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The Proving Ground

Adam, a man made of dirt


[sticky post]Hello & Welcome!
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Let us begin with a DISCLAIMER: My brain afire makes me do it.

To continue, my name is Adam Posadas.  I am determinedly wishy-washy because of the sky when I was born* and not really as emo as all that and also, I am a Writer.  This is my blog.  I know all of this business takes loads of practice and I am too comfortable letting words in my brain go untyped.  So, here's the Hermetically unsealed testing facility for Things I Write, which includes but is not limited to: short stories, random accounts of Happenings, poetry, and little gobbets and exercises freely available for consumption.

This is NOT a "My Road to Publication" chronicle.  This IS a trap to lure critique partners and** where I cultivate my fabulations and meet the Writer Community At Large.  Friend me while we're still warm!  Read, comment, repeat.

Welcome & Enjoy

*)(2135hrs Thor's Day 29 Augustus' {Blue} Moon 2013, Oxnard, CA, USA)(
**Don't get it twisted--Crit Partner Snare is exactly what this is.
[Also, weaksauce, but I realize that many of these posts contain random Not Mine pictures paired with Definitely Mine words.  Most of the time, I google-image-searched and included one of the results in my post.  All work belongs to its creator or rightful owner; all rights reserved by the same.]

Special Post: Serendipity!
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This week, Jeb says, "For this assignment, write about your own serendipitous life.  Document a few vicissitudes and demonstrate their consequences. ...blah blah blah 1000-1500 words." I revised an email I had lying about.  Without further ado:

Private Podass and the Good Advice

I’ve been talking a lot about my Army experiences lately. It’s been my near obsession for a number of years. This business of healing consumes my attention, but there are moments when I forget that I am present progressively healing and suddenly find myself simple past healed. Rare as it is, I savor the moment when things align just right for me and I really can’t complain. If I had a complaint as a soldier, it was usually met with the curt panacea, “Drink water, change your socks, drive on.” Even now, I’m thankful for all the driving on, all the socks I changed, but most especially I am thankful for learning to stay hydrated.

On a Monday at the end of July I was walking home from class when I passed Oddfellows Cafe, just off 10th and Pine. My best friend David used to work there and I know a couple of the servers who valiantly persist there. I still had nine and a half blocks to walk and I had to pee, so I went in and asked my friend Kat for the current bathroom code. I latrinated myself, washed my hands, and then returned to the floor to chat with Kat in order to prevent myself from being That Guy who only talks to people when they need a bathroom code. We talked for a short bit, but she was working, so I continued on my way home.

The next day, David and I were walking...Collapse )

Dissonance in the Key of Us
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An Enchantress’s word, her will enforced, is charged with energy and intention. Verily Ka, twenty-five years old, urban magic practitioner extraordinaire, knew the dangers of inertia. From a completely mundane standpoint, if she continued to lie on this low, yellow couch for very many more days, she would lose her coveted day job and also begin to smell. Smell worse, rather.

Junior-most amanuensis of a half-crazed Poet-Priest, Verily knew even the brilliant, broken M. Leland Kenningur would notice her absence sooner than sooner. She sat up and ran a milk-chai brown hand through thick waves of lustrous black hair. Her skin felt hot and tight, but when she looked at her arm, it was covered in goosebumps. A steady draft blew from one of the darkened rooms.She smelled cinnamon in the air.Collapse )
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It Begins with Blood
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What is the price of things as they used to be? A single phrase. A single gesture. Even just a single drop of blood. That is all I need to know that magic hasn’t deserted me.



This late at night, desert heat still fills my place. I squat in an unfinished basement unit of a condemned apartment building. The air conditioner pumps in air that is only slightly less hot; it just makes my sweat-soaked shirt heavier. Three days have gone by since the moon was full.

Every night as the moon grew I lit the candles and held the image in my mind: I stand tall and confident and I glow with inner radiance. In that vision I am powerful and I am not afraid. Every morning since I started that visualization I wake with the dread knowledge that it didn’t work, that it’s still gone.

It should’ve been better by last night. I should be better right now. Magic as I have always known it can’t be lost to me forever.

I first notice it when my bloodcatcher goes dry.Collapse )



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This story was inspired by the Merry Sisters Field Guide to Redcaps.
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The Proving Ground Ground Rules, 2011 ed.
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a la the US Constitution, Declaration of Independence, and other founding legal documents, I give you
The Ground Rules, 2011Collapse )

copa casandwich
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young men jostling in line
jockeying for the chance to meet the pretty lady

she bites her lip on a smile
standing at the door inside her room at the top of the stairs
she can hear them vying for a position to escort her

a last tug on her smart cap
the door swings wide

every man on the staircase in his finest dress
not a single one taking a breath or daring to move

the lady descends through their collective sigh
musky spicy warm crunchy
each taste in turn a delight

she is a paragon of decorum in a raging sea of youthful lusting



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That’s what happened in my mouth when I tasted the meal you just made.

"The Princess and the Pea" by Edmund Dulac
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in medias res

It isn't that I'm a princess, really, but more that everybody just instinctively knows to approach me with deference.   Additionally, I'm not saying that you're all entirely wrong, but I prefer to think of myself as a fairy faggot boy with an highly calibrated sense of discernment.   One of the things you don't realize is how much work it takes to do this thing that's part bringing sexy back, part community service, and part social activism.  This much beauty this casually is anything but effortless!  Can you imagine it--for all those ads that tell us we aren't yet quite happy until we BUY THIS [thing] FOR ONLY THREE EASY PAYMENTS!!, I must wake up early at eleven in the morning, dredge myself from the bottom of the most luxurious IKEA bed you have never paid full price for, look at myself in the heavily faux-gilded mirror, and say, "That'll do, pig, that'll do."

Forget the fairy tales with Shining Armor and Dragon Fighting.  I live in the middle of nowhere now, but once I trained with the direst cutthroats in the American Royalty Making biz--Los Angeles hopelessfuls.  That's where "the prince took (hard-working waiter-cum-actor) her to be his wife, for now he was sure that he had found a real princess, and the pea was put into the Museum..."  But after that ellipsis, you never read that the princess was put on the mantle and the prince brought all his friends around to swirl brandy and snort coke and the princess withered next to Emmy and Grammy and Oscar as surely as the forgotten pea shriveled, thrown into a drawer next to hot pink-handled safety scissors and snugger fit condoms.

There was a time when all I wanted was to storm around a palatial penthouse and order quaking lackeys to do my bidding.  Turns out, there is no point to that kind of existence, and it gives a (biologically adult male) girl a chance to think about some things.  After the fifth week of waking up in a sticky pile of limbs on a leather couch worth more than US debt to China, unsure of what chemicals and substances went into which parts of which naked bodies around me, I realized I wanted more than the life I'd dreamed of since I was but a budding ingenue.  I sold all my shoes, found out Seattle isn't actually one of the wettest cities in the country, bought a condo there, and learned to use "hipster" like the locals--that is, without a clue what it really means.

The trick for me is that I still have no point to my life.  I'm beginning to suspect that there kinda isn't a point beyond what we give it.  I've learned the differences between oolong and green and black teas, which drinks are actually herbal infusions or botanicals, and even the proper pronunciations of pu-erh, rooibos, and yerba mate.  I went to community college and studied programming, of all unlikely things.  I learned about stocks and certificates of deposit and mutual funds.  I've really learned about tax deductible items and donations!  Nobody knows me here.  I don't have an infamous commercial or an unforgettable scene or a signature phrase from my acting days.  I buy things from craigslist to fill my place, and I occasionally scan the Missed Connections, M4M.

Unlike the fairy tale, there's not so much an ending to this one.  Probably just another ellipsis, truth be told.  I still struggle not to be lonely and I think about getting a plant or a cat sometimes.  I pick pretend fights with pretend Vietnamese landladies and go on pretend dates where I tell the waitress, "He's coming, just running late!"

For all that I got to the top of the world, trophy wife to a mogul-icon, this is happiness for me: the other day I rode the Number 41 Metro bus, headed North without really any destination.  There were two young men still on as we approached the end of the line.  They got off at the last stop, and so did I.  They walked across the street and the whole time were signing to each other, a lively and engaging conversation I couldn't follow at all.  They were on a bus date, I realized, and I could see that they loved each other.  I live in that world.  That's happy.

So no, it's not so much that I'm a fairy tale princess.  I have made and lost a fortune or two.  I've kissed a LOT of frogs.  I've even done my time on magazine covers.  That was a previous life, maybe, and now I'm just some fag in a city in the middle of media nowhere, thinking of a dried pea thrown in a drawer...

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This short was written in response to a prompt contest a
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my first kiss wasn't yours
The snow on the roof is too heavy
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took minutes to tie

will take hours to undo

just a little knot

just a little bit of silk

just a little cord to bind my heart

but more than that

midair

blindfolded

twitching at every feather-light caress

i recall

the first time i found refuge in release 
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Hey Fat Girl!
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You are beautiful!
You fill your skin.
You take up space.
You claim it as your own
proper place in the world!

Too many tell you what beauty looks like--
how many of them see what beauty is?

I see you, girl.
I see all of you.
I hear you, girl.
I hear your voice.

What I see is a woman
with the strength to stand
in herself, as she is.

What I hear is a woman
with the pride to speak
her story, in her authentic voice.

Your size is no number.
Truth can't be cut down,
can't be slimmed to fit desire.

Let them call you                    I will call you
fatty                                     gorgeous
chunky monkey                     beautiful
lard ass                               strong
heifer                                   proud
whale                                   mine

Love can't be measured
in pounds or kilos or inches around your waist.
My darling gir, the only measure
of this love I give to you
is taken by your own sense,
your own gut,
your own heart.

And when your own eyes see an ugly girl,
use that sense, that gut, that heart to remind yourself of this truth:
Fat girl, you are beautiful!
Fat girl, you are loved!
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