Tweetarrator Future

Hi everyone,

With the conclusion of Nick Berlades 'Small Places' Tweetarrator is having a rest.

The main reason is that I currently do everything manually.  If I could find the right product and money I would keep things going in an automated fashion.  The best product is a monthly subscription, costing USD30 per month, which I can't justify.  The key is being able to bulk load and drip feed the tweets within a few seconds of each other.

If you really love what we have been doing and prepared to donate for it's continuation let me know and if I get enough pledges I'll reconsider.

It's been awesome to bring you tweetarrated stories... see you soon.

Small Places : Nick L Belardes [128 of 128]

• In a few hours traffic will fill this place. Jets will roar. People will stop at the big church down the street and search for answers.
• And I will probably walk to work, have a meaningless conversation at Buildicon, with people I don't care about.
• It's a company about selling products, not about selling friendships, I remind myself.
• I know I will continue my private revolt, my personal corporate mockery at what the world has become in this sea of cubicles.
• In these endless grey cubicles in cities across an American wasteland of product-driven dreams, people search for individuality.
• In this darkness I feel anxious. All around there is a glittering, twinkling brightness in the universe swarming the night sky.
• For the first time in years I feel like I’m outside of the small places. And that’s not so bad.
• She’s still on the phone. She’s still there. The End.

Small Places : Nick L Belardes [127 of 128]

• The phone is off. I turn it on. It slowly lights the room like a flickering candle.
• I dial Mulani's number as another set of flashing lights zoom past the window.
• There is an ambulance followed by a ladder truck. I hear Mulani's voice. It's barely a whisper. I'm not sure what she says.
• The sirens are gone. But I still feel them. I hear sounds as if bees are swirling through tunnels.
• I feel like I'm on one end of the tunnel. Even farther away is the breath of Mulani. Her voice seems attached to passing meteors.
• I look out the window. I see arching vaults of stars, bushy dark heads of palm trees, soaring clouds rolling over the darkness.
• I go outside with my phone. Houselights cast yellow-blue along the street as I start walking.
• A man pushes a cart. Beer cans rattle. He doesn't say a word as we pass. A cat scampers. A dog howls.

Small Places : Nick L Belardes [126 of 128]

• Mrs. Bagworm scoots closer. The frowning earwig that has been speaking in the farmer's ear scampers down his shirt, disappears.
• "If you don't do it, I will tell all the bagworms to multiply and eat the trees.
• The snails will multiply and eat the undergrowth," she says While the farmer sits silent, she looks at the blue bugs.
• She watches them buzz in circles. Several walking sticks nod their approval. “Threats. Empty threats,” says the farmer.
• The dream drifts further down the tunnel. Half awake I can almost see him as he swats toward her voice.
• She dives out of the way as his large hand hits the table. Since he is blind, his aim is poor. She and the other bugs scatter.
• I wake to see flashing lights pass the window. A siren blasts. Tiny shadows drift across my ceiling and crash into cobwebs.
• For some reason I start searching beneath my pillow, then under the pillow next to that. I feel along the floor, then on the nightstand.
• I find my cell phone. Sometimes I feel it's the only thing I own.

Small Places : Nick L Belardes [125 of 128]

• Mulani blinks. Her eyes tear. I hit her below the belt and it hurt. Mulani: "That was years ago. I became a trophy girl after that.
• "He hasn't kissed me since he arrived. I made him sleep on the couch." She is hurting. I'm a jerk.
• Me: "The fantasy doesn't exist, does it?" I head back to my cubicle. Mike has been out to lunch.
• He comes dancing into the scene. "Who's the talking fur ball?" he says. Mike: "You've got Renaldo beat."
• Me: "How so?" Mike: "I don't think he even remembers Mulani's name."
• That night I slip back into the bagworm dream. There's Mrs. Bigmoth standing on the farmer's table in defiance.
• As you recall, a boom shook Mrs. Bagworm from a forest tree where the bagworm community thrives. She found her way to the source...
• The dream seems more distant than before. Viewed from a tunnel. Colors dim to greyscale. A forest of green becomes shadows and echoes.
• "I can't," says the farmer. "There are other creatures far more threatening than bagworms. They eat all the corn. I must scare them away."

Small Places : Nick L Belardes [124 of 128]

• "You ever met a soccer star?" he says. Before anyone answers he says, "Well now you've met Renaldo!" I thought the Beckham thing was bad.
• Renaldo is rugged, hairy, big-chinned, full of himself and supersized in the worst fast-food ways. Suddenly his chicken nugget eyes see me.
• "Wait," he says. He walks over as if I have been waiting my whole life for this moment. He's towering. "Have we met?" he says. Me: "No."
• "Perhaps I signed a soccer ball for you at a World Cup?" Me: "No." I notice he has Milt Butterlink hands. He loses interest, walks away.
• Mulani is close. "He's really wonderful," I say. She squints. "I wish you the best of luck with El Jumbo Fries," I add. She pulls me aside.
• Mulani: "I know what you're thinking." Me: "You do?" Mulani: "You think I'm shallow." Me: "You?" Mulani: "Yes."
• "You're not shallow," I say. "Well maybe you are. He, on the other hand, is only as deep as his chest hair."
• Mulani: "When I was in the hospital, he was the only one who came to visit." Me: "Did he bring you a signed soccer ball?"

Small Places : Nick L Belardes [123 of 128]

• Forty
• I don't know why I'm not happy for Mulani. OK, yes I do. It's heart related.
• I wonder if she can love a man who can't love her. We have lunch. "I'm OK," she smiles. "I just never thought he would come back."
• I try to block out our past. I can't help but love her. She looks away. She knows. I order a tuna sandwich. It arrives. It stinks.
• As Mulani's husband rolls into town I expect a parade. There is none. He shows up at Buildicon like a visiting toupee-wearing dignitary.
• A pro soccer player, he looks more like a referee. I can't tell what brand of Latino he is. Something South American? His eyes sparkle.
• He has large white teeth. Black curly hair covers his body, especially his head and arms. I assume his chest is part Wookie. I can't look.
• He is a mass of hair. "Ha ha!" he booms as he shakes hands. I want to roll a soccer ball onto a freeway and see if he chases it.