Friday, April 19, 2019

2 Minutes. Go!

(done slacking)

I handed you the book, like, hey, here is something I care about – something that’s important to me. You took the olive branch and stuck it in my eye. You belly laughed about it. What a fucking nerd.

I tried to think what you cared about. What sung inside you with such beauty and delicacy that it HAD to be shared. And I thought, if there isn’t something … Jesus. If’s there’s not a book you love or a show you worship or a song that touched you, well, hell, that’s so sad. 

And then I felt like you wanted me to cry, but I was too sad to cry. I was empathizing with your meek, passionless life. Too cool to care. You should listen to Ian McKay. He was a blowhard, but that doesn’t mean he wasn’t right. 

So, I tucked my nerdy trump card and skated. Back home where my big Sis waited. And he’d called her. Told her what I’d done. Super freaking nerd shit. Your brother is such a dork. How could anyone care so much about something so retarded?

We were sad for him together. As sad as you can be for an insecure pile of clichés and self aggrandizement. He’s a lawyer now. 

Still don’t care about shit.

____________

She was a little older than me, and she smelled like cinnamon gum. She smoked cigarettes while she waited for the bus. My friends and I broke stuff. She stood to the side and smoked cigarettes. 

One day she sat beside me on the bus, and I swear I died. My heart exploded. Our knees touched and I felt a shock. Literally. That’s not just lazy writing. 

Long, blonde hair. The only blonde I’ve ever loved except family. 

She was nice in a detached way. I thought she must have been 27 really and there to observe the middle school boys in their natural environment. Laughing hyenas. She was worldly, which is a cliché, but screw you. I’m trying to be honest. I’m trying to be open. What are you trying?

I was 115 pounds of straight nervous heart attack. I was writing stories in my head, and they were all about her. 

The day I decided I loved her completely was one of the last times I saw her. School ended. She never came back. I’m 42 and I don’t regret much, but if I could go back I would have kissed her. Asked her out. Asked her to marry me in a sketchy cult ceremony.

She would have said no. And it would have been amazing.

___________________________


Daddy’s hands were black, but his chest shone like a beacon. Like a man whose job it was to guide ships in during a storm. His face was grey. White on Sundays. Black at the end of the day. He smoked unfiltered cigarettes and coughed. He sang songs in the choir. He made homemade ice cream, and he liked to fish. 

His anger was righteousness, like God was pissed. When he was happy, he was a pal. When he was down in the mine, he never watched the canary. He didn’t think like that. 

When Ma died, he shattered. He lived in the mine and at the rail, drinking rye whiskey and telling bullshit stories and bragging how he had the best job on earth. He pulled his paycheck from the earth. He tapped it out with hammers and a chisel. He fucking breathed it inside of him. It killed him. He’s dead. 

Coal raised me. Every bite I ate was black. Every pair of shoes left black grit on my soul. I did not brag about Daddy’s job. Everyone had a daddy worked in the mine. He was nothing special.

Nowadays, I sit on the big rock at the Y in the trout stream, and I think about him. Cigars, rough hands. Skin always cracking. He could never get clean. And I think. That’s it, man. That’s it right there. The poor bastard could never get clean. Not even when he tried.

 

Friday, April 12, 2019

2 Minutes. Go!

Her wings are a blur - pure speed. She blasts the sunlight outward, green and red. Brilliant red. The air tastes like panic, but that's on you, not her. You don't have to worry, hero. She'll be fine without you. Just listen to her song and smile.

Warmth. Tickle of grass under your feet and sun-baked hair. You walk over kingdoms and civilizations without wondering. There is no profit in wonder. What's the point?

I wonder.

The Jay holds my secrets tight, and I am a good and noble servant. The Blue Jay wears no clothes, but I would never tell him that. 

The whole world smells like a flower shop. The cute girl working there has multiplied by the millions. She's everywhere. Don't touch her. Don't say a word. 

Just be glad it's Spring.

Friday, April 5, 2019

2 Minutes. GO!

Man, those are some pretty eyes. Filled with marzipan and lies; sweet confectionary bullshit oozes out of the corners of your mouth. Beautiful, like blood. You can tell me all about the black escape, and I will understand. I've been there. I built a summer home there. Tell me all about it, darling. I got nothing to offer, but you can bounce anything you want off me. I'll absorb it - set you free.

My skin hurts like it's being torn.

I swore I wasn't going to write emo existential bullshit, but here we are. My eyes are only tiny slits, my throat feels like an ashtray. And I don't smoke. 

I'm sorry. Alright. I know some people like plot and character and whatnot. I don't feel like forcing it, and I'm out of spontaneity. Don't worry; it'll come back. I think.

 

Friday, March 29, 2019

2 Minutes. Go!

I should lick the fog off the rooftops, set the sun free. Head down to the lake and pretend I'm fishing. Or get my shit together. Figure out a way to make a fortune while doing cardio. I'm stressed all the time; isn't that "cardio" enough? How hard does my heart have to beat? How many times do the balls inside my chest need to inflate … deflate … inflate...

I wonder what the fog would taste like? Probably hair spray and petroleum. It might kill me, or make me live forever as a freak superhero. I don't want great power. I don't want great responsibility.

I want a burrito that regenerates when you take a bite.

Friday, March 22, 2019

2 Minutes. Go!

Write whatever you want in the 'comments' section on this blog post. Play as many times as you like. #breaktheblog! You have two minutes (give or take a few seconds ... no pressure!). Have fun. The more people who play, the more fun it is. So, tell a friend. Then send 'em here to read your 'two' and encourage them to play....

Yellow, the sun sits in the elbow of the day. The clouds rest their bulk on the forearm’s strength. The blue sky covers the periphery, and Jack sits with his back against the rough bark of a streamside tree. He has fished enough. There was no objective. No timeline. Freedom...


From the canopy of trees, the sound of a meadowlark erupts clean and distinct. The sound stills the air, but it cannot occupy the space. The birdsong is stolen by the sky and the trees. 


Sitting against the tree, Jack thinks about the woman he lost. He cannot remember her name. Not now. Fifty years have passed; his mind is going. Sometimes, he remembers, sometimes, he does not. 


The smell of rot is thick in the air. A thick, growing smell. The smell of life, of soil being turned.


Jack closes his eyes and breathes into the tree. He is ready to join the current. He is ready to be part of it all. 

#2minutesgo Tweet it! Share it! Shout it from the top of the shack you live in! I will be out most of the day, but I'll be back...#2minutesgo Tweet it! Share it! Shout it from the top of the shack you live in! I will be out most of the day, but I'll be back..  

Friday, March 15, 2019

2 Minutes. Go!

Write whatever you want in the 'comments' section on this blog post. Play as many times as you like. #breaktheblog! You have two minutes (give or take a few seconds ... no pressure!). Have fun. The more people who play, the more fun it is. So, tell a friend. Then send 'em here to read your 'two' and encourage them to play.

Let me tell you a story about a plastic milk jug. I sent it to Alabama empty, and it came back filled with a gallon of fire. And what the hell do you do if you get your hands on a gallon of fire? It becomes a burden. It gets heavier than eight-something pounds.

It’s embarrassing.

Yo, I got this liquor that no one wants to drink. You can try to cut it. It is uncuttable. It will burn your insides. But you feel obligated. Boy, you ever drank real shine?

So, I used it to clean the air filter on my motorcycle and it worked better than kerosene. I used it to get tape residue off shit. It worked. Goddamn, it worked.

But I felt like I should drink it. And I did. Mixed a teaspoon into a can of coke and hated myself for hours. Some of that jug went down my throat. Most of it made my old shit sparkly and new again.

What have you ever gotten in a milk jug? Milk?

Square.

#2minutesgo Tweet it! Share it! Shout it from the top of the shack you live in! I will be out most of the day, but I'll be back...#2minutesgo Tweet it! Share it! Shout it from the top of the shack you live in! I will be out most of the day, but I'll be back..  

Friday, March 8, 2019

2 Minutes. Go!

Write whatever you want in the 'comments' section on this blog post. Play as many times as you like. #breaktheblog! You have two minutes (give or take a few seconds ... no pressure!). Have fun. The more people who play, the more fun it is. So, tell a friend. Then send 'em here to read your 'two' and encourage them to play.

Shoes on. Teeth brushed. Scraped the rust off my disposition. I punched myself in the solar plexus for good measure. Chest out, Comrade. We're on a search for buried treasure. We're circling round the pole - balance as best you can. 


The night is coming, and it's a fucking doozy. You'll see.

My central nervous system is down for maintenance. I am sitting on the top of a cliff-side rock, and the earth is shaking. I want to get off. 

The animals are weary. They are tired of our bullshit and they aren't going to take it anymore. Yeah, right. They've been taking it for years, and they will take all we got, praying that we all die before we take everything with us. 

Jet black hair and teeth sharp. Tongue darting, you are the viper queen. Your saliva is caustic and acidic. You've got it all, sweetheart. Except a heathy septum; that thing is fucked. 

So where does this leave us? Chin up, son. Chin up. It will only make you stronger. 

#2minutesgo Tweet it! Share it! Shout it from the top of the shack you live in! I will be out most of the day, but I'll be back...#2minutesgo Tweet it! Share it! Shout it from the top of the shack you live in! I will be out most of the day, but I'll be back..