This website holds a weekly contest. The first place prize is 500 bucks. It costs 15 dollars to submit your writings on the given subject. This week the subject is winter. No more than 1000 words. I haven't made up my mind about giving money to strangers, given that they are brand new and haven't had any winners yet. Any thoughts?
Thursday, June 25, 2009
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
The Farce
The woman walked across the window naked. Drying her hair in front of the closet cabinet.
"What's the matter? Are you ashamed of your body?" She asked.
"No, but you sure do a lot of sit-ups. What's that saying?" I said, laying up in bed.
"Well, its a matter of pride, I guess." She answered throwing on a robe and cleaning her ears.
"Everyday people look at me, and this is what they see." She waved her hand over her body.
"One day you'll be unattractive. After that your dead." I rolled over and watched the patterns in the carpet mysteriously shift. "Everybody's got their moment, I know that." She adjusted her skirt in the mirror and dashed her bangs.
"You sure do."
Monday, June 22, 2009
Jersey makes me think of a sea turtle digging holes in someone's front yard in upstate New York. Are locations confusing me? I am not sure what I mean by "locations" though. I am confused by perception maybe. My dad saw a family of foxes running through the woods in the suburbs, "going from yard to yard." My friend saw a family of foxes playing, "like as if they were on the nature channel". That was in the middle of the road, I think. This is true: I got like ten emails over the weekend. 0% of them were written by actual humans, I think. I just want to do some collaborative work with someone. I need to insure my existence with meaningful relationships, in case I decide to act like an asshole for 95% of the next ten years of my life.
Thursday, June 18, 2009
True, the earth moves under the stars. How do you explain the North star? I heard you cast your eye off the last star on the big dipper's dipper in a straight line to find it. But that Big Dipper is always in different places! Anyway, lighthouses are absurdly phallic. All the ones in Jersey have different light sequences so the sailors can tell them apart. I found Bruce Springsteen's beating heart on the Jersey Shore and threw it back into the water. The guy from the Sapranos was attempting to drown himself next to me. Sea weed was stuck to his fattened breasts.
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
Friday, May 29, 2009
Visitors
"That was terrible, holy shit," Matt says, falling to the floor.
"Now you can write about it," Scott says.
"This feels interesting actually...No. I don't even want to write about it - yet, anyway" Matt says. "I want a shot!"
Matt rolls over and knocks into the chair with wheels. The chair rolls a little. The box fan rattles a little.
Scott's eyes widen. Matt and Scott's eyes connect visions. Scott moves his eyes around, then Matt does too.
"Shots!" Matt says.
Matt and Scott don't find any liquor in the kitchen and Matt goes to his landlord for some, who forces the bottle into his hand grudgingly.
"Don't keep me up," the landlord says with close-cropped eyes.
Matt swallows a shot of gin and says "This all feels really good... man, I feel alive, bro," into the medium-space, before the off-white wall.
Matt registers each of his reactions to the outside world as individual feelings, glowing distinctly in his chest. Hands scooping the circumference of color-coded orbs. He resigns knowing the despair will soak into his flesh and pours another shot.
"You're doing a good job," Scott says.
Matt moves his eyes over to Scott's without moving his head, which is fixed over the desk, the bottle and the glasses.
"They were both just here, right? Did you see them there and hear their voices like I did?" Matt says.
Scott smiles at Matt, wildly a little. His hands in his pockets, tasting gin. He cannot feel any of his own problems directly. Matt touches his finger tips to the desk and begins moving his body rhythmically to the music.
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