illustrations I promised to Hanna for a self-published poetry book she is planning to release in the fall. If I seem periodically absent from the blog over the next few weeks, it's because I'm diligently working to create more of these drawings (among other things).

A Guest Post: The Sequel

Ever a man of my words, here's an excerpt from my latest poem Television, which is being hosted on Jena Isle's Gewgaw Writings site.

Careless he falls into ritual pose
Do dropped, down before this mothering knot;
Her gathering brown limbs, machine-carved smooth
In hollow, molded arc, to cradle him;

If that first stanza has you seated on edge, be sure to visit Gewgaw Writings to read the full poem.

My bauble of a guest post

The very talented and prolific Jena Isle asked me to do a guest post on her Gewgaw Writings site. In keeping with my usual two-step process, I've created a new drawing and a companion poem that she's graciously agreed to feature over two days.

You may have noticed the tease of a detail from the drawing at left. To see the full piece, please visit Gewgaw Writings, which also includes a very flattering profile of yours truly. While you're there, be sure to check out the first five chapters of Jena's compelling story Umma Ayam Sinsana (Where Are You Now?).

Stay tuned for the accompanying verse, which I'll preview here with an excerpt once it's available on Jena's blog.

Squeezing The Toothpaste

Continuing my very recent series of comment-inspired posts (see Interactive Exercise and A cryptic script: My answered exercise), today I riff on the title Squeezing the Toothpaste suggested by Mark at neOnbubble.

It's an unusual phrase to build a poem around, so I decided to try something different and write a haiku. As an extra bonus, I also created a companion drawing that better captures my conception of a squeezed tube of paste.

A coiled plastic snake
Desperately squeezed till flat
Splatters its venom

Writers Offering Our Finest - 13 June 2008 Edition

I've submitted last week's post "Belly: Chapter One" to be part of this week's WOOF. There are four other featured pieces by some very talented writers. Please check them out using the links below. I promise to get the next chapter of "Belly" up soon.

PlotDog Press WOOF

Presenting the finest of the writer’s blogs by the bloggers who write them. Highlighting the top 5 posts as chosen by the June 13, 2008 WOOF Contest participants. Want to join the next WOOF? Submit a link to your best writing post of the week using this form. Participants, repost the link list within a week and you’re all set.

Top 5 Picks:

About Writing/Grammar
Kimota (Jonathan Crossfield) - "Grammar Wars"
Catherine @ Sharp Words - "Do Dreams Influence Your Writing?"

Poetry
Jennifer M Scott - "One More Time"

Flash Fiction / Fiction
Jennifer M Scott - "Last Request"
Francis Scudellari - "Belly: Chapter One"

BROUGHT TO YOU BY PLOTDOG PRESS FEATURING:
A Novel Approach Series: "A Prologue to a Prologue"

Chained

I'm sure this drawing will elicit some interesting interpretations, so have at it.

Terminal sigh

As promised in my A Cryptic Script post two weeks ago, this is the first of a planned series of comment-inspired poems. The title was suggested by Hanna, with a very slight change — not to mention my own mangled interpretation of the phrase.

Terminal sigh
By Francis Scudellari

Mortally minded, his own skull
He bloodless cracks, painfully pries;
With fleshy fingered forceps pulls
Splintered thoughts, fragmented feeling;
Disconnected, forgotten bits
Re-moves to neatly etched pathways;
Liquid memories suctions off,
Coiling feeds through light, fibrous tubes;
Essence transfused: flesh to ether,
Life's flow dripping off in slow leaks;
A mist of dream-refracting drops
He exhales: his terminal sigh