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Archive for the ‘Hungry – A Serial Novel by Daniel Parme’ Category

Hungry film by Daniel Parme

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Dan Parme’s Hungry, which first appeared as a serial novel here on Ophelia Street, can be enjoyed in it’s entirety online.

Feel free to donate to OS and Hungry, and help the book realize its dream of becoming a paperback.

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There were days of well-balanced meals: chicken, peas, rice, milk, juice, jello. There were days of sponge baths. There were nurses and orderlies, feeding and bathing me, asking me questions. They were telling me I was so brave. They couldn’t believe it, I was so brave.

There were the doctors and shrinks, another ton of questions. “How did you feel when you decided you had to kill them? When you poisoned them? When you saw them there, dead? When you awoke to discover you were missing a hand?”

Those, of course, are only a few of the questions. But my answers were — oh, fuck it. My answers weren’t honest. They were just a way to keep me out of the nut house, or out of prison (plea bargains and probation are two of my favorite things about this country). My real answer is I didn’t feel a thing. Not a thing. That wasn’t me who did all those things. That guy, he doesn’t really exist.
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Sitting there on the floor, I finally got back to normal — if you could really call it that. Let’s just say I returned to this current state of reality — if you could really call it that.

Walter noticed that I was finally coherent enough to comprehend the situation, and he made his way towards me with that gigantic knife. He was determined to do, well, something, and he looked really pissed off but clear-headed.
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If you’ve ever spent any time in the mountains of Canada, you know that everything can go to hell in an incredibly short amount of time. You’ve learned that even the best-laid plans can fall apart, come crashing down around you in a heap of metal and fire and pain. You’ve learned that intentions, no matter how good in theory, amount to jack-fucking shit.

If you’ve ever spent any time in those mountains, you’ve learned that it’s important to remain calm, even when, especially when, there is a good chance that your story is about to come to an end.
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“I should have been a pair of ragged claws scuttling across the floors of silent seas.”

In college I was thrown out of class by a professor, who’d obviously only gone to college to avoid the Vietnam War, for arguing that Eliot was saying he wished his life had been different, that a crab at the bottom of the ocean would have had a better life than his own. This professor, he wouldn’t hear it, and I wouldn’t shut up about it, so I got tossed.

In the South Side, I was allowed admittance into a secret group of cannibals merely for reciting this line that got me booted from class all those years ago. And the thing is, I don’t know if I was right in college, but that’s what I got out of it, and now, walking down that long hall, preparing myself for what would undoubtedly be a life-defining evening, I wished I was that pair of ragged claws.
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I’ve never been much of a dreamer, unless you count starving- and loss-of-blood-induced hallucinations. Erica, when we first met, for some reason thought I would enjoy a dream dictionary. “There’s interesting stuff in there,” she’d told me, trying to defend her gift. “A creative writing major ought to be interested in what his subconscious is trying to tell him when he’s asleep.”

This was before she’d known me for too long. This was before she’d realized I’m not as deep as all that.

I kept the book, of course, but only flipped through it every now and again in search of archetypes I could use in some shitty poem or short story. This was when I was still writing. This was before I had more serious things to dedicate my time to.

This was when I was still the old Travis. This was when I was still worried about getting my dick wet. This was when I’d research sports statistics and the weight limit of dynamic nylon ropes as opposed to serial killers and poisonous chemicals. This was when the only people who knew who I was were my friends. This was before I ate my friends, but not too long before.

But let’s get back to the dream book.
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