Monday, September 24, 2012

3 minutes. Go.

I trip the wire and it all starts over again. Starting fresh with no plan. Smile on my face just because I can. Feel the steel at my back, but I thrive off that shit. It's a gift. And we'll see when all is said and done. Cause I don't aim to quit, and the words don't aim to quit me.

I lag and lolligag and fuck I feel guilty because Rush!!!!!!!!!!!!!! is waiting on me, but I got bills to pay and I write for money. Not the real writing. The real writing comes from my confusion and wonder and fear of the world. And my recognition of its beauty. The writing about product releases and small businesses. People who want a little extra for nothing. But then there's Jeff. Thank the good lord I resist for Jeff. My belly is full and the rent is paid.


78 comments:

  1. My cat sits watching, pupils dilated, whiskers twitching...she nuzzles my right hand as I try to type, she head butts my arm and licks the fingers of my hand on the keyboard. My writing bores her, it doesn't scratch behind her ears or stroke her back so it is useless. Three minutes in agony for her as she waits for my attentions. Bored, she gives up and jumps down from the desk to the floor to pick a fight with my other cat. She knows that will get my attention, that I will pour water in her bowl, give her kibble and make a space for her at the foot of my bed. Writing does not impress her, nether does time. Catnip, feathers on a string, scratches behind her ears...oh the scratching behind the ears...that is what humans are for...not typing...

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    1. Love it. I have one of those cats, too. "it doesn't scratch behind her ears or stroke her back so it is useless" Yup. :)

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    2. That described my cat perfectly. ;-)

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    3. My cat jumps on the bookshelf and stares at me. She has the "Yield to me now, human" stare perfected.

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    4. Cats, dogs, got them both. I would like to add that my dog does this as well. May hap it thinks it's a cat. Lazy bastard even lays on my keyboard when I have my laptop in bed... as I do now.

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  2. Three of sixty-second repetitious typing could take an eternity. This craft I love, need, want, pervades my mind and my fingers. It calls to me unending and fills me to the brim. Overflowing imagination spills onto the keyboard and floods the screen of my laptop. Moments pass and words become mountains, rivers, and oceans. They become creatures of habit, of the night, of chaos, and blood.

    The screams from unknowns shout ceremoniously through the speakers wanting me to name their names. Ha! Come and get me! If you can tag me "it", I'll name you. I'll even give you mine.

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    1. Fucking Bam.

      They become creatures of habit, of the night, of chaos, and blood.

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    2. Loved this line!

      The screams from unknowns shout ceremoniously through the speakers wanting me to name their names.

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    3. Am I the only one that became aroused while reading this? I mean... "fills me to the brim..." and "spills onto the keyboard..." "floods" "blood..." Well, maybe not blood, but that's just how my mind works.

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    4. Sorry, I think that's a yes, E. ;)

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  3. I set the counter to 3, and now it's just me and time, though time is nothing more than a persistent illusion. I hang-glide through life, always keeping my feet off the ground. It's dirty down there, and there are so few of us up here. It's less crowded, but it's also a lonely place. The people here lack dirt under their fingernails, and those are the most interesting folks of all. They are the ones that make the world move. The rest of us just float above them, making comments on what they're doing wrong. If you want to make a difference in the world, then get off your hang-glider and get your hands dirty.

    Less than 1 to go and I feel like I’ve been here before. The zombie line is fast approaching while I sit poaching random words from thoughts and images that go screaming by in a roar. Sometimes I can string two thoughts together and it makes me feel smart and cunning, but it’s a chaotic mess with no end in sight, just the timer…and it never stops running.

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    1. Damn, you kill at this dood!

      time is nothing more than a persistent illusion - Kapow!

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    2. Thanks. ;-) This made my day.

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    3. "Sometimes I can string two thoughts together and it makes me feel smart and cunning," Sweet Hey-Zues, I know that feeling.

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  4. hey no warning! Now I have to go back and do it...

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  5. The fellow next door, what’s his name? is moving out today. I should probably go say goodbye because we’ve lived side by side, one bedroom apartment adjacent to one bedroom apartment for the last six years. What is his name? He has two golden retrievers who are wonderful and friendly – Barney and Max. He’s been a great neighbor – pretty quiet except when he has a “friend” over after work. He works at the leather bar on Davie Street. Quite rambunctious on Thursday nights, for some reason. But then I just considered the noise inspirational - that much energy, you have to admire it really. I’m really going to miss him. Maybe I’ll get him a card or something. Take him a plant. What is his name?

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    1. And *that* is why your characters stand out in just a few words. I can picture a writing class years from now with the instructor covering the chapter, "Classic Teal" on character development. ;-)

      Nice job.

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    2. Lovely. Naming the dogs and not the man is brilliant.

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    3. Mader stole my reply again. Ditto.

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  6. Fuck me sideways, what have I got myself into? Here I am trying to write a book, and my addicted ass checks Facebook. I see the profile of a man that needs a shave. A little one by one image of an author I admire who has the timing of a coked out toddler. I want to be telling bigger stories, but the drawn is unnatural in its pull. My heart thuds a staccato beat in my chest as I race toward the finish line. Three minutes? Fuck your three minutes. Fuck it right in its chocolate starfish. Yeah, it's my fault. I should have never opened my browser, should have never clicked on the link that would take me to a man with hairy pits who brandished a fucking child's baseball bat like he's motherfucking Conan the Unshaven Barbarian. DO tell, what's your gimmick? Why the hell do you tempt me with a place to post my tirades that my editor will never see? Fuck it. Anybody got some heroin?

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    1. OMG - I love you E. That was awesomeness. ;-)

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    2. Oh E! Now that's some imagery right there :))

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    3. Ha! Coked out toddler. Well done my friend, now back to your regularly scheduled programming. ;)

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    4. I wish my editor could see this now. *drawn should be *draw and *brandished should be *brandishes.

      Fuck my life. I ran out of time. Don't judge me!

      KD, thank you. Your love is reciprocated. May we cuddle?

      Jo-Anne, you kind woman, (insert sarcastic remark here because I can't make myself be a smart ass to you.)

      Mader, I'm still fucking pissed at you. Call me, though. We'll do lunch.

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    5. Whatever, you didn't even comment on the original post. Late adopter. ;)

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  7. Stand by for three while I peruse the words misused. Sound bitter, naw, just tired. But I like to come here for a bit, three minutes ain't that long. But longer than you would think. I rode my motorcycle over a bridge the other day. Off in the gravel industrial wasteland. The bridge was wooden and craven and caved in but I took it on faith. Goosed the throttle and avoided the holes. Did it a few times. Laughed a little and nodded my head. In the middle of nowhere, but a mile from a convenience store. Quite a world. Let it spin, let it twirl, I'm going to spend some time with my girls. Stop looking at the clock, do a neti pot and let the night envelope me. That reminds me, I need to go to the post office tomm and send a man a knife. Or two.

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    1. Send me a knife, too. I'll go out back and carve this into my tree.

      "E hearts JD. Together we make JED."

      Hey, look! I'm inside you!

      Awkward panda...

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    2. That's awesome. LOL. I have always loved the name Jed. PM your address to me and I will send you an antique beauty of a knife.

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    3. Living in the moment, looking toward the future. Write on bro.

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    4. RUSH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

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  8. Outstanding, guys, just outstanding. Really good entertainment and I'm buggered if I'd take your damn challenges Jaaaaaaaaayyyyyyyyy Deeeeeeeee!!!!!!!!!! :)

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    1. C'mon brother...you know you want to...the first one is free...

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  9. Bugger this, bugger that. Bugger the whole business. You know what I hate? Moving. Effing moving. No car, no wheels, nothing to get me from point a to b. I have a life, you know, or I would if I had a car! A life outside of work, anyway. You know what else is hard? Relationships. The uncertainty, the weirdness, the 'oh god did I do something wrong' moment. Girls' brains should really come with a manual. And when a guy says something, it doesn't mean something else. Promise. Or do I?

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    1. Bang! Well in, well in. I need a manual, too. And I fucking hate moving.

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    2. My wife would love this post. I know I do.

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    3. *plink* - You got the last quarter off of me brother. Well spent.

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  10. By the power of three, she mutters as she holds her arms up towards the full moon. Her red hair spills down over full breast, pale in the moonlight. Feeling the power of the moon, recharge her sense, making her again feel more alive. Giving this moment over to the divine. Stepping back she lowers arms and trips overs the cat. Why did it not happen the way it was meant to in bookS!

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  11. A room full of women and me. That's what I'm in. A harem. I hear the clacking of keys as my wife types, describing and cataloging things for eBay. My other three girls are sleeping quietly and soundly. One girl-dog on a Barney sleeping bag (Don't fuck with me - the damn thing is warm!), a feral cat on a pair of jeans on a tote, and a blind kitten in the middle of the rug. I think she fell asleep thinking she was hidden again. I just don't have the heart to explain to her that we can see her.

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    1. As with all good writing, it leaves me wanting more. If I could just turn the damn page. Well done Rich.

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    2. Man, I see it perfectly. And I both want to be there and don't. Walking that fine line in style, brother. +1

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    3. harbinger of chaos...I didn't see that. Fucking right! ;)

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  12. I woke last night from a strange dream. In it fuzzy blanket of sleep, I was a helicopter pilot. flying my huge hollow bird low, close to the tree tops and saw on the black sky above me and the accusing,ugly silver eyes twinkling down at me. I knew I had done bad things on this mission, but I couldn't remember what. The stars remembered. The stars were witness to my crimes. But it wasn't a crime, it was making some sort of piece. Up ahead I saw the beach and knew that was where I was to land my helicopter. My helicopter I named Apache-Chomper because as the steel monster hit the sand, sending billions of granules into the sky, tracks rolled out and the helicopter blades all rolled up and turned into a turret. I was speeding through the beach in my helicopter turned tank. On a mission.

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    1. That sounds surprisingly like some of my dreams. Minus the helicopter and tanks then add a vampire or two. ;-)

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    2. LOL Rush. Good stuff Erik. I had the weirdest dream last night, incidentally. Thanks for playing.

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  13. In the blink of an eye, with the flick of a switch, everything changes, everything moves. Today I felt one way and without sound or fury, it changed, I changed and nothing can be the same. How can the heart not actually break? I know it’s not shaped like a valentine chocolate box but still, where else can love and loss be located? The brain? No way. Too clinical. The feet – well you have a point there – sometimes the feet do take us places we never thought we’d go. But no, ultimately it’s the heart. And mine was broken and then taped up like a hockey stick at league practice. It’s working now. It’s strong. Thanks.

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    1. "And mine was broken and then taped up like a hockey stick at league practice. It’s working now." Love your similes.

      E.

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  14. He used to drink his cola out of a beer stein he kept in the freezer. He used to hold onto the remote control because I didn’t 'understand' how to check what was on the television. He used to sing in the car, at the top of his lungs whether it was Willie Nelson or Chaka Khan. He used to give cigarettes to the homeless guy sleeping in the park. He used to drive like a demon out of the shopping mall parkade. He used to ask me to make him jello. He used to make me laugh. He used to be mine. He used to be.

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    1. I want to know more about this "He". Do tell?

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    2. http://goingforcoffee.net/five-sentence-fiction-faces/ That's He. Anymore would hurt too much.

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    3. I love the descending narrative. Bravo again. ;)

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  15. I'm ten years old, but I know where the pieces of this puzzle used to go. The idling engine ticks softly to my right. On the ground, in the snow, a leg twitches. Mom is crying, hard. I can hear her heart break, the sound of glass on concrete; not dropped, but thrown. There, a head. Here, a tail. What horrific devastation a fan blade can cause. Blood seeps into the snow. A crimson butterfly set against a blank canvas. They hid to remain warm, to suckle heat off the engine block. We never named the kittens. Now, it seems there is no reason to. I used a shovel to make them disappear. It took three minutes. That was my first meeting with death. Him and I have become old friends since that winter morn.

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    1. Ach du lieber. Fine writing, Mr. Lorn. And I've had the same thing happen to me.

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  16. Oh Edward. Such a sad scene told so beautifully. That needed to be written and the immediacy of three minutes framed it. Oh my.

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  17. The ability to write does not make one intelligent. The ability to write something meaningful in the span of three minutes does, however. But who is to say that the time constraining us was honoured? I can attest that I honoured the time constraint, but which one of you can prove I did? It seems a pointless exercise; as much as eating food, taking naps, working for some schmuck like mad, trying desperately to continue the cycle one more month... one more year; one more day. Perhaps we could take a lesson from history, which tells us, time and time again: "Once upon a time, he died."

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    1. Very nice! If not for pointless exercise, what would we do? ;) Well played indeed.

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  18. Heat, my lovely, my warm, crackling wonder, charm the chill from the air and from my toes, heat is what I crave, but the air isn’t abiding, air isn’t allowing, as the clouds of winter descend through the treetops and all the heat-type devices sigh and groan as they are prodded into life for another season, at least this one I may not need to suffer through, hopefully the groan of machines will not be the only music in this house, hopefully the warm sweetness will loosen my fingers when the words can’t, when the words can’t warm, when they won’t shatter my fingers like ice, dry ice, thick on the windows, think in my heart, even the trees shiver, even the mountains quake, all begins in this house, this room, this small shivery heater doing the job I can’t, can never do. Heat beats freezing, heat beats hunger, heat beats harsh words like soft fingers through my hair, soothing my skin and soul.

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    1. Lovely. I especially like heat-type devices. But the whole tone. Especially this morning. I'm chilly, too. :)

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