I recently received a wonderful gift: a thin journal filled with the most randomly outrageous and mundane prompts, all in the hopes to get the writer inside of me to write. I will do my best to fill this book. I'll keep this short and sweet. Now let's go!
Prompt: Pretend to be Someone Else
Sometimes I wish I was someone else
So I pretend to be someone else
Selfish, delusional, mind's all pollutional
And yeah, gotta let you know
Wanna be someone with a better flow
All grown up, caution to the wind
Who fails but says "I win"
Fuck, I wish that was me
Cause sometimes I can't believe this is me
Wanting something more
Not wanting to be this
But all I got is a wish
That I wake up, thinkin this is good
And one day, it won't be so cruel
But for now, I got my other face
To face today and those other days
Saturday, December 10, 2011
Tuesday, November 15, 2011
Write Starts: Creative Prompts to get You Writing! Part 9
I recently received a wonderful gift: a thin journal filled with the most randomly outrageous and mundane prompts, all in the hopes to get the writer inside of me to write. I will do my best to fill this book. I'll keep this short and sweet. Now let's go!
Prompt: Write about the pleasures of home.
On my way home, I've gotten lost again. Where I've been, I don't know. I was too busy looking at the ground. And I never knew to keep my head straight. But there's something beautiful happening tonight.
I'm no longer scared
Of all these troubles I bear
My youth returns to me. And I can make it home. To a place I've never been. But it feels like home.
So there's something beautiful happening tonight. If I can hold it longer for that something right.
On my way home, I've gotten lost again. Because I've never been there.
But there's something right
That's happening tonight
Prompt: Write about the pleasures of home.
On my way home, I've gotten lost again. Where I've been, I don't know. I was too busy looking at the ground. And I never knew to keep my head straight. But there's something beautiful happening tonight.
I'm no longer scared
Of all these troubles I bear
My youth returns to me. And I can make it home. To a place I've never been. But it feels like home.
So there's something beautiful happening tonight. If I can hold it longer for that something right.
On my way home, I've gotten lost again. Because I've never been there.
But there's something right
That's happening tonight
Write Starts: Creative Prompts to get You Writing! Part 8
I recently received a wonderful gift: a thin journal filled with the most randomly outrageous and mundane prompts, all in the hopes to get the writer inside of me to write. I will do my best to fill this book. I'll keep this short and sweet. Now let's go!
Prompt: Have a Conversation with Death
MYLO: Death, what was it like? For you?
DEATH: To die?
MYLO: No, to live.
DEATH: I don't know if I was ever alive.
MYLO: But you know death?
DEATH: No.
MYLO: That's your name.
DEATH: And what is your name?
MYLO: Mylo.
DEATH: So what does it mean to be Mylo?
MYLO: I don't know. I'm still figuring it out.
DEATH: Okay then.
--
MYLO: What's your favorite memory?
DEATH: There once was this flower that smelled so sweet. I heard colors and saw sounds. Can you imagine hearing the color red?
MYLO: What happened to that flower?
DEATH: I keep it in my pocket.
MYLO: Is it dead?
DEATH: No, nothing ever dies. You see, my job is quite easy.
Prompt: Have a Conversation with Death
MYLO: Death, what was it like? For you?
DEATH: To die?
MYLO: No, to live.
DEATH: I don't know if I was ever alive.
MYLO: But you know death?
DEATH: No.
MYLO: That's your name.
DEATH: And what is your name?
MYLO: Mylo.
DEATH: So what does it mean to be Mylo?
MYLO: I don't know. I'm still figuring it out.
DEATH: Okay then.
--
MYLO: What's your favorite memory?
DEATH: There once was this flower that smelled so sweet. I heard colors and saw sounds. Can you imagine hearing the color red?
MYLO: What happened to that flower?
DEATH: I keep it in my pocket.
MYLO: Is it dead?
DEATH: No, nothing ever dies. You see, my job is quite easy.
Thursday, October 27, 2011
Write Starts: Creative Prompts to get You Writing! Part 7
I recently received a wonderful gift: a thin journal filled with the most randomly outrageous and mundane prompts, all in the hopes to get the writer inside of me to write. I will do my best to fill this book. I'll keep this short and sweet. Now let's go!
Prompt: Create a scene where important things are said without dialogue.
Summer. Now it snows. It's dark. On a field. It's snowing but none of it reaches the ground. Lovely. Lonely. She stands. Lonely. In a black sun dress. Floral patterns. Down to her knees.
We love her. We've known her for all our lives. She is us. We've dreamed of her, we've been her.
She looks up at the moon as it rests gently among the heavens. She wonders, as we often wonder, why we're here. What's the reason that when snow falls, we feel the pang of its coldness? We wonder, as she often wonders, why moments like this can't last forever. And when we wonder this, we can never fully capture the beauty of that moment. Always fleeting, a little beyond but so close that we keep striving.
Beauty, beauty.
We know what you are but we're so far from understanding you.
"Hold me close, don't let me go. And maybe when the moon rests on top of us, the sun will never find us."
Prompt: Create a scene where important things are said without dialogue.
Summer. Now it snows. It's dark. On a field. It's snowing but none of it reaches the ground. Lovely. Lonely. She stands. Lonely. In a black sun dress. Floral patterns. Down to her knees.
We love her. We've known her for all our lives. She is us. We've dreamed of her, we've been her.
She looks up at the moon as it rests gently among the heavens. She wonders, as we often wonder, why we're here. What's the reason that when snow falls, we feel the pang of its coldness? We wonder, as she often wonders, why moments like this can't last forever. And when we wonder this, we can never fully capture the beauty of that moment. Always fleeting, a little beyond but so close that we keep striving.
Beauty, beauty.
We know what you are but we're so far from understanding you.
"Hold me close, don't let me go. And maybe when the moon rests on top of us, the sun will never find us."
Tuesday, September 6, 2011
Write Starts: Creative Prompts to get You Writing! Part 6
I recently received a wonderful gift: a thin journal filled with the most randomly outrageous and mundane prompts, all in the hopes to get the writer inside of me to write. I will do my best to fill this book. I'll keep this short and sweet. Now let's go!
Prompt: Wish on Stars
I wish that I could touch. That you could be in my grasp. I wish that I can see all of you always, not hidden by the L.A. smog. I wish that I could wish on you. On your surface. And what would I wish for?
I would wish that when somebody dies, no matter how ugly they saw the world or how much ugliness they experienced, that they could understand the extent of its beauty.
I want for people to understand that life is worth living. Whether they know that from their first breath or their last is irrelevant. Whether they were benevolent or malicious does not matter.
I wish that I could understand love better so that I can accept it better and give it better. I wish that I could be more aware of instances of love and hatred because I believe that will allow me to love.
Prompt: Wish on Stars
I wish that I could touch. That you could be in my grasp. I wish that I can see all of you always, not hidden by the L.A. smog. I wish that I could wish on you. On your surface. And what would I wish for?
I would wish that when somebody dies, no matter how ugly they saw the world or how much ugliness they experienced, that they could understand the extent of its beauty.
I want for people to understand that life is worth living. Whether they know that from their first breath or their last is irrelevant. Whether they were benevolent or malicious does not matter.
I wish that I could understand love better so that I can accept it better and give it better. I wish that I could be more aware of instances of love and hatred because I believe that will allow me to love.
Sunday, August 28, 2011
Write Starts: Creative Prompts to get You Writing! Part 5
I recently received a wonderful gift: a thin journal filled with the most randomly outrageous and mundane prompts, all in the hopes to get the writer inside of me to write. I will do my best to fill this book. I'll keep this short and sweet. Now let's go!
Write Starts: Creative Prompts to get You Writing! Part 4
I recently received a wonderful gift: a thin journal filled with the most randomly outrageous and mundane prompts, all in the hopes to get the writer inside of me to write. I will do my best to fill this book. I'll keep this short and sweet. Now let's go!
Prompt: Describe a dream you've had.
We were flying high in the sky. He and I. He was in all brown with a chocolate derby hat and brown suit on.
He looked like Morgan Freeman.
We were among the clouds, hooting and hollering. There was something I wanted to tell him, but I couldn't find the words. It was something that I couldn't translate, but it was this feeling of pure, unadulterated joy.
The lights from down below were searching for us, wanting to celebrate with us. To share, to be a part of our happiness. But this day, this night belonged to he and I. The lights cast as bigger-than-life shadows among the stars.
It was day again. And he was gone. No longer by my side. I flew back down and on a small patch of grass was a small piece of granite. On it, etched solidly was: "Mr. Jones".
Prompt: Describe a dream you've had.
We were flying high in the sky. He and I. He was in all brown with a chocolate derby hat and brown suit on.
He looked like Morgan Freeman.
We were among the clouds, hooting and hollering. There was something I wanted to tell him, but I couldn't find the words. It was something that I couldn't translate, but it was this feeling of pure, unadulterated joy.
The lights from down below were searching for us, wanting to celebrate with us. To share, to be a part of our happiness. But this day, this night belonged to he and I. The lights cast as bigger-than-life shadows among the stars.
It was day again. And he was gone. No longer by my side. I flew back down and on a small patch of grass was a small piece of granite. On it, etched solidly was: "Mr. Jones".
Wednesday, August 24, 2011
Write Starts: Creative Prompts to get You Writing! Part 3
I recently received a wonderful gift: a thin journal filled with the most randomly outrageous and mundane prompts, all in the hopes to get the writer inside of me to write. I will do my best to fill this book. I'll keep this short and sweet. Now let's go!
Write Starts: Creative Prompts to get You Writing! Part 2
I recently received a wonderful gift: a thin journal filled with the most randomly outrageous and mundane prompts, all in the hopes to get the writer inside of me to write. I will do my best to fill this book. I'll keep this short and sweet. Now let's go!
Prompt: Write the Ending First
Last Sentence: A truck was oncoming, its headlights shining brightly.
I don't believe in you. But what I believe and what is actuality has long been separated. We are all ghosts, floating and lost on some permanent but ephemeral plane. I run after you, my love, so I can finally sleep. So I am no longer a ghost. I don't need to be happy. I just need you back somehow.
You dash under streetlights, shimmering from the yellow spotlight above. The dust casts a haze. For a second, I wonder if it's you. And I see the broach. I know it's you. It has to be you. I need it to be you.
I stop between two lamp posts. A taxi stops in front of me. I wave him off. He drives away and across the empty street, the shadow of a man stands next to you. It's you. No doubt. I hungrily stumble onto the black tar. The shadow steps forward. It's the doctor.
He has no expression but I know he's smiling. "Welcome to the realm". Blaring sounds. I look left. A truck was oncoming, its headlights shining brightly.
Prompt: Write the Ending First
Last Sentence: A truck was oncoming, its headlights shining brightly.
I don't believe in you. But what I believe and what is actuality has long been separated. We are all ghosts, floating and lost on some permanent but ephemeral plane. I run after you, my love, so I can finally sleep. So I am no longer a ghost. I don't need to be happy. I just need you back somehow.
You dash under streetlights, shimmering from the yellow spotlight above. The dust casts a haze. For a second, I wonder if it's you. And I see the broach. I know it's you. It has to be you. I need it to be you.
I stop between two lamp posts. A taxi stops in front of me. I wave him off. He drives away and across the empty street, the shadow of a man stands next to you. It's you. No doubt. I hungrily stumble onto the black tar. The shadow steps forward. It's the doctor.
He has no expression but I know he's smiling. "Welcome to the realm". Blaring sounds. I look left. A truck was oncoming, its headlights shining brightly.
Write Starts: Creative Prompts to get You Writing! Part 1
I recently received a wonderful gift: a thin journal filled with the most randomly outrageous and mundane prompts, all in the hopes to get the writer inside of me to write. I will do my best to fill this book. I'll keep this short and sweet. Now let's go!
Prompt: Department store dummies have come alive! What happens next?
Dear Abigail,
I am writing you from the children's dressing room at Macy's. There isn't much time. I want to take this time to let you know that I've loved you. From the moment I wake up and I put on my make-up, I say a little prayer for you. Dammit, sorry. That song suddenly came on over the speakers.
By the time you've received this letter (if you receive it), I may be long gone. They probably want me first. From that time I placed one guy's hand on the other's butt. Or the time I managed to switch my clothes with one of them and walked out the store with a new outfit. There was also that time during Christmas when I managed to recreate a nativity scene. Abigail. Thank you for that. For dressing up like Mother Mary.
They are coming for me. Don't be afraid when they come after you. Never be afraid, Abigail.
Prompt: Department store dummies have come alive! What happens next?
Dear Abigail,
I am writing you from the children's dressing room at Macy's. There isn't much time. I want to take this time to let you know that I've loved you. From the moment I wake up and I put on my make-up, I say a little prayer for you. Dammit, sorry. That song suddenly came on over the speakers.
By the time you've received this letter (if you receive it), I may be long gone. They probably want me first. From that time I placed one guy's hand on the other's butt. Or the time I managed to switch my clothes with one of them and walked out the store with a new outfit. There was also that time during Christmas when I managed to recreate a nativity scene. Abigail. Thank you for that. For dressing up like Mother Mary.
They are coming for me. Don't be afraid when they come after you. Never be afraid, Abigail.
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
I long for skies of blue and distant yellow
That disappeared in the embers of the bellows
Erupting not in flashes of sapphire gold
Whose ashes linger on in stories told
If I don’t make it back
Before the sky turns black
I don’t want my name remembered
On etched gray stones in November
So please soldier on through the days
And keep me close so I stay ablaze
In time, our names won’t matter
As long as our memories are gathered
That disappeared in the embers of the bellows
Erupting not in flashes of sapphire gold
Whose ashes linger on in stories told
If I don’t make it back
Before the sky turns black
I don’t want my name remembered
On etched gray stones in November
So please soldier on through the days
And keep me close so I stay ablaze
In time, our names won’t matter
As long as our memories are gathered
Friday, February 25, 2011
Originally Written: 2/18/2011
I’m listening to “You Won’t Let Me Go” by Ray Charles. And I’m happy. I can’t stop smiling. I’m looking at the corner of my cubicle, surrounded by the artificial white light of my three desk lamps. And I’m filled with this…anxiety. This happiness that for these few short moments, I know I can’t suppress. It’s something unexplainable now and will be more unexplainable later so I should write it down to the best of my abilities. The softness of the background vocals coo as the idiosyncratic voice of Ray Charles chimes in: “I love you now/I said I love you/Whoa, with all my…heart and soul/So darling, well, if you love me/I know you won’t let me go/Well, you won’t let me go.” An impending storm looms and I’m excited for it. I feel like everything is going to be washed over. And made clean.
Monday, February 14, 2011
The Comic That Never Came to Be - "The Citizen"
PREMISE: Semi-dystopia in an alternate, not-too-distant future. A run-down café. A young reporter sees The Citizen, a superhero who retired long ago (he now goes by Vincent). She approaches him and asks him if he really is The Citizen. After an exchange, she finally chides him into admitting it. Here is the short ensuing conversation.
REPORTER: I knew it was you.
VINCENT: How?
REPORTER: There’s this air about you. I can tell. You were good. You are good. Like that man over there. There’s…not a good air about him. He’s not evil, but he’s – there’s something wrong with him.
VINCENT: In this world, there’s no such thing as a hero or a villain. Divisions do not exist. You talk how some people have this air about them? You can just tell whether they’re good or evil? There’s no air. It’s all just gray smog…that leaves you dirtier when you finally leave this Earth.
REPORTER: I knew it was you.
VINCENT: How?
REPORTER: There’s this air about you. I can tell. You were good. You are good. Like that man over there. There’s…not a good air about him. He’s not evil, but he’s – there’s something wrong with him.
VINCENT: In this world, there’s no such thing as a hero or a villain. Divisions do not exist. You talk how some people have this air about them? You can just tell whether they’re good or evil? There’s no air. It’s all just gray smog…that leaves you dirtier when you finally leave this Earth.
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
Fade to Black
This is my feel good day
Where I quietly pray
Good things for good people
And more love to everyone
Full of hatred and sadness
My black ball is now gone
Everything that’s all wrong
Fading to its blackness
Where I quietly pray
Good things for good people
And more love to everyone
Full of hatred and sadness
My black ball is now gone
Everything that’s all wrong
Fading to its blackness
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