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. 

Just pull the lever if you’re so clever – see what falls out and what stays. Figure out why the morning birds sound so gay. Me? I plum run out of shit to say. I’m done with it. I’m moving on. You can have everything when I’m gone. I’ll be out in the desert with the bleached skulls and cactus statues. I’ll be breathing dust and staying quiet. I made enough noise. I’m done now.

It’s not something that can be taught, and it sure ain’t something that can be bought. It’s more complex than that. It’s simpler, too. And you can feel it, like putting the wrong foot in the wrong shoe.

Yeah, yeah, yeah. You’re gonna do it. One of these days. When you’ve run out of games to play. Talk to me then, and I’ll tell you the same. It’s a trick pony what ain’t got no name. It runs in circles, chasing it’s tail. It won’t listen to your commands. It doesn’t care about ticket sales. But it’s what you got. When all else fails. You just pull the lever. See what comes out.

That’s what it’s all about.

ATTENTION, I WILL IN AND OUT MOST OF THE DAY. BREAK THE BLOG FOR ME! AND GIVE ME SOME STUFF TO READ! Get 'em! :)

#2minutesgo

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 wasn't her fault, not really. There was so much at stake, gut-ache, god, it was all so confusing. The lights and the hair, Momma, she don't care. And she don't want to be your puppet. Don't want to be your babydoll. No more Sundays at the mall. That's all.

It gets twisted when family gets competitive, it's a slow-growth sedative. It makes you do crazy things and think they make perfect goddamn sense. Buy another tiara? Why not. Earrings to match?

You betcha.

And it will catch her. That's the tragedy. In some lonely room, it will all catch up to her because she'll look in a full length mirror. And all she'll see there? Body. Smile. Hair.

She won't see a girl with a wry sense of humor and she won't become a woman who truly laughs. Because you needed bragging rights, and you tried to make it right. Right?

Right...

ATTENTION, I WILL IN AND OUT MOST OF THE DAY. BREAK THE BLOG FOR ME! AND GIVE ME SOME STUFF TO READ! Get 'em! :)

#2minutesgo

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 don't listen. You never learned right. How come you never listened? Chasing some kind of fairy dust that only you can see? I know all about it. And I know all about the dolls and the faces you make in the mirror when you think no one is looking - lipstick smear, stiletto spears.

But you never listened. I told you, but the truth binked off you like a penny off a jelly glass - now, look what you got. You got a mountain of problems, and you're digging with a spoon. Jesus, almighty. It's painful to watch.

But I know you don't know no better, and the 'not listenings' weren't always your fault. I reckon I talk too much sometimes. Has a queer effect on folks. I can't control it. You made a human mistake. But I can't abide it. 

You still ain't listening?

Well, you got one ear left. And five seconds to blink twice.

ATTENTION, I WILL IN AND OUT MOST OF THE DAY. BREAK THE BLOG FOR ME! AND GIVE ME SOME STUFF TO READ! Get 'em! :)

#2minutesgo

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. 

They went to the beach - saw the tide pools. Jenny was ecstatic. Laughter rolled off her like the chunks off rock that they could see on the road above. Mike was not impressed. Not by the tide pools or Jenny's laughter or that the road had been a goddamned suicide run. Who knows when there's going to be a rockslide? Like playing the lottery.

The whole trip had been like this. I want a honeymoon. What do we need a honeymoon for when we been together ten years? I want to see the ocean. The ocean is just a big ass lake that smells bad, do you know how much money we're going to blow on this trip? We're not going to blow the money, we're going to have the time of our lives.

And so forth.

Jenny was about done. Done with Mike's complaining. Done with watching sunsets alone, while he smoked cigarettes and looked everywhere but at her, wiping sand off his boots like it was poisonous. She was done with the laughing gulls, done with sandcastles. Ironic, she thought, that this trip might prove their undoing.

On the last day of their trip, Jenny woke up alone. Panic. She ran through the rooms of the small cottage they were renting. Then she saw him. In the yard. Standing, smoking, but watching the waves intently. She stepped out into the damp morning and cleared her throat behind him. He had been crying.

"Honey, what's wrong? You can't be that miserable."

"Miserable? Hell."

"Then what?"

"I was just thinking - have been thinking - it shouldn't have taken me ten years to take you the one place you wanted to go. You've gone plenty of places with me. I been selfish."

She smiled and wrapped her arms around his neck.

"I know. That's why I love you."

And they looked at the waves together. And they laughed with the gulls. And they played in the sand, like children, until it was time to leave. This time, they did not fear the rocks.

ATTENTION, I WILL IN AND OUT MOST OF THE DAY. BREAK THE BLOG FOR ME! AND GIVE ME SOME STUFF TO READ! Get 'em! :)

#2minutesgo

Him

He was not cruel, he was empty - a vessel - you could blow across his head like a foghorn salute. It was not fair to hate him. Had he been sadistic, violent - had his passions erupted in bright, fluorescent heat. Had he smoked or talked about politics at dinner parties.

If he had done one damn thing, you could have justified the hatred.

He didn't though. He sat and sipped tea, calmly. You could not read him. So, you hid in books and ignored the animatronic abomination you sometimes called Dad. You didn't call him much of anything, though. Wasn't worth it.

That's the true sadness. What you took for vacancy? That was fear. What you saw as apathy? That was a frantic, scrambling scree run down the inside of the poor motherfucker's skull. He never wanted it. He didn't ask for it. He had tried to be noble. Now he smelled rust and saw the same child's head explode over and over and over. Sometimes he turned his Purple Heart ... over and over and over ... until it stuck to his clammy hands. His expression did not change.

He never even sneezed.

So, he became furniture, and that was sad. Possibly. Maybe it was destiny. He didn't believe that. One would assume.

You didn't know because you never asked.

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. 

Sometimes you hide behind hairline stitches, gaudy flaunting, haunting radius. Sometimes bitches act like bitches. Nothing tripping, life is viscious. The teeth of the wolf are as sharp as the dark, or the long curving blade that will carve you apart. You are fuel for the nightmare, fire for the fury, you are wan and pallid, always so worried…

Sometimes you pretend to lend part-time credence – you smile, all the while, knowing wiling’s a pretense. You glide and you glimmer, glow bright and shimmer – and for one shining moment, the whole world grows dimmer.

You, repentance, repugnance, rejoinder, reluctance. You bastard of evil and macabre suffering. You beautiful heathen, so deft, so divine. You drink blood from the chalice, while sly nighmares whine.

You will suffer and dwindle, you’ll run out your spindle. But not me. I’m too quick.

I’m too fucking nimble.

ATTENTION, I WILL IN AND OUT MOST OF THE DAY. BREAK THE BLOG FOR ME! AND GIVE ME SOME STUFF TO READ! Get 'em! :)

#2minutesgo

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. 

She throws that look over her shoulder - brief pause, passes by. Your heart goes: "Oh shit!" Your brain is even more enraged. She is cut from velvet, carved from eternity - breathless, you watch her turn the corner and your eyes swim. You smell hot dogs and carcinogens. You hear sirens, laughter, arguments, car horns. She is gone again and your back aches. You age so rapidly, you start looking for a guy with a shovel. 

Just in case.

She saw you. You know she saw you. You wonder what she thought. You didn't want to talk either, but that is only because of the raw, sharp self-loathing you carry like a matador cape. Her reasons? No way to know for sure, but you can take a guess. 

A thousand snapshot memories swarm around you like wasps. 

You shake your head and reach for the cigarettes you quit smoking last year. The sky is dull and oppressive, the street is not large enough for you. Not because you are big, mind you - the street is not the problem. It never was. The problem was that you can't fill the street. You couldn't fill her heart with enough love. And you damn sure couldn't fill those shoes. 

The ones the guy before left. Hell, he's probably still looking for them.

ATTENTION, I WILL IN AND OUT MOST OF THE DAY. BREAK THE BLOG FOR ME! AND GIVE ME SOME STUFF TO READ! Get 'em! :)

#2minutesgo