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1  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / bell on: December 07, 2017, 05:01:55 PM
she had a butt like a bell
made my ding dong scream 'holy hell!'
she's ringing out for me as far as i can tell
like I'm at the top of the tower in the center of town
and everybody below starts crowding around
by the look of their faces, they heard the sound
she had a butt like a bell
she had a butt like a bell
she made my ding dong start to swell
oh wait, she's a dude, there's my ticket to hell
they watched me staring now they wanna watch me fall
from the top of the tower in the center of town
now the red faces of the crowd start to push and yell
a mob of believers of god's good word
they're taking their flame to this tower of wood
screaming 'you'll burn like you should! you'll burn like you should!'
i dodged a tomato and down i fell
all cause i look at the dude with a butt like a bell.

okay I'm done.
2  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / railroad tracks on: October 03, 2017, 12:04:15 PM
my fear runs through the bottoms of my feet as i dance along the junctions of the railroad tracks, wondering; what if the rails suddenly clamp together and my unsuspecting foot gets pinched to a pancake?! meh, i'll store that anxiety away for another day. the sun is coming up over the east, unveiling the shadows that hid the goldmine of gum and flattened pennies i had planted with my buddies the night before. crouching down at the knees i peeled the shiny copper off the cold rails and held it up to the sun, flipping it back and forth between my fingers, examining it with my squinted childish eyes. it was exactly how i imagined it would be and would fit nicely in the collection of thingamajigs that i kept inside the tackle box of boyhood beneath my bed. down along the tracks, the rocks began to fall steeply down the sides of the massive wooden planks that secured the rails; the heads of the...
3  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / tape on: September 07, 2017, 12:41:57 PM
someone must have been playing tug of war with this hundred dollar bill, under the tape that joined the two halves ran a scar down the center of benjamin's face. the things people will do for money.. i wonder if this bill is still valid, the ATM thinks i'm trying to prank it, spitting out the bill in the manner of sticking out its tongue and laughing at ME; the dumbass. its real though, i held it up to the light and could see the inner veins of special ink and seals letting me know this bill was very much alive, even though its stitched together by scotch tape. i wonder how many hands this paid their dues with this paper, how many trees had to be chopped down and chipped down to dust to make it, dad always made the point that money doesn't grow on trees, but it kind of does, right? i like gold, heavy like a paper weight, shiny, but not shiny as polished chrome if you ask me. the two halves of this bill tell two very different tales, on one hand, the honest man and his honest wage, sweating under the sun, aching throbbing back by supper, on the other, cocaine, hookers, stripping down to the bare essentials and beyond, the black market, turning the cheek and looking the other way, the backs that were crushed in the name of fortune and fame, cartels and hot shot wall streeters doing their dirt...
4  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / vase on: September 05, 2017, 04:13:06 PM
the morning rays came creeping through the low-hanging kitchen curtains sending a ufo-type beam of light to the center of the breakfast table. little specs of dust danced and swirled illuminated through the air in an effortless manner, showcasing the motion of air as mother walked on by. the tiles beneath my feet were cold icy blocks which was typical for this time of year, the end of autumn and the oncoming winter chilling its way through our poorly insulated walls. our house creaked a lot, the floor boards giving way with each and every footstep. the loose nails speak a squeaky language as my over-sized brother stomps through room. a rainbow of colors mark the centerpiece of the table, an hour-glass shaped vase about as big as my forearm, with a bouquet of sleepy sunflowers slouching out from the top, tired and fading. the vase belonged to the previous residents, once grey and full of wrinkles, time's toll on our fragile bodies; grandma and gramps still roam these halls, i can feel it, the little blonde hairs on my neck stand straight up as they invisibly enter the room and spook us from the backs of our minds. us kids and mom lock eyes as the silent moment passes...
5  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / sheet on: July 27, 2017, 11:57:13 AM
my hands were steamy inside of the mittens grandma knitted together, in the pendulum of a rocking chair she used to sit back in; hunched over, but enjoying the crackle of the fire as her boney, aged fingers worked the needle. outside, the snow was sweating as if was the first day of spring, large droplets of water rolled down the mega icicles that hung down over the gutters of the roof, like daggers of melting evidence. a massive sheet of black ice lay sprawled out beneath them on the driveway below; if mom wasn't careful, she'd surely take another spill stepping out of the house. rushing over to the barn-turned-garage, i snatched my grandfather's ice pick hanging up on the wall, and started chipping away at the frozen accident waiting to happen; anything for mom. winters in maine can be brutal, and they can linger-on well into the spring, blizzards like a blindsided backhand to the face...
6  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / blister on: June 29, 2017, 10:50:44 AM
country folk always had tough hands; stiff and coarse from working their tools in the fields all day under the baking sun. the smell of manure fermenting the air; they live in it, thus don't notice it much, but us city folk can smell it downwind from a thousand miles away. my hands are soft now, makes me feel a little deflated as a man. growing up i was all about the yard work, weed whacking the steep hill in the front of my house, spitting up grass in every direction, by the time i'd get done; the sun at about two o'clock, i'd have shin-guards of green up to my knees. sweat would trickle down my temples from the top of my head and when the breeze would pick up, it'd cool the salt rivers ever-so slightly, it made the back breaking labor less of a bitch; even if just for that moment. when the chores were all said and done, and my proud baseball lines were striped across the front lawn, i'd sprint on over across the street toward the sparkling blue lake, with it's tall skies overhead, scattered cotton-ball clouds all way up in the stratosphere; then breathe deep and launch myself as far off the end of the aluminum dock as my springboard legs would allow me to fly, soaring then crashing into the water with an echo that would make the loons flutter from across the pond. all the chips of grass would scatter from my body and disperse at the surface, and i'd be clean once again. that's what summer was all about; work hard, play hard, my blistered hands could shake on that...
7  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / love letter on: June 21, 2017, 01:17:08 PM
the hours late, the crickets outside my window add a serenading color to the ticking of my desk clock, down in front of me lays a blank page, college-ruled, with the ghosts and scraps of all the erased letters of the words i'm not quite sure how to say. my indecisive hand trembles, the dull point of my number two pencil taps anxiously on the paper leaving little spills of graphite and hesitation. how do you tell someone you love them? how do you ask for more? if only the open window behind me could gently blow in some ideas to get me started... well, she's a girl with dirt blonde hair, freckles dot just below her eyes and across the top of her nose, and a single dimple implodes on her right cheek, only noticeable when she smiles, and when she smiles; i can't help but notice. the feeling it gives races through my gut, wraps around my head, and carries me off into the light of her heavenly glow...
8  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / priest on: June 20, 2017, 11:26:57 AM
church is as stale as the bread of the body of christ. as a child i was forced to eat it, chew on it, pretend to like it. the one upside to the downer that was every sunday morning, was the taunting of my brother in the silent pews of the packed chamber. he, too young for the single-file orchestrated march to communion and forgiveness, was so eager to have a taste of what the divine priest held in his hands at the front of the line; i'd snicker at him and tell him it tasted like skittles, which of course would set him off in a fit of jealous rage, which then led to my father intervening and whisper-threatening to beat our asses red in front everybody. the thought alone of such an act stiffened us right up, and i'd sit there sucking on the cardboard cut-out of christ until it was soft and mushy enough to swallow. i've always loved music, but the Father whats-his-name was never much of a singer, with his two-tone jingles of prayer echoing all the way up through the rafters, literally left me feeling dead inside, unaroused, slouched in my seat, my ass numb; every time; jesus, just take me away already. as for everyone else, 'peace be with you, peace be with you, peace be with you, (smile), (smile), (wink), and also with you.'
9  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Re: change on: June 16, 2017, 09:59:24 PM
thank you!

10  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / change on: June 15, 2017, 02:46:20 PM
needing my fix and desperate for a mixed-candy grab-bag from the local country store, i set on a mission to scrounge up any loose change i could get my little paws on, the gold mine, and always the first place i look, was into the caves beneath the cushions of the couch; the place my pop always kicked his feet up to eventually snooze on through the evening news. he was a hot shot in my eyes, always carried the good stuff; only silver coins lined his pockets. he must have had shallow slippery pockets last night, cause as i lifted the old cushion, three shiny george washington's sat staring back at me, i could have sworn his balding metallic head was smiling back. swiping em up they began to sweat in my eager hands. my second go-to spot had me trekking the winding trails of coffee tables and countertops, my bare feet dancing across the frozen tiles of the kitchen floor into the room that always seemed to have heavy traffic. into the bathroom, i curiously noticed something in the dryer was making a stir, clinking around and around as the clothes toppled over one another....
11  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / supermarket on: June 14, 2017, 10:21:30 AM
the parking lot was a zoo, a thick mix of people and automobiles, fully loaded with brown paper bags up to their neck, it was comical, i thought to myself; 'this could actually pass for a circus.' i've seen this mess before, but i never learn from it, just become part of it. thanksgiving is the worst day to do your feastly shopping. most of the time, your stuck improvising with what few scraps remain in the looted aisles of the supermarket. paper turkeys decorate the entrance, pumpkins remain unsmashed at the sliding doors, isn't that nice? my girl was on a mission, suited up in her team colors for the big game later, to get in and get out. it was our duty to provide the cranberry sauce, often overlooked on the thanksgiving table, but adds a sweetness to the turkey that will have you cock-a-doodling out your pie-hole the whole way home. the weather was perfect for some backyard games, and my mind wandered off to holding an ice-cold beer, sweating in my hand under the last rays of the autumn sun. dashing over to the beer aisle,  the selection was insane, every seasonal brew you could imagine, stacked high and plentiful...
12  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / bikini on: June 08, 2017, 04:11:53 PM
the bikini wrapped around her chest like christmas lights, my eyes lit up with delight, my groin stiffened, she turned her head toward me and I quickly spotted the imaginary seagull flapping its wings across the beach. she lay belly-down on the the hot sand, the summer sun felt like the inside of an oven set to 375. my wandering eyes made their way back to glow of her golden skin, i could smell the banana of her tanning oil downwind. the back straps of her top hung carelessly to her sides, one strong gust of wind might wisp it away all together. i put my aviators on to give me the illusion of shelter, shade that otherwise couldn't be found, the constant breathing of the ocean waves was tranquil, the great navy ships dotted across the distant horizon...
13  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / nose on: June 06, 2017, 10:30:58 AM
look at her strut as if every pair of eyes is itchin' for a taste, in six inch heels with black stalkings to tint the paleness of her legs, ruby red lipstick caked on her face and fresh curls her maid spent most of the morning twirling, she walks around with her nose up in the air, she's got no time for you or your nonsense and is the type who is always right. she's been groomed by a family of the finer things in life; shiny cars, exclusive country clubs, arranged marriages, only the best cuts of meat. she has no head for the common folk; the street sweepers, the store clerks, the unprivileged. i'd like to pinch that snooty nose right off her face and sweep the floor with it; give her a little sniff of what the real world is like....
14  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / ant on: June 05, 2017, 10:50:31 AM
mom's voice buzzed up through the floor from downstairs, not like dads which rumbled like thunder beneath my feet whenever he called, his voice had the type of weight that you didn't want to hear twice when he called. to save mom from straining her throat, i darted from the tv in the corner of my room toward my bedroom door, slipping in my socks on the way, diving forward and sliding my elbows across the carpet, searing the skin almost to the bone, the burn was familiar, sure to scab, tender to touch, but being the resilient kid i am, i hopped up and made my way down the stairs--skipping the last few steps with a monstrous jump that upon landing, shook the chandelier up on the ceiling of the dining room. rounding the corner to the kitchen, mom stood there in a blue-dotted apron with a plate in her hands, holding it just high enough that i couldn't quite see what she had prepared for me. reaching up with a curious smile, i pulled her arms down revealing the surprise. my eyes lit up at the sight of my favorite snack, green crunchy celery sticks stuffed with creamy peanut butter and on top raison ants in line-formation. ants on a log, she called it. grabbing a stick of it i took a bite, snapping the twig beneath my teeth, the peanut butter was thick and tough for my tongue...
15  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / knight on: June 03, 2017, 02:04:57 PM
he must have stood seven feet tall, towering over me in his steel plated suit, his coat of arms decorated his polished shield with swirling dragons crisscrossing at the neck, both breathing a furious heavy fire. the steel clinked around like falling chains with each slow step he took. i could see my reflection in his fresh-forged sword, glossy and new, i wondered if it had seen the inside of a man's body; slicing flesh with ease like a hot knife through butter i'd imagine. the horses gathered 'round, roman-eske helmets carved out to protect their elongated faces, dark eyes hidden behind two slits in the armor, breathing heavily through their snouts on this scorcher of a day, flexing their bulky breasts as they step in front of me, shiny combed fur, a leather saddle over the back, the knight through one leg over...
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