Semi-Daily Scribbles
Carving out a corner to post random crap.
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Category: Language
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blip says: don't feel like it's a slap in the face. it's nothing but a donut in the hole. if betsy needs to come back to earth pretend you're unaware the air is so thin up there. no one cares for know-it-alls. fading star power left a churning, swirling whirligig in its wake that ate…
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Yeah.Love him/hate him.Hype: The Song of Life.Blame fame.Shame bleeds on white sheets.
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Community is good for kvetching but it's no place to get work done. Who wants to watch you become unhinged? Soil yourself? It's just an uncomfortable situation all around when you toss your entrails on the rocks to figure out where your story should go. That is magic best kept behind the red velvet curtain,…
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Marnie avoided her best friend for the past two weeks. If she thought she heard Lettie's voice, or smelled Lettie's attar of roses while she was out running errands, Marnie ducked down dark alleys and hid in really spider-webby photinias. She began to get disgusted with herself. She should have just come out and said,…
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Prose riddled with holes.Janie's dots never connect.Whimsy goes so far.
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it's round it's squareit hits you on the noggin from out of thin airnaw, it was already therecoiled up in your bellystretched out on the grasswide-eyedor wearyhot coals glow and winter's grip goes slacksummer keeps coming backthe thought can't find its word butthe world still turns Inspiration
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Mae's walls closed in on her, Fred, the shelves filled with dusty tchotchke. Golden age turned lovers and objects into death traps. She needed to speak. It'd been years since Mae had anything to say. She'd long ago hung her heart on the wall in a nice Certificate of Achievement-sized frame. It had the most…
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For those following along, My Five Star Heart goes to the work that is fiercely authentic. I like it when My Own Private Icky Button is pushed by bloodlust and love's grotesqueries. Poetry that comes in great gushes and not dribbles. Make your piece so ugly it's pretty by sheer effort. Make me queasy and…
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Extra words turned into special sections that told Lenore what she was reading was true. What's more, the e-reader she held in her hands was her lifeline (her tightrope) between fussy babies and dirty nappies, and the version of herself she left behind in English 102. But back to those extra words that played hide-and-seek…
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Not disheartening: 1. Together we are alone.2. Apart we have grown.3. The future unknown. An outline never followed, this impasse saves us. What is reality when our memories are shaped by present-day preferences?
Semi-Daily Scribbles 