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.

Small Places : Nick L Belardes [122 of 128]

• Me: "Easter fink?" Kira's Brazilian accent is out of control. "Yes! You are like a bunny! Yes!" She stomps away in tears. Mike grimaces.
• "What got in her fruit?" I say. I make bunny ears and nibbling sounds. I cross my eyes. It's my only idea of Kira's Easter fink.
• Of course the photo she tore down was a tribute to aliens and Kira's pukish marketing style. Maybe that's why she ripped it from the wall.
• Mike had taken a picture of himself and photoshopped the head of a larva monster that vomited from Kira's neck. It was art.
• Mike: "I told you we shouldn't have." Me: "We shouldn't create art because people are sensitive?" Mike: "You're right. I'm not sensitive."
• Suddenly Mike produces a copy of the exact same picture that Kira de Frito just tore down. He pins it up in the cubicle.
• Me: "Looks like the green is off a shade on this one, Easter fink." Mike: "No!" We both laugh. Mulani walks up and hands me a note.
• Her note: "My husband is coming back to town. His soccer league is finished. Maybe now I can have the family I always wanted..."

Small Places : Nick L Belardes [121 of 128]

• Me: "What more patriotic act could there be than to thwart the forces of evil while on the clock?" Joan: "I'll kill." I believe her.
• Me: "Did you call the newspaper?" Joan: "No. But I want that flag fixed." Me: "What about the cavalry?" Joan: "I am the cavalry."
• I start to dial the newspaper. Joan: "I'll call the Marines." I hang up and think again. "Should I call Jay Leno?"
• Joan rushes out the door just as two Marines show up to stage a takeover of the thrift store flagpole. Joan: "These boys respect the flag!"
• "NiceJob isn't very nice, is it?" I say. Mulani shakes her head. The next day Joan makes headline news. Buildicon management is oblivious.
• Joan suddenly is in full Olympic regalia. Her entire desk is a star-spangled mess of red, white and blue plastic cups and mini flags.
• While I'm in a perfectly good flag-waving mood, Kira de Frito suddenly tears a photo from my cubicle wall. "Easter fink!" she screams.

Small Places : Nick L Belardes [120 of 128]

• I back up to Vishnu's computer and beg forgiveness before gazing into its perfect static-free screen. He points to something I can't see.
• "Do you not see it?" Vishnu cries. Me: "I'm looking." Vishnu: "There! Do you see it now??" I clear my throat at the Web Master's horror...
• "Someone added an asterisk?" I ask. Vishnu nods. He looks pale. Me: "Oh my God." Vishnu: "It is the work of unbelievers."
• Me: "They should just let you work your magic." Vishnu: "With you, I could not agree more." And that's it. Vishnu loses himself in the Web.
• Seems like days have passed. But Joan is still at my desk. I'm in tiptoe mode. "I am giving them an hour," she says. Me: "Until what?"
• Joan: "It's ungodly!" It's like Vishnu's wrath has possessed her. Me: "Is there an asterisk out of place?" Joan fumes.
• “See the U.S. flag outside my window?” Joan says. “I went to NiceJob and said, ‘Your flag is upside-down.’ I was laughed out the door.”
• This is a serious mission. Forget memories of Milt Butterlink. We can now use company time to preserve our American way of life.

Small Places : Nick L Belardes [119 of 128]

• Thirty-nine
• I'm surfing the Net when Joan walks in, grits her teeth and says, "Unbelievable that this can happen! I am giving them one hour!"
• I wonder: One hour for what? For Joan's head to come off her body? For it to fly across the room at me like a flaming cannonball?
• Her anger level gets so high that Vishnu's pales in comparison. I mean, he gets mad. But it's all some kind of internal planetary collapse.
• Vishnu runs out of his office. He yells: "There are people who are changing the Web content behind my back!" I slowly walk over.
• I try not to laugh: "Who would do such a thing?" Vishnu squints: "Purveyors of untruths, making their way through a murky existence...
• "These monkeys throw poop into the wonder workings of the Web!" he adds. I smirk. This is the rare angry screaming moment at Buildicon.
• Have I mentioned that walking up to Vishnu’s computer is a holy experience? Me: “What was changed?” He takes me to his office.

Small Places : Nick L Belardes [118 of 128]

• The boy puts his greasy paws back on the device that is quickly looking like a shiny new potato chip with wireless connectivity.
• Me: "Kira, I have to get back to work." Kira: "But..." Me: "Put it on my desk. I'll get to it." Kira: "But I need this lickedy spilt?!"
• Me: "Sure, Kira, lickedy spilt." I suddenly notice the kid has turned purple. His mother is busy searching for more chip bags in her purse.
• I hope beyond hope he doesn't die as he vomits up a sack load of mushy chips onto me and the RadioBlast. "Oh God," I mumble.
• Just as I begin to get the mess cleaned up, my nephew looks into the room, takes one whiff, then immediately yaks on my shoes.
• ever do another marketing photo shoot with kids. Not unless they're mannequins or haven't eaten for two days.

Small Places : Nick L Belardes [117 of 128]

• So, yes, we place Buildicon's expensive products in the hands of children. The advert idea: kids grow up to become geeky complex thinkers.
• Tech geeks will see the ads, then reflect on childhoods where they built connectivity devices out of LEGOs and potato skins.
• As I get the first kid situated on my studio table (A little Asian boy with a buzz cut and big shiny eyes) in walks Kira de Frito.
• Kira: "Hallouu, how very nice to see you. May I ask, ahh, uh... question?" Me: "Sure, Kira. I'm not busy or anything."
• Suddenly the kid drops the K79 RadioBlast, creating a $575 scratch. He cries. Kira continues to talk, which sounds like "Ya-ya-ya-ya."
• The boy continues to cry as his mother brings in a potato chip, which he stares at then shoves into his mouth before crying again.
• The process repeats. But I can’t ask the mom to stop because Kira’s “ya-yas” are so forceful. This is a typical day at the office.

Small Places : Nick L Belardes [116 of 128]

• We take turns schlopping our Post-Its one by one onto a giant Post-It pad, which Eliza organizes. Her eyes widen, turn green.
• Eliza: "I am going to type up a report. You will all have a copy in the morning. Vishnu, what don't you like about person to your left?"
• Vishnu: "Sometimes web content is changed without my express written consent. I face this problem in a daily game of Mousehunt."
• Thirty-eight
• I want to write a grand treatise titled, "Advertisements That Feature Barfing Star Wars Children."
• It would be filled with interesting tidbits on how to shoot ad photos with kids who easily get the nervous dry heaves.
• This morning there are two mothers at Buildicon with their children. We've resorted to cheap talent again. One looks ready to throw up.
• Mulani's cousin JayJay and my nephew, Thad are both at Buildicon to take photos with our $2,509 products. Free talent.