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.
I wish the world had a big-ass volume knob, old school, like the one on your grandpa's belching radio. The kind you can use to silence everything with one sweep of the hand. I'm getting tired of turning the world down one click at a time. I'm sick of having injustice shoved into my brain - it's too damn loud.
If I see another phony smile filled with thousands of dollars worth of dental work, I might just have to send someone back to the dentist. I won't stoop to the level of the lying masses, though.
Free passes or no. It's just not worth it.
There are only so many hours you can spend, neck-cricked, staring at ceiling tiles and wondering. It makes you the wrong kind of angry. Not a productive angry. An angry that ricochets inside you, leaving vast areas of hurt and damage. You can't let the anger out, though. Got to keep it bottled up like fireflies that burn your retinas. Mutant fireflies. They burn like napalm.
I'll stand and let the wind wash me, but that only works for the outside. How do I blow away the anger? How do I stop reading about terrified people living terrifying lives and then go about my business living mine? How can you do that? Doesn't it chafe at you? Aren't you rubbed raw yet?
I imagine myself at the top of a mountain, ready to fly. To stoop like a falcon and let the wind buffet me. Let it shake me so hard that I can't even hold onto a thought.
I know I got on the ride, but now I want a refund for the ticket I bought.
Snake oil, endless toil, polluted soil. Well, well. Haven't we learned a goddamn thing? My four year old knows more than most of the adults I know. Be kind. Clean up your things. Don't lie. Never, ever lie.
That's the one I can't understand. The smallest transgressions leave me guilt-ridden for days. Hell, I beat the shit out of myself on a regular basis for things so inconsequential that even I know I'm being crazy, losing my grip.
What can I say, I was born into the middle of a cross-country guilt trip.
But the lying. Is it that some folks don't have that inner cricket? Or is it more than that - a sticky wicket? Are we even playing by the same rules? Are we even in the same game? Does it matter?
I think it does.
It takes a little man to attack with petty grievances. To lash out at those who have the audacity to try to tell the truth. The truth makes you uncomfortable? The truth makes everyone uncomfortable. That's part of the reason it's so important.
Seems to me like there are too many folks happy being comfortable. And you can argue and try to dissuade. Shuck and grin while you plan how to use your vacation days. You can hold on and tell yourself that you'll be safe as long as you keep your head down. It won't work. We're all fucked. And I'm not burying my head in the sand.
If it's going to happen I want to see it coming. Maybe then I'll understand.
#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...