Sunday, March 24, 2013

Twitter Fiction Still Wrestling With Formal Cause: This Week's "The Golden Parachute" Tweets!

Here are Week 10 @Twitstery tweets of "The Golden Parachute" the amazing new sequel to Executive Severance

"You saw him when you were alone?" "If not a ghost perhaps a clone?" “A ghost or clone it couldn’t be.” "Who told a knock-knock joke to me?"

"Malt does more than Milton can to justify God's ways to man." Suddenly I realize something odd is going on here. Why isn't Dash lisping?

And did he just accuse me of drinking too many milkshakes? Somehow I have slipped into a rhyming sequence with Dash. How did he do that?

I must proceed carefully if I am to get any benefit from this interview. Dash seems to be confirming what Dot said about their clones.

Whatever I do, I must stop rhyming everything he says. "Arkaby, are you deranged?" OK. Careful now. "Dash, your speech has changed." Damn!

I complete whatever Dash says as a rhymed couplet. Wait! If I speak first, he'll be forced to follow me. "Yes. I don't lisp anymore." Damn!

OK don't rhyme 'anymore'. "You've made real oral progress." "Bridgework changed my speech of yore." "Something useful to redress." Damn!

What's happening? Now I rhyme myself! I must cut this off. "Arkaby, you're running dry." "I can't talk right now. Goodbye." Damn! I hang up.

That went well. My visitor was neither a ghost nor a clone. Out of options, my only recourse is to find Regi and stop the world from ending.

What makes rhyming so compelling? While I consider this, my phone chimes. "Hello?" "You're a poet and you don't know it." >Click< "Hello?"

I've been called many things in my professional crime fighting career. "Poet" isn't one of them. If this gets out my rep will be ruined.

I can't afford to continue on this case if my ability to fight criminals is impaired. Unless…it's said the pen is mightier than the sword.

People often steer clear of poetry because they get scared off by traditional verse's off-putting formats and complex themes. Works for me.

Time for a break. I go to the vending area where I purchase a tall, cool (your product could be promoted here with a link to your web page.)

Ahhhh, sheer poetry! So much for Twitter marketing. Now I'm ready. Regi's university has administrative offices an hour's drive out of town.

On the road I think about the kind of man Granger was to me. I haven't walked in his shoes, but I have stepped in his ofal. I stop to tweet.

Still on the road, not tweeting while driving. Granger's image floats before me, man or shade. Shade more than man, more image than shade.

Stopped again for a bathroom break. Granger's doppelganger alleged he hailed the superhuman. I call it death-in-life and life-in-death.

After my previous out-of-body experience I avoid auto multitasking. Thus it takes longer to get to the administrative offices than expected.

It's late in the heart of nowhere when I pull up to the two-story structure housing the school stateside. "No Parking" signs line the street

I stop at a fire hydrant and search for the ramshackle building's entrance. I see a law office and a water taxi service, but no med school.

(The Twitter Mystery continues daily at @Twitstery)

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