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 TWO minutes. 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.
It's either the brain or the eyes. Could be both. There is a film over everything you let your eyes land on. It is like looking through cheap drugstore glasses smeared in vaseline. Close eyes. Open. Goddamn, it's still fucking there. What the hell? What the hell. Why fight it? You'll only lose. Maybe you'll die. Maybe the medical insurance company that sucks all the money out of your bank account will inscribe your member number on your headstone.
Then, they'll bill your family. Condolences and shit. Give us the goddamn money and God bless the USA.
Gotta go another round.
So the hands spin and you try to take the longview, but you usually fail. You think back on the dinosaur tail of frustration that has really only been a few decades. You look forward to the years that fan out in front of you like an obscene Geisha dream. You don't 'look forward' to it really. It's just an expression. Don't get yourself all worked up.
I'm changing it up. I'm a huckster. I'm a ten cent bet that guarantees nothing, but fits your budget. Here's a chisel, write it on my forehead. Warn the others. It's the only civil thing to do and you believe in civility don't you? Or maybe he does. I sure don't. That's a lie, but isn't everything?
He’d sent her to the magic store for flash paper, for a new set of red sponge balls. As the man fetched them from the back, she trolled the shiny glass cabinets, her eye drawn to the Jumping Gems, an illusion she used to keep kids quiet on long train rides. Her father had bought her a set, a million years ago, it seemed. She wondered how she’d ended up here, the assistant and not the one with the top hat and wand. She’d never wanted to be the eye candy distraction in the leotard and fishnets; she’d never wanted to be crammed into one half of a trick box, knees flexed to her chin while some putz in tails pretended to saw her in half. No, she thought, trailing a finger along the counter as if she could reach inside for the pricey illusions inside. One day, one day soon, I’ll be wearing the tails. I’ll be holding the goddamned wand.ReplyDelete
Pure awesome. ;)Delete
Sun sinks pink into the naked trees. The whistle blows, signaling time for the factories that no longer exist to shut down, but it had become such a habit in the small town that the whistle rang on its own timer, to the invisible workers taking off their hardhats and smocks and laying them on the vacant work benches until the end of time. Sun sinks pink and the old workers, stooped from years of bending into their tasks, inserting their own bodies into the thingamabobs they crafted together, shuffle home to houses that no longer exist, families that no longer call the place their own, meals that only are imagined whiffs of cooking meat and simmering spices. They go home and come back when the morning whistle again sounds, and the cycle starts again.ReplyDelete
Sweet. Love it. Especially the first line and its echo.Delete
If you can't be smart, just be stupid louder. This is America, for fuck's sake. You don't need a reason to be an obnoxious simpleton...its your goddamn birthright. Speaking of which, there are several things we need to establish.ReplyDelete
Have a car that gets more than 12 miles to the gallon
Like to have conversations that are two sided
Think about things, like with your brain
Believe that everyone should have the right to be as big a bitch as you are
Think that we should try to help people instead of zipping by
...then you are clearly a communist. Why don't you go to Europe. I hear that's a nice country. Or Switzerland or something. Cause you're not welcome here. Asshole.