Here’s a snippet from an upcoming short story. Thanks for reading.
The day that my potato exploded in the microwave was an eye opener. It was a sign…an omen. A message from the powers that be. Maybe I’d nuked that fucker for too long, or maybe I just didn’t give a shit. Either way, that little vegetable bastard decided to commit culinary suicide and blew itself spud first all over the confines of the microwave with a mere five seconds left. I mean, c’mon…it couldn’t have kept its composure for a measly five more seconds? Suck it up, god damn it! I had no money left, I had no lunch, and I was hungry enough to eat the scum out of the bottom of a homeless man’s shoes. It was definitely a sign…an omen…a message from the powers that be.
Sometimes a room is sleek and clean and minimal. Other times, it’s bold and breathtaking and thought provoking. And then there are times when it’s so outlandishly ridiculous, that it becomes instantly amazing. This week’s space is that sort of room. The owner of this home obviously has a mountain of books, and perhaps minimal horizontal space in which to expand. So what do you do? Go up. This vertically dominant room soars to the heavens in a dangerously curious way. It’s design is peculiar, dangerous, but rather creative, and either way, the owner’s precious book collection remains intact and precariously accessible (by way of a twenty foot ladder). This is certainly a book lover’s room. Let the daydreams (or nightmares for those afraid of heights) commence.
This week’s space conjures up a tropical vibe, and I’d say that it’s more than just the addition of the potted plant that contributes to that ambiance. It could be just me, but I’m reminded of a warm, sunlit terrace on a summer afternoon…surrounded by an ocean of books. It’s a great space, with a few clever parallels; the heavy, rustic elements play very well alongside the fragility of the books, and the sunlight adds a splash of color that gives life to the dense, cold stone. It’s a nice, tidy, quiet space to sit alone and collect the thoughts. This is indeed a book lover’s room…let the daydreams commence.
There are home libraries…and then there are library homes. This week’s space is by far among the greatest and most obvious examples of a book lover’s private paradise. It would be accurate to state that the owner of this home loves to read, as the upper stories are dedicated to a quite sizable book collection. With ample sunlight and a quiet, efficient, well provisioned little nook on the uppermost level, this does appear to be a space where one could kick back and read, or post up and get some work done. In fact, the only true indicator that this is even a home is the kitchen table resting nearly on the first floor. Let the daydreams commence.
Certain rooms call for certain things, depending on differing tastes. Some rooms liven up with various colors, others with specific design elements…while others come alive with whiskey and a cigar (or pipe). This is that room. It’s as if this room was carved out of a solid block of wood; fine, bold, rich, sturdy construction, elegant accoutrements, and a supple leather sofa add up to a high degree of refinement. With books galore and subtle, understated (but sufficient) lighting, this room is perfect for reading, smoking, or taking a nip out of the old tumbler. This is most certainly a book lover’s room. Let the daydreams commence.
This is intended to be a tale of growth, understanding, and redemption…below is just a snippet. Check it out if you’d like. Best of days to all.
I wasn’t worth a damn on paper. In the paper world, the document world, the world of resumes and economic status, I was fucking worthless. Bullshit administrative work here, run of the mill labor there, hum drum office experience way over there…hell, my resume was less than toilet paper. Looking at that bad boy made me question everything. Is this what it had come to? Is this what all the years of busting my ass have amounted to? Jack shit? I may as well have been anonymous. Just another warm body to feed the greedy corporate carnivores. A chalkboard whose teachings had long since been scrubbed clean.
But clean slates can still educate, right? They can still learn. Clean slates still hold value, however anonymous they are…they can still speak of success. I had to remind myself of that. But I was never successful at anything. Well, failing…I was very good at that. I was successful at failing. Hell, at fucking shit up, I was a professional. The best. I could turn a nugget of gold into a fistful of shit at the drop of a dime. All in a day’s work.