1. When did we stop being comrades in arms? We danced in anger together; Rejoiced in rebellion over the same sorry situation, the one we had no chance of avoiding. We drank the fire, sang the songs, moved in rhythm away from the smoke, dodged the repercussions.

    The dawn of responsibility surfaces, shows it’s ugly, caustic face just as our lives being to dwindle. Fear kicks up the dust and self preservation roars with a focus on just that. The self is only for us - but not the us that once danced in the trees under the moonlight, flipped monuments to mentors who held wisdom and storied tales of woe and loss, not the us who were lost together, found by each other and then lost again. Us is only me.

    It’s plenty lonely in New York. People have this idea that going to an overpopulated area full of diverse culture is like stepping into a social fun house full of opportunity, but in reality, it’s the perfect place to become anonymous. An anonymous face in a sea of nameless faces, another grey space heater on a crowded subway. We find importance where we look for it, but more accurately, where we want to find it. We look for it in our mothers, in the place inside ourselves that care about us more than anything in the world, more than anything that ever existed. We do it in a desperate attempt to protect our mortality, by removing the thing that connects us to everything else that’s alive.

    That’s when we begin to die.

  2. It’s true. I’ve been that dead beat dad who gets into a car crash on purpose right before Christmas just so he doesn’t have to make the long drive upstate, stopping at a dingy truck stop for some cheap, piece of shit toy because apparently you’ve been 6 years old for a decade now.

    Well, I’ve been busy I suppose.

    I started this space as a place for writing exercises to keep the fiction joints lubricated while I dove into journalism. Once I got the hang of the new job, fiction found a solid spot in my schedule and I’ve been working on some larger projects that I prefer not to post on a whim.

    But I miss my prompts! So one night I’m drinking all of Adam’s beer and I’m all, lets each write a story using this prompt I got somewhere, and he’s all, what’s the prompt? And I’m all, it’s this thing about a teacup, and he’s all, OK!

    So we did. And it was good.

    Then, a few nights later while I’m drinking all of Adam’s beer, he’s all, that teacup thing was fun, let’s do another one, and I’m all, lets do a whole damn blog, and he’s like, OK!

    So we did, and hopefully, it will be good too.

    So the upshot. If you like writing prompts and doing writing exercises and drinking all of Adam’s beer, have a peek and get involved, we love reading as well as writing, and hope to see a whole mess of stories! I’ll be re-blogging my own work here, but the action will be at Think Sink Words. 

    See you in the funny pages,

    xox~ Meredith

  3. 00:04

    Notes: 7

    Reblogged from thinksinkwords


    Missy looked over the layers of eyelet lace in the gilded mirror. The pale yellow curtains raised themselves in gentle waves of spring air in a much more welcoming character than what was waiting for her outside the window. She put a tentative hand to her hair, checking that the pins were secure…

  4. "Jesus, be a raindrop. Or central air.”

    ~From the It’s Too Damn Hot Lady


  5. 22:36 15th Jul 2013

    Notes: 1

    praemordeo said: Where all have you travelled?

    One of the more interesting trips I’ve made was to Theresienstadt, the model ghetto that the Nazi party used to publicize their efforts - to explain to the world all the good they were doing. It was incredibly creepy, how beautiful it was. I remember that there was a thick patch of wildflowers growing at the base of the wall commonly used for firing squads. After having a crawl through one of the *few* ovens they used to discard their corpses, (it wasn’t specifically a death camp), I left a note for the memories - L’Chaim. I always think of that when I watch The 600 Years mapping project: http://vimeo.com/15749093 

    Prague was wonderful of course, I’m fond of eastern European cities in general, and I’ve traveled a good deal between east and west there, down through the middle east. In the past ten years or so, I’ve been exploring more of America - before that I’d only been to the major cities, but it’s been rather enlightening to get out of my urban bubble and see the rest.

    I need to get myself across to the farther reaches - I’ve never been to South America, Africa, Australia or Asia, so those are on the list. I’ve also had my eye on an aurora borealis boat trip the goes through the north pole from Norway. I don’t feel too strongly about Antartica, but I might get dragged there by my husband, he’s got a thing for the penguins I guess. Or the ice. I don’t really know what it is, but if the opportunity comes up, I’ll probably take it. I pretty much go anywhere, anytime I can! 

  6. Thank you editor!

  7. Thank you editor!

  8. Death Of The Artist By The Hands Of A MadMan

    I’ll never forget the rat bastard that did this to me. A small black anchor, wrapped with a green serpent, simple, etched inked into my forearm. The hellfire of the tattoo parlor, the shrieking clipart on the walls, I should have known. It was everywhere.

    They were all out in full force, the woman with her fiery, flowery dress, demon child strapped to her breast, and the dogs, oh the dogs. Everywhere I looked, Cerberus, released from the underworld to drag me back to the evils. At first I only barked back, frightening them away, but they just kept coming.

    When the serpent began to speak, writhing away from the anchor and up my arm - snaking it’s malevolent self into my brain, thats when the whispers began. All the things it told me to do - the constant hiss. The only way to keep it quiet was to obey.

    First the woman and her evil offspring, the park near the water. The dogs, all of them, every one I could get my hands on. The man with the paint, spreading his loathing on the buildings all around, the colors swirling into horrid shapes of the damned, wailing, always crying in pain.

    No, I will not take those liar pills again. No, I will not going back into the darkness of unknowing. No, I am not mad. I am not mad. I am not mad!

    All that’s left is the snake. Kill the foul temptress, and all will be quiet and well.

    The glass didn’t work - chasing the snake across my skin with avenues of blood, I could never keep up. There was only one way to break the chain. Find the man who gave the serpent life and destroy him. Only then will the whispers stop. Destroy the source. Let him drown in the sorcery of his own ink. 

  9. 15:24 11th Jun 2013

    Notes: 763

    Reblogged from newspaperblackout

    image: Download


A newspaper blackout by Austin Kleon

Love these.
  10. Addiction is like the ocean: big, beautiful and hypnotic, but it will swallow you up, and leave you washed out on the shore.