The Resurrection (not really) of Rodney Dylan

As I was cleaning out my closet, packing and throwing away random shit, all the while preparing for my move, I stumbled upon two Rodney Dylan pieces I don’t remember ever writing.  The first one is the shortest and (I think) is supposed to take place directly after the conversation between Rodney and the Lauren Z. in the cafeteria
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Rodney walked, nose pointed towards the ceiling and hands in his pockets, out of the Student Union.  Lauren Z., not far behind him, had a nose in a book (called The Tao of Pooh).  She made it very clear, despite her best efforts, that she was walking with Rodney; for anyone who sees a person walk quickly with their face parallel with the sky and then immediately see someone quickly following with their nose in a book on which Winnie the Pooh is on the cover flying kite knows they are close acquaintances.
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Who knows where I was going with that.  This next (and last) one, well, shit I don’t even have a clue how the hell I ever thought this up.  Try to enjoy.
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“Port”
Often times the two girls would look at each other.  No expression of any sort would light their faces, except for a peculiar look of understanding.  No smile would part the lips with teeth behind them begging for attention.  No frown would shrivel the lips into an accordian.  Only understanding.  But what was it they were able to understand about each other with just a simple stare?  Life?  Death?  A simple sisterly bond?  Maybe it can be said it was just a mixture of all three.  Perhaps they understood that they existed and that that phenomenon was the only thing in a universe so vast that truly mattered.  Politics, science, war, love, literature, and everything else meant little to nothing when they realized they existed here and now.

Rodney put down the book and pondered to ponder a bit.  “Exist.  It is cosmically close to the word ‘exit.’  Except there is an ’s’ in the way.”  He wondered if his body was the ’s’ in the way of his soul to exit into the nothing of nothingness.  No, wait.  His soul was the ’s’ in the way of the body which wants to exit into the earth.  He looked at the book.  He noticed it was upside down.  He put it down again.  He squinted his eyes and remembered where he was.  “Oh my, oh my, I’ve misplaced my Lauren Z.”

“Airports!” cried Lauren Z.  The man in front of her in line looked over his shoulder with an interested glance.  Lauren Z. did not notice because her hands were over her eyes.  The man lost interest and focused on his Hustler magazine again.  He imagined he was a tiny man and could play the guitar inside of the woman’s vagina he was not staring at.  He never realized he had just then given birth to the most brilliant sub-genre of pornography.  Lauren Z.’s eyes became wide with wonder when she realized where she was.  “Airports!” she exclaimed again and shot her hands back up to her eyes.

“Going to Hawaii and the Lauren Z. has gone missing on me,” said a distant Rodney.

Ominous Skies: or, a Catastrophe! Evaded

DEAR JOURNAL,,,…!!!

THERE IS SOMETHING strange occurring, perhaps a change, perhaps NOT.  On this fair and humid morning, when Apollo’s magnificent chariot of rays and flame burst triumphantly through the panes of the window of my quarters, an UNPLEASANT sensation seized me.  Journal, my eyes were closed, so I was not able to perceive what exactly was SEIZING me, but know this, the sensation was coming from the area in and around my mouth.

MY EYES shot open and then immediately closed as tight as a sewer grate on a rich man’s avenue!  CURSE YOU, APOLLO.  Your powerful and terrific rays proved a worthy opponent to my weak and mortal eyes.  Therefore, journal, I was unable to understand or venture to accurately make an educated guess at what the sensation in and around my mouth WAS.

I resorted to a different route of perception: that of FEELING.  I admit, journal, this is an unsavory path to take (you know my worldview as it pertains to feelings and EMOTION).  Unsurprisingly, you may find, my old enemy and terrible rival and little devil makes its appearance in this ENTRY.

You see, journal, once I resorted to FEELING and TOUCHING my senses sensed warmth and thousands of hairs inside and around my eating ORIFICE.  HE was attempting to suffocate me, journal!

“HELP ME,” I pronounced with muffled vigor to the gods.  (They did not hear me this day, I escaped without their help, you will see, through fortitude and bravery).

“Oh?” asked the little orange beast with FLAMES, yes FLAMES, flashing in his eyes!

“PERISH foul monster, abhorred beast!  Take that!” I roared as I landed a tremendous swipe upon his cursed little head.

JOURNAL, he escaped my strike unscathed.  He chuckled maniacally, the horrible demon, and placed his feline body upon my face once again.  However, I rolled swiftly with great agility and made a hurried dash for the bathroom door.

He taunts and mocks me journal, even now, as I sit here quivering with fear and adrenaline.