Friday, January 17, 2014

2 minutes. Go!

Hey, writer-type folks. Every Friday Laurie E. Boris and I do a fun free write (You want public recognition? Laurie's here EVERY FRIDAY!:)

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. Play as many times as you like. So, tell a friend. If you have one. If not, tell your enemies. Then send 'em here to read your 'two' and encourage them to play. 

I don't know when the fall started or how long it will last. It seems like it's been an awful long time. It's dark for one thing, like the inside of a combat boot. I also don't remember when I stopped fearing the fall. Because, I'll admit, it was terrifying for years. I can't grasp it. It's like a piece of wet ice, flouncing it's way out of my hand. 

The fall is boring, but peaceful in a way I can barely explain. The smell of ozone. The sheer noise of the wind and the singing pebbles, scattering somewhere far away. 


I suppose at some point I'll stop falling. Until then, I'm going to enjoy the ride.

18 comments:

  1. Enjoy - well that's one word for it. In the way that lethargy and intertia can be called rest. That desire to stay under to covers and pretend the world outside isn't turning brown and grey and colourless all around you.

    Do we pretend? Do we fool ourselves with the dream that winter will make things sparkle and that spring follows close behind with green and colopurs and scents and new life.

    Maybe. Because now, it's just death, drear, and gloom.

    Turn that light off. It hurts my eyes. Bah!

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    1. Love it! Thanks for stopping by, lady. :)

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  2. My brakes squeal as I lean on them, stopping me before the hardware store parking lot lets out into the street. A man on the sidewalk gawks at me, not like someone who needs her brakes fixed, but like he knows me. His hat is askew, one of those Guatemalan things with the long wool pigtails hanging down the sides, his coat open to show he doesn’t care about the weather, that long, slow lope they do in Woodstock. But then he keeps going, giving the back end of my car that double take when they see the bumper stickers. The one I never took down. The one that’s been defaced six times. He sees it and then in my rear view mirror, he smiles.

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  3. Nobody is supposed to talk about the lady down the street. The one with sixteen cats in the front yard and garbage piled up so high in her car that you wonder how she can see out the back window. Nobody is supposed to talk about the lady, and you definitely aren’t allowed to bring in the newspapers that pile up around the box by the street. Nobody is supposed to do that. And don’t even think about asking her the cats’ names, unless you have nothing to do for the next hour and want to hear why two are called Roger Ten Toes and Double Love Samuelson. She might even give you a cat to take home. That’s why we have so many. Because I can’t help but stop.

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  4. It's been a good week. A good week. One of those weeks where the sun seems to shine (though it isn't), and the people are smiling (though they aren't). It's springtime in my steps, a deep winter has finally thawed. Optimism is here again, and my inner blackbird is starting to sing once more!

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    1. Keep singing! I like the balance in this piece.

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  5. I want to be anywhere but here, where the machines whir and his chest is thrust in and out. I want to disappear, tell his wife I’m going for coffee and never return. When it’s my time for a break, I go for a walk, outside the ward, down the elevator, down the parking lot and to the street, walking, just moving, freeing my body of that dismal smell of impending death. I want to be anywhere but this town full of strip malls and theme restaurants, and when we go home that night, I don’t want to be on the same couch watching the same television shows and thinking the thing we aren’t saying, will never say, will never do. When I’m out walking, I imagine stopping the nearest car and telling the stunned driver, “Take me anywhere but here.”

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  6. He looks at you with those milk white eyes. Squints at the track marks on your arms and flinches. 'Not gonna be me, I'm just a chipper."

    "That's what they all say, Mate."

    "No, I'll never be like you."

    The smoke is thin and you sit there thinking, 'what a fucking waste'. It's like watching someone burn money. But it's not your place. He'll figure it out soon enough. In the mean time you watch the scorch marks on the walls and you try not to burn yourself with cigarettes and you think, 'shit, maybe I should dial it back.' But you won't. You're chipping days are over. You're using a driver now. You're gonna keep whacking until it goes in the hole.

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  7. Moving is too much effort when hands are frozen and face is blanched. Just sit. Maybe lay. How can the fever of desire burn so hot when the flesh is so cold? Wait for somnambulance. It's the only hope.

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    1. That was short and sweet, my friend.

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  8. The night air was just about the perfect temperature when I came out the front of the club at 2 AM. I was greeted by just what you want to see in that part of town at 2AM - no one. Still I feel the eyes on me. There are always eyes on you in Old Town, you only notice them when you are alone. Its dangerous, delicious, its under the Burnside bridge where strangers walk up and ask, "Is there anything you need ... tonight?" Damn good question. The greater part of humanity could learn from the simple manors of pimps and dealers. All I really need is to make it two blocks along dark streets to the parking garage and drive home. There is nothing I need here. I tug on the strap of my gig bag so the weight of my Fender bass is better balanced on my shoulder head south.

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    1. That was awesome. I love this line: "The greater part of humanity could learn from the simple manors of pimps and dealers."

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  9. JD, I'm on the computer from 8 to 10 A.M. each day, so I always see your flash invitations on Saturday morning. Too late. I'd like to participate.

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    1. You can participate whenever you like, brother. Rules are lax around here.

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