A story for Gus

It was somewhere in the midwest, I dont remember where.

somewhere flat, I dont remember when.  Around 1900.

It was a monday.  Late afternoon.

She walked down the same dirt road she walked down to get to the market

only this time she was going to see the fair.  She was dressed for a summer fair,

hair pulled back, polkadot dress.  about 14.  Her mother said it was okay.

As it got dark the fair described it's place with lights and music in the distance.

When she got there it was magic, everybody in town was there.  Alot of people

Alot of rides and alot of salesmen.

They sold everything from bicycles to goldfish in a bowl.  They sold apple pies and

baseballs.  America and the new way of life.

One Salesman caught her attention with his pitch.

He promised to sell her something she had never seen before.  Something

she had never dreamed of.  Oh but maybe this wasn't for her, she didn't look like a dreamer.

What would she do with it anyway?

She insisted otherwise and walked into the tent where he uncovered a cage

full of tiny zoo animals.  Monkeys, Lions, and of course Giraffes all that could

fit in the palm of her hand.

"Nice right?  modern science, go ahead, hold one"

she picked up a giraffe and put it in her palm.  

the giraffe screamed from the pressure.

"I didn't know giraffes made sounds"

"In nature, nothing picks them up by their heads.  please be careful."

"sorry"

she put the animal back on the table and started out the door

"Not interested?"

"not really,  my dad takes me to the zoo upstate and the ones there are more impressive"

"but these fit in your hand, it's a miracle really"

"who cares about miracles?"

" you're a spoiled little girl"

"well, you're a drunk."

She stormed out of the tent and walked all the way home

a little zebra followed her and when she got home 

she put it in a cage next to her goldfish,

and neither one knew what to think of the other.

by justin Hantz

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Now Im Ted

by Justin Hantz

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Catcher's Mitt

a hundred years ago young men did as they were told

I was told to go over the hills to Matney to work for Mr. Carver

It was a long trek and I never made it.

I spent five days wandering in the woods

drinking from the creek and eating fruit from the trees.

It wasnt quite autumn and the leaves were just starting to turn

I whistled aimlessly and caught a few crawfish under a rock

funny little lobsters, I wondered how they made it this far

I got bit by a horse fly, he wouldnt let go of my body

I jumped in the water and drowned him

One day late in the evening a stranger passed by me

he was old and had a face like a catchers mitt.

I dont know if he was lost too, he didnt say anything

we were whistling the same song.

by Justin Hantz

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TOLDYOUSO

by Justin Hantz

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McKibbin

Living in you

was like living

in a hero's tear

that fell 4000 feet

and landed in

the oldest landfill

because he couldn't

save the world

By Timothy Poovey

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Johns Dog

He will sit with us patiently

until we are ready

to leave

We are proud of ourselves

when we teach him

to shake

He is grateful that we love him

but who couldn't love such

a good dog?

Golden fur like the hair 

of one hundred 

new babies

A loyalty as beautiful as any 

woman could be

it is pure

Sleeping for the day to disappear

until John is home 

to be happy

One bark says everything

he needs to say

to us

What his eyes don't know

does not matter

shouldn't

There is a place for him

in the ground when 

he dies

By Timothy Poovey

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Valentines Day

I was at bar alone.

Getting drunk.  

When in walks the love of my life.

I wished.

By Timothy Poovey

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Animals In The Night

I lived in a haunted house once. 

But the ghost there was nice. 

He liked to sing.

At night, especially when it was stormy out, I would see him float around. 

And hear him.

Once, I tried to talk to him. 

I crept into the living room, where he always was.

He looked at me as if I was the ghost.

I asked him "Are you scared of me?". 

He said "No. 

But You should be scared of me.". 

"Why?" 

"Because I am a ghost."

"I'm not though." I said. 

Then I felt the need to add "You seem nice is all."

I think this was disappointing to him

He kept looking at me for a moment.

Then he slowly lowered his eyes to the floor.  

Very quietly, he began to sing again.

His voice  sounded like animals in the night.

"What are you singing?" I asked. 

He looked back up at me and said "It's a sad song."

By Timothy Poovey

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She Is A Dreamer

Over there in the grass

you are asleep on your side

the sun is shining on your black hair

I walked towards the tree in the field

It is a very big tree

When I climbed it's branches

I could see for miles

I could see the house that we walked from

and it's blue paint that turned green from the sunlight

I sat on a branch for while and thought

this is what the world looks like to birds

You must have been very tired

because you slept very long

When I got down from the tree

I went back to you

I sat down and surveyed the large field

The wind was blowing your dress

and it revealed your knees

that glowed

You looked so safe

and I wondered

what you were dreaming about

My hand 

slid down your pink cheek

and you awoke

You 

looked into my eyes

and said with a calm smile

"I love you"

by Timothy Poovey

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Paper Sailboat

There is a pretty girl

standing in the street

her tongue is sticking out

as she catches snowflakes upon it

from my apartment above her

I am singing a song

it travels into her ears

and our eyes meet

she begins to walk away

and I yell at her to stay

she smiles, but does not

I shut my window

In the street there is silence

I listen but hear nothing

her footprints are etched in snow

I place my foot carefully in each one

they lead off into woods

the darkness makes them hard to follow

the last one is on a river bank

where did she go?

There is a paper sailboat

drifting on the water

It left a childs hand

who wanted to see it sail

by Timothy Poovey

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First and for most

Brilliant Shit is a collaborative effort between Justin Hantz and Timothy Poovey using the medium of blogging as a means to share creative output. Songs, Short Stories, Poems, Films, Essays and General Critique make up most of the material that will be submitted. Exercise is an important part of any kind of artistic endeavor, that is to say, practice. A story will be posted, critiqued and a corrected or "influenced" version will be uploaded. Alot of the time we agree on certain aesthetic decisions, but not all of the time, so this will be a way to help each other and ourselves. This is where you, the reader come in. Through our sacrifice, that is to say admission of having several versions or bad ideas or good ideas etc.. you too will learn the virtues of both practice and shamelessness. We will deal largely with the objective of sharing with an audience an uncensored, sometimes even unfinished, ideation. Input is encouraged. For without the reader writing would simply be a subjective experience in which there are no subjects. This will ultimately serve also as a recorded history of development in craft. Words are groups of symbols which are imbued with power to relate everything about the human experience to another human. Why then do we have so many words for some things, and in turn lack a single word for others? Why is it that two words grouped together can illustrate something to which neither applies?  The word Brilliant dates back to 1696 and is defined as very bright and distinguished by unusual mental alertness. The word Shit comes from the early fourteenth century and simply means an act of defecation. MORE