Forever Blowing Bubbles

[Cuchulain]

-It’s been a long time since those days, I say taking a drink.

Perfectly, cinematically, punctual, he nods his head; takes a shot. He looks the same, but different. No longer the guido he used to be, he now looks like just what he is: an ex-con.

This ex-con isn’t dressed stylish. He’s wearing a baggy sweatshirt and grey sweat pants, and he is chain smoking like crazy. I still can’t get over how people get caught up in that filthy habit. I should speak. I inhale tar when I’m with friends, but only with friends. It’s social suicide, done communally for the most part.

Silence; I have to say something. We used to act so tough back in those days, I say laughing. That’s right laugh, I think. Laugh as if something was funny.

The ex-con shakes his head.

-I’m not like that anymore.

Just on cue, he takes another shot. In that aspect, we are the same; never thirsty; always drinking. Just like back in high school. Drink from 12 to 12, and then I go home and sleep. That was everyday; but then I grew up. Somewhere it hit me. It never hit him apparently until he was locked up. He licks his lips.

-I ain’t so tough.

No, you’re not. No tougher then I was or any of our gang. In the end, we were just teenagers with a criminal streak.

So what now? What is left, now that you’re out of jail? Are you going to rob more people? Are you going to get a job? Are you going to go back to school?

-I don’t even know what I’m going to do now.

Then he sits, and he cries.

And now it’s my turn to take a shot. I pat him on his shoulder. I say to him in a false English accent, Don’t worry, mate. We’ll figure out something fir yeh.

I’m drunk and thinking about Green Street Hooligans, forever blowing bubbles in the air; meaningless violence, alcohol, and, least importantly, soccer. We used to beat people up just for the fuck of it. Why not? When you go home with all you’re bent up frustrations, what else are you going to do? Hang out in white castle? I like to take all my problems, and imagine it’s a face. Then I put that face on someone I don’t like. Then I stomp that face repeatedly, and the problem goes away; for a little bit. Sometimes the scars are permanent.

And then the song plays, I guess that this is growing up, and I suddenly want a time machine. Then I think about it again, and I change my mind.

Outside the bar, we are fucked up. The ex-con is worse. He can’t stand straight, so I try and hold him up but I’m stumbling all over the place too. The streets are dark and empty. He suddenly starts to sing:
I’m forever blowing bubbles
Pretty bubbles in the air
They fly so high, they reach the sky
And just like my dreams they fade and die

Then he raises his hands up in the shape of a v. I do the same and join in:
Fortune’s always hiding; I’ve looked everywhere
I’m forever blowing bubbles, Pretty Bubbles in the air!

UNITED! We clap three times rhythmically UNITED!

We are not English. We don’t even like soccer. We pay no attention to the lyrics. We don’t even need to. It’s not even a song anymore, it’s a battle cry. It doesn’t matter what the context, or even where it came from. We adopted it, so this is what it is.

That’s how I remember it. That’s how everyone remembered it.

Finally, the ex-con says something.

-Maybe we were always chasing things that we could never catch.

And I say with a drunken slur, Dude, we can have it if we want. But we’re not gonna get it by beating up rich kids and stealing people’s money. Let’s just chill for now.

Suddenly I want another beer. Suddenly I want another cigarette. Suddenly I want to smoke some grass. Suddenly I want to go home and write everything that just happened down.

When I say goodbye to him, it’s a warm embrace. A manly embrace, if you will. No homo because, of course, if you express anything that even remotely resembles affection, you are a faggot. I ask him if he’s okay and he says yes. I don’t believe him.

-Take it easy man.

I go home. I open up the fridge. I drink another beer. I roll a joint, and I smoke it. I sit at the computer, and I type up a story about somebody just like me.

And I pray to God that he reaches the age of 20.

Very interesting piece, man.

You should be able to get somebody to publish this, I think. It's a literary for thuglit, but you might run it by them.

I would suggest checking the punctuation in the first line. Is it really saying and doing what you want? Comma after "say" maybe?

Nice item.

[Cuchulain]

Thuglit? That is the first time I've ever heard of something like that. Is that suppossed to be some kind of hip hop literary genre? Please explain.

[Icarus]

Very good and very interesting. I love the last line.

Punctuation is a little off in a few places, I think. If you need me to point things out, I will.

Otherwise, well done. I wish I had something more useful to say.

[Cuchulain]

I love the last line.

Really? I thought it was little cheesy, especially since I "borrowed" the idea for that line from the esteemed John Williamson, who wrote the poem 'Where are your Children tonight'. You may have heard of it. But still, it did get the point I wanted to make across quite well while at the same time ending it in a nice, orderly fashion.

As for my punctuation, yes I would love to see where I went wrong but the fact that you didn't post it seems to show that you don't really want to and that's fine with me. I hate punctuation.

And sorry if it seems like I'm rambling on, but I wish to "encourage" dialouge about my writing, if you get my drift. It's a marketing thing :wink:

You shouldn't have published me. Ever since I was "In Pencil" (applause please for that lame joke) I look down on all you so called "writers"

[Icarus]

Ahahahaha, it does ring a bell, now that you mention it.

I'm happy to point out the punctuation. Now, to see if I can find it all again....

-It’s been a long time since those days, I say taking a drink.

I agree with Lin on this one. Comma after say.

he nods his head; takes a shot.

Comma, not semi-colon.

I say laughing.

Same as the first one. Comma after say.

That’s right laugh,

Comma after right.

Then he sits, and he cries.

Was he not sitting before?

meaningless violence, alcohol, and, least importantly, soccer.

Technically, this can’t stand alone as a sentence, which means the semi-colon you put in front of it doesn’t work. But I think I get why you punctuated it the way you did, so I’m not sure how else you should punctuate it. Sorry!

I like to take all my problems, and imagine it’s a face.
Then I stomp that face repeatedly, and the problem goes away

I think with both of these you could do away with the commas.

but I’m stumbling all over the place too

Comma after place.

I roll a joint, and I smoke it. I sit at the computer, and I type up a story about somebody just like me.

Same as above. No commas necessary.

That better?

You shouldn't have published me. Ever since I was "In Pencil" (applause please for that lame joke) I look down on all you so called "writers"

Applauding as requested.
As long as you share some of your new found wisdom that comes with seeing your name in print with everyone else, you can look down on us.

[Cuchulain]

That better?

Much better. Now get off my thread, you scum.

J/k I corrected it.

Applauding as requested.
As long as you share some of your new found wisdom that comes with seeing your name in print with everyone else, you can look down on us.

Word. Even though I could never try to think of In Pencil as some kind of big step or something (no offence) it has given me some needed confidence.

I was pleased just to find out "Bubbles" wasn't the name of a pet.

http://www.thuglit.com/submissions.htm

[Cuchulain]

Originally Posted by Lin

I was pleased just to find out "Bubbles" wasn't the name of a pet.

http://www.thuglit.com/submissions.htm

Wow, looks really interesting. It's too bad they won't let me see what those goddamned submissions look like so I know exactly what they're looking for. I feel like I have a story or two somewhere that just might fit the kinda thing they're looking for, but none of them are really crime oriented they are just about people who so happen to be criminals.

Go to their home page at this link, click on Issue 24 and each story you click there will download a pdf of the story.
They are kind of specialized in a stylized, 'hood hip sort of way. But it's worth sending them that piece. They respond in a couple of weeks. Also, you can get on the mailing list for future issues if you want to.

http://www.thuglit.com/home.html

[Brad S.]

Crazy piece man...There's a lot there, and a lot more that you could still do. It's good already, but you could fatten it up a little with no ill effects. That's always nice. It's a strange idea this, and not something I'd ever think about writing. Fake English Hoods. English hoods are great subject matter.

Nice work.

[Cuchulain]

Originally Posted by Brad S.

Crazy piece man...There's a lot there, and a lot more that you could still do. It's good already, but you could fatten it up a little with no ill effects. That's always nice. It's a strange idea this, and not something I'd ever think about writing. Fake English Hoods. English hoods are great subject matter.

Nice work.

Yeah I definitely could get more indepth about it, but I prefer breaking things up into these little vignettes.