tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1128469884487763839.post3444024471237698770..comments2024-03-24T11:17:10.498-07:00Comments on Unemployed Imagination.: 3 minutes. Go!JD Maderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13058074115809620653noreply@blogger.comBlogger8125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1128469884487763839.post-52263969654925550772014-03-15T10:35:49.766-07:002014-03-15T10:35:49.766-07:00So glad you came by, Sal. Great piece as always. T...So glad you came by, Sal. Great piece as always. This "...the white strip on their wrists once graced a watch" is a fantastic image. JD Maderhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/13058074115809620653noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1128469884487763839.post-63565168669105994202014-03-15T07:14:13.092-07:002014-03-15T07:14:13.092-07:00Three New York minutes or three from someplace lai...Three New York minutes or three from someplace laid back where tanned tourists drink umbrellaed drinks and the white strip on their wrists once graced a watch. You tell me. Meanwhile I'm holed up here on the church steeple clock, my hands blue-numb from their grip on the hands grinding to the next minute. How I got up here is no mystery. I hate the way time passes, flies, doesn't come back. Time's up.Salvatore Buttacihttps://www.blogger.com/profile/17477098872186908154noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1128469884487763839.post-68191627426795701072014-03-14T19:10:55.748-07:002014-03-14T19:10:55.748-07:00You captured that perfectly, Laurie.You captured that perfectly, Laurie.Jhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/03159830920803677451noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1128469884487763839.post-5002830523140707612014-03-14T18:51:27.211-07:002014-03-14T18:51:27.211-07:00I don't know where the hell this came from, bu...I don't know where the hell this came from, but thank you.Laurie Borishttps://www.blogger.com/profile/08361627047571650547noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1128469884487763839.post-82869628450343552682014-03-14T17:47:09.565-07:002014-03-14T17:47:09.565-07:00This is an astounding piece of three minute flash,...This is an astounding piece of three minute flash, lady. Keep showing me up on my own blog. I don't own a bat or anything. ;)<br /><br />Seriously, this is fucking dope.JD Maderhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/13058074115809620653noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1128469884487763839.post-40429804819409872042014-03-14T17:43:46.243-07:002014-03-14T17:43:46.243-07:00I love this piece! Thanks for sharing it. And I ca...I love this piece! Thanks for sharing it. And I can relate. AND I want my hour back, too. ;)JD Maderhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/13058074115809620653noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1128469884487763839.post-70931433274665783762014-03-14T16:40:35.000-07:002014-03-14T16:40:35.000-07:00She sparkles when she moves, heels clipping along,...She sparkles when she moves, heels clipping along, curls bouncing. A gleam in a sea-blue eye that only he understands, like a language transmitted by axons and dendrites, rods and cones. A laugh that is like no other, the way she steals food from his plate. Can’t be summed up on the inside of a wedding band. There’s just too much to say. But the jeweler waits patiently. Maybe that’s part of his job, to wait out guys who don’t know what the hell to have inscribed. Maybe the jeweler should write some stuff, have it around as part of the package. Choose inscription one, two, or three. Three, definitely three, he thinks, turning the band around in his large fingers. He should have brought his brother. He always knows what to say, like when their mother died and he gave the eulogy, the words were so damned perfect he had everyone crying. Dude, he asks in his head. What would you write? What’s on the inside of Jessie’s ring? “Just the date,” he ended up saying to the jeweler. “And, you know, that I love her.”Laurie Borishttps://www.blogger.com/profile/08361627047571650547noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1128469884487763839.post-3451353648130035502014-03-14T15:44:55.477-07:002014-03-14T15:44:55.477-07:00What’s three minutes when we lost an hour this mon...What’s three minutes when we lost an hour this month already? One hour of my precious time squeezed away by springing forward into oblivion and now into our new home where three minutes can actually mean unpacking two and half over-stuffed boxes. I think about multi-tasking but hear my father’s voice in my mind telling me to do one thing at a time. “Focus and use both hands or you’ll drop something and ruin everything.” Too bad everyone else these days can cook dinner, clean house, do laundry and walk the dog all at the same time thanks to the Roomba floor vacuum. Following dad’s advice makes me feel slow in 2014, and yet getting things done properly is better than making mistakes. Maybe there’s a secret to multi-tasking. As in, I’ll write a sentence and unpack something, then write another sentence after removing the bubble wrap while emailing my three minutes of writing from my cell phone to Dan’s blog, all while putting things where they belong? Dad? Intangible Heartshttps://www.blogger.com/profile/05047040538015079182noreply@blogger.com