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.
You sit there, Basset Hound eyes, hands twitching like a tweaker with Parkinson’s, and you expect me to say … what? Everything is going to be OK? Can’t you feel it? I know you don’t hear it, but can’t you fucking smell it? I can. It smells like paranoia and cheap cologne. It feels like there’s a toddler in the corner, mewling, “Just leave me alone!” When all you’re trying to do is explain why it’s not safe to play in the street.
You’re gonna get run over, son.
I’m not your enemy, and I don’t aim to be the agent of anyone’s demise. I do not direct nervous breakdowns. You want to break? I get it. But it’s something you kind of have to do on your own. Ain’t nobody going to tell you how to fuck your life up. And maybe, when someone tells you how not to, you should listen.
Look at me when I’m talking to you.
You got that slick-grease guilt sweat coming out of every pore. Shit, it’s making me nervous. So, you gotta choice, I reckon.
You gonna play in that traffic?
#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...