|Very Slight Stories | Like short stories, only shorter.||
Tuesday, February 03, 2009
What is right today? Is that right? What is wrong? Is that wrong? What is good? Are triangles good? Is it safe to step outside? Are triangles safe? When Claudia ran into the back of a polar bear did the two become one? Am I safe from the polar bear? Am I in more danger now that Claudia and the polar bear are one? Did I call Claudia a toad? What's red and what's blue? Is that blue? Is blue red? What did I read about colours? Where did I read it? What did I read about Kant? If Kant had run into the back of a polar bear and they became one before Kant had written his major philosophical works, would he have gone on to write his major philosophical works? If Claudia emerged from the polar bear with Kant and they were holding hands, and they announced their decision to get married, would I punch Kant in the face? Would I congratulate them, then go home and cry? Would they already have achieved a union more fundamental than marriage, having both become one with the same polar bear? Would the polar bear be a fundamental part of their marriage? Would Kant be able to produce his major philosophical works if he was married to a polar bear? Or would a marriage to Claudia be an even greater impediment? This is a question I urgently need to answer.
The Tree and the Horse
A Walk in the Rain
The East Cork Patents Office
Words are my favourite noises
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|very slight stories||
They Met a Bear
They stopped in a small seaside town and they went for a walk. They met a bear.
This is one version of the story. In another version, they met a sailor, and in this one they ended up being held at gunpoint on a speedboat and becoming unwilling participants in a diamond robbery while disguised as a cow, and sharing in the proceeds of that crime.
So when they tell the story they just say, "We met a bear. He waved at us."
The Story of the Fortune Teller and the Alarm Clock
A fortune teller threw an alarm clock at me. This story is deliberately lacking in details to mock the predictions of the fortune teller. Although she was right when she said she'd throw an alarm clock at me.
One. Two. Three, the study. Four, a candle stick. Five. Six...
Seven is missing, presumed dead. One has taken up the case, and two is helping him in his investigations. They both suspect six. Seven was last seen next to six in the garden.
But seven isn't really dead. He's consumed half a bottle of whiskey and he's currently in the orchard, talking to a rabbit. "One of us is as boring as a gate post," he says, "and it's not..." He stops to count on his fingers. "No, actually it is me."
Eight nine ten.
Debbie and his dog
Debbie was sick of people mistaking her for a man.
"Is your dog my parole officer?"
She was sick of people asking her that too.
More blogs about Storytelling.