Friday, August 9, 2013

3 minutes. Go!

(OK, a lot of people have asked. Basically, every Friday everyone who wants to is invited to drop three minutes of verbiage in the comments. Easy.) ;)

I'm gonna put it in the mail and that's that. No stress. The USPS has bigger fish to fry. You said you wanted your pound of flesh, so it's coming. I apologize if the package drips a bit. I did put it in several freezer bags. But those things never work.

I wish we could have found a simpler solution. But, then again, I'm still trying to stop the bleeding and running out of time.

You'll have it soon. The post office doesn't fuck around. I have to figure out what I'm going to say when they ask if there is anything hazardous in the package. It doesn't seem like something dangerous to me, but that sucker fucked you up. Now you can call me heartless and I won't even mind. Ain't it grand?

28 comments:

  1. A brick through the upstairs window lands in the middle of the bed,
    Lucky it missed him and wasn't my window instead.
    A foot through the hallway panel, shatters on the floor,
    A door gets busted, how much more?
    Sirens blaring the smell of weed, I stumble on the pieces, oh crap I start to bleed,
    Groups of youths part to smile and let me pass,
    Put on my favourite record, I love the sound of breaking glass.

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    1. That's dope. The last line is the SHIT!

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  2. Calmly gaining strength,

    Tame the beast lying prostrate

    Before us with a gentle force,

    Physical strength discarded,

    Harness the power of spirit.

    By love we have conquered,

    We wear the crown of infinity

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  3. You think I wouldn't hear about it. Nah, you didn't think. Your brain was up there with the fluffy H-Bomb clouds. You were obliterated. I don't care, I just don't like being misrepresented unless I'm the one doing the misrepresenting. But it's all good. It's all kitten whiskers and popsicles, brother. When enough water goes under a bridge, it sweeps the whole damn bridge away. And that's about where we're at. I know, you've had enough of that. But it ain't over til the fat lady sings and you don't know any. You know thin, grey girls with trackmarks fucking up the sleeves they paid too much for. You know cliches, sad ones at that. But you can leave me out of it. I won't complain a bit. I left the party early and it was the best thing I ever did.

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  4. What happened to you? I mean, really where did you go? I always knew there was a dark spot at your core, I averted my gaze away from it. I hoped, nay yearned to see your light. Empathy, the old friend you no longer recognise.
    I won't bother you again my troubles won't move you. You are firm in belief of yourself, immovable as a standing megalith.
    Shit happens you say without feeling. Well try saying that to a constipated horse and see if you get a swift kick to the goolies.
    And when you come crying to me maybe I will say "shit happens" except I won't be smiling.

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    1. "Well try saying that to a constipated horse and see if you get a swift kick to the goolies." FTW! lol

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    2. Goolies, he said goolies...lol.

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    3. She said? Yeah she said goolies.

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  5. The car couldn’t hold another thing. Not another handbag, pair or shoes, or even a toothpick. “Where are you going?” he’d asked, but she made up some lie, some city she drew from her imagination that sounded realistic, Springtown or Centerville or some name that could be anywhere, in any state. She’d just managed to pack up the car without his knowledge, while he was at work. Yeah, it was cowardly, but so was he. No note. No nothing. Shit, she thought, as she slammed the hatch closed, barely closed, her teddy bear smooshed up against the glass. And went back inside to compose a note. Always love you, she thought of writing, even though it was a total lie. Take care of yourself sounded false, again, because she knew he never would. He was immortal in his own eyes, death happened to other people in other places and he would live forever. Except it would have to be without her.

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    Replies
    1. Oooh. Nice one, G. The smooshed teddy is a great image.

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  6. Seething anger. Purposeful disregard. Hateful rage. Silent disdain. She’s not sure anyone notices. She assumes no one does. Assumes that everyone moves passed her through their lives as she does through hers, poignantly ignoring the other warm bodies. Gray is her favorite color. No that’s not true; the clothes she most frequently wears are gray. Second to gray would be black and every now and then some previously white clothes, now slightly discolored, yellowish, with brown gray stains of use and wash and reuse. Any other author would indirectly characterize her by letting you know how she sulks, with a slightly furrowed brow, while roaming around bookstores and her local coffee shop not named Starbucks. But why make you wait and wonder and create characterizations of your own. She’s a sulker, a lurker, a depressed anti-social hermit. She wouldn’t characterize herself this way though. She doesn’t see her depression as bad or undesirable. She embraces it, embodies the nuances couched in a lack of enthusiasm and basks in her apathy. What others might consider a wasted day watching reruns of Mork and Mindy while eating PB and J sandwiches, she doesn’t consider at all. Not a thought wasted on regret or pity, no worry or anxiety.

    Grace Mullen lives in a small apartment, in some ways disheveled and messy, but not dirty or dingy. Well kept in regards to real messes, like dirty dishes, left over food, and dirty clothes. Definitely cluttered but not necessarily disorganized. Piles of books and magazines stacked in small craggy cliffs, with squiggly valley cleanly carved out over brown worn rug.

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    1. Yo, I like this a lot, dude. You coulda done your cheat edit better, but I dig it. ;)

      And I dig Mork and Mindy.

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    2. You mean I could have edited more? I could have edited without mentioning that I cheated and then no one would have know I had cheated?

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    3. This is a character who came to me a few nights ago and I don't think she is going away. I am feeling the bug to start writing again and I think I will start with her. I have more already, it just would have been way too obvious that it was 15 minutes of writing and not 3.

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  7. Oh and I cheated, it was like 5-10 minutes. I made two edits right now, deleted my original and re-posted. I am a cheater.

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    1. Oh, and I am getting pretty good at proving I am not a robot. Sometimes though the robot test stumps me. And then I am left wondering, am I a robot?

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    2. YOU FUCKING CHEATED YOU CHEATING FUCKER! OMG, THE THINGS I'M GONNNA FUCKING DO TO YOU WHEN I SEE YOU NEXT. YOU THINK ABOUT THE WORST FUCKING THING YOU CAN EVER IMAGINE AND THEN MULTIPLY IT. I'M TALKING ANAL RAPE BY WOLVES WHILE RUSH LIMBAUGH GIVES YOU A FUCKING ROOT CANAL TO DROWN OUT THE NOISE OF THE APOCALYPSE, MOTHERFUCKER. YOU! FUCK! YOUR! MOTHER! (actually, tell her I said hi, and cheating is acceptable with proper accountability and history).

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  8. It lives in glass. It comes in all colors and it seems so innocuous. Oh, the things it can do for you. You like the amber colors best. And you watch them simmer in the mirror behind the bar while your stomach is all, "what the fuck, dude? I thought we we pals". Then, you're like: you were never my fucking pal. Maybe, my accomplice. You can't think because I keep switching shit up on you. Person-wise. Like this. You're reading this sentence. John was a good boy who never did wrong. I am a good boy. It's all the same because you're all the same people and you don't know what I know: in a world far away, my cheating friend could get shards of glass with purple in the middle. Beautiful. And we lived to tell the tale. You're wondering how this story was about you now. You're addicted to something. TV, food, drink, drugs, sex, larceny...pick a sin.

    (I DIDN'T CHEAT) ;)

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  9. When God's a bust and man is crippled, in what does one believe. You can't believe in yourself because ego. You can't love yourself because narcissism. You can't drink the Kool-Aid because you made it and you know what's in it. You can't fuck it all because the tight bitch won't spread its goddamn legs.

    Yeah, I'm a little disjointed. A good bit fucking angry. I'm a case of fatass-itis with a side of broken give-a-damn. I wanna skullfuck the world, impregnate its feeble mind, and prove myself once and for all. Can't walk, but I can ride this shit out. Can't control my sugar, but I'm sweet on life. Breathing is nice, yo. What I'm getting at is, at least this motherfucker's still here. And that's somethin', ain't it?

    Imma ride this motherfucker 'til the wheels fall off then roll down to Walmart and get my money back. You ain't seen the last of me, Customer Service.

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  10. Strange constellations spun before his visor and Danny took a moment to marvel at the beauty of the cosmos. A strange ringed planet turning beneath his feet as he paused. And him just appreciating Space. With a capital 'S'.
    And then his tether line pulled him up short with a snap.
    Turning to face ship-ward, Danny drew on his safety line, 'hand-over-handing' himself back toward the PSV Morris Traveller and his work detail.
    “What ya doing out there, Hugh? We ain't got all day you know. We're supposed to be undocking in five hours and supervisor Floyd won't hesitate to fine us if we're anything more than a few seconds late!”
    Danny sighed. “Okay, Just coming back now. I've a few minutes work to do and then I'll be back aboard again.”
    Danny had worked on the Morris Traveller for eighteen months now and Captain Everett hadn't yet tired of his one 'Danny' joke in all that time. Just because his family name was Janus, he'd always called him Hugh. He'd even done it while he was interviewing him for his job. And Danny'd thought it'd soon get old...

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    1. Awesome! Thanks for stopping by, brother.

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