Short Story: Discussion

Your fingernails are too long, I say. Your hair needs cutting, I say. Your jeans are ingrained with dirt, and are disintegrating at the knee, I say. And your face is, your face is, your face just is... aaagh, I say, when what I really want to say is that:

You disgust me. I look at you, and you disgust me.
Your apathy disgusts me.
Your apathy and lethargy, antipathy and atheism, and apologetic shrugs of non-commitment and indecision and passivity disgust me.

We could discuss you. We could discuss all the stupid things that after four tough years have been picking at our filaments and are pulling us down and holding us under. We could discuss all the ways in which you could do this better, or I could say that better, or we could cook or store or sleep or snore or exercise or organise or prioritise or fuck better.

          
We could discuss the things you do that disgust me. Things that colour me apoplectic. That twist my mouth shut, jaws locked with contempt. That break pieces from my hibernating heart. We have to discuss you leaving, us splitting, it all ending, before I’ve no heart left to wake.

Post-Graduate Post #1

So, then, University, eh? Cardiff is a wonderful place to do anything, especially to learn. I've had to re-learn how to cross busy roads, and how long it takes to walk somewhere as opposed to how long I think it takes to walk somewhere, for example. And lots about writing and creativity, too.

My fellow students are all very lovely, although they make me feel a bit old: the majority of them are around the 22-25 mark, and I was born in '77 as my digital identity will forever remind me. One of my classmates blogs here: http://owainglynevans.wordpress.com/ on the whole, some very tight and concise and enjoyable short stories.

My Course Director / main Tutor here is the awesome Richard Gwyn who also blogs under the alter-ego Ricardo Blanco. After embarrassing myself with a tale of Dionysian excess in the first workshop, I shall endeavor to Google all of my tutors and read their whole oeuvre in advance, rather than accidentally trip onto their territory with a clumsy stumble... luckily next week's guest tutor is a poet, and I don't do serious poetry, nor do I do poetry seriously, so shouldn't have any problems there. Given who s/he is, it certainly won't/ will help that I've watched The Wire, but couldn't get into Treme.

One important part of our course is the regular open-mic style events that we take part in. Our guest tutor, a writer of some repute, will do a reading of some description, then myself and the rest of the class read some of our work. At our first session, I read my piece 'Points of Articulation' that was in Evergreen Review, and a new story called 'Discussion', which I'm just about to post here. In fact, you may just have read it. It's kinda weird reading your work out like that, but I'm actually really excited about next weeks session. And only maybe a little bit 'cos it's held in a pub bedecked with Manic Street Preachers memorabilia.