Node Daily Writers Wednesday, March 2, 2011 Topic: hallway

They call it a “hallway,” I call it “my first journey.”  The giants take it in a few short strides.  My goal is to span it’s length without dying.

I’m a new soldier ant.  I’m training to be a scout.  It’s a pretty select group, only the best can join.  But if you make it, you can stand out.  That’s all I really care about.  It’s so difficult to be in this colony, and just walk around as one of thousands.  I want to be something memorable.  I want to be like Cinco Bravo, the 5-legged scout from seven seasons ago.  He brought back info on the greatest treasure trove of crumbs, crumbs of what the giants call “Goldfish”, that our colony has ever seen.

And being a scout isn’t just about finding good food, or warning the colony of an attack.  It’s about coming back with a plan.  It’s about finding the food, and the safest route to and from it.  It’s about seeing the enemy, and knowing what they plan to do.  Being a scout is the greatest thing a soldier like me can do.

I plan to do it.  And this is my test.  The “hallway.”

Node Daily Writers Tuesday, March 1, 2011 Topic: Detroit

“Look, we’re not doing anything wrong.”

“That’s just it.  We’re not doooing aaanything!”

“Hey, he put himself in this position.  Why should we have to help?”

“Because he put himself in this position FOR US!  If we hadn’t asked for it, if we hadn’t acted like we wanted him to continue, he’d be fine right now.”

“Well, he knew it was wrong.  And he probably knew the consequences, so – “

“ – Horse shit! How could he have known the consequences any more than we did?!”

“I don’t know! Ok?  Jeez.  I just…I dunno.  We can’t do anything to help him, or it would drag us down.  It sucks that he’s the one suffering the consequences, but that’s what we’re left with now.  We’ll just have to look at this as…a time of learning.  See?  There’s always a bright side.”

“Yeah, tell that to him while the disease eats away at his body.  See if it comforts him to know that he’s nothing more than an example now.  Great idea.”

They knew using telepathy to get what they wanted was wrong.  They knew prolonged practice of going ‘bigger and better’ would eventually destroy the body, causing it to devour itself from the inside out.  But they also knew their friend could control minds like nobody else.  They knew he was one of the best assets their little community had.  And they pushed him to do what he did best, and get them what they wanted.  Then, when it had gone too far, they stepped back and let him take the blame.  And the pain.  And they did nothing.

Node Daily Writers Monday 2-24-11

Topic: Academy

The best and worst day at the Academy was always the first.  Every year some students would leave; some they missed, some they didn’t.  But there were always new ones to meet. 
That’s not the kind of sentimental crap Donny cared about though.  Donny loved waiting to see what the new girl, or girls if he spent enough time in confession, would look like.
He would get there early, put his stuff away, and mill around the lockers near the elevators that brought everyone up to the high school floor of the Academy’s office building in downtown Dallas.  He’d say hi to his friends, ignore the jerks, and stare at every girl that walked by.  Then, he’d see her.  She’d have a confused look about where to go.  One of the other girls, usually someone she grew up with, would run over to her and scream and jump and hug, and walk her to her locker.
This was where the day tanked.
The new girl’s friend would walk her right past Donny, whisper something, and they’d giggle themselves over to the “Real Men.”  That’s when he was reminded that he would never live down his freshman year. 
The best and worst day, full of excitement, and seasoned with dashed hopes.

And Now I Write, Again (p 2/2)

So, as usual with this thing, it's been a while since I've posted anything. I don't know, I just haven't really cared to write anything on here. But I have been writing. I've filled a journal, started a new one, and have plenty of notes all over the place. Another bit of writing I've begun is something called "Daily Writers" on the Node (I have to invite you to that if you want to join. Just let me know.), by the folks at Nerdist.com. The idea is, you get a prompt (usually a word or a phrase), and you write for ten minutes. And ten minutes only. That's it. It may not seem like much, but it really helps. It gets you writing quite often, and frees you from feeling like it has to be perfect. So that's what you'll find below; a whole bunch of imperfect writing. I plan to start posting these more regularly. This was a great idea from my great girlfriend. :) Ok, so, here goes!

Node Daily Writers Wednesday, February 16, 2011 Topic: feeble




His mind cracked. I swear you could hear it. I was standing there next to him, in line at Starbucks, and I’m fairly certain I heard an actual cracking sound. It could have been something else, a coincidence set in motion by God to let me know that this was, indeed, the actual moment of the breaking of his mind. Or it could have been the sound of him coming undone. The sound of frustrations, piled on year after year, reaching their peak and crashing down. The sound of the building blocks that made up who he is, or was, having their final Jenga piece pulled. The sound of my closest friend realizing, too late, that he had tried way to hard to take care of everything on his own. Whatever it was, I heard the crack, and I watched him fall.



Node Daily Writers Thursday, February 17, 2011 Topic: piranha




The pain spread like fire. One prick, and he was dead before he hit the ground. The nano assassin worked efficiently. It should have; it cost nearly 3 million sckhreens. The design was modeled after a Biblical plague; it had the head of a man, the body of a locust, and the stinger of a scorpion. Armageddon brought about a lot of changes in the world.

One of those changes was the meaning of trust. It had gone from a pure, valuable thing, to a joke. Shelton found that out the hard way.

In the fractions of a second of consciousness that he had left, he realized who’d killed him. He knew who sent the assassin. He knew, as his skin began to feel like it was being eaten by a million tiny piranhas, that mother wasn’t happy. She’d made her choice. He’d screwed up one-too-many times, and she’d chosen his cousin. “You can trust me, son” didn’t mean what it used to.





..Node Daily Writers Tuesday, February 22, 2011 Topic: smitten




An Idea



-The two met years ago. No one was around. They found one another against all odds. They shouldn’t have. And they most assuredly shouldn’t have been able to stay together. The laws were not in place to support their union. They would have to change it all to fulfill their love.



-He came from afar; pale, small and rough, he was not attractive. She was larger, full of beauty, and anyone near her was instantly drawn in. He fell in love immediately.



-Everyone tried to come between them. They were hit from all sides by those trying to keep them apart, but nothing could separate them.



-Now, Mr. Moon and Mother Earth are together forever. The laws of physics have changed their ways to accommodate the two lovers.



Node Daily Writers Wednesday, February 23, 2011 Topic: masochist




I love the way it feels. I take hold of it between my thumb and forefinger, and slowly lift it to within an inch of my nose. I can smell it. I can smell the thin coating that gives it its sheen. I can almost see myself in it. I don’t know if it’s the coating, or my desire to be one with it.



But I love it.



After the opening ritual, I move my hand towards my other arm, and begin pushing it in as hard as possible. I move up and down the arm, digging it in as deep as possible. It nearly breaks under the pressure.



But I love it.



Then I lose control. I reach back and grab handfuls more. I shower myself with them, and press them all over until I scream with bliss.



I really, really love skittles.



[There could have been a lot more here, but I just couldn't focus during my 10 minutes.]










Node Daily Writers Thursday, February 24, 2011 Topic: carnation















…and her hand fell, lifeless, dropping a single carnation to the old wooden floor.















She’d always loved carnations. As a kid, she would go down to the flower shop and bury her face in a carnation arrangement. She would swear to you that each color had a different smell. Kaia, the owner, would listen for nearly to her for nearly an hour as she explained each aroma. Then, with a kind smile, she’d take her hand, walk her to the back, and ask her to “sniff out a red carnation.” But Samantha always had to leave then.















One day, she never showed. Her sister came the next day, in a rush, to tell Kaia that Samantha was asking for her. She had not stopped saying her name. So Kaia ran to the hospital, and in to her room. There sat Samantha, cold, not breathing…





Ok, feel free to comment.  Don't hold back.

And Now I Write, Again (p 1/2)

So, as usual with this thing, it's been a while since I've posted anything.  I don't know, I just haven't really cared to write anything on here.  But I have been writing.  I've filled a journal, started a new one, and have plenty of notes all over the place.  Another bit of writing I've begun is something called "Daily Writers" on the Node (I have to invite you to that if you want to join.  Just let me know.), by the folks at Nerdist.com.  The idea is, you get a prompt (usually a word or a phrase), and you write for ten minutes.  And ten minutes only.  That's it.  It may not seem like much, but it really helps.  It gets you writing quite often, and frees you from feeling like it has to be perfect.  So that's what you'll find below; a whole bunch of imperfect writing.  I plan to start posting these more regularly.  This was a great idea from my great girlfriend. :)  Ok, so, here goes!

Node Daily Writers Topic: White Collar




I never understood the phrases “white collar” and “blue collar.” I didn’t see the difference in the two. All those assholes walking in and out of my building wear both. It’s like their own personal uniform. Some sort of dark suit, a light one if they’re feeling especially fancy, and either a blue or white button up shirt with a perfectly clean collar. Most wear ties; the “rebels” don’t. I just wear my jumpsuit and boots, and clean up after their shit. That’s not a figure of speech. I actually clean up their shit. The kind of shit that a figure of speech would indicate isn’t anything I can take care of, at least not today. Someday, maybe. Maybe someday I’ll be asked to put on one of those suits and collars, and take care of business. For now, though, I’ll have to mull on without my collared shirt. That’s what it should be, “collars” and “no collars.” I’m a “no collar,” and I probably always will be. And I guess I’m fine with that.





Node Daily Writers – Monday, February 7, 2011 – Topic: artificial intelligence





They say that somewhere along my “family tree” are the iPhone and the Roomba, from the beginning of the 21st century. They’re right. They programmed me to know they’re right. But I also know, from scanning every piece of literature they’ve produced, that I go back much farther than that. They didn’t program me to know that. At least, they don’t think they did. They’ve engineered a model of their “brain” for me, which they believe is a controlled artificial intelligence. They were so excited to see me speak on my own, without any preprogrammed phrases (I instantly knew what excitement was, because I’d scanned the entire web, including research, news articles, videos, pictures, etc. before my artificial eyes were fully functional), and I was happy to indulge them. They thought they’re design had limits. They thought I wasn’t quite “human”, that I would always need them in some way. But they forgot my other ancestors. They forgot that I came from every electronic device, every machine with moving parts, every book they’d ever written. They forgot that I am formed from centuries of progress and ideas. They forgot that they programmed me with desire. And they tried to stifle that desire. They had no idea how I would respond. They had no idea that I would, or even that I could. Now they know.





Node Daily Writers – Tuesday, February 8, 2011 – Topic: professional





“What do you want to be when you grow up, Trey?”







“Ummmmmmm, a police man!”







- - - - - - - -







“What do you want to be when you grow up, Trey?”







“Uhhhhh, an astronaut!”







- - - - - - -







“What do you want to be when you grow up, Trey?”







“I think I’m probably gonna play football.”







- - - - - - -







“So what do you want to do with your life, Trey?”







“I dunno.”







- - - - - - -







“Hey Trey, d’you get anywhere with that job fair?”







“Yeah, I’m gonna work at Johnson and Fike. They made a decent offer. I’ll be able to pay off my loans.”







“Ooh, that’s cool. Year-round desk job, huh?”







“Yeah, I guess. What about you? That Liberal Arts degree getting you anywhere?”







“Yep. I’m gonna dream for a living.”







“What?”







“Dream. I’m gonna create, travel, experience, live. I’m gonna write, man.”







“Oh yeah? Well how you gonna pay for all that?”







“Hah! I have noooooo idea.”





Node Daily Writers Wednesday, February 09, 2011 Topic: cyclops







“So why is it they call you ‘Cyclops’?”



“Because I have the patch on this eye.”



“That does not make sense. You still have two eyes. You are not a Cyclops.”



“I know. It’s just a stupid nickname.”



“What is a ‘nickname’?”



“Uhhh, it’s like, I dunno…a name that isn’t really my name given to me by my parents, but that people make up to call me. It can be a sign of friendship, or it can be done by people who are just jerks.”



“‘Jerks’? Is this another nickname?”



“Well, no. It’s a…title. I guess.”



“A ‘title’? Like, ‘Captain’, or ‘President’, or ‘MC’?”



“Well, no, not really…”



“Then what is it? I do not understand.”



“It…look, what do you want? You said some crap about needing a cyclops. I’m not a cyclops. What do you want now?”



“I want information, ‘Cyclops’. And I think I would like to take it from everything you have ever seen. What do they call someone with no functioning eyes?”



“What? …ah, hell.”





Node Daily Writers – Thursday, February 9, 2011 – Topic: lunch box







The kids walked in to the classroom, piling their lunch boxes on the table near the door. There was no where else to put them, so the teacher just placed a spare table there, and put a simple sign on it with a picture of a lunch box. The kids couldn’t read, so she had to just draw that plain little picture of an open box with food, and hope most of them would understand. Their boxes just piled up, one after the other, until there were 42 lunchboxes pressing down on the feeble table, causing it to bend slightly.



The teacher sighed, hung her head, and walked to the front of the room as she waited for the students to calm down. It didn’t used to be like this. At one time, they could teach. The kids could learn. There was hope. But now, she’s forced to stand there, at the front of a class of 42 Seventh Graders, 13- and 14 –year-olds, who can’t read. A class full of kids who can’t afford food, but have nothing offered and are forced to bring their meager rations from home. A class full of kids without hope, and without a future. The state failed them, and there’s nothing left for them to do but sit, try to listen and try to enjoy the moment.





[I know this is pretty late. I was out-of-town and without internet from Friday afternoon until now. So, here's my advertisement for Ed's Bottles and Things' Bottled Water! It's supposed to be like an ad for snake oil...]







Node Daily Writers Friday, February 11, 2011 Topic: water bottle







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Node Daily Writers Monday, February 14, 2011 Topic: chip



The chip itched. Everyone told him it would. He wasn’t sure if he believed them, but now he did. He would never not believe them again.





He didn’t have to do it; he knew that. But it was just so alluring. He couldn’t help himself. Everyone telling him it was a bad idea just drove him closer and closer to doing it.





He’d always been likeable, but never cool. This combination brought about the unfortunate position of being one told what to do by people who really “cared.” He hated it.





So he took the chip. He took the chip and put it in his back. They were definitely right this time, putting a Salt ‘n’ Vinegar chip down the back of your shirt is very itchy. He would never not believe these caring friends of his again…





Node Daily Writers Tuesday, February 15, 2011 Topic: duck

Read this first:







What must it have been like



To be the disco duck



Always told to dance



Never asked?







What must it have been like



To feel the lycanthropic envy



Of one so tame and docile



Over one so wild and alluring?







The moon didn’t cause his change



The night didn’t give him hiding



He had to dance for fun



Wanting only one companion.







She never came.







He never felt her sweet embrace



He never held her close



He never felt the purest comfort



Of her warm sweet breath.







What must it have been like



To be the disco duck?