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Sunday, February 14, 2010
FYI for Newsfeed Subscribers to CombatProse!
The kombat's at CombatWords! now. Thanks for subscribing to combatprose, without you, I wouldn't have seen the interest in this type of venue.
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Friday, February 12, 2010
Moving Traffic to combatwords.blogspot.com
Based off web hits, there was equal curiosity for combatprose and combatverse at first, but there's not much traction for either. I think it would make more sense to migrate both to http://combatwords.blogspot.com to make things more lively. Also, categories are restrictive.
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Topic, Feb 12, 2010: Fantasy Envy
Exley had Frank Gifford. Toki had his cat. Envy is not really the beginning, not the end here. It's more of a basic vicariousness... a source of voluptuous thought. Once we are finished with our anger, we still want to think about our subject of fixity.
Round 1: Fight!
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Round 1: Fight!
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Thursday, February 11, 2010
Thurs, Feb 11: Scary Monsters and Super Creeps
She swung her flail to hear enemies scream,
Throwing darts and knives, you know what I mean...
Scary girlfriend! Super creeps!
I know, this is CombatProse, but an incantation was the fastest way I could think of to get you in the mood. Monsters in my opinion, aren't completely hostile. See Theodore Sturgeon's "The Professor's Teddy Bear" for the scariest stuffed animal in literature. Vampires are boring. Zombies are boring. And see my essay 'on zombies' to see the classic monster cycle play itself out: werewolf time. The point is, monsters are by their nature, mirrors--avenues to our own horrible nature. The Vampire is the obsessive-compulsive: its rituals are necessary for its very existence. The Werewolf is the savage that lurks beneath every civilized person--whose bloodletting permits the civilized person to survive in a society that represses such primal instincts. The Zombie is a nuclear-age monster: an anthropomorphization of extinction. So real monsters, fantastic monsters--I don't really care--just be creative.
Now for the second half of the kombat rules: super creeps. 'Creep' is almost like a fnord in terms of how invisible its actual meaning has become: a creep is a specific type of freak. It's used too often as a word for someone you dislike--no, The older couple with stuffed, dead corpses of once-beloved pets all over their house? Creepy. The key is eccentricity: a presumption that their actions don't deviate from the norm. Creepiness comes from a misunderstanding or misapplication of social rules and norms--as well as a lack of empathy. A 'creep' was once, I think, what people called borderline sociopaths, hermits and olde tyme mild autistics. Throw a few Ed Geins in there and you you need a word to describe the type.
So, write of scary monsters and not just any sort of creep, a super-creep.
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Throwing darts and knives, you know what I mean...
Scary girlfriend! Super creeps!
I know, this is CombatProse, but an incantation was the fastest way I could think of to get you in the mood. Monsters in my opinion, aren't completely hostile. See Theodore Sturgeon's "The Professor's Teddy Bear" for the scariest stuffed animal in literature. Vampires are boring. Zombies are boring. And see my essay 'on zombies' to see the classic monster cycle play itself out: werewolf time. The point is, monsters are by their nature, mirrors--avenues to our own horrible nature. The Vampire is the obsessive-compulsive: its rituals are necessary for its very existence. The Werewolf is the savage that lurks beneath every civilized person--whose bloodletting permits the civilized person to survive in a society that represses such primal instincts. The Zombie is a nuclear-age monster: an anthropomorphization of extinction. So real monsters, fantastic monsters--I don't really care--just be creative.
Now for the second half of the kombat rules: super creeps. 'Creep' is almost like a fnord in terms of how invisible its actual meaning has become: a creep is a specific type of freak. It's used too often as a word for someone you dislike--no, The older couple with stuffed, dead corpses of once-beloved pets all over their house? Creepy. The key is eccentricity: a presumption that their actions don't deviate from the norm. Creepiness comes from a misunderstanding or misapplication of social rules and norms--as well as a lack of empathy. A 'creep' was once, I think, what people called borderline sociopaths, hermits and olde tyme mild autistics. Throw a few Ed Geins in there and you you need a word to describe the type.
So, write of scary monsters and not just any sort of creep, a super-creep.
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Tuesday, February 9, 2010
Canned Combat, Feb 10, 2010: The Hustle
Onyx was unchallenged yesterday and wrote about being the dupe: duped by hustle. In the spirit of survival of the fittest, today's topic is 'The Hustle.' Have you Hustled anyone? I'll tell you a story to get you in the mood:
Years ago, I used to play about a dozen games of chess a day. I was probably the worst of the best players in SF, because the only places I would lose a pick-up game were 5th and Powell (home to the street-hustler) and the Mechanic's Library (home to the grandmaster). In the days before I had a profession, I worked temp-jobs. Well, one day, I needed a tie for the job and I didn't have one and didn't have the cash to get one. I had 5 bux and that usually bought a cheap tie at the dry-cleaning shops along market, but I guess I hadn't been there for a while, because it was $8. So I walked to 5th and Powell, watched the players, saw a drunk Russian and decided he was my mark. I waited for him to finish his half-pint of morning vodka (7:25am or so) and challenged him. He laughed at this nothingmaster with a cheap white shirt and plastic shoes. Aha! But this nothingmaster took his bux playing 'The Elephant' (pawn wall variant--very tricky because of the tempos involved) on his Sicilian and before his buddies could complain (5th and Powell's denizens are more like Hep C B-side gangsters than hold a gat sideways and pop a bitch gangsters, knowwatimsayin?) I ran across the street, got my tie, and headed over to the Moscone Center for some delicious, $25/hr (in 1999 $) temp money.
It's my favorite ploy: be so ridiculous that my foe doesn't take me seriously until it's too late.
What's your favorite hustle?
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Years ago, I used to play about a dozen games of chess a day. I was probably the worst of the best players in SF, because the only places I would lose a pick-up game were 5th and Powell (home to the street-hustler) and the Mechanic's Library (home to the grandmaster). In the days before I had a profession, I worked temp-jobs. Well, one day, I needed a tie for the job and I didn't have one and didn't have the cash to get one. I had 5 bux and that usually bought a cheap tie at the dry-cleaning shops along market, but I guess I hadn't been there for a while, because it was $8. So I walked to 5th and Powell, watched the players, saw a drunk Russian and decided he was my mark. I waited for him to finish his half-pint of morning vodka (7:25am or so) and challenged him. He laughed at this nothingmaster with a cheap white shirt and plastic shoes. Aha! But this nothingmaster took his bux playing 'The Elephant' (pawn wall variant--very tricky because of the tempos involved) on his Sicilian and before his buddies could complain (5th and Powell's denizens are more like Hep C B-side gangsters than hold a gat sideways and pop a bitch gangsters, knowwatimsayin?) I ran across the street, got my tie, and headed over to the Moscone Center for some delicious, $25/hr (in 1999 $) temp money.
It's my favorite ploy: be so ridiculous that my foe doesn't take me seriously until it's too late.
What's your favorite hustle?
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Monday, February 8, 2010
Combat Prose for Feb 9, 2010
Are you too trusting? I am. When the dupe is you, how do you handle it?
I'll keep issuing topics until I see some traction here.
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I'll keep issuing topics until I see some traction here.
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Canned Topic, Feb 8, 2010
Write about someone who died with poignant compassion. I'll start.
I wrote a nasty, backhanded comment on a former colleague's obit website. She lied, cheated and stole, but she did it with the sad innocence of the fat girl who has to go home to an abusive household every day. If she didn't destroy so many people in the name of greed, I wouldn't have said anything. Instead, I said that people who knew her would never forget her. People who don't know me well thought it was such a warmhearted thing to say. Someone who knows me very well called me to say I'm a total bastard--while laughing. That was a strange phone-call. "The only winner here is her widower." "You're terrible. She has a three year old son." "Come on, it's not like the kid's nanny died." "'They'll never forget her!' I can't believe you wrote that!" "Everybody is talking about how tragic this is for the kid. What about the kids of all those people she ruined?" "..." "Yeah! That's right, you don't see them learning to crawl around our office." "Stop it. I feel guilty for laughing."
People I knew started dying after that. God's a fucking joker like that. The first grown-up death's funny; know what I mean? She drank herself to death at the age of 37, hardee har, har. Well, I just finished assembling God's secret code from stray letters in the National Enquirer and he assures me every and all future deaths I encounter will be just as funny to someone who hates the people I love, as I found my ex-colleague's to be.
--
Come on, prose isn't even my thing. Someone should be able to stomp this piece. Let's see what you've got?
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I wrote a nasty, backhanded comment on a former colleague's obit website. She lied, cheated and stole, but she did it with the sad innocence of the fat girl who has to go home to an abusive household every day. If she didn't destroy so many people in the name of greed, I wouldn't have said anything. Instead, I said that people who knew her would never forget her. People who don't know me well thought it was such a warmhearted thing to say. Someone who knows me very well called me to say I'm a total bastard--while laughing. That was a strange phone-call. "The only winner here is her widower." "You're terrible. She has a three year old son." "Come on, it's not like the kid's nanny died." "'They'll never forget her!' I can't believe you wrote that!" "Everybody is talking about how tragic this is for the kid. What about the kids of all those people she ruined?" "..." "Yeah! That's right, you don't see them learning to crawl around our office." "Stop it. I feel guilty for laughing."
People I knew started dying after that. God's a fucking joker like that. The first grown-up death's funny; know what I mean? She drank herself to death at the age of 37, hardee har, har. Well, I just finished assembling God's secret code from stray letters in the National Enquirer and he assures me every and all future deaths I encounter will be just as funny to someone who hates the people I love, as I found my ex-colleague's to be.
--
Come on, prose isn't even my thing. Someone should be able to stomp this piece. Let's see what you've got?
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Sunday, February 7, 2010
Feb 7, 2010 CombatProseThread
Go for it. Month's winner will get a cash prize if it's legal and feasible.
I'm not sure you have to register to play actually. I think you can just do it anon.
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I'm not sure you have to register to play actually. I think you can just do it anon.
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The Rules for CombatProse!
King of the Hill rules. Best writer gets the most unique nods by separate handles, which is why you must register for CombatProse! I think I'll issue an award to the month's winner. Previous day's champion is the next day's champion by default. Votes only count the day of the competition. I am in the early stages of the logistics on this, but I think this is promising. If there is a question of sockpuppetry, I'll have both parties contact me at the same time in such a manner I can ensure they're separate individuals.
Time stamps are important here. Also, this isn't craigslist or any other forum. You can not just gloat or cry, but win or lose.
Round 1, FIGHT!
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Time stamps are important here. Also, this isn't craigslist or any other forum. You can not just gloat or cry, but win or lose.
Round 1, FIGHT!
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