Viewing: Object Writing - View all posts

Object Writing - "Curtain" 

The word, "Curtain", unedited writing practice (taste, touch, sight, sound, smell, movement, body sensations), 10 minutes, go!...

The fog remained dropped along the beach like a curtain that darkened his plans for any fun in the sun. The floating seagulls still showed up in their roles; still played out their scenes of dive bombers on enemy shores with an occasional dropped payload  of "get off my beach" onto the hair or shoulders of lounging sun worshippers. The star of our story sensed a wave of disappointment cool his enthusiasm as he secured a parking spot. Scene One begins: A day off and no sun. He slept in earlier so his morning coffee was later than usual and still hung on his tongue like a scarf on a clothesline. 

Now, of course there wouldn't BE any sun worshippers if indeed there was fog, right? But that's where editing comes in.

....scarf on a clothesline? Hmmm...

Object Writing - "Mop" 

The word, "Mop", unedited writing practice (taste, touch, sight, sound, smell, movement, body sensations), 10 minutes, go!...

In my head it feels like a puddle of thoughts getting swirled around by an old school janitor's mop. Slopping through a morning haze I come to my senses and attempt to wash my mental hands of all worry.
Stringy discolored tentacles octopus around the gymnasium - it's floor an ocean wide. Propelled by the hands of a very blessed state government worker with the lines on his face of a windswept, weathered sailor. He's navigated this wooden handle in his determined grip for a good many years. He waxes a mean floor, but he can almost taste the sweetly restful days of retirement. The fruit of his labors - sinking his teeth into a nice pension.

Object Writing - "Wand" + an Excerpt Extra 

The word, "Wand", unedited writing practice (taste, touch, sight, sound, smell, movement, body sensations), 10 minutes, go!...

Little Johnny waves his tiny spoon like a magician's wand as though he could conjure up an instant meal from his adult assistant who was scurrying from sink to microwave. This cutely pudgy little trickster with the unavoidable smile planned his next move as soon as he had his fill of the magical mixture of spinach and beets. Oh, mom was prepared to see his so-called wand become a flying instrument of mirth and amused laughter. The rubber covered spoon thuds onto the dark wood floor and releases the strategically planned uneaten contents of its infant portioned concave and splotches of green between the cracks become the next objects of discussion between mother and son. Pressure builds behind her desire to teach her boy right from wrong, but then she...

Ed. Note: I was going to go into something about exploding in laughter.

And excerpt from a previous 10 minutes with the word "Loom":
 

Object Writing - "Worm" 

I so easily amuse myself, warming up to work on a lyric...

The word, "Worm", unedited writing practice (taste, touch, sight, sound, smell, movement, body sensations), 10 minutes, go!...

Bite into a worm, what do you get? I don't know-never tried it! Insect jelly covered in moist dark dirt? Gritty in your teeth like sand only softer and grossly juicier. Oh, how about a rainbow colored gummy worm? Spongy sugar molded into a less-grosser version of the real creature that burrows through soft dirt or makes an appearance under a lifted rock like an over-achieving actor when the curtain suddenly opens too early. Dingy gray piece of twisted rope comes alive and convulses wildly in my hand. His silent panic seems to amuse me and I'm guilty of the fact. He's not hurting me. I will free him from his five-finger skin prison.

Object Writing - Costume 

The word, "Costume", unedited writing practice (taste, touch, sight, sound, smell, movement, body sensations), 10 minutes, go!...

He wore his smile like a costume. Ready to have fun if it killed him. The corners of his upturned mouth like painted-on clown lips. The smell of fresh, just-out-of-the-oven Geno's pizza rolls hit his nose whereby it felt like it would grow to a clown size and explode. He hid his raging appetite in small talk and large nods of his baseball-cap covered head. He slithered toward the white plastic covered snack table under cover of self-controlled calm. Celery clothed in ranch dip felt the grip of his hand. Creaminess draped over his taste buds like a cool salve. Crunch vibrated his jaw and skull-an unseen earthquake of gastronomic delight.

Object Writing - Matron 

Until I get to sharing a song in progress, I warmup:

The word, "Matron", unedited writing practice (taste, touch, sight, sound, smell, movement, body sensations), 10 minutes, go!...

The matron of the retirement community was the most stodgy women I had ever seen. No applesauce was served before it's time. You will not pass downs these halls of walkers, wheelchairs, and soiled linen containers on wheels, without her gaze on you like handcuffs attached to your ankles. Her proper but overly authoritative "May I help you" makes its presence known as though a hand is pressing down on your head and squishing you down to child-like proportions. Everything about her pseudo-dignified manner looks down on you from behind her information sign placed there as almost a shield to protect all inhabitants from the bothersome outsiders. I lost my ability to speak like gum losing it's flavor. She chewed my...

Object Writing - Heaven 

Wow-Really had to force myself to get going this morning.

The word, "Heaven", unedited writing practice (taste, touch, sight, sound, smell, movement, body sensations), 10 minutes, go!...

Heaven is under my pillow when I slide my hand underneath into the peaceful cold of the sheets and pillow case. Ethereal dreams may make their presence known tonight. Toothpaste taste reminds me of angel protection. I'm sure to wake up with a head of halo hair. Clicking refrigerator, guardian of all things perishable like my wife's casserole or mom's glorious pasta leftovers from Sunday's family get-together. Night air invisibly wafts in from the almost-silent night. Distant canines sings their praises to the slivery moon. Turning over, cotton sings of...

Sick Writings and Molten Morning Damage 

Spent a day and half or so holed up Howard Hughes-style in a Nashville hotel room, not really feeling well, filling up the trash cans with tissues, but happy as a clam that I got some writing done, no matter how little - object writing and the start of a new song.

And by the way, you know I'm not feeling well when I'm staring at a football game on TV for any extended length of time in the early evening.

New song started:

The definition of your tears
Is that the world can't keep it's hold on you
They'll scrub your heart to see a higher truth
[Insert acceptable line, at least for the time being, here]

The definition of your tears
Disguise a fighter who can take a punch
And plumb the depths of dreams with all they got


That's all I will reveal for now. :)  I would have sung a little for you, but see my sniffling excuse above.

And warming up......The word, "Eruption", unedited writing practice, 10 minutes, go!...

Microwave oatmeal decides to teach me all about a volcanic eruption. Pressures from within this water-drowned mass of pseudo-breakfast oats and scientific tasty hellodelights silently scream their way upward. I supply the words like, "Damn" and "Crap" with explosive exclamation marks. Totally unwanted lava drippings bubble over the edge of my crater paper bowl. Peaceful morning thoughts jump and flee, screaming, "Run for your lives"! Pasty disaster, glass plate stops it's rotation when I press cancel. I am suddenly like God who can halt catastrophe as I am doing now. But the molten morning damage is done.
Photo: https://www.flickr.com/photos/wmliu/2677577275/

Object Writing - Caricature 

I've got new songs on the way to post, but until then, I remain (doing):

The word, "Caricature", unedited writing practice, 10 minutes, go!...

Your version of my own thoughts makes quite a caricature of what I'm actually thinking. A bulbous nose, larger than life, must be amusing you to no end. But that is not the face of my opinions. at all. I am not clowning around here inside my mind, but you seem to be inside yours. Very funny, the over-sized forehead your making of the facts. Grotesquely sharp teeth chewing my words but spitting them out at me like rapid-fire watermelon seeds. Imitation knowledge pours out your mouth like destroying hot lava. Hearts hardened in distorted images of action. Pencils scrape inside your mind...

Object Writing - Parsnip 

The word, "Parsnip", unedited writing practice, 10 minutes, go!...
 
The evil prince had fingers resembling wrinkly, dirt-caked parsnips only these were bendable. They tapered to a point such that no fingernail would dare to grow. He pointed one of his vegetable appendages and pressed it into my chest, testing my resolve like a gardener tests the soil in lieu of sowing future plans. I sensed the seeds of an evil plot in his grotesquely watery eyes set in hatchet-cut eye sockets over which a furrowed brow pressed down in intimidating symmetry.