Friday, November 29, 2013

2 minutes. Go!

Hey, writer-type folks. Every Friday we do a fun free write. Basically, you can write whatever you want in the comments section. You have ONE minute. Have fun. The more people who play, the more fun it is. So tell a friend. If you have one. If not, tell your enemies. 

Sometimes I wonder how much of me is me. How much of me is a patchwork of anecdotes I've heard, books I've read ... things that I have forgotten did not belong to me. I think we are all like this. Maybe that is the reality of the collective unconscious. We are all feeding off each other's first day of school stories. First love stories. The elemental stories that define the miasma of life. Its glory and its decadent oblivion. Sadness. The bite of joy on a cold winter morning. We are all deep in it. We all share it. Some of us put it into words. Some pictures. Some people build vast machines that I can't begin to comprehend. I like words, myself.


  1. I live on the crow highway. We all do. Crow wants us to bleed. Crow wants us to smile and reveal rotten teeth. Crow himself smiles as he hears us moan in our sleep. As children are beaten. As wives are punched. Crow doesn't smile because any of this makes him happy. No, crow smiles because he knows all things find resolution somewhere along the loop and that a predatory beak stab here will become the tugged, torn earthworm there, and that the once-assailed will be the assailant, somewhere along the crow highway.


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