Hey, writer-type folks. AND PEOPLE WHO JUST WANT TO PLAY BUT DON'T IDENTIFY AS 'WRITERS' - all are welcome here! Every Friday, we do a fun free-write. For fun. And Freedom!
Write whatever you want in the 'comments' section on this blog post. Play as many times as you like. #breaktheblog! You have two minutes (give or take a few seconds ... no pressure!). 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.
Don't it smell good? Don't you think it's swell? Look, right there, you look deep enough and you'll disappear in there. Board or not. Puff. Smoke. Take only footprints, leave only air. Keep yelling loud enough and they'll hear you. Like a thousand cowbells. Man, I don't like the way the wind smells.
We're all stumbling around looking for somewhere soft to land. That's not so terrible. Hell, that seems civilized, almost. Bearable. Wide open eyes. Don't fucking look at me. Just don't look away. See that stain on the drywall? Looks like Jesus. Or a pigeon.
One of the two.
I can't brush my teeth enough times to get the taste out. Get your plastic bins, it's time to get the waste out. Get your favorite pants. It's time to let the waist out. Get fed. Get up. Get fed up. Dance.
Get wasted and kicked out.
Your ears don't work right. I know it. You know it. They're like chipmunk ears. Can't hear the frequency. Is that real? True? Can I bask in that legitimacy? I don't know much about chipmunks. I hear they're mean fighters. Don't ask me.
I'm a fiction writer.
This is what the tired brain says. These are the xylophone keys I'm banging. Your moms is crying because you left her hanging. Said you'd come back, but you never did. Just like you, you ungrateful fucking kid. War on drugs? Relax, Nancy. It'll all be fine.
Fuck trees and sunshine and rainbows and ice cream. I don't mean have sexual relations with them. What the hell is wrong with you? Your brain didn't settle right. The seams aren't tight.
If you put your hands on me, you better do it slow and easy. I startle. And I don't like being surprised. I like to see truth when I look into your eyes. Not bitterness. Not cheap bourbon lies. Father's day ties.
Five dollars will get you a ticket to ride.
You breathe in. You breathe out. That's what this whole thing is about. Eat, shit, breathe, live, die, find out what happens. We need to send a reporter out into the field. A good one. With glasses and a pad.
Find out what the fuck is real.
I'm done now. And this doesn't make a lick of sense. Or does it? Sweet recompense. I waited where you told me to wait. I was there on time for your trumped up date. But you were late. And then you were late again, and we had us some children.
They were born into sin. Drinking lead. Sheltered by tin.
Anyway, that's what I've got for you. Cryptic bullshit and cheap rhymes. Subtle distraction leads to frantic crimes. Your screams won't help you; they just give away your location. Me? I'm on a reality vacation. You too? Bully. Have a nice trip.
See you next fall.
#2minutesgo Tweet it! Share it! Shout it from the top of the shack you live in! I will be out most of the day, but I'll be back...