a combination of some old poems made into a longer prose/fiction piece to elaborate a story a little. something ill be working on, maybe not though.

1. history lesson
We sat on a park bench, or next to a park bench, Olivia talked quietly about the ant climbing on her leg. My name is Oliver Radson. My name is Oliver Radson. My name is Oliver Radson, I said this over and over in my head. My name is Oliver Radson and its 1904. I [Oliver Radson] touch Olivia's hand and take notice of the scar shaped like a bumblebee on the knuckle beneath her pinkey finger. I [Oliver Radson] stretch out in the sarcastic heat of November's sun, I, Oliver Radson.

We got up and walked through the city back to the houses we were born in. Olivia and I met in elementary school, back when her parents were still together, when people still loved each other. On Broadway we saw someone getting their haircut behind bulletproof glass. She asked me why anyone would ever shoot a gun into a barbershop, "I don't know", I said. I really didn't know though. Up a hill that brings you to the north side of town, a car rolled slowly and then more surely backwards, down that same hill to the south, nothing happened. We passed the middle school where we kissed for the first time, it was in the woods behind the playground. Later that year, we smoked our first joint there and made what we though was love in a pile of dead leaves and bark and twigs. Then later that year, nothing happened.

I remember perfectly though, the first time we fu.cked. She wore a marmalade dress that was cut well above her knees. I was stoned, lying on my back watching squirrels fight in the trees above. We both wondered how they jumped from tree to tree so seamlessly, so easily. She said, 'If we were squirrels I would never stop chasing you. I'd jump from branch to branch constantly harassing you, just because I could'. I remember seeing the face of Lincoln in the bark of a tree, and I remember seeing just bark on the base of another. Olivia inched toward me, barely placed her left leg over mine, undid my jeans, she kissed me carefully. There was something in her kiss that day I could never explain. Like the pleasure a bee gets from it's sting. Like the smoothness of a rock washed and re washed again in the ocean.

We progressed to make love, proceeded to devour the sentiment exchanged between a hummingbird and its flower that we drenched in sweat and dopamine. I could taste the endorphins on her tongue as she came. I could hear mountains move as we equated the love of the young with the contempt of the elder. Thinking of that day makes my head feel better, it makes my head feel better.

2. dirty projections
Continuing our walk, just a few blocks from our houses, Olivia mentioned her mother was gone for the weekend, some work seminar, she didn't catch what it was about. She's always had a way with implications. They're always too straightforward and give away whatever is on her mind. The way she moved her eyebrows when she said her mother was gone, I automatically knew she was thinking of the liquor cabinet in her basement. The way she moved her eyes to opposite side and grabbed my hand, I knew she was thinking of the queen size bed in her upstairs bedroom. Taking this all in, I told her I'd stay, for awhile at least.

She always forgot her keys so we had to push in the screen from the window in her living room. We did this a lot when we were younger, when we got caught we would say we 'misunderstood' our curfew. I went in first and went around to unlock the door. The living room in her house was always in disarray. Shades of lamps placed around aimlessly, providing no shade for anything. Coffee table books placed on end tables, end table books didn't even exist. I picked up a letter I wrote her that lay strewn around the carpet amongst piles of mail and magazines. It was a poem I gave her that I didn't remember writing, the sloppy handwriting was recognizable though, as was the sentiment. It was after she left me sophmore year in high school;

a map i haven't found,
a rock i haven't tossed,
it's all in a treasure chest beneath my brother's bed,
the combination is
a wig for a future halloween,
a lilac seed for a distant spring,
my mother said that the average
male human heart weights 10-12 ounces,
the other 140 or so pounds of me
is completely worthless.

I threw it back on the floor and went and let her in the front door.
"What took you so long?"
"Sorry, I tripped on your poorly placed coffee table. Who puts a coffee table in the middle of a room around no furniture?"

I went and got a glass of water from her kitchen, she followed quickly. My name is Oliver Radson. My name is Oliver Radson. Propped up on her table, she kicked her legs like a child, an anxious child waiting for dinner, or for their parents to get done with work. I asked if she wanted me to stay over, though I already knew the answer to this.

She pushed me down into the basement towards the corner of the first room where her mother keeps her liquor stash. Olivia rummaged through it like a child on Christmas. Caps and wrapping flying everywhere. Already empty bottles got tossed aside like something you didn't put on your list but your parents got you anways. Settling on a bottle of whiskey, she shared a couch with me. I played Amiina on her record player, music we could talk over, songs we could make up the meanings to.

I don't know why I had been feeling so nostalgic, but I talked about all our old poems, the ones I had given her. How this day has been a collage of all of them. I remembered once walking through a forest finding a tree with tiny little bells wrapped around it. I remembered the sound it made when the wind blew just right, my own little symphony. The squirrels and rabbits shared too though, I wasn't selfish. I was already drunk and so was she so we got up and looked around through her basement some more.

There was a room she or I had never been in. There has always been a lock on the door so we just assumed it was a working lock and never tried to get inside. Turns out though, one swift kick and the door opens free. Inside we found hundreds of unmarked boxes, little treasures her mother never planned to share with anyone. At the middle of the room there was an old dirty projector set up in front of a white screen and Olivia flipped it on. A picture of Olivia and I as children flashed up onto the screen. We were playing in a sandbox, six years old maybe, already in love. I was smiling, the biggest smile I've ever seen and realized that I no longer knew how to exert enthusiasm at any given moment. I just bit my lip til it resembled the glossiness of that old dirty projector Olivia was now perched upon. We made love atop it, slowly, surely, and bells rang somewhere.

My name is Oliver Radson.
Last edited by rushmore at Nov 25, 2009,
I wouldn't say incredible.

Very good though, in almost every way. The tone, feeling it gave me. The repetition of My name is Oliver Radson worked somehow, it just all worked.

But there wasn't any one thing to make me say shit, that's amazing, there was nothing to tie it all together into one gorgeous mindfuck of a piece. There was nothing that swept me off my feet and pushed this from being extremely good to just flat out incredible.
Today I feel electric grey
I hope tomorrow, neon black
Last edited by Ganoosh at Nov 25, 2009,
thanks. theres a lot of stuff i think that needs improvement but i like where its headed. if anyone wants to point out any awkward lines or anything that seemed to lack a bit, feel free. im working on parts 3 and 4 soon.
"My name is Oliver Radson and Its 1904"
I took this sentence literally and wondered why the setting wasn't played with even more. Infact if the story takes place in the early 1900's it is likely that some of the vernacular is incorrect (middle school) and I don't think slide projectors were around then. If Im missing any symbolism there forgive me. But overall good story, if your intention was for it to be extremely romantic maybe describe the girl in even greater detail.
it doesnt really take place in 1904. the characters will hopefully take shape as more installments come. i should be writing/posting more soon hopefully.
As always, I love the way you think.
Quote by Arthur Curry
it's official, vintage x metal is the saving grace of this board and/or the antichrist

e-married to
& alaskan_ninja