Friday, March 21, 2014

2 Minutes. Go!

Hey, writer-type folks. Every Friday we do a fun free-write. No reason. Just ending the week in style.

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. Then send 'em here to read your 'two' and encourage them to play. 

Have a good weekend!

There is gauze blocking the sun. It shows through, but it seems embarrassed. Like it's not doing a good enough job. I want to hug the sun until the worries that leap out in unpredictable fire spouts are manageable. I want to be right there behind home plate. You can do it, sun! Just keep your eye on the ball. Something tells me that would creep the whole solar system out, though. Still, you gotta feel for the poor thing, up there, trying to coat the world in golden solstice, while the haze just won't let it be.

20 comments:

  1. (This took a lot longer than 2 minutes. It doesn't come naturally. Is that cheating?)

    You will know me soon. This nobody. This grey man. The one who lives on the periphery. The one whose ideas were cast aside for your more inferior and aimless plans. You have no class. Your ideas lack depth. Nuance. Yet they choose you despite your ignorance on the subject? The flaws brushed aside on consideration of the splendidly brash confidence of your delivery.
    I hate you. I want that confidence. Your beastly macho confidence.

    I shall steal it from you. Rip it from you. I shall have my glorious revenge! My impotent rage has had time to fester, fuelling my inner devious bastard. Ha! You’ll see!

    I’m gonna... I’m gonna... Oh who am I kidding?

    You win.

    Again.

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    1. lol. No winners and losers here. Just a bunch of friendly words. Thanks for stopping by and dropping some vowels and consonants. :)

      Bonus points because you spelled grey the right way.

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  2. It must be hard for you, I read your blog. It must be so very hard, I don't know how you find the time. No time for me, there are more promising people to tend to. It must be difficult to find the time. It must take all your talents and effort. To be such a complete bitch.

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    1. I just laughed so loud I scared the cat. I AM a complete bitch, too. ;)

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    2. We are all, at one time or another, someone's bitch. Trying to be a complete one is the trick. You complete me, Dan ;) I hope the cat has gotten used you reading my posts by now, BTW.

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  3. Slow news day on the hill. The crescents of snow remain at the sides of the driveway, dry like old sea foam, the crocuses not showing their small green tips just to spite me, it seems. The peepers still silent, as if to mock how badly I want to hear them. So I make news. I drop a dish on purpose. Wish I could fling them all against the side of the garage, but then that’s more mess to clean up, and that would make the headlines here on a day when nobody wants to paginate the story, nobody wants to do anything but take naps or wait for spring or hunt the property for robins.

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    1. This is lovely as always. I think you are the only person I know who could use the word paginate in a two minute flash. ;)

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  4. My brother found them on the train tracks one morning when he was up to no good: a black cat and a butterscotch one. Choo Choo and Butterscotch, for lack of more creativity. But what did we know? We were small, ten and six and four, and the universe had dropped cats into our dogs-only home. Quickly they adopted us and made our little sky-blue house their own, winning over the dogs, snuggling into beds, taking over couches, even the chair my father watched Star Trek in. He claimed he hated cats, but one day I caught him petting Butterscotch, talking to her as he fixed his coffee. Tagged, Dad. Tagged.

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    1. Nice! Yes, cats will always win in my book. "...the universe had dropped cats into our dogs-only home." - love it

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  5. He wasn't that big, it was something in his eyes. In fact, he was a small man. In every way. Small head, small brain, small ideas, small sins. You could say he should get a pass. I wouldn't say that he does, but that's me. I'm odd.

    And it's OK for me to say that. Cause I'm talking about me. Like how you can make fun of your OWN sister. You call me odd and it's ON. I'll go buy a bottle and lock myself in the closet. Think I won't? Put your money on the table.

    What? You think I'd just take the money. You have been paying attention.

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  6. She smiled at him right when she thought he would be looking, but at that moment he looked away. What was his interest in that he didn't return her smile? She was curious now so she headed his way to walk a bit closer with out being obtruse. As she walked, she suddenly noticed the sour look on his face. Was he concerned? Was he mad that she'd smiled? No, it was the dead girl on the train tracks that had his interest. She gasped, it was her best friend. He'd shoved her just before he'd ignored the smile. She felt faint; then she felt a shove.

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    1. That last line is a killer. Cool piece, the way it unfolds is really interesting ... the structure. I'm really glad you shared this with us. Thank you!

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  7. The universe lives in that chunk of oak. Careful cuts reveal...what?
    It's too soon to tell. Remove slivers slowly. Muscles move of their own volition, denying any attempt to control the process.

    There. Finished, I think. A grotesque visage stares back,

    Another damn mirror.

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    1. Damn, that's good. As always. I can't even single out one part, it's all ace. Bravo.

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  8. The Last Debrief

    Perhaps it's because you have two of everything. Two lower appendages, two upper. Two mammaries. Gonads. Binocular vision. You are obsessed, bound and determined, to choose this over that, the far over the near, the left and the right, the up and the down, the purest dark and the damnedest light.

    And because we're many-limbed and multivisioned, a field of possibility so much more complex than your stark binaries, we don't need to make your kinds of choice, between faith and nihilism, release and execution. We can live beneath the layered greys, comforted by those rings of lambent light against charcoal backgrounds our generations have always dreamed under, a space less void than some firefly twilight.

    Your rage is inevitable given you can only dwell in either the birth agony of sunfire or the raw, biting negation of interstellar cold.

    In the spirit of all your kind's doomed couplings, especially when one party finally grasps the pure harm they've recently undergone, at the tail-end of a tarnished tryst, we wish we'd never met you. We wish that fervently and, in terms you yourselves will understand more than most, inexorably and eternally.

    As we recoil from you, we realise how ironic it is the extent to which our chance encounter has unsettled and perhaps damaged our own historic, even genetic, equilibrium.

    We hope and expect to recover from this after the passing of millennia. We're a long-lived people. If after eons of reflection and purification it so happens that we can't shake your taint, can't scrub away the stink of you, we will return to your skies and, from a sense of both mercy and vengeance, we will obliterate your kind from this universe, for good and for all, and most likely for the good of all.

    The final appalling irony being that, in the act itself, we will ostensibly have become you.

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    1. Wow. This is awesome, my friend. Truly.

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  9. An original idea? Be serious, Cousin Vernon lip-synced world sentiments like one of those sausage grinders dropping down red meat to stuff in pork intestines -- purely useless drivel even as a breakfast treat. If two friends argued, then asked Vernon which one was right, he'd traditionally respond, "You are, Pete, and so are you, Fred." Talk about straddling fences. It's a wonder Vernon didn't go through life with torn trousers or worse, bloody you-know-what. I wonder what he told the mugger who shot him to death one dark Friday on his way home from work. My bet is some famous quote from somebody famous's lips. Certainly not his own words. Not even a please or take my wallet or please please. Maybe Vernon said nothing at all.

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    1. Man, I love your flash, Sal. Nary a word wasted. Well in, my friend.

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  10. He waited for the door to open, and slipped in. He roamed the tables for a bit, looking for a bite to eat, but the bouncer caught sight of him and chased him out. Ten minutes later he crept back in behind a burly guy. This time with stealth. The girls on stage didn't notice him, nor anyone else this time, and he hid under a table that was dripping with beer. He found some popcorn on the floor and snatched it up, and caught the droplets of beer as they cascaded. That's when the bartender saw him, and hollered for the bouncer to get him out. This time the bouncer had enough, and was going to call the police when Rod spoke up. "Don't do that, I'll take him out of here for you." They left the bar and jumped in Rod's truck. That's when he called me. "Hey JT, I've got someone you need to meet. I'll be there in a few minutes." Rod got out of the truck first and said "He's probably 120 pounds or so, and it looks like he needs a friend." I opened the passenger door and he jumped out, landing on me. The next thing I know, we're rolling around on the pavement. I looked at Rod and said, "Alright, you got me. I'll take him home." That's how I got the best dog in the world. A beast of a Rottweiler, and after my own heart. Who doesn't like titties and beer?

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    1. I like it, brother. The story. Dogs I'm not so sure about. ;) Aw, hell. Some dogs are nice, I guess.

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