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.
When the old lady woke up, the only thing she thought was: "I'm cold." She should not have thought that. She should have wondered why she was in a small apartment. She should have wondered about the mildew growing like storm clouds. She should have wondered about the strange smells and the dust and the fact that she wasn't worried about anything. You'd think when you spend your whole life with worry, that fickle companion will stick with you in your golden years.
The old lady's daughter picked up the phone. Put it down. Picked it up. Put it down. It was an old rotary phone, part pretension, part melancholy remembrance - ivory colored and heavy. The younger old lady was thinking: "It's disrespectful. It's not my place." But not really. In a small blip of her brain that she would not acknowledge, she was thinking: "What the fuck good is it going to do?"
The people who lived in the apartments abutting both ladies didn't give two shits. They had their own things to worry about. They had their own lives to wonder on. They had their own shames to ignore - they were being people, too. They were, some of them, worried about silly things like Christmas, weather, and terrorism. A weird collection to be sure, but weird because they cannot be stopped. None of them, whether we want them gone or not.
You are reading this, and your brain trips over some of the words, but some of them get in, sly. And that's cool. Maybe one of them will burrow into you. Live its life in some part of you. Start deconstructing you from the inside. Leave you wondering how mildew works.
You never know.
ATTENTION, I WILL BE GONE MOST OF THE DAY. BREAK THE BLOG FOR ME! AND GIVE ME SOME STUFF TO READ WHEN I GET HOME! Get 'em! :)
#2minutesgo
Showing posts with label #dinosaurs #erotica #JDMader JD Mader. Show all posts
Showing posts with label #dinosaurs #erotica #JDMader JD Mader. Show all posts
Friday, December 18, 2015
Friday, October 30, 2015
2 Minutes. Go!
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.
Cast yourself into redundancy and see what you catch. Could be just about anything - you never know until you try. That's how fishing works. Well, actually, there's more to it than that. But the frogs don't care to explain it, and I won't either.
You may think to yourself, shit, if I stare at this navel any longer it's gonna have to be dry-docked. That's reflection, see? Not the kind you find in bathroom mirrors. The important kind.
You take two sticks and rub them together. You don't stop until the smoke starts, hell bent for leather. And, then, you can sit back and watch the whole world collapse. It doesn't matter anymore, see? You aren't as important as you'd like to be.
ATTENTION, I WILL BE GONE MOST OF THE DAY. BREAK THE BLOG FOR ME! AND GIVE ME SOME STUFF TO READ WHEN I GET HOME! Get 'em! :)
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.
Cast yourself into redundancy and see what you catch. Could be just about anything - you never know until you try. That's how fishing works. Well, actually, there's more to it than that. But the frogs don't care to explain it, and I won't either.
You may think to yourself, shit, if I stare at this navel any longer it's gonna have to be dry-docked. That's reflection, see? Not the kind you find in bathroom mirrors. The important kind.
You take two sticks and rub them together. You don't stop until the smoke starts, hell bent for leather. And, then, you can sit back and watch the whole world collapse. It doesn't matter anymore, see? You aren't as important as you'd like to be.
ATTENTION, I WILL BE GONE MOST OF THE DAY. BREAK THE BLOG FOR ME! AND GIVE ME SOME STUFF TO READ WHEN I GET HOME! Get 'em! :)
Friday, October 16, 2015
2 Minutes. Go!
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 can't stop once you've started. Momentum. It's like Sisyphus lost his grip and now he's chasing that boulder, screaming wildcat curses. Gotta get the boulder back. And all the while, he's trailing this fear-sweat smell that never leaves. Gotta get up that hill, brother. Maybe someone got it on video. Maybe you'll go viral.
You never know about these things. Some kids are born with the taste of silver in their mouths. Some kids get stuck with a plastic Spork. But the important thing to remember, the real ace in this pile, is that it doesn't matter where the boulder is. That's what no one seems to get. It's not about the boulder.
Time is a weird pacemaker. Inconsistent. Fickle. There are boulders all around us. Some are small and some are huge, but Sisyphus don't never change. He's clomping his way left and right now, but it's still part of the grind. And, though he may not realize it, he might be nothing without that struggle.
ATTENTION, I WILL BE GONE MOST OF THE DAY. BREAK THE BLOG FOR ME! AND GIVE ME SOME STUFF TO READ WHEN I GET HOME! Get 'em! :)
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 can't stop once you've started. Momentum. It's like Sisyphus lost his grip and now he's chasing that boulder, screaming wildcat curses. Gotta get the boulder back. And all the while, he's trailing this fear-sweat smell that never leaves. Gotta get up that hill, brother. Maybe someone got it on video. Maybe you'll go viral.
You never know about these things. Some kids are born with the taste of silver in their mouths. Some kids get stuck with a plastic Spork. But the important thing to remember, the real ace in this pile, is that it doesn't matter where the boulder is. That's what no one seems to get. It's not about the boulder.
Time is a weird pacemaker. Inconsistent. Fickle. There are boulders all around us. Some are small and some are huge, but Sisyphus don't never change. He's clomping his way left and right now, but it's still part of the grind. And, though he may not realize it, he might be nothing without that struggle.
ATTENTION, I WILL BE GONE MOST OF THE DAY. BREAK THE BLOG FOR ME! AND GIVE ME SOME STUFF TO READ WHEN I GET HOME! Get 'em! :)
Friday, September 25, 2015
2 Minutes. Go!
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.
The window sill supported her elbow, propped up her head - the sill was covered in mildew and old cigarette butts, but she didn't notice. If she had noticed, she wouldn't have cared. This was much more important than mildew or cigarette butts. He had not come. Or he was late, but he was never late.
She pulled a long, white cigarette from her pack and kissed it - lit the end and pulled the smoke down into her small lungs. She was dying. That's important to know. She was wasting away - hadn't been outside the apartment in weeks. She watched pigeons stamp and squabble. She watched children play and posture. And she watched the man who delivered her mail, not because he was especially attractive, he wasn't - he had a smile that never left his face. It was a smile that could tear the roof off the world. It was the highlight of her day.
A woman in blue shorts and a polo shirt that vaguely resembled USPS regulation huffed around the corner, and the woman felt a clutch of terror in her heart. She dropped her cigarette and ground it out on the carpet with the toe of a filthy slipper.
The man did not come the next day, and she did not eat. He did not come for two weeks. When he did return, he was tan and smiling a "brighter than regulation" smile.
But no one watched him.
Thanks for stopping by! Gonna be a busy day, but, rest assured, I'll be reading everything and commenting as I have time, so check back. Post your pieces on your blogs, telephone poles, passing pedestrians, etc. if you like...it's a fun web o' writing.
#2minutesgo
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 window sill supported her elbow, propped up her head - the sill was covered in mildew and old cigarette butts, but she didn't notice. If she had noticed, she wouldn't have cared. This was much more important than mildew or cigarette butts. He had not come. Or he was late, but he was never late.
She pulled a long, white cigarette from her pack and kissed it - lit the end and pulled the smoke down into her small lungs. She was dying. That's important to know. She was wasting away - hadn't been outside the apartment in weeks. She watched pigeons stamp and squabble. She watched children play and posture. And she watched the man who delivered her mail, not because he was especially attractive, he wasn't - he had a smile that never left his face. It was a smile that could tear the roof off the world. It was the highlight of her day.
A woman in blue shorts and a polo shirt that vaguely resembled USPS regulation huffed around the corner, and the woman felt a clutch of terror in her heart. She dropped her cigarette and ground it out on the carpet with the toe of a filthy slipper.
The man did not come the next day, and she did not eat. He did not come for two weeks. When he did return, he was tan and smiling a "brighter than regulation" smile.
But no one watched him.
Thanks for stopping by! Gonna be a busy day, but, rest assured, I'll be reading everything and commenting as I have time, so check back. Post your pieces on your blogs, telephone poles, passing pedestrians, etc. if you like...it's a fun web o' writing.
#2minutesgo
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