2 Minutes. Go!

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 know what you’re feeling. I know those sly delusions that slip through the cracks in your window panes, ceilings. They smell like sulfur, steeped in pain. I know you didn’t mean to hurt anyone. Who could have foreseen this? Who could have guessed you’d steer us toward such disaster?

They asked the boy what he wanted to be called, and he said he didn’t want to be called anything. He wanted to be left alone. I know how that feels – to hear that, to feel the rage explode inside you until you find yourself panting, everyone staring like you’re insane.

I know what it feels like when you see what you did and you see yourself like they see you. I don’t know why I couldn’t be a happy boy. I don’t know why, but it wasn’t for lack of trying. I know exactly how it feels.

Don’t trip.

You hear it forever. That’s something you don’t see coming. I expected there were things I would always see, but I didn’t know about the sounds. How they would come in the still, dark hours to claw and tear. I know how you’re feeling. 

Scared.

The blood is slick on the Bowie’s handle and you pull with all your strength. No purchase. Blood and suction. I know exactly how it feels.

Trust me.

#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...#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...

2 Minutes. Go!

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’m a special kind of dirtbag. Like an overly sentient dirtbag. Like, maybe if I was really honest with myself I’d admit that I’m not a dirtbag, but fuck you anyway because I feel like one. And I’ve done some shady shit. Smoked weed in your mom’s closet and then said, “I don’t smell anything. Are you sure?” Swigged off a whiskey teat while driving down the highway. Goddamn lucky I didn’t turn myself or anyone else to meat.

Throw myself down the stairs on purpose? Neat. Did that. But it was for your film. Said it didn’t record, so I did it again. I wonder if that was true? I was a fifth and a half in. Plus beers, but we don’t really count the beers, do we? Beer is like having sex in a canoe. It’s fucking close to water. And I ripped that off from a Sedaris story, but I don’t think he made it up. So, blah. Saw him read. He recommended everyone buy a lesser known author’s book. It was punk rock. Fucking great book, too.

What I’m saying is that we’re basically best friends, me and Sedaris. Old bastard. I love him. He loves me. He wants you to buy all my books and then go fuck yourself. He told me. 

I snorted a FUCKTON of minithins. It don’t get much more dirtbag that that. Crush 'em up and and get wired with a weird feeling scalp!

I snorted ALEVE once. Cause you do weird shit when you’re on drugs. That hurt like the fires of hell in my face. That was the worst pain I have ever experienced. Lasted for about 45 minutes. I should not have done it. My friends enjoyed it though.

Kids in juvie snort sugar when they’re jonesin’ – which ain’t such a bad look. Not as fun as coke, but it tastes a whole lot better. Coke tastes like crushed up aspirin. You get to where you “like” it because you associate it with the feeling, but it doesn’t taste good. Not like sugar, sugar.

I’m an OG dirtbag, too. My friend Sean and I used to cut up hollow reeds that grew by our house and smoke them when we didn’t have cigarettes. Guaranteed that was a bad call. That one may come back to bite me. Might not.

Smoked crack. Smoked dust. Heroin scared me. Acid opened up a lot of shit – good and bad. Same with mushrooms, peyote, ketamine, DXM, MDMA, crystal, opium, caffeine, nicotine, chocolate and sex. Dirtbag shit. Packing your gums with chewing tobacco – a whole can – and laying back looking at the stars. Tripping. Dirtbag shit.

So don’t come around here with your holier than thou bullshit. Your dogged doggerel nonsense. Your slander and recriminations. I did a lot of shit that you probably think I should be ashamed of. I’m not. I’m ashamed of two things. Killing a bird. And cutting a short line for a friend when we were supposed to be sharing. That’s what made me stop doing coke.

And killing birds.

#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...#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...

2 Minutes. Go!

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.

On tender feet, she waits for me to call

Singing with dry lips that curse the dark night

She knows my weakness, knows how I will fall

Sipping, slipping into sated respite

 

Her coral skin shines bright in mid-day sun

She shimmers beauty through the window pane

She sings as softly as a stream doth run

The red blood that courses through villain vein

 

I am helpless in the shadow she casts

Dependent on the sweet relief she brings

I am the pain that, still enduring, lasts

Mocking peasants, paupers, false knights and kings

 

To quench my thirst, I reach for her again

And in so doing, return eternal sin

*Yeah, I wrote a sonnet. Bonus points for correct interpretation. ;)

#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...#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...

2 Minutes. Go!

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.

The sun sits on the mountain top teasing the men below. They, who work wrapped in wool and still shiver in the frosty air while the sun smiles at them, but will not reach out to them. The men hate the sun. The sun is not aware of the men.

Snowfall and time and loneliness. These are the fences that sit in the mens' brains – they keep thoughts in until they grow stale or rancid. They keep new ideas out, forcing them into some periphery of the brain, seeping out like steam from sweat as the men toil in the frigid air.

They all came for different reasons and stayed for the same reason. There was nowhere else to go. Stuck in a hell-scape of frozen tundra and ice, the men muttered curses that reached up to the heavens and fell on deaf ears.

They go days without seeing any humans that aren’t half frozen. Any animals that aren’t half starved. It is a penance for a life lived recklessly, and the men accept it. But they will always hate the sun.

#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...#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...