Object Writing, Prose & Poetry Forum

June 20, 2019, 03:15:06 AM
Welcome, Guest. Please login or register.
Did you miss your activation email?

Login with username, password and session length
This week's words;

Sunday - Instructions

Monday- Motorcycle

Tuesday- Wildflower

Wednesday- Asparagus

Thursday- Stopwatch

Friday - Confetti


Word of the Day
  Show Posts
Pages: [1] 2 3 ... 12
1  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Fret on: March 21, 2019, 03:23:27 PM
The metal bar sits tightly squeezed in a groove in the wood. A foreign element. The wood so organic sprawling and flowing like lava. Never wanting to end it always forms one more ring one more curve and the two toned flesh runs in unexpected and thrilling ways. The smell of fresh amber so invigorating. Pine forest in the morning. And then the metal rod like a cast in a leg. Cold possibly with healing qualities. Giving off a
Sizzling and high frequency dense energy like a cloud of sparks. Over time dirt has built up in the juncture and everywhere except where my fingers have been again and again. There there are blank and polished spots. The rest is grimy with time. I take a damp cloth and slip it under the strings and begin to rub the juncture and the whole fretboard. A forest a mikado game of astrological metal while the Indian saints look on in approval.  And the water gently loosens the grime and makes the small particles stick to the cloth. Fret by fret I move down the board then finally my sense of practicality wins over my slothfulness and I remove the strings and they lie in a disorderly heap of cold spaghetti and I get to work and lovingly clean the entire board. Then I put new strings on and the small artwork of the perfect knot and the perfect length of the string and the crunching gravel under my boots on the level road. The guitar riding on my pack going up and down
2  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Plate on: March 20, 2019, 01:24:45 PM
The curved sides gently rise and the roundness of the plate and the smooth edges are pleasing to the touch. The film of grease from oil and cheese. Scrubbing the plate to get it off. A heavy Venezuelan artisanal ceramic plate and the hot water with plenty of air swooshing like a waterfall over it and the brush traveling in long sweeps. The stiff bristles bend and strain but come back in almost perfect erectness for years. The sink is stainless steel and it sits quietly and the sound the brush makes against it. Like a drum a steel drum. An industrial sound of bouncing and swaying African music. Dancers clad in animal skins and the sky is black above the fire. The sparks rise in droves and the music is intoxicating. The time and place to lose yourself in dance and the songs of the tribe. Outside the village the savannah lies dark and teeming with life. Yellow eyes glow in the dark. All two eyed creations. So close to us and yet so foreign looking. The monkeysí fur is tough like the brush bristles and its arms and legs feel incredibly powerful and supple at the same time. The black fur shines like a laquer coat on a car and the lighter face is furless and the eyes gleam at me before the ape takes to the sky and swings with lazy effortlessness bet
3  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Typewriter on: February 28, 2019, 05:10:16 PM
The grey hull is sleek and cold in the early morning. Itís got a logo standing out in Bakelite white and grey and silver and I can smell the ink. I touch a key and it goes whack with fierce attack. I insert green paper and the page flutters and the pleasing rifled sound as I turn the knob and watch the top come out under the plastic guard and I sit on a chair in dadís study in the basement Iím using a black swivel chair Iím in my undies and Iím writing and the sound of the typewriter is the only sound in the house. The catalogue pages are glossy and thick and the green bed sheets almost have a sound to them theyíre so fresh looking. Itís a sea of green and the waves are squishy like a cartoon and exaggerated and the water is thick like paint and the thin film of oil on my finger makes it feel a little slick. The sunrise is thin and quiet. All the birds and animals wake up and the incredible power of the sun and itís just a rotation making it visible. Itís just slow circular motion and the rays are cast continuously and with blinding efficiency in space and
4  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Avocado on: February 25, 2019, 05:15:21 PM
The skin is cool and smooth and with gnarls and bumps. But the bumps are small and as I run my finger over them itís like the desert roads that develop tiny tire tracks and at a certain speed my finger glazes over them quickly and I go back and forth like a guira and the friction warms my finger up and now I press slightly down and feel the hard texture and a tiny amount of give. I set the nails on the skin and tap. Almost no sound comes out but the fruit vibrates silently and inside molecules are jostled. The skin peels off and the explosion of green is intense. Iím thinking about the stone like a beating heart. Pulsating and deep red the life force somewhere and now itís going to go forever and never stop until it stops forever. And a tree has a heart too but it looks nothing like ours as sap and water are silently pumped up to meet the thirsty leaves. The infusion makes them taut with liquid and they wave at each other in sharp focus and the pale blue sky is blurry beyond the striated and solid bark. The roots extend down into the cold darkness. The tree easily managing these two completely different worlds. The silent and muddy dirt and the windy rustling above ground. Sit under a tree and talk or kiss and it will hear you and vibrations will be sent to the moles and worms. The eyeless earthworm sees with his head. Gliding through the underground. Burrowing with precision. He has a tiny mouth which can process everything and find the grain of sugar in the pile of sand. T
5  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Charlie Chaplin on: February 23, 2019, 09:39:36 PM
The grainy picture and the moustache. The eyes that you get lost in a face thatís so delicate fragile and I feel like I can watch it forever. The big shoes that point outward at a grotesque angle. The road is dusty and there are tire tracks in it and a boulder is lying by the side of the road. His trousers have thin stripes blue and white and his black coat has comically long tails. The trousers billow and snake like harmonicas and the dusty shoes clap like rattlesnakes every time he runs for his life and the face changes capable of endless shifting expressions a face that really conveys the full sentiment. Defiant courage. A righteous anger the eyes unflinching unafraid against all odds. Then carefree and his cheeks and twitching moustache. In the upper lip every second a thousand stem cells divide and deposit collagen to support another tiny length of the wiry hair. Some woman has touched this and declared her love lying next to him smiling just like the orphan in the movie and heís been sitting at a breakfast table in his dressing gown eating cornflakes and looking out the window and itís full color and his mother notices his talent and sends him to drama school the interest and drive and raw talent. The eyes so awake and sucking everybody in like giant black holes and the smile that makes everybody happy the acrobatics and the storytelling a eye of the storm boy and the family gathers around him and he dances
6  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Jeans on: February 21, 2019, 02:16:09 AM
The fabric feels a little rough in some places and around the knees itís like silk totally worn I sit down the jeans covering my legs containing them like tubes and they stretch at the front and crinkle like a harmonica at the rear and the sneakers bend at the toes and also crease at that junction. The rubber stretching and all the weight is transferred to the balls of my feet and I put my arms on the knees and the wrists relax the hands fall in an effortless pose like giant claws resting before scraping an entire Lilleputian village off the map. The alien sands spread forbidding and pink in all directions and the rocks so quiet like the sun has sucked all sound out of the atmosphere. The dust is everywhere so fine it enters unseen cracks and finds its way into everything. A nuisance to some but the dust is a blanket a bed and a sanctuary Tornerose lays on a bed perfumed with roses and other scents. A childhood fantasy. The bookís spine is black with gold colored streaks the length of the spine. The small format book opens with worn efficiency and lack of resistance. The images spring out at my eyes with solid colored force each time. The story so powerful and obviously relevant and the heroine just and the witch evil. My hands are small and the skin perfect. My hair long and shiny. My eyes not quite innocent as my feet touch the parquet floor. The wooden ships are magically waterproof. The viking stands at the bow clad in an animal hide. The large swells make the ship move up pointing the bow skyward and the ship is almost halfway out of the water and then crashes slowly back into the sea but itís boyancy catches up with the momentum and arrests it and the oars dip with sounds that are drowned out by the crashing waves and the men are cold but donít complain. They know this is necessary and they can feel the ship gliding through the night and the stars are pointing the way. The sk
7  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Re: Marker on: February 19, 2019, 04:19:48 PM
Nice. I could hear the cap coming off
8  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Decal on: February 19, 2019, 04:18:03 PM
I run my fingers over the smooth glossy sparkling surface. My eyes get lost in the rainbow colored metallic caleidoscope. I move the decal from left to right and tilt it this way and that so I can see the light catching it. Itís a big truck and thereís something so awesome and exhilarating about it. The blue azur color is making me restful itís like my eyes slow down and my mind calms. The cool air is completely still. A faint light but I canít tell from where it comes. And the cave is rough walled but well appointed. I sit on a thick pillow and I hear a gong being struck the sound growing slowly from the enormous instrument. Washing over all of us sound waves playfully ricocheting off the walls and into our ears. Itís like a hunger but not a ravenous hunger. The kind of hunger thatís deep and grateful and the reward for satisfying it is peace. The air is medium humid and feels great against the skin. The scorching sun and dry air make me feel like Iím in a sauna. I drink from my big jug and the car is stopped. I like the crunch of gravel under the tires. I like the red sand and the rocks. And cacti. Their skin is tough but I can tell itís filled with water. How can they hold on to it. Itís incredible. The air hungry for moisture and the cactus like a card shark holding on to his aces everyone knows he has. It wonít let up. Serve the people first. The air isnít alive but the cactus is and this is why. The hummingbird buzzes like a giant insect and with razor sharp maneuvering, de
9  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Wave on: February 16, 2019, 05:54:02 PM
The water is cold against my ears but the wetsuit makes the rest of my body warm. Itís like a warm oil against my belly. There comes a wave I watch it being sort of squeezed out of the ocean. The white cream on top gets added invisibly and itís all granular. Drops flying in every direction pellets. Like pellets of gravel. The machines pounding and reaching down like giant hands into the soil to extract the white and yellow and brown gravel. The conveyor belt crunching and the stones vibrating up and down as the belt passes over the rollers. Skyward in a fairly steep incline and the friction makes them stay put as well as their neighbors. They all share the friction until theyíre released over the precipice and fall I feel the suck in my stomach as I fall and watch the maw below. With white teeth and a huge pink tongue billowing and thereís no escape the teeth are pointy and the tip looks as if itís been sharpened by a deliberate filing down but itís nature filing down and the tough black skin is made of the same material but this is flexible and resilient. The water seems to boil as the whale sticks straight out of it and a huge wave spreads in all directions a perfect bullseye and I hear the wind and think of a painting the same senses react so differently to the two. The yellow garb seems so intricate and the sword hanging by his side and the tall boots with folded down tops and the
10  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Back seat on: February 15, 2019, 10:01:45 PM
Back seat
The car door closes and we sit there the echo of the door still reverberating and subtly rocking the entire cabin. The springs are compressed or the foam and the fabric is slightly rough and my back touches the rest in certain places my bones burrowing slightly into the foam and the white bones are like icebergs slowly pushing amidst the green icy water slowly turning over but with incredible force. I touch the smooth slippery surface and itís oily and cold but graceful like a figure skater. The steel blade cuts the ice like a surgeonís knife and sprays up a wall of shards as she stops then sets off at speed. The contact point is small and every move she makes translates to incredible and direct force between the blade and the ice. Her breath is seen as wisps of steam when she stops for long enough. Otherwise itís dispersed and an Uber is waiting outside Walmart and the client doesnít come and their days diverge and the driver sets off and meets the next rider and the woman is trying to get everything done and glides off into the parking lot. Another driver picks her up and together they make her day work and move it forward. A room full of babies of all colors yellow white brown and all mixtures their eyes and limbs interchangeable. They see with their mouths and hear with their eyes and the soft pillow breaks the toddlerís fall and he shrieks with the sensation I feel my head pounding and remember Pat said to OW before coffee and I didnít. I made coffee so my head wouldnít hurt and now itís better and Iím writing my fingers dancing over the virtual keyboard. I love this way of doing it. Anywhere. A typewriter is nice too. More of a ritual. Like a guitar in the corner. Waiting. Beckoning. And Iím flying in a double decker airplane from WWI and the wind is incredible and powerful. Just a roar and my body shakes and I try to hold on to the side railing and the wall is shaking as well and good thing Iím wearing goggles. Down below I see the landscape peacefully gliding by and my mind rests for a few long seconds as I contemplate the
11  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Belt buckle on: February 12, 2019, 03:34:33 PM
I try to close the buckle. I canít really see it it feels awkward to bend my neck I still try and I feel a stretch in my neck muscles but my mind is already protesting and arguing at the futility. Just close the thing itís saying. I bend even more and now a prickly feeling is the danger warning that Iím not supposed to be doing this. A written permission it seems must be procured by the central agency. A long dark corridor with floor panels that look hand painted and the carpet has black jagged lines running its length like a land parallel to the green glowing exit lines in planes. I already feel the static generated as my sneakers touch and rub the synthetic material. The same stuff Iím made of but this looks like a carpet. The floor is quiet I note with satisfaction but my mind is full of creaks already. The absence of them is a revolution for my inner voice. I pick a door and touch the powdered chrome the handle broadens stylishly away from the stem. The wallpaper is brown and the smooth wall is made of white marble it doesnít look solid. A crumbling Greek temple looks solid and immovable. These smooth and perfect walls look like sheetrock. Iím looking for cracks. Looking for where they may have put them up crooked. Sound waves swirl around me like a vortex. If it was water it would be a tornado. And I hear the clack clack clack of heels and the more subdued bap bap of leather heels from menís shoes. And my sneakers creak. Thereís a yellow cone on the floor and a man in a blue overall is
12  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Stone on: January 31, 2019, 06:40:03 PM
A mound of dirt and on top the road covered with stones. Theyíre round and look smooth and as i take two and rub them together they make a muffled sound like chalk on a board. The interaction leaves a faint white trail on the solid grey surface like a figure skater was there. The ice is still and the hall is cold and the blade makes a slashing and cutting sound and as she turns tightly a crunching sound. Thereís snow all around and a clump of trees nearby and people of all ages children with red cheeks and open excited faces teenagers helping the youngest and some are a bit more reserved and the sky is wispy with clouds and I can make out the contours of a very pale winter sun bathing everyone in a golden yellow light. A stand sells sausages that emit steam and are wobbly and the griddle is searing hot and underneath the coals are burning smoldering the heat is explosive the meat absorbs the heat or some of it and the griddle with each bar not quite pointed but not flat either leaves a black mark on the sausages and a barrel stands nearby and an old man is roasting chestnuts and the slight ruffling sound of the manipulation of the chestnuts mixes with the childrenís skating the sound waves clash and push and pull each other and in the air a swarmi is levitating six feet in the air his yellow robe and serene face starkly outlined against the whitish sky and
13  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Re: string on: January 31, 2019, 08:02:40 AM
Niiice! ďEathís lishnemerald hairĒ. Beaitiful
14  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Paper Towel on: January 30, 2019, 02:29:42 PM
Paper towel
I hold the roll in my hands and I feel the peculiar fluffy spongy elasticity and the lamellae like structure. I let my fingers leaf through the many layers itís like a mushroom and the hard cardboard core is like a sewer under the city streets full of mystery. Even when nothing happens in the city itís always working. Deep underground with a big tube of concrete as its border and itís noisy with millions of gallons of fluid running through it and on the other side of the tube the dark dirt silently lies in wait. It too is teeming with life. Moles and worms travel through it and butt heads now and then and slowly roots of plants and trees make their way through the dark matter a bit like a slow man walking with exaggerated halting gait and somewhere in the treesí mind or whatever controls it a command is given to extend the root further and itís really pointy at the end and it pushes down and sometimes it decides to branch out always looking for more water and each little molecule counts and is sucked up through the thirsty tubes that are the peristaltic heart of the tree and now weíre above the ground and the wind makes the tree creak itís cold blooded and mysterious completely immobile in our world save for swaying but maybe they perceive each other and maybe us too maybe we are a blurry incomprehensible flurry blur with speed like a long exposure traffic cam. Just traces everywhere and the commuters and the children playing completely cover the ground and the traces only slowly disappear from the treeís field of vision so it notices the gradual changes only. When a new school opens next r
15  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Handle on: January 30, 2019, 05:38:40 AM
I watch the red plastic apparatus with dials and lights and itís sitting on the tarmac resting its 12 pounds or so. And it hovers in space really but is held in check by the hard black surface. It rests on two ridges that protrude like long upside down dykes. And I walk towards it my boots crawling on their rubber treads. I curl my hand around the big jug handle of thick orange plastic. Its surface is smooth and feels slightly cold but my hand quickly warms it up and the skin on my fingers turns a little white as I start lifting. All the little components inside feel a slight jolt like a spaceship floating along and then the boosters engage and thereís a soundless change of direction. It feels like gravity and the white walls and the floor thatís equally white. Everything has to switch and subtle forces in the walls give a little push and pull like busy shoppers right before Christmas. They jostle and glide past each other. Felt against leather. A savannah of overgarments a mingled horde jostling nervously under the watchful eye of a predator. And parcels in various stages of wrapping in plastic bags or clutched under arms. A big red fire truck is encased in a cardboard box and its sirens ready to go the batteries preinstalled. Just waiting in the dark and inside the cardboard box it smells that particular cardboard way mixed with the new plastic smell and the cardboard is smooth on the inside of the box. Millions of little grains visible. On the outside bright colors scream and the paper wrapped green and red and a blue ribbon. The tag has a name on it and the truck sails through the dark streets first boosted up and down under a fathers arm then in the trunk of a cab and the trunk
Pages: [1] 2 3 ... 12