The Orchid Room is not a vehicle for anyone to attract
attention to themselves, it is a joint writing project, working with
each other to create a single work that weaves a story using different
styles of writing.
(1) Try to segue out from the act before you but remember that newcomers will be reading you first and then scrolling backwards in time.
(2) All art is performance art. In The Orchid Room we like to focus on the performance part.
(3) Writers must entertain and adapt. The idea of the literati having no obligation to actively engage an audience has been killed by the internet.
(4) Try to set your pieces in or around the Orchid Room and to write for an audience with not much time.
(5) Short, cool, add image, no videos please.
(6) Commenting will get you noticed. Nothing else will.
(7) Get involved. We are ridiculously flexibubble.
The Orchid Room 
*takes a bow at the praise*
And you thought I would blush….
Well…ok….I am. A little bit.
Just so you know my dear ol Paul…
the blush is for me trying to keep
a level head!!
Amber!!! You are thr rockin’est human on the planet. Remember Hipster’s Hug. It was there and then it wasn’t. And I said that hug will always be there like a wave reverberating through time. Remember flutterby and permanence, you are the rockin’est human on the planet and I have learned so much from you and with you,
Here in the dressingroom is a good place to talk about direction. What shall we do? Any ideas? It seems to go like wildfire and then stop. Shall we audition some new ones? Is everybody bored with it? Or just busy. Oh well, the bar is stocked, the piano is full of fish. I will just sit here on this wooden bench and stare into the dressingroom mirror and talk to myself. Hello, Paul, why does noone want to play with you anymore? Don’t worry, why don’t you go see what Amber is up to. Taxi!
I’m all dressed up and ready to perform.
How and where do I deliver my act?
Well this is a complicated thing. My dictatorship is only the result of the absence of other voices. Let me see what can I do. You could either post it is as a comment and I could copy and paste it in but that would be silly. If someone who is here has your email they can add you to the administrators at -Users then scroll down to Add users from community, as long as you are registered with wordpress. That would be the best way. Hello, welcome, have fun, let anarchy and chaos rain down upon us like myriad jewels of freedom, hello,
Simon, I have had your email address smuggled to me by secret invisible courier pigeon and have sent you an invite, fire at will, let the games begin,
oth my legs will not stay upon the ground at the same time. If I have one foot on the ground the other is raised high in the air. Normally I have a glass of wine in my hand and am suffering from chest pain and/or Vertigo. My neck twitches and I often have a difficult time holding down ordinary conversation with people. I immediately want to get to the deep stuff.
“Why are we alive?” I ask with one or two feet raised in the air. “What is the purpose of living and why not spend our days in long periods of meditation?” The answers are always the same. “Hmm??” I have to drink more to feel grounded. The world often leaves me filled up with fear and a deep longitudinal feeling that there is no place for a stranger like me to go.
http://absurdistry.wordpress.com
Is it always going to be my job to deal with these ones? Your writing is cool and as far as I’m concerned the more the merrier. Someone will need your email address to put you on the colloborators (how do you spell that?) list. Don’t post it in here though, you will need to smuggle it to someone secretly is how we are working, just for fun. That is all the help I can offer I am afraid. You may want to explore the blogroll and see if you can figure out an entry strategy.
Trying to figure out an entry strategy. Any pointers?
Of course, you have my email:)
I do? Not me, maybe one the other miscreants. We really need a strategy for this I think. The best idea would be to write something for the Orchid Room which demonstrates an understanding of the principles outlined above and which segues out from an piece already there and post it as a comment on that piece. Then we can all have a look at it, comment on your piece and see what happens. But please, set your piece in or around the Orchid Room and try to capture its ambience. (Oh and reading and commenting on the personal blogs of the writers already here will probably get you in their good books when the vote comes down.) Fire away…
ummmm, when I posted my email on the blog while commenting I was required to give my mail….so, I thought you had it.
No harm done. Thanks for the prompt reply and I will see what I can do in the Orchid Room:)
NOTICE: I will be posting a story spread out over the seven days of the week starting from next Monday. Hope you all like it!
cool bananananas,
I am sneaking a peak through the half open door of the dressing room, i have been here before, but not being a poet(or one of any talent) i will continue to sit with the audience, or perhaps one day Paul, perch on your piano in my red dress.
woohoo, perch away, but if you sit there you must sing, (and watch out for F., not even a bullet can stop that guy.)
I can stop f, I am a licenced weapons dealer, but i have a low husky singing voice..lauren bacal never sang also
where did they go? I could swear just a minute ago
I went out for my smokes…the smoke is still in the air.
The thing is still under the beer cooler, whatever it is,
mouse, rat, somebody’s vibrator, something really sinister
maybe, I don’t know… they were here just a minute ago
it’s cold outside. too cold, shouldn’t be so cold
this time of year. Check out the moon, the clouds
are moving way too fast, everything is speeding up.
This can’t last.
where did that car come from? It shouldn’t be
so blue, not is this light. The rust is nice
though, deeper than… what? An echo?
Echoes are long, fool, not deep.
He’ll flatten his tire, parking it on the curb like that.
remember the big voice? Walking alongside the hedge
and plucking the leaf, and the big voice that said,
OKAY, NOW YOU’VE DONE IT.
The whole fucking world started to gibber and drool.
Nobody scraped me off the ceiling that night,
I just fell off sometime later. Weird. Scary.
Sort of like tonight.
Where the fuck is everybody?
Boy, it’s chilly. And dark, even with the weird moon. Nothing out here but triffids, and they’re creeping out of every shadow. No people. Where are the people? Might as well be tumbleweeds blowing down Church Street. Paper everwher. Everwher? Wha wha who? Maybe I’ve had a stroke. Maybe I’m dead. How would I know? Fucking triffids. Where’smy phone?
That is cool, hello, who are you, i was here before but then there was some kind of kerfuffle, everybody scattered, they say there are ghosts buried under the floorboards,
Feels like ghosts under the floorboards. How old is this place? I got off the train to spend a night in a place I’ve never seen. Wandered down here. People seemed friendly. Turned around and they were gone though. They rent rooms upstairs? Where did that dog come from? I hear somebody.
Oh that is one very good poem……perfect for here.
Where is my piano?
I think it’s under the dust sheets in the cellar. Would you like me to get a tuner in?
Yes my darling ebby, a tuner and we should polish up the dance floor and go for a spin,
nervous nervous 🙂
You are a great performer, Kassandra, invitation is on its way, fire at will on the main stage, don’t be nervous. have fun.
Heya Paul…..I think Ive got something brewing for you…I know it’s been forever and a day…..but there is a possible jaunt to the diner in about a half hour…and there lies my inspiration. At 330 in the morning none the less…
Yayayayayaya. We have missed you big time. Fire Away! AMBER!
Check your messages darling…I left you something. I think you will like it.
Where in my messages. I haven’t seen anything, ooo where is it,
Your myspace messages silly….I do hope it got to you….Check your myspace every now and then ya silly man!
I am standing with my ear against the bottom of an empty glass.
In the draft behind this wall I hear the witter of an odd romance.
She sounds rather young to me, and possibly Canadian.
I’d dare to say they’re just a little more succinct than Americans.
If she gathered from their trysts on-line that he was suave or debonaire,
she will be disappointed, won’t she? Or does she really care?
Never been here before…but hell, I’ve been everywhere else. that pie-anny player knows me. I brought my guitar. All you folks dressing up must be actors. I’m just here to do my thing. I get free drinks here so I’m in the mix. But if you think I just came to get drunk…sit back and have a listen…you might be surprised.
When the Music Stops
Beautiful clown of porcelain and silk
Gold fabric and silver filigreed lace
Wind the key in the center of his back
A sad song plays delicately
A single tear lies motionless on his face
His head inclines; arms outstretched
He looks as if he is longing to embrace
Soft is the whir of his machinery;
The music box invisible
As he moves with awe inspiring grace
When the song ends he stands frozen still
Gone the tinkle of his beautiful chime
Silent, the whir of his mechanism
Silence is louder than music
It speaks of the life within the mime
He is one of many in the collection
But his is the favorite song
Trembling with sadness and beauty
Only he can make you close your eyes
And weep silently for his perfection
That I could have been a porcelain doll
With only a single tear I might cry
Your hand would have wound my heart
I would have played the violin
As the painted sadness slipped… from my eye
The jester will quietly cease moving soon
His embrace comes to a coda and stops
His efforts of animation ended
His beautiful music silenced
They will carry and lay me in my box
My pal Paul has said, “woohoo, perch away, but if you sit there you must sing, (and watch out for F., not even a bullet can stop that guy.)” but it’s not so…we are immortals…all of us…if we choose to be so…our life is the song we bring…our poetry; the vibration of our strings…let us share a poem, a song, it won’t take long…and let our lives echo down the aboriginal’s songlines…back to the Dreamtime…to the beginning…yes, we are ALL immortal.