Object Writing, Prose & Poetry Forum

June 26, 2019, 02:31:51 PM
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This week's words;

Sunday - Instructions

Monday- Motorcycle

Tuesday- Wildflower

Wednesday- Asparagus

Thursday- Stopwatch

Friday - Confetti

Saturday-Homesick



Word of the Day
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1  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Sun Tan Lotion on: June 24, 2019, 10:29:16 AM
We waited for this day all year, our thoughts were itching with the daydream of a broad sunny beach on a clear day with the waves crashing between the shouts of our frisbee game. The day had arrived and served up a never ending bus ride, our conversations overlapped with checking watches and sniffing out the overpowering smell of sunscreen on overzealous girls whose faces glistened with a pale oily sheen making them look sickly. At last we saw the ocean, glimmering beyond the tinted windows and teasing us with it's array of shimmering stars. Conversation exploded as our excitement took off, 40 girls all cramming words into sentences of what their day would be like. One girl, Naomi, was lathering herself up with coconut oil to "tan better" and as the day progressed, thought we were teasing her when we said her skin was turning red because it couldn't happen "that fast". The sun bore down on us uninhibited by clouds or trees and quite relentlessly roasted her skin, a ripe tomato with tan lines and an attitude...
2  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Bar Stool on: June 22, 2019, 06:54:04 AM
Where did it go? A quick and winding trip to the bathroom that had way too many men in it, the Mens must have been full, followed by a short visit to Jacques behind the bar. That's kind of our joke, his name is Jack so I call him Jacques, he was so pissed off until somebody vomited on the counter and then he had to go clean that up instead. I got a free drink though! It tasted like water but my girlfriend, Jessie, keeps telling me it's a vodka tonic. If it is, it's going down real easy. Wait, where am I? Oh yeah, my chair. Jessie  grabs my arm and drags me in the absolute wrong direction. She's gripping on my arm so tightly she must be stopping my blood flow because the room is spinning so fast. I wave my free hand around to get Jessie's attention and then it starts raining except it stopped straight away. Why is no-one else wet? A guy walking past takes the empty cup from my hand with a laughing smile, I don't remember drinking the whole vodka tonic but I must have. Maybe I should call it quits for the night. "My stool!" I run past Jessie to my bar stool gripping it tightly as the room tights hard to the right. My other friend, Steph, hands me a new glass of vodka tonic and asks me why I'm wet. "Raining back near the bar" I reply. I see Jessie roll her eyes but my vision is all blurry, it doesn't help that the room keeps shifting. Jessie comes over and...
3  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Photo Album on: June 22, 2019, 06:50:05 AM
Ah, the annual spring clean, although the last time I participated was at the crazed urgings of my mother. It was most likely an attempt to see the carpet on my bedroom floor again with a faint side of goodwill and cleanliness. This time it feels like growth , a formal word for the scowl I sometimes have when I look at an unkempt closet full of clothes I despise wearing. Why do I keep them? A pastel gift with too many frills, an impulse purchase with too much on display and so many more asking to be worn but at the price of my confidence. So, what feels better than getting rid of unworn clothes? Getting rid of them under the guise of giving to charity and the therapeutic nature of the humble "spring clean". Sifting through dusty drawers and closets I run a quick fashion parade to really convince myself I'll never wear those clothes. Neat piles begin to form throughout the room itemized by use and body locale. Soon the wardrobe rehaul turns into a blown out clean and I'm trapped beneath a giant pink photo album that's slowly coming apart at the spine, lost in the swirling memories of my tiny self and her tiny siblings and ridiculously youthful parents. Any passerby would wonder at the obscured choked sounds popping out un guarded, almost mournful but also grateful somehow. These little porcelain faces of my family, smiling, unaware of their futures...
4  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Wedge on: June 20, 2019, 08:17:59 AM
The white porcelain bowl arrives at the table, number exchanged for food. The bowls asymmetry makes drawing from it difficult if you are on the wrong side. Slowly wafting tendrils of steam lick up from the fresh wedges, the heat burning fingers and tongues forcing patience upon unwilling patrons. Faithful sidekicks sit in wait ready to receive a steamy wedge and blend its battered skin with sweet chilli and cool sour cream. Conversation drops around the table as the tendrils of steam lessen, their greedy mouths lapping up sauce and fingers savouring the taste of wedges after chilled beer. The sun beats a pattern between the trees as the sky radiates a salon sapphire blue, wonderously uniform, welcoming in the cool afternoon breeze cutting away at the midday heat. Slowly talk starts to rise back to its original volume as initial urges are satiated and the  arms that were plunging for the bowl eke out. One of them rises holding the empty beer jug and counts the hands shooting up for another round. The jeers and nods erupt again, pushing the volume straight to the top as they settle in for a long one.


I realised afterwards that I used "eke" incorrectly after googling it to double check my understanding of it. Whoops - still, worth it!
5  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Calendar on: June 19, 2019, 12:45:54 PM
A ding from my coat pocket reminded me of the event I was already en route to, a not so timely reminder but at least I hadn't forgotten. Painted face with Cleopatra wings running from the edges of my eyes, a long tan trench against a chilly Brisbane night obscuring a view of a strapless red dress and finished off with bedazzled black strappy stilettos all marks for a killer night and if not,  then some absolutely dead feet for sure. Despite their already physically demanding shape you'd think someone could develop a heel with at least some semblance of comfort. The road into the valley was littered with commuters aggressively claiming their place on the road, each driver inexplicably put out by the other, an unnurturing environment second only to keyboard warriors consciously incompassionate and possessively correct flaunting "the customer is always right" regardless of their actual status as "customer". The driver, experienced with these helicopter parents of their Suzuki's and Land Rover's, flits in and out disregarding horns and general road rules. At peak hour everyone is a bastard, yet we arrive with no bingles to speak of and certainly no fear for our lives. The chill night air licks at our bare skin...
6  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Subway Car on: June 18, 2019, 10:56:58 AM
The gallop of the bland metal wheels over the railway sleepers reverberated through the padded chairs. Everyone's faces resembled a kind of hypnosis inspired by the mechanical repetition and enveloped in their own thoughts. Blank stares met the double-paned glass watching as a familiar landscape swept past but not truly taking anything in. Ear buds slept in ears letting their music fill them or their podcasts share stories. Every now and then eyes would interlock, catching each other on accident or so they led themselves to believe, a pretty face at the front of the cart, a bad odour, a young woman with a shaved head and aggressive piercings, a man whose suit looked too worn to belong to any office. Each passenger creating profiles of the other, experienced and inexperienced stereotypes like songs in a jukebox when you pick the right track for each person except that beyond the resting bitch faces adorned against unwanted social interaction or simply as their own faces was charity and compassion. Only one person on the cart held ill intentions. They did not carry a bad smell or shave their head, nor do they bear tattoos or reek of cigarette ash. No, she sits alone with her legs closed, hands resting just so as she scans the crowd and hates their differences. An almost imperceptible twitch mars her otherwise perfect face as the smell of BO wafts again into her personal space daring to share in her oxygen as if the carriage was her own. Yes, only one....
7  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Omlette on: June 17, 2019, 10:11:22 AM
A chorus of birds wafts through the trees, sweetly singing conversations over their morning routine. I can only guess that they're talking about good worming spots or else keeping a watchful eye on a predator they're gossiping loudly about. I stir as the sky lighter bringing a glow into the tent. The morning chill is slowly creeping into the shadows enough for me to climb out of my sleeping bag and wrestle on some stiff clothes. It's strange having no mirrors around, my face feels pulled by sleep taking longer to fall into shape with each passing year. I try to blink away my sleepy eyes but time will have to manage that situation. As I pop my head out of the tent I look up to see who else is awake, catching a nod from my dad while my brother sits behind a book too good to put down. "Do you want eggs? I'm making an omlette" says Dad. "No thanks" my first words of the morning. I might need a tea to drown out that sleepy rasp. I quickly pop back into the tent to grab my toothbrush. The nighttime drool always leaves a foul morning breathe, an unflattering reminder that it's just you. I take my time, meandering up towards the bathroom stepping on the crunchy leaves and absorbing the quiet campground before all bodies have arisen. Reluctant waves to other campers keep bringing me out of this blissful peacefulness and then I reach the showers where all hope of peacefulness is gone.
8  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Chapel on: June 16, 2019, 10:05:57 AM
It's autumn and you can feel it as dusk falls with a fresh chill turning the sky the same orange and gold as the maple-shaped leaves falling off the trees. It's the same each year, the earth is blanketed in dead leaves and every morning everything is coated in a damp cold until the sun blitzes it to a dried crust. As the chill sets in the camp fires start with jacket potatoes tucked amongst their coals and children and teenagers hit the showers.  The guitar comes out after dinner, an old nylon string that knows Peter, Mary and Paul songs as if the trees it was made from wrote them. In the daylight hours we roam the grounds, climbing up impossibly large granite boulders and sliding back down. At the back of the property sits a small, almost abandoned white chapel, empty of all furniture but patiently waiting for a Sunday service that will never come. Our imaginative minds find stories in its sealed walls, a marriage where the bride was murdered and still haunts the grounds, a priest died trapped beneath the organ calling people in with hollow, lonely notes to lead you to your grave. The youngest always became the most scared, perhaps because they never had to lead or find the confidence an eldest child seems to have. Later in the tents we'll defend our horror stories to parents...
9  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Wedding Bells on: June 15, 2019, 12:42:36 PM
When you're in the arms of love hovering above its safety net on a tightrope made of steel thick as the state of New York you can hear them. When you're plummeting down in your own self doubt cradled by the hands that will guide you on to a path of self-worth and kindness, you can hear them. They even sound over the shouts that rattle the walls of your home, over the cries of being misunderstood and learning that not all lessons are easy. They echo through the chambers of your broken reasoning, the excuses you create to keep walls in place, a barricade against pain. It's a gentle tolling that does not charge for the unconditional faith you lay upon each other, the resounding strength like 50 m deep pylons buried within rock and raising up into an unbreakable mountain of steel and glass running with currents without insulation turning the mountain into a radiant star on earth. The eyes that fall upon it are warm and not burned, welcoming the radiant glow like a new morning. The bells ring, a union of sound reverberating with the chorus of voices celebrating two families...


Man, I really hated this one haha.
10  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Nail Polish on: June 14, 2019, 06:38:07 AM
Beautiful manicured nails, perfectly toned in a blood burgundy are an absolutely fantasy if you're attempting the job at home. The initial collection of supplies from their respective drawers in the house all moved to a temporary station, the glass coffee table in front of the television followed by the focused determination to put on a Netflix movie and nail it, literally. This is all inevitably followed by a fury so great due to the polish that refuses to dry shifting on your nails like the top layer of sand in a breeze. What should be a beautiful smooth, glossy surface immune to the world's vast edges, walls and pockets i instead textured mush with wisps of blanket fur or maybe it's a cotton bud. Two painstaking hours of patience in front of a mediocre movie with nothing to show for your efforts. As the fury takes a hold and a slow motion montage of flying furniture and abusive spittle hurtle across a movie set room you can't help but wonder how the beauticians do it. Are they the modern day witches done with turning people into newts and on to applying impossible perfect nail polish so that we sit at home falsely believing in our abilities, a new kind of torture. If that were true then perhaps a lot of our frustrations are the fault of these beautician witches and their magic hands and charming accents.
11  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Front Door on: June 14, 2019, 06:33:46 AM
Two sharp knocks broken by the thin security screen sends a shiver of alterness through me. The first question is always "who the fuck is that?!" followed by an intense hushing of my 5kg security pocket rocket who began furiously barking as soon as the metallic knocks sounded. At this point it's a scramble, mental and physical. While my brain slowly categorizes the possibilities of who is intruding up on my day and whether they may be ill willed my body spasms into action running for the dog treats or spray bottle, whichever is the closest solution. My voice pole vaults from my mouth with all the aggression of a disgruntled mother which always makes me wonder what the person on the other side of the door thinks. Can they hear the scrambles as I run through the house? O near the door as I shout for silence, dropping commands like a socialite with celebrity names and flick the locks on the door. I'm sure my firey eyes and squashed brow make a mean face for an unknown visitor until recognition flickers in my eyes and I realize I'm staring at my own parents stopping in to say hello. In an instant the devil's face turns to a cherubs, open and smiling grateful that it wasn't a door-to-door salesman or local lunatic looking for a fight.
12  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Chapstick on: June 12, 2019, 01:45:24 PM
Five days and counting without my chapstick. It feels like I've stranded my lips in the middle of the desert, their skin desperately dry splitting with a gentle stretch of the skin as white flakes peel slowly away having given up any hope of survival. The desert feels vast and uninhabitable except for those robust creatures whose scaly hides you would kill for if it would offer sanctuary from this heat. A soggy tongue offers temporary relief brushing over the harsh edges with its damp sponge only to have the wind dry it out creating deeper fissures. The chapstick was secure within a pocket but an investigative hand found no existence of it there. A meagre search with desperate eyes bore no oasis either, instead being tricked with glimpses of its edges like a mirage in the midday heat only to disappear as you focus your eyes. Beyond all this was the belief it would show up like a prodigal sun returned from his Eurotrip. These blistered lips need a new salve against the harsh wind and sun. Fortunately suburbia is no desert to shopping centres and no salty winds or sand storms to rust my car. Arriving with all the excitement of a child...
13  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Balance Beam on: June 11, 2019, 10:17:51 AM
The skirt of a school uniform brushed my legs as I hopped along the stone barricade surrounding the outdoor assembly area which I now realize was quite small in comparison to most schools. I recall the red brick paving littered with twigs and dead gum leaves fallen from the surrounding trees providing shade to the same area. They towered like ancient soldiers on watch as young children repeated games played last lunch hour, picking up unfinished challenges on the handball court or a scurry of feet in a game of tag. Even in Summer I remember the lunch break being cool and breezy. I would walk across those rocks, a retaining wall that matched the terrain. The feeling of keeping your balance on an uneven surface, incorporating it into a game of chase to show off and feel wild, dangerous. When it was just me I listened, the cries of excited kids squealing as their friend chased them into a tight corner, the chorus of shouts egging on a game of soccer on the bitumen court, the unity of rustling leaves playing with their voices, even the soft sounds of traffic from the nearby road. It was almost serenity being so quiet in such a...
14  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Re: Binkie on: June 10, 2019, 09:48:42 AM
Man, this made me smile. The innocence of your story is awesome. It's got the desperation of a husband-done-something-wrong with the language and experience of an infant.
15  ObjectWriting / Object Writing Word Of The Day / Re: Tornado on: June 10, 2019, 09:43:09 AM
This is great, plamb. I was really drawn into this story. I loved the use of the tornado/storm metaphor, the aftermath and the correlation with guilt and aggression.
I really loved the line "do tornados feel remorse" It really set the scene for me.

Other awesome lines: "crust of tears" "if guilt is the wreckage of the storm" "the shores of my identity are sand castles crumbling into a demanding sea"
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