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I had to write a short story for a friend’s magazine. But I was drawing blanks.
The emptiness was equal and diametrically opposite to the intensity of the last haiku attack.

I tried to lock myself in that attic at my own place. To no avail. Even my satiated mistress, the wife of a sanctimonious professor, a Marxist Don Quixote, tried all her wiles but could not help me.

I figured I would try my luck at the Full Moon.

Across this snooty coffee shop with the green awning I noticed CompuNation. For a hundred smelly dollars, I picked up a used notebook and a charger.
At my favorite table I started typing: latte and rain make me insane.
I copied it and pasted it about twenty times.

I noticed people watching me. Perfect. I order a latte, a margarita and an idea.

I reached into my sport jacket for my Lucky Strikes. They are my muse.

I breathed in the rings of smoke, I thought of forests of sandalwood, of my mistress and I, an irretrievable Swiss Couple Robinson. This was a good start. I don’t need to type this up at all. I would sit and observe and listen to the lazy scat vocals from the Latin jazz bar next door.

I made it look like I am fed up with the laptop. I pounded on it like a mad Russian at the United Nations. I kept pasting the same latte and rain make me insane. I knew I was drawing attention. I snuck peeks while shaking off my cigarette onto the keyboard.

I put out the cigarette on the keys. I crumbled the rest of the lucky Strikes and sprinkled the tobacco all over that laptop . On it I crumpled a napkin and made a bonfire out of it. I dumped my coffee and margarita on the fire, right into the N-U-T-Z trapezoid. Without fighting the fire, the drinks disappeared into the depths of the laptop.

Watching the people was priceless. The material was coming in rich and thick. So was the fire and the smoke. Now I could stop.

With the perfect composure of a Marxism professor grading midterm papers, I closed the laptop and that put out the fire. I threw it into the trash can four feet away. I sat back and watched, the lines of the stories popping in my mind like a runaway popcorn to the wild and jazzing piano of Tito Puente.

Apparently the laptop was the necessary sacrifice to bring down mercy from heaven. A young, Heidi-like maiden, flexible as a ballerina, fragrant as a lavender meadow trodden by a virgin running to meet her cradle-robbing lover, came near to sit down at the adjoining table.

“Are you OK?” she asked me. “Do you need help with –”
I don’t remember what she was saying. I was transfixed by the opening sentence:
Virgin lips hugged a straw full of white creamy liquid.
I was spellbound: the lips curved and tensed, angelic dimples formed.

“Yes,” I answered.
She started to wipe the latte off my floppy briefcase.

“Oh, my God! You know my sister? Sue, what are you doing here?” I heard the voice.

This was none other than Mrs. Trotsky, my satiated mistress, the wife of a sanctimonious professor, a Marxist Don Quixote. Sometimes she accused me of being a scatterbrained professor. Sometimes she was my best supporter. I was her Master, she my Margarita.

“I figured you’d be here. Do you have the story?” she asked.
“You are a writer?” asked her sister.

I looked at my wonderful Trotskyite in an angora sweater. I looked at Sue’s lips waiting for my answer. I smiled at them and at the future.

“Yes,” I answered both questions.



Author's Note:
Haikus In The Attic- http://www.lit.org/view/18701





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Comments

The following comments are for "The Master and Margaritas"
by Teflon

Feeling Quizzical
I really don't know what to say about this piece. There was some intriguing use of language, certain pictures vividly portrayed... but in other places, I found the language to be tedious, confusing and imprecise (ie. my satiated mistress--satiated by what?). Ultimately, I just didn't care about the protagonist or his lack of inspiration. When his creativity returned, I felt nothing except irritation with the constant and inexplicable references to communism.

( Posted by: pharseer [Member] On: November 15, 2004 )

Worth it all
"Virgin lips hugged a straw full of white creamy liquid.
I was spellbound: the lips curved and tensed, angelic dimples formed."

These lines alone could have sufficed, but I also loved the part about the haiku attack. That was a nice flash, Teflon.
"Angelic dimples formed." I just had to say it one more time...

( Posted by: brickhouse [Member] On: November 15, 2004 )

flight of fancy
Your aerial acrobatics of imagination confound my ground-bound mind. The straw thing is hot stuff. The sisters seem hotsky to Trotsky.

I imagine a Marxist Don Quixote would spend his spare time tilting at windfalls.

My Favorite Marxism:
"I don't want to belong to any party that would have me as a member."

( Posted by: drsoos [Member] On: November 15, 2004 )

satiated mistresses and windmills

Language is tedious, confusing and imprecise? Great! Shouldn't it be when someone is overwhelmed by the situation, the female form, the flashes of thoughts uncommittable to either paper or computer?
I'd say the imrpecision was my goal. I certainly didn't want to be technical and methodical.

"my satiated mistress" "satiated by what?" - need that be elucidated? at the college where I live it is almost a French thing to do - a wife or a girlfriend of a flaming professor actually finds a more satiating times in the arms of down-to-earth small-time writer.

Why not feel for the protagonist?. The constant and inexplicable references to communism are only two, not counting a simile of a Russian at the UN. The term paper grading is favorable, almost constructive.

Maybe now that you see it is not a method, but impressionistic writing, you can try your hand at it, too?

DrSoos, I guess Marxist Don Quixotes spend their time reading lectures and extra-credit courses on Hobsbawn and Gramsci. I know. I checked this out

Regards,

Al-Taffloun



( Posted by: Teflon [Member] On: November 16, 2004 )

Masters and Margaritas
I found your fascination with woman and your vocabulary in this piece to be most intriguing. You are a gifted writer. Would have loved to read this as a short story so I wouldn't have to imagine what your character was inspired to write.
Good Read, Tef.

Nae

( Posted by: nae411 [Member] On: November 16, 2004 )

re: master and margaritas
Teflon, this piece made me smile. Whether intended by you or just my own perception, I found your protag to be a whimsical, confident kind of man. I think the glimpse at the inside of his mind did the trick. How he might appear to the patrons of the coffee shop is another matter.

Anyway, nice language and confidence made this a memorable piece in my opinion.

Safiyah~

( Posted by: Safiyah [Member] On: January 17, 2005 )

@Safiyah
Thanks Safiyah. Where have you been? I haven't seen you since I've join Lit. Your "So very important" was the first story I ever read here and I knew I liked Flash, and scores of my flashes I had had up my sleeve up to that point could be at home right here.

I like exploring creative minds through writing about them.

Tef.

( Posted by: Teflon [Member] On: January 17, 2005 )

The Master and Margaritas
The last line made me smile...I can only imagine what he is thinking! :)

( Posted by: Eleanor [Member] On: February 13, 2005 )

Trotzky
Thank you. It is so nice to read me in your thigns. I am determined to pore through everything you posted here, comments included, as if looking at myself in the mirror.
- the sister thing is truly aerial acrobatics.

( Posted by: VickieSALT [Member] On: April 15, 2011 )





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