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.

It was the kind of green you could almost taste, and it stretched for miles. This must be what Ireland looks like, I thought. It was a dumb thing to think, but my mind was snatched by the vast, verdant fields. I think I even said that phrase to myself. And then felt dumb about it. I do that a lot.

The point is that, when you’re confronted with that much of any color, it can be mind-boggling. And I don’t like the term ‘mind-boggling’ – but I use it a lot. I know. That doesn’t make sense. Things don’t make sense to me a lot of the time.

Going to stare at grass like you expect it to give you answers.

I guess I could have gone to look at water, or trees, or skyscrapers. There were lots of choices. I don’t know why I settled on grass. Maybe because there was a big old patch of grass nearby and I’m lazy. Maybe because I think the color green should mean something. Gatsby, old chap. Growth. New opportunities. Literature classes refuse to let green just be green.

I did run my fingers over the grass. I did pluck a blade of grass and put it between my thumbs to make a whistling sound. I did run, briefly, before I remembered that I was old and running is not as fun when you’re old. I did a lot of things.

I did not have any epiphanies. I did get stung by a bee, but it was my fault. I was trying to get too familiar with the bee and she wasn’t having it. I asked for that sting.

So, you want to know how all this ties together? It doesn’t. It doesn’t mean a thing. But there is potential. This story is green. And you know what they say about green.

They say lots of things, and most of them aren’t true.

#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... 

Shit Disturber (not the CIA)

It's not here, it's in the ether. I'm not queer, and he's not either. I'm no pawn, but I ain't no Caesar. I'm Peter the fucking Pumpkin Eater.

I don't know what that means, it's for you to figure out. Probably something about my mom. Or God... Or Trout...

And that huffing is bluffing, all little pig stuffing. See, nitrous ... don't ... count! And well, yeah, a few mistakes here and there. I'm only human. Humans err...

This is the state of the way things are. I'll take you for a ride, but we won't go far. I'll take you out for dinner, but we'll skip the bar. We'll sing instead, to fog-soaked stars.

It's not a question of rhyme or reason. You can't kill me 'cause I'm not in season. And I do pride myself on some lightweight treason; I'll fight anything 'everyone' agrees on.

I am, in some ways, the court reporter. Only they got an alphabet much shorter. So, you should have listened, 'cause I know you heard her; she told you: I'm the fucking shit disturber.



*(That, of course, would be assuming that I am me and not an 'auto-blogger' set up by the CIA to see who comes to a blog to learn about sad childhoods, profanity, fishing, love, and subversion. And the gays. But don't worry, the CIA would never tell you they were up in this shit because that would be stupid... Or would it?)