Discussion 5/9/15

1. 3 darlings 2. What will be different this time 3. Amnesia 4. Adulthood 5. Visceral reading material

Prompts for June 2015

1. Detective 2. Nebraska 3. Foxfire 4. Blackened 5. Frog Dissection 6. Faun 7. Pool Party 8. Yacht Club 9. Salve 10. Honeybee 11. Prestige 12. Aphrodite 13. Malice 14. Inquisition 15. Scallops 16. Sanctuary 17. Anise 18. Glacier 19. Astrologia 20. Orbit 21. Goliath 22. Bear 23. Oracle 24. Sequoia 25. Clarity 26. Titan 27. Photon 28. Innocence 29. Honey 30. Glade

LD Gothic

The nationals topic is “humanity is doomed.” This surprises no one. They use their cases from the last four topics. 

You have G2s. So many G2s. You don’t actually know where they came from. They are multiplying. 

The judge is a bus driver. Halfway through the round, they stop flowing and their eyes start to glaze over. By then end, their eyes are glassy and their body is stiff. When you thank them for judging, they don’t respond. 

After the round, you go to check postings. There is a semicircle of debaters standing around the paper. Staring. Waiting. You can hear a faint humming, and you decide not to approach. 

When you get your ballots back, you can’t decipher the judge’s handwriting. You hold the ballot closer to the light, and think you see what might be ancient celtic runes start glowing. 

“I just don’t think it’s moral” someone says in casual conversation. You have a card for that. You have a card for everything. 

You haven’t eaten in a while. You haven’t eaten at this tournament. You can’t remember ever eating in your life. All you know is the taste of coffee and a muted feeling of ethereal transcendence. 

“I broke!” A friend says. Yes. Everyone broke. Everyone is breaking. The entire universe is breaking apart, piece by piece. You are so excited for your friend. 

So, what music do you prep to?

What about before tournaments?

Speech and Debate Gothic

The extemp topics have taken a sudden turn. Rather than focusing on current events, they now read “Is God dead?”, “Why are any of us here?”, and “Wake up. None of this is real.”

The kids from the Midwest are very good at speech. You suppose this is because there is nothing to do in the Midwest except practice speech. A boy from Kansas pulls you aside. “Help,” he says. “They’ve taken our families and-”. He begins to choke. His coach turns the corner, bares pointed teeth at you, and drags him away.

When you open your black binder to perform, you look down only to see that the pages have disappeared. Instead, you are staring into the void. You are silent and fixated for exactly ten minutes and thirty seconds.

During the national final round of duo, one person walks onstage to perform a piece. No one else seems to notice. Everyone sitting around you laughs at lines that you cannot hear. The duo wins. When the announcer goes to hand the missing partner a trophy, it clatters to the ground. Everyone cheers.

Congress Gothic

You’ve been told not to enter the chamber without a judge present, but it’s only when you look in through the crack in the door as the chamber congregates outside that you understand the precaution.

The docket written on the white board reads ‘damnation’, over and over, neatly numbered one through eight in red dry erase marker.

“Where are you from?” you ask the girl beside you, waiting for the session to begin. Every head in the chamber snaps in your direction. “Florida,” they murmur in unison.

The Presiding Officer stands. She asks, “Is there a motion on the floor?” There is none. The floor is motionless. The chamber is cold and stagnant as a tomb.

A brief recess is called an hour into the session. Flawlessly synchronized, the speakers stand and assemble into a perfect circle.

“I don’t usually judge Congress,” the new judge explains. The Presiding Officer asks her for clarification. She stares numbly at the front of the chamber. “Two down,” she whispers. “Fist at seven.” Her face goes blank.

A speaker requests permission to exit the chamber. He doesn’t return.

The chamber calls a recess for dinner. The halls are empty. The cafeteria is empty. The school has been bought by a developer and is slated to become a shopping mall. Congress is twenty-five years behind the rest of the tournament.

The Presiding Officer’s gavel is not a gavel. Each time she taps it, her desk is dotted with red. A speaker who continued thirty seconds over time appears to be missing his femur.

After the tournament, your coach hands you a stack of ballots. They’re blank, but every speech was scored a 6.

(speech and debate gothic by sail-for-warmer-climes)

REBLOG IF YOU WANT A LOVE LETTER FROM A FICTIONAL CHARACTER IN YOUR ASK BOX NOW

WHEN I MIX ALCOHOL AND MY EMOTIONS

IT’S LIKE:

inspired by this meta (x)