Friday, April 29, 2016

2 Minutes. Go!

Hey, writer-type folks. AND PEOPLE WHO JUST WANT TO PLAY BUT DON'T IDENTIFY AS 'WRITERS' - all are welcome here! Every Friday, we do a fun free-write. For fun. And Freedom!

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.

The sun dripped down the grand, green slope of the hill they called a mountain. They, the intrepid ten. Young, brazen – call them anything you want. Children. Men. It don’t make any difference in the end.

Or maybe it was twelve? Maybe a million strong, a mighty throng. And the rivers whispered your name in a soft, soft song. And the wind smelled of loathing...

And you clawed at your throat; you tore at your clothing.

The mighty thousand crested, rising high above the tide, in song. The million screaming multitudes – WE ALL THINK YOU’RE FUCKING WRONG!

Birdsong battles, pigeon rattles. Step to my parakeet; I’ll give you a pair of feet. Something lasting. But discreet.

Whisky neat.

Shit. You don’t think they’ll both fit, but I’d bet on it.

I bet on the climbing circus blasters. I rallied the troops to court disaster. I drank in the shy, elusive laughter. And I cried.

But not ‘til after.

ATTENTION, I WILL IN AND OUT MOST OF THE DAY. BREAK THE BLOG FOR ME! AND GIVE ME SOME STUFF TO READ! Get 'em! :)

#2minutesgo Tweet it! Share it! Shout it from the top of the shack you live in!

Friday, April 22, 2016

2 Minutes. Go!

Hey, writer-type folks. AND PEOPLE WHO JUST WANT TO PLAY BUT DON'T IDENTIFY AS 'WRITERS' - all are welcome here! Every Friday, we do a fun free-write. For fun. And Freedom!

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.

I can hear him in there, grunting, dripping. I want to say, "get your fucking prostate checked!" I don't. I frown and think how this came to be, this giant midwestern cliche in my bathroom, dirt on the floor - I'm too fucking nice. That's it.

Your cousin is coming to the city? Sure, he can crash with me. But six fucking weeks? And I'm not even seeing her anymore. No, I'm seeing Hank, the red-headed cyclone who needs someone to stick their finger up his ass. Not me. I don't want to put my finger in his ass. My foot, maybe.

It's almost dark when the dripping and shower and bad renditions of Hank Williams stop. I've had a few drinks and I'm ready to say it. You gotta go. Three words. I'm ready.

He comes out half-wet with a towel around his waist. 


"Hank -"

He holds up a hand like a fucking traffic cop.

"Sorry to interrupt, son. I've been meaning to tell you something. I aim to do it now, but this isn't easy for me. I want to thank you. Hell, you been so good to me. You and Rose ain't even together anymore, but you didn't make me leave. I hate to overstay my welcome, but ... well, the divorce kind of fucked my head up. More than I thought. I'll never forget this. You've always got a friend in old Hank. And anytime you want me to hit bricks, you say so. I know how aggravating company can be."

"No, Hank. I want you to stay. As long as you need."

I said the words, but it took a minute to sink in - that I really meant them. I wanted him to stay. I smiled. We hugged, and then we got drunk.

When it hits six months, I'm asking for rent money, though. 

You can count on that. My benevolence has it's limits. 

ATTENTION, I WILL IN AND OUT MOST OF THE DAY. BREAK THE BLOG FOR ME! AND GIVE ME SOME STUFF TO READ! Get 'em! :)

#2minutesgo

Thursday, April 14, 2016

2 minutes. Go! (Road Trip)

Attention #2minutesgo crew. My power cord is dying. For my computer. Don't freak out. I've reached out to my backup, but who knows. If it doesn't happen this week, blame Apple's stupid fragile power cords. ;)

(Friday, yeah, so sparks out of a power cord are not good. Thanks to Laurie Boris for stepping up. Sorry, I won't be around gang. Break Laurie's blog for me!)

https://laurieboris.com/2016/04/15/two-minutes-go-spring-break-road-trip/

Friday, April 8, 2016

2 Minutes. Go!

Hey, writer-type folks. AND PEOPLE WHO JUST WANT TO PLAY BUT DON'T IDENTIFY AS 'WRITERS' - all are welcome here! Every Friday, we do a fun free-write. For fun. And Freedom!

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.

She was radiant, but you could not look at her - like staring at the sun. You caught her in periphery and that was almost too much. Short breath. Ragged thoughts of generic heroism. Her name was Rachel. She made the name beautiful, a bit of poetry that blossomed and died daily, ushered in and out by the ringing of bells.

The other boys did everything to impress her. Who can climb the highest? Who can run the fastest? Who knows the worst bad word? Ricky won that one because he knew what a cocksucker was. Now, the whole class knew. And laughed about it. 


You weren't quite sure you understood. You still laughed.

It was anticlimactic in its eclipsing, apocalyptic splendor. The showdown. A new kid came to school. He was big and wore jeans every day. He always had a toothpick in his mouth. It was like he watched a bad After School Special and took notes. Which was fine, until he inclined his head in Rachel's direction. All the boys huddled around, whispering. Then: 

"Who's the slut?"

Deep silence. Ricky called him a cocksucker, and the rest of the boys looked about to cry, but it didn't matter much because you were more invested in the weird, numb pain in your fist. The boy stood up, crying, drooling blood. You flexed your hand and, suddenly, you were being dragged backward, through the principal's office and straight into Dad's office. Like a time warp.

You told Dad what happened, expecting the worst, but he shook your hand. Took the rest of the day off. The two of you went fishing. And when the week's suspension was over, you noticed something.

Not only was Rachel staring at you every time you looked, but she was smiling. 


No joke.

Smiling.


ATTENTION, I WILL IN AND OUT MOST OF THE DAY. BREAK THE BLOG FOR ME! AND GIVE ME SOME STUFF TO READ! Get 'em! :)

#2minutesgo

Friday, April 1, 2016

2 Minutes. Go!

Hey, writer-type folks. AND PEOPLE WHO JUST WANT TO PLAY BUT DON'T IDENTIFY AS 'WRITERS' - all are welcome here! Every Friday, we do a fun free-write. For fun. And Freedom!

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.


Primp and preen your feathers clean - it doesn't change the smell, the ooze, the repugnancy of you; it won't be your redemption. See, you can act like a wing-nut and pull it off, but it all gets pulled off eventually: the posturing, the behind the back smack-talk. The "enthusiasm" that drips off you like a toddler gloating with a volley of nyah, nyah, nyah...

It's almost funny. Almost. Funny and sad live so close together - I wonder if they collect each other's mail during vacations? Something tells me sad steps up. Funny is to busy being an insecure asshole.

I didn't want to write this, but I don't get to write what I want to write most of the time. Damn brain. And then I was reminded about the injustice of it all. How I didn't say nothing; you tagged the whole damn wall. And I didn't even do anything.

Whatever, the weather's fine and clear. If you're still looking for a fight, you know where to find me: here. Hear?

I'm not going anywhere.

ATTENTION, I WILL IN AND OUT MOST OF THE DAY. BREAK THE BLOG FOR ME! AND GIVE ME SOME STUFF TO READ! Get 'em! :)

#2minutesgo

Friday, March 25, 2016

2 Minutes. Go!

Hey, writer-type folks. AND PEOPLE WHO JUST WANT TO PLAY BUT DON'T IDENTIFY AS 'WRITERS' - all are welcome here! Every Friday, we do a fun free-write. For fun. And Freedom!

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.


You got some of it on ya. Still. You can take a million showers, kill a billion brain cells, fight all the wars the machine pumps out. It doesn't come off. 

You can scrub with bleach, give yourself a lobotomy. You can do whatever you want, but it ain't going anywhere. 

You let yourself get dirty - don't expect me to hand you a towel. And don't you go throwing it in. You forfeited that option. His name's Ray, and he deserves a daddy. 

I don't know if your burden's heavier than anyone else's. I just know that we all got 'em. Yours is an ugly one, hurts my teeth. I can't quite wrap my brain around it. Still feels like something that happened to someone on the TV. 

Take the drink if it stills the hand. Hell, I'm no Puritan. Crush it up and shove it into your body. Shoot it. Fold that shame in memory curtains and bury it in your yard. 

But don't expect it to come out shiny. Ain't gonna happen.

ATTENTION, I WILL IN AND OUT MOST OF THE DAY. BREAK THE BLOG FOR ME! AND GIVE ME SOME STUFF TO READ! Get 'em! :)

#2minutesgo

Friday, March 18, 2016

2 Minutes. Go!

Hey, writer-type folks. AND PEOPLE WHO JUST WANT TO PLAY BUT DON'T IDENTIFY AS 'WRITERS' - all are welcome here! Every Friday, we do a fun free-write. For fun. And Freedom!

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. 


I'm not mad, I'm just scared, worried; I look in your eyes and you're not there. It's all rage and fire and brimstone, and it's disconcerting. If you were bigger, I'd be terrified. I picture dams exploding, massive earthquakes, volcanos erupting - all in that 1950s newsreel patter - I can hear the doot doo doo doot doo. I wish you could hear it, too.

You're so beautiful. Simple to say, says it all, no need to dress it up. You are the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. And I'm not just talking exterior. You were gifted with the exterior, inside cleaning, free pine scent. Hell, they simonized your tires. But you're not beautiful when you get that way, all spit and fury. No one knows what to think. And usually I'd think, then fuck them.

But I don't know what to think either.

I guess I'll go back and forth on it. Like cliched tides and the windy updrafts your moods still ride. Sometimes, I'm not seeing the glass half empty. Most of the time I'm not even thinking about glasses - they're like tides. They cheapen this whole thing. But I can't say the truth truth.


Because words like that don't come back. They'd just lay there. 

And we'd have to look at them.

ATTENTION, I WILL IN AND OUT MOST OF THE DAY. BREAK THE BLOG FOR ME! AND GIVE ME SOME STUFF TO READ! Get 'em! :)

#2minutesgo