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1  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Donkey on: January 15, 2018, 02:58:27 PM
Long patchy road, choked by black lava fields for miles. The wind whips in through the inch of open window, whistling, playing with my hair. Out in the rocks stray animals move, tough skin hardened from the relentless sun, yellow patches of brave grass coming out of cracks and fissures. Hunger pangs as I hit traffic and slow to a sudden standstill. Donkey crossing tells me I'm close, landscaped grass and brown condos giving civilization to this barren stretch. My hands are stiff, knuckles holding the steering wheel taste of ocean salt slips in and mingles with the ac. The work day starts soon, collared shirt and chink of the time card, sunscreen saves my fair skin from turning blistery.   
2  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Computer on: January 12, 2018, 12:48:46 PM
I lay in bed, neck arched over pillows, back twisted to view the screen.
My thoughts are somewhere in between
Daylight comes in through the the curtains
warm on my arm, metal on my cold skin
Smell of week-old sheets and Costco chimichungas
Greasy face, hair matted on my head, hands folded under
The rest of the house is quiet, haunting
No one to talk to, yell at, drink a cup of coffee
Night comes suddenly
The cold of the air cutting me out of another dream
another reality...
3  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / paintbrush on: January 11, 2018, 12:23:44 AM
Smears along the drywall, hands speckled with bright color it seeps between the hairs, smell of creamed milk and chemicals, acidic tinge in the back o his throat he wipes his bangs aside and grips the wooden brush. Barely used muscles groan and become tight, knots under his shoulder, blade the bristles make a satisfying swish against the new sheetrock, bristles from a loud dusty manufacturing plant in Tuscaloosa full of assembly lines and humid sweat-drenched workers and bright halogen lights. Or maybe China.
His stomach starts to grumble, fumes collecting in his breath make him feel light-headed. The paint cleaner bubbles and yellow field swims off the bristles, color--   
4  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Deck on: January 08, 2018, 12:53:45 PM
I walk up wobbly stairs, rotten and grey. A trail of ants snakes along the railings, all going somewhere, maybe a fallen cookie crumb, a sugar spill. The view from the porch is like a Rembrandt painting, everything as I remember it with the blue hues and green-brown tree tops bristling in the breeze. I meet the wind, eyes watering and hair tossing too and fro like that scene on Titanic. The boards creak under me, paint peeling like sunburned skin. Soon I'll be back on steady ground, concrete or composite. Now I cling to this unsure footing, basking in it, hand reaching for support. The taste of Spring and humidity covers me, day dying down into a dusky dream.     
5  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Cabinet on: January 03, 2018, 02:48:26 PM
Sitting in the swivel chair-the one with the broken wheel- my back arches stiff and in bad posture. Grey light makes the office feel sleepy, my eyes weigh heavy like I've had too much cabernet. The taste of paper pulp and sour air I get up to stretch & put a folder in the cabinet. The wood stain like tiger's eye smooth as a glass of bourbon I open a window, letting the room ventilate. Last night comes back in spurts of hungover memory, lying on the cold floor of my kitchen...hurling white alcoholic vomit into the toilet, clinging to the porcelain.... Alarm clock ringing at 5:30 in the next room. The papers on my desk start to blur as my head pounds. Getting drunk is never like the movies.     
6  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Duffle Bag on: January 02, 2018, 03:23:13 PM
My hands clutch at fabric strap, I blink in the hazy light and inhale the noisy exhaust of the plane. Long line shortens, I glance at my phone too many times. The engine hums, blast of ac dries out my throat when I finally sit, stranded in this hunk of aerodynamic metal. My shoulder sags and throbs from the weight of the duffle bag, my heart pounds with the weight of my future. Outside the familiar buildings, roads, trees, fields all become a distant thought. My teeth crunch salty pretzels. I imagine my duffel bag, squeezed into the tiny space above my head, in a dark space full of strangers. Like me at a night club. It's amazing the human capacity to adapt to new things. It takes a lot for me to adapt, like my brain needs to be reassured that changes won't make the world end. Deep breathes. Small--
7  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Palm Tree on: December 08, 2017, 01:50:20 PM
I hold a cold Slush-float, neon colors condensate in my hand, my brain gets chilled, filled with frozen needles then I breathe hard and it's gone. A jogger passes me, I can hear the music coming from her ear buds I recognize the song as she fades down the path. Palm trees litter the park. Not palm trees like you'd think of, with graceful bends and shading leaves overarching on some quiet beach. These are more like palm trees from a Dr. Suess book. They writhe up in crooked directions, until a spiky cluster of knotted branch gives way to the thin wispy leaves floating in the mid-day sun. The trunk skin is like a thorny pineapple hyde, abrasive to the touch. Smell of urine and spilt chili, a man in his tent startles me as I walk by a patch of bushes--
8  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Avocado on: November 25, 2017, 12:31:20 PM
I walk out in the back yard, long grass wrapping around my ankles. It leaves red marks and soaks my shoes. My fingers scour the ground for ripe avos. Most are squished, cracked from impact my fingernails are full of dirt. I grab one, feel it and it's soft and fleshy, smooth like a dragon egg. I hose off, cold water sliding down my arm gives a shiver up my neck. Up the steps to the screen door I wipe off, fending off an attacking buzz of masquito, smell of lime and spices as I place the prize on the table. The kitchen is suddenly too warm and my shirt clings to my skin as I open the door for some breeze. We slice the avocado in half, taking a knife I remove the seed, revealing soft yellow-green fruit. Most people don't know that avocado is actually a fruit. It's my favorite--       
9  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Fountain on: November 16, 2017, 12:11:21 PM
Thick fog rolls in I can barely see distant brake lights squeaky tires skid on wet blacktop until buildings emerge out of the sleepy thick air. Smell of gyros, grease spews from the frying pan in back by eyes feel heavy, lidded like little Atlases holding up the weight of the world. The water fountain, standing like a monument in the middle of the shopping center cold tickles my insides as I drink, wipe my mouth as it runs down. Pristine reservoirs in cold climate and filtered through stingy gates and nets. Still a faint hint of metals but I'm so thirsty it doesn't matter. Once we toured a reservoir, up in the hills the people showed us over steps and around grassy acres to great big pools surrounded by rusting gates turned orange with age. 
10  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / court on: November 13, 2017, 02:10:32 PM
Lights flash and explode, cacophonous crowd packed in like sardines in the bleachers, drinks sloshing and f-bombs dropping to the players below. The court is waxy, sticky almost, so that you can stop on a dime. Fades and weaves suck up sweat from the players, flail of lanky arms and breathes held as one guy glides through the air, ball outstretched, finger grab the rim and the white net hurricanes back and forth as the ball drops through. My face half full of popcorn chokes in amazement, everyone around me stands up and I feel like I'm suddenly in a forest of limbs and torsos, smell of strong deodorant and stale drinks my head reels. I prefer to watch the game in the quiet and comfort of my soft down couch cushions, nursing a perrier in shaded peace. My hands ---
11  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Campfire on: November 09, 2017, 10:07:35 PM
Long slow drive, stomach sick after hours of bumping over jagged road. The sun pours in over the mountain, my eyes are no match I cover them. Dirt sticks to my nostrils, black boogers thinning in the high chill air. After we move rocks into a circle my finger spins the lighter mechanism. Flame flickers in little genies, erupting glow finally into the twigs the fragrant smoke fills the senses and I choke, proud of my skill. The smell of sizzling hot dogs hanging onto the prongs for dear life fluffy white sugary mallows I like mine golden brown & turn the stick with excited patience, slight shock of pain as the middle oozes out into my mouth and chin.  The lights float like boats---   
12  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Cemetery on: November 07, 2017, 01:43:34 PM
The old street I grew up on had two cemeteries, both Catholic, crosses and crucibles adorned the sites, words, names, memories, dates, etched into those silent graves. I remember wandering in amongst the crumbling grave stones, heart racing, afraid I'd see a ghost fly out from behind an old headstone. My street was quiet and dusty, potholes common along the faded concrete. Once we accidentally took home someone's ashes from a moving sale. I opened the urn, dark charcoal stared back at me, smell charred and earthy. Animal grave sites peppered out backyard over the years. The saddest part of dealing with a dead animal is the eyes: those eyes that were once full of life now dull and frozen.     
13  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Queen on: November 06, 2017, 02:13:17 PM
She sits in somber silence
chin proud and eyes ablaze
sunlight shimmers off her jewels
Throne room smells of morning dew

Outside the sound of voices
filling up the courts
scrape and scuffle, cry and laugh
peasants, poets, riff & raff

Her brows are sunk in thought
her stomach tied in knots
wine and bread are brought before her
No she says, and gives the order

choices haunt her dreamless sleep
guilty friends and pious people
bruised by--
 
14  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Screen Door on: November 02, 2017, 11:47:54 AM
Sitting on the hard weathered picnic table, iced lemonade condensates a puddle, miles of grassy flats stretch like an ocean in front of me, broken conversation fills the gaps in the wind. My skin pricks up, must be November. I go inside, screen door squeaking it's old hinges like orthopedic bones, I shut it quickly to keep the blood-thirsty masquitoes out. That old door always gives me start when it snaps shut behind me, like some sort of practical joke that gets me every time. Throat sticky from the lemonade, I clear my throat, walk into the room. It feels weird not having the glow of a t.v. screen out here. just lamp light and howling animals far away. The walls are like ancient caves- lit up with shadows and imagination. Purple--   
15  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Stepdaughter on: October 31, 2017, 01:07:15 PM
I eat my breakfast slowly, spooning up floating cheerio's, slurping milk it drips down my face. I don't take my eyes off his ring, glinting on his fat ring finger, not long enough for a tan line to be there. My stomach tightens. I'm supposed to call this strange man my dad. He's not though. His eyes aren't hazel, there's no stubble on his face, no goofy smile. I wait for a hug, for playful noogies messing up my hair. Nothing. This man is all serious. He looks like the poster child for the wall-street Journal. The alarm on his watch goes off, and immediately he stands up, smoothing out the wrinkles in his suit. He gives a light nod. I sit there, the morning air turning warm, the spoon still cold in my fingertips. The smell of cologne fades--   
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