bend flex twist
20 minutes free write. Inspiration:
Unfortunate
Unusual
Unreal
Surreal
Unfortunate
Unusual
Unreal
Surreal
posted by InkSpot | 12:38 AM
i'mpulse
i'mpulse started as a class project at ucsd and became a small group of writers collaborating/sharing. i'mpulse is about creating a writing community and cultivating a habit of writing. it is about making the practice of writing spontaneous and i'mpulsive and inescapable.
- -- Copyright © 2007 JL Colomb, Stacy Eisenberg, Heather Gordon, i'mpulse collaborators. --
- Gregory Magnuson Illustration
- Drawn!
- MFAweblog
- Pindeldyboz
- swink
- Quick Fiction
- Ballyhoo
- small spiral notebook
- Glimmer Train
- Conduit
- Bird Dog
- One Story
- A thing to do
- Submission and Contests
- Such Being Death: A Young Girl, A Fence and the Ol...
- Regarding death (such being the manner of things)
- The manner of things
- Farewell to ink spot
- Fits, Starts and Tantrum
- A Rather Sheepish Hello
- This weekend (10/6-10/10)
- what i've missed
1 Comments:
A natural progression like itsy bitsy spider and grinding one finger off the other with a twist and force of pressure equal to ringing a doorbell or getting your hands all grimy and dirty with think black ink the Carabinieri uses to capture your fingerprints, to reproduce you and put you on record, though only slightly less permanent than the DNA samples the US government wants to collect from every single human being incarcerated for petty theft, rape, murder, grand larceny. Originally crimes against humanity were included on the list, but it was scratched off and not with a thin neat black line hovering in the center of the word, not a calculated and rational drawing of some conceptual boundary, but pressing deep and cutting the paper through to the other side, pressing deep and cutting through so the edges of the paper become frayed and tinted by black. And no just one line cutting through the paper, disembodying the words, cutting “crimes against humanity” into two neat parts that may be pieced back together at some later date, maybe in generations when the TVs and computers and cars and documents and documentation and the process of documentation, all these things become relics.
Gone, a deep vast hole consumes the words because it is better to have never had the idea in the first place if you deny its existence and erase it from memory that you can deny it was ever important, that it ever mattered and was ever important and ever ever ever sat on the tip of your tongue like a confession and act of contrition. Say this: Hallowed be thy father
Crimes Against Humanity, do they include lying? I wonder if they include lying because I like to lie, it’s as natural to me as defecating. Anything I believe, non-participation, hear is the sound and the word here is the beginning something like the end but more and less, more and less of a line.
It is something.
Blessed be thy mother, she was crying the other night. Long horrible silent tears and the kind of sobs that are worst than dry heaving in the toilet after you’ve emptied yourself out and your body wants you to let go of more even though you know, as you’re kneeling in front of the toilet, smelling the piss around the edges and wishing you would have known this was going to happen so you could have cleaned it and have a nice clean nonsmelly toilet to puke into.
You wonder how you have anything left and stomach acid and bile dribbles out of your mouth. Her tears were like that, her eyes red and bleeding from all the crying. She was wearing her blue robe, the only gift every given her. Tattered at the edges, it had greasy stains along the front of it from the elaborate breakfasts she made on Sunday mornings, with bacon and ham simmered in maple syrup, hash browns with garlic and onion and rosemary, the pancake that tasted like gingerbread and were so thick that when you chewed one up your teeth stuck together from the pancake paste.
Blessed be thy mother, she had mended the limp blue cloth over and over, re-sewing the seams with whatever color she had in her heart at the moment. So her seams were yellow and blue, some red, orange, green, taupe and mauve. Her favorite was red, though and sometimes she ‘d tie off an extra piece of thread and add to the embroidery she’d started, after the seams had come together again.
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