Sometimes All That Remains Is Dandruff

brush cropped
remains of the day    ©TD2016

 

And there are things

which are not possible

it’s not the wrong season
it’s not the wrong hour
it’s not the wrong place

they are not supposed to be
and only God knows why

and every time a part of you softly dies
and every thing that cannot happen
happens somewhere else

it’s there where we’ll meet.

Hedda in Hollywood – prompt

Untitled-3
©TD2016

(onehundredeightyfourwordsflashfiction)

Hedda Hoffman was an underpaid extra starlet, hanging around the Paramount Studio lot waiting for her big time. There were so many hopefuls just like her but she not only had resources, she was also resourceful and no one would ever be able to claim she’d slept her way to the top.

Her wedding ring was a prop and if that wasn’t enough for the groping talent scouts’ hands, Hedda would whisper gently and conspiratorially in their ear that she was suffering from a not-so-rare sexually transmittable disease. That usually cut short any kind of amorous fervour and bodily exploration, but was also risky because she didn’t want to end up as gossip fodder in Louella’s Hollywood Reporter.

So, one step at a time. Yep, it was a men’s business but she wanted to make it on her own terms, not for nothing was her favourite smoking place underneath the big Klieg light, even if the emanating heat liquefied her carefully applied make-up.

7.30 am. There came Mr. Grant, on the dot as usual.  She had skillfully re-arranged the cables so that he had to trip.

And who would catch his fall if not Hedda?

44 life magazine_cropped
Life Magazine 1944

This story emerged from a prompt by Hausauspapier using today’s date (21st Feb in my case). If you want to join in, take the book you are reading or the one closest to you. Open it on page 21 (day), copy the second sentence (month) and add your own sentence or write a whole story.
Mine was David Niven’s autobiography Bring On The Empty Horses about the Golden Age in Hollywood and the sentence was ‘Kick her up the ass!’ Sure enough Hedda went into action again.
I’m carrying this clever prompt forward and you are invited to participate with a link in the comments section or by leaving a comment.

And if the muse sticks by you – here is the link to a Dangerous Liaisons prompt. 

I’m looking forward to your contributions!

 

Mona Lisa Sm:-(le

Thomas Ricker flickr Mona lisa suck
photo: Thomas Ricker

(onehundredandtwentysevenwordsflashfiction)

Lisa del Giocondo was fed up with keeping that phony smile on her lips. These fools didn’t know that the only reason she smiled so awkwardly was to hide the wooden braces which had been fitted to correct her crooked teeth.

Dio mio, she wasn’t amused at all. Not by these gaping visitors, not by being trapped inside a frame or hanging by a thread… the corners of her mouth seemed to be pulled upwards by ever-tightening hooks.

Then this god-damn CCTV and guards everywhere… nowhere was she able to spend some time in peaceful solitude.

The lights in the Louvre went off. Lisa had been meticulously plotting her escape for 502 years, 13 days and 8 hours.

Finally the moment had come.

Mona Lisa_curtain

©DagmarBaumunk2016

Nostalgia Isn’t What It Used To Be

Elderly_Woman_,_B&W_image_by_Chalmers_Butterfield
photo: Chalmers Butterfield

twohundredandfiftyfivewordsflashfiction

I woke up early again this morning. I look outside but I don’t see anything. Everything is taking place inside myself. Sometimes I wonder if everything has taken place inside of me always. And everything and everyone on the outside was just a projection of my dreams, fears and longings.

After all these years, so little feels real. Or indeed lived. What if I never really lived? What if I was born dead and been living my life as a ghost? A ghost with human flesh and human features. Something which resembles a body, with a functioning brain and heart. With limbs that move but never go anywhere or touch anything.

Even now clasping my hands I don’t feel them. I could touch the lace curtain but I already know what it feels like. There is light. I’ve always loved it, especially the soft light in the afternoons which illuminates but doesn’t expose things I don’t want to see.

It’s better just to sit here and not move. Waiting. But not really waiting. Longing. But not really longing anymore. I often wonder if we are given a fair chance to live a real life or if instead we get mauled and torn and merely limp through our lives, never letting go of our crutches. And only at the very end realising we didn’t need them. That we could have taken a chance.

But then I forget all these silly thoughts and questions that don’t lead anywhere and instead just sit here, not looking at anything.

 

©DagmarBaumunk2015

The One Thing You Can’t Do Without

90ies throwback to Bohemian times (pic Francesco Falciano)
90ies throwback to Bohemian times (photo credit: Francesco Falciani)

Friend (pronounced /frɛnd/)
1.  person with whom one has a bond of mutual affection, typically one exclusive of sexual or family relations.
2. a member of the Religious Society of Friends; a Quaker.

Friends are usually people. If you don’t have people friends, animals make a satisfying substitute. Imaginary friends are great as well because it means that you are your own best friend. Whether you like it or not, friends are a mirror of your life, your heart, your mind, your soul. Continue reading

We’ll Always Have Paris

Most things are best left to the imagination.
Most things are best left to the imagination.

Does anybody actually have time to read blogs or anything for that matter?

If truth be told, I need several lives. Fortunately, Reincarnation is there for each and everyone of us. At least the Buddhists don’t differentiate between believers/good and non-believers/bad. On a whole, they are far less judgmental and critical than the Catholics with their pre-planned itineraries of: GOOD people this way please and the BAD turn right at the corner and down the escalator which will take you to where we all know where. Continue reading

Being a Legal Alien

fish and chips 1 croppedOr A German In London
*Warning: clichés and stereotypes  abound

I first came to Britain on a class trip in 1992 and nothing prepared me for the melting pot that was and is London. Walking down the street, I couldn’t believe the sheer diversity of faces, nationalities, religions and cultures. This was G. E. Lessing’s dream of (religious) tolerance put into practice in everyday Britain in the late 20th century. Coming from a country where there was hardly any non-German soul living/working/studying/on benefits – this was extraordinary. Continue reading

Which Muppet Are You?

Austro-Hungarian émigrés Statler & Waldorf always felt more like Animal inside
Austro-Hungarian émigrés Statler & Waldorf always felt more like Animal inside

Ha! I’ve just used click bait. In order to lure you onto this page I cunningly posed a question you are dying to find the answer to. Now I got you here but in order to find out which Muppet you are, you will have to read the whole post. No claim, no pain, no gain.

I could have also used a statement which gets you witlessly worried, such as: You Won’t Believe the Effect the Internet’s Having On Your Brain. Actually, that’s quite a scary subject matter and I will deal with this in another post.

But back to the essential bits of life. The other week a friend complained about not being able to go online for 2! hours, sending her into a spiral of Weltschmerz and meaninglessness. Not a stranger to smug replies, I suggested, try reading a book, wink wink.

That’s when karma got me by the derriere. Only when it happened to me, it wasn’t just 2 hours but a whole week of being sans internet. And no, I couldn’t use my phone because my data-allowance lasts a whole day these days because:
1. I didn’t listen to my friend Rubi when I got my contract.
2. Instagram used to be something other people did who didn’t have a life.

No. Internet. For. One. Week.

I wish I could say my sense of smell returned, or that I perceived colours more colourfully, or that suddenly there was a spring in my step and the sun shone brighter. But nay. I felt bereft. Somewhere I knew that there was still purpose to my life, I just had to find it. Quickly.

In order to maintain an air of dignified calm I kept telling myself, I don’t really need internet. Even people who think they really really need internet, don’t really need internet. They think they do, which is different. I think I do, which is not. To make sure, I looked up Maslow’s pyramid of life’s necessities, starting with the basic ones and going up to more unbasic ones. My fears were confirmed, the Internet was nowhere on it.

pyramid

Internet isn’t food. It isn’t housing. It isn’t friends. It isn’t air to breathe. It isn’t a life-partner, even though for some of us it might seem that way. To find out just how important the Internet is for you, answer this simple question (no, it’s not the Muppet one):    Would you die without Internet?

If your answer is a firm YES than there is nothing else to do but get unlimited data allowance, grab your recharger, stay close to a plug, smile at your phone lovingly, inhale deeply and hug it very very tightly.

If your answer is NO, then really I don’t know what to say. You obviously have a life. You must have found meaning elsewhere. Maybe even in the real world. Maybe in paper-bound books. Maybe in mixed tapes you rewind by turning your finger inside the serrated hole. Maybe you found it by wiping printer’s ink off your face. Maybe you are talking to real people in the real world. You might even be hugging trees instead of looking at a picture of one.

On a whole, you are wholly superior to the rest of us phone huggers. But remember, we are in a parallel universe, so don’t get bothered by us needing to be constantly online, because, after all, we are only trying to find out which Muppet we truly are.