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Lester Bangs Memorial Reading Oct 21, 2014 Grossmont faculty and alumni writers, along with special guests, read their original works of poetry, fiction and creative nonfiction in tribute to “America’s Greatest Rock Critic.” In Room 220 of Building 26. 54 other events on Tuesday, October 21
 
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With few specifics on who they were looking for, officers held the wrong man at gunpoint
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Steve Martin and Edie Brickell’s musical leads our rundown of local plays

 

 
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Home / Blogs / Canvassed
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Thursday, Nov 10, 2011 - Canvassed | Art & culture

Fiction 101 from CityBeat staff

Intra-office flash fiction about a reggae band, a long distance romance, a horrible big-box store accident and more

By Dave Maass
One of the worst things about writing for CityBeat is that we are forbidden from entering our own annual Fiction 101 flash-fiction competition

Here were are, a bunch of talented, professional writers who are used to working magic with tight word counts and we can't even enter the only competition in town where that means something. It really kinda blows. 

So, last year we indulged our egos by publishing our own entries on this blog. And we're doing it again, dammit, because we rule. Enjoy:

Friends With Dreads

With Desmond Dekker’s buttery voice, Lenny Kravitz’s hair (circa 1995) and Frodo Baggins’s powerful bare feet, the singing white man was like a Voltron of rastafarian perfection. His performance was beautiful, moving and totally unacceptable.

“What’s this?” Jahmarcus cried.

The music stopped, leaving everyone in the room longing for more.

“Dis is Marley,” said Yabbi, annoyed. “Our new singer. We’re jamming.”

As Marley nodded--“sup”--his blonde dreadlocks bounced like fuzzy golden slinkies. Jahmarcus’s hair used to bounce like that, before his controversial haircut last week.

“But... what about me?”

“Sorry, Jah, but you don’t really have the right look... anymore.”

Adam Vieyra, art director
***


Please list the Condition(s) for which you seek relief with Medical Marijuana 

I was riding up the escalator at Target when a kid tried to surf down the shopping cart conveyor.

Horror buried under my tongue like an icy lozenge. If he wiped out, the conveyor belt teeth would’ve shredded him like old medical records. He offered a high five as we passed.

The kid maintained balance until the dismount, then—face plant. The conveyor spat cart after cart over his body. As the escalator carried me away, a pool of blood expanded across the white tile.

Now whenever I see a bull’s eye, I puke. So, nausea.

I also sometimes get migraines.


Dave Maass, staff writer


***

La Perception

Since her first breath, perception of color was limited to black, white, and every imaginable gray in-between. No one could quite figure out why. Just was. 

She'd often hear talk of all the curious and wondrous colors of the world. Like the periwinkle blue of the sky, or the crimson red on her teacher's paper thin lips. 

To her, you see, the color "red" was a dusky shade of gray. But the same held true for a range of other hues.

What was peculiar about her was, when asked if it was color she could see, her response was always "Oui."

Andrea Aliseda, editorial intern

***

30-day Warranty 

He first came in a year ago. A pair of blue chrome Skullcandy earbuds, $19.99. One of the ears had gone out. He’d bought them 29 days before. “We can take care of that,” I said, checking his receipt and handing him a new pair.

He’s come back on the 29th every month since. Funny thing is, each pair looks worse and worse. Today, the buds were smashed to pieces, the cord violently stretched to twice its length, the rubber ear-pieces melted into freakish little blobs.

“We can take care of that,” I said, not even bothering to check the receipt. 

Peter Holsin, music editor

***

Long-distance pillow talk

“What would a fish queef sound like?”

“Blup, blup, blup, bleeeeeep.”

“LOL.”

“What are you talking about? That’s definitely worthy of a ROFL.”

“Yeah, but I’m in bed already, so, can’t really roll on the floor. Miss you.”

“Missouri sucks. Miss you, too.”

She tucked her iPhone back into her purse. The sound of the squealing showerhead stopped and she heard his wet feet slapping against the cheap laminate flooring.

“Whew. That was good. Ready for round two?”

The fucking commenced as the iPhone slipped out, FaceTime still in full swing.

Kinsee Morlan, arts and culture editor

***

The June Child

She tried to keep her knees locked together. She didn’t want it to happen. It couldn’t happen. It wasn’t right. But there she was, watching a child forcing its way out of her vaginal canal. A child she feared would be an abomination. You see, it was June. And this was unheard of. Yes, children are born in June all the time all over the world. But not here. Not in this family. They were all September children since anyone could ever remember. Everyone waited both scared and excited. Mostly scared. What came didn’t have horns or scales. Just brown hair.

Alex Zaragoza, calendar editor

 
 
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