Viewing member 1 to 8 (of 8 active members)
-
rhyme79 - - "Take equal measures of anxiety, guilt and mood swings and slosh together into a small, predictable bowl with a tiny dribble of sociability to ensure viscosity. Agitate to blend. Next, in a large, shiny container take a generous portion of doubt being sure to remove all encouragement. Add a small packet of opportunity. The best to use is the dehydrated, meaningless kind that is now commonly available in any supermarket. Stir well. Combine both mixtures in a larger, shinier bowl and swamp with an increasing measure of memory loss, pre-combined with a good intellect and liberal serving of regret. Divide into thirty three pieces of non-uniform, random size and arrange into some kind of vague design. Sprinkle each with a delightful mix of depression and frustration. Leave to prove then knock back. Repeat this several times, being sure to allow room to stew. Finally, serve with a conservative dusting of budget cuts and any prescribed medication. This recipe goes well with all kinds of clueless idiot. You can usually find these anywhere incompetence is paid a salary. Enjoy. "View -
chicken12195 - - "What’s my motivation? My ramblings. I never have a silent moment in my head, so this site helps me empty it a little bit. "View -
-
-
mooncrown - - "A writing experiment about rain PART 2: Make them feel it The moment I stepped outside I could smell the promise of rain in the air. It was everywhere, this muffled freshness, making my heart jump. I looked up. The first drop hit my cheek. I felt it running down my chin, my neck, as I could not but smile at the sky. I slowly breathed in and savoured the soft, cold drizzle on my face. My hair was wet already, my clothes getting there – but I didn’t care. The water was now drumming on my shoulders, my arms, my head, like thousands of little cold fingers. And it was getting heavier still. As I wandered through the empty streets, I felt like walking under a small waterfall. I could not distinguish between the rain and the water dripping from my clothes and hair. Small, icy rivers streaming down my face, my back, my chest. I shivered and laughed, jumped into puddles and spun around in a circle. It was just me and the rain. "View -
loubirdvt - - "I am sitting on my porch, listening to the wind in the trees, the sniveling on young blue jays, the “which-which-which” alarm call of a wood thrush. I have a manuscript beside me, one that needs updating and revising. With the rest of the afternoon (hopefully) all mine, I will try to piece it together. If the blue jays don’t distract me too much, that is. "View -
-
