callinout

callinout

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Writing can be competitive. Case in point, when there's a trending hashtag writing game on Twitter, and you participate - a lot - then you refresh and refresh, hoping that you get a like, a comment, a retweet. And it's fewer than 240 characters. How many pages could you have written whilst waiting for someone to see your random brain fart?

A songbird stood on my windowsill. It had a broken wing, and yet it chirped. It sang with as much vigour and force of will as if it were whole. I wanted to pick it up, to possess something so fundamentally strong. I left it for the cats.

The particle was new, untested, brilliant, beautiful, fragile, unstable. It was that last part that worried me. Nothing that we'd seen in the lab had prepared us to use the serum to test the particle's usage. It would blow up, or save the world, nobody knew which.

I have a single mismatched butter knife left over from a party I held two years ago that required me to rent plates, chairs, forks, and everything else but, when the time came to return everything, a gentleman helped me unload my car, ticked off the entire order on his clipboard and sent me on my way -- one knife richer.

I missed my opportunity. I missed it while I was on Twitter. Missed it again when I was playing games on my cell phone. Missed it when I went back on Twitter. Couldn't get a moment free when I scrolled through Facebook once for old times sake. Missed the knock of opportunity when I was too busy hiding from my own ideas and the work it would take to do anything useful with them.

flex

I've heard the word "flex" way more often in recent months, but only just came to understand that it means more than the traditional definition of stretching one's muscles. I've seen it a lot on YouTube. That's where current culture is born, right?

I had always wanted to direct a movie. Where should I have started? I have a phone - this smartphone in my pocket. I wondered how I could get going - editing was going to be hard, but as long as I knew people willing to injure themselves on skateboards, everything was going to be okay.

A gesture is just that - an acknowledgement in the direction of someone or something that the person making the effort wants to show that they care about - sort of. If they gesture towards any kind of appeasement or real change, then it ceases to be a gesture and starts to be meaningful - this is terribly shitty.

The gate for departures was, naturally, nowhere near the entrance from the parking structure. I know that we were supposed to have arrived two hours early to avoid exactly this panic, but now it's half an hour until our flight leaves, the dog is finally with the kennel, my kids have stopped crying, and our car is in long term parking - give me a break, world.

I never wanted the spotlight. First of all, it's too hot. Standing there, in the dark, except for what feels like all the heat and light in the world focused on your face. You become certain that everyone can see each individual drop of sweat on your brow. You can, can't you?

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writing since 2010 · 124 entries · 117 days shown up

each square is a day—lit means Creepy_Snowman showed up.

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on this day 11 years ago

Creepy_Snowman wrote about styled
“My hair is styled on the left. I used to style it on the right. When I part it on the left, people say I look old. When I part it on the right, they don't trust me. When it's on the left, I can be tr…”

the words Creepy_Snowman reaches for

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