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  • TK Camas 10:01 on 17/02/2019 Permalink | Reply
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    DWP No. 048 

     

    WEEK THREE | 21 QUESTIONS + YES

    For WEEK THREE, we are going to do a little character development through a series of questions.

     

    Objective
    • Each day, THREE QUESTIONS will be asked
    • Assume a character and answer the three questions IN CHARACTER.

     

    048

     

    BUT HERE’S THE RUB! (optional)

    If anyone comments on your writings, you have to intake that as part of your character, essentially agreeing to whatever anyone brings up as either a comment or questions.

    For instance, let’s say you were thinking that your character is a doctor. If someone comments and asks if your character is a circus clown, then you have to say “Yes,” and take that little tidbit and incorporate it into your character, whether or not you like how they’ve changed your character.

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

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  • TK Camas 12:01 on 16/02/2019 Permalink | Reply
    Tags:   

    DWP No. 047 

     

    WEEK THREE | 21 QUESTIONS + YES

    For WEEK THREE, we are going to do a little character development through a series of questions.

     

    Objective
    • Each day, THREE QUESTIONS will be asked
    • Assume a character and answer the three questions IN CHARACTER.

     

    047

     

    BUT HERE’S THE RUB! (optional)

    If anyone comments on your writings, you have to intake that as part of your character, essentially agreeing to whatever anyone brings up as either a comment or questions.

    For instance, let’s say you were thinking that your character is a doctor. If someone comments and asks if your character is a circus clown, then you have to say “Yes,” and take that little tidbit and incorporate it into your character, whether or not you like how they’ve changed your character.

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     
    • marydianesanford 13:06 on 16/02/2019 Permalink | Reply

      Being afraid in my home sweet home? Not a chance. It took me nine months to find this place and I love everything about it – the color, the light that streams in through the windows, and the freedom that’s everywhere.

      No, I don’t have a pet although once in a while I do talk to the Hummingbird who visits the neighbor’s feeder. Pets require commitment, a relationship, and an obligation to them. What a waste of time!

      When is a flower dead, you ask? That’s a very personal question. How would I know?

      Liked by 1 person

    • TK Camas 17:36 on 16/02/2019 Permalink | Reply

      ‘Even’ Pt. 2

      What are you most afraid of in your own home?
      Of course, I’m afraid of the corridor that leads to pure darkness, whereupon exiting the other side, you no longer know where you are. Next.

      Do you have a pet?
      Of course, I have a cat. Next.

      At what point is a flower dead?
      This depends, of course, on whether or not the flower wanted to die, what type of flower it wanted most to be, and at what time of day the flower came into full bloom. Do you possess this such information? I didn’t think so, so unfortunately, I can be of no help in the matter. Next.

      Like

    • TK Camas 17:39 on 16/02/2019 Permalink | Reply

      [ the Comments section is not behaving properly. thus, if you would like to REPLY DIRECTLY to a fellow writer, please type their username at the top of your Reply. i’ve submitted this issue, so hopefully it will be resolved sooner rather than later. thnx for your patience! ]

      Like

    • etmoseleyc 17:50 on 16/02/2019 Permalink | Reply

      4. What are you most afraid of in your own home?
      There is a blade hanging by a cord from the ceiling above the headboard of my bed. I affixed it there to remind me that this life hangs by a thread, and if I cannot rest and find comfort in the truth that circumstances beyond my control are always operating, even while I sleep, then I don’t even deserve the luxury of a good night’s rest. It is simultaneously the source of my greatest fear and greatest comfort.

      5. Do you have a pet?
      I do, actually. It is, by all accounts, quite a rare breed indeed, too. It is a “jefflam sprout”, so I was told by the woman who grew it herself before offering it to me. As I understand it to work, the adolescent plant senses human pheromones in its local atmosphere as it grows and adapts its behavior kinetically to the physical source of what it “smells”. Now, in this species, at least, this little plant can’t up and walk around to find things it likes to smell, but it does clearly hold preferences, and now that it has become symbiotic with me, it does an adorable little stroking/petting sort of motion against my flesh if I get close to it. And it continues to do it as long as the situation persists. It can even pick out my fingers independently from those of other non-me people!
      And there’s something even more remarkable! It grows really quickly and sprouts a little seed pod, like this one here, that yields about a hundred little seeds in around ten days. Then you can plant the seeds inside any other fruit pit or seed and they’ll use those host nutrients to grow. AND they grow asexually so they pass on pheromone memory genetically! Each new little jefflam sprout remembers the scents its ancestors were all attracted to. So, in the course of my life… actually, I will not tell you how many times I have replicated my pet over the years. You don’t need to know that.
      Yes, I have a pet.

      6. At what point is a flower dead?
      I have learned that all flowers can continue their lives if they so desire, but they also have the freedom to let go, and it is at this threshold, determined individually by each flower, that it may drop its defenses against cellular degeneration and offer itself to the bacterial world as a sacrifice for the good of the whole.

      Like

    • etmoseleyc 17:53 on 16/02/2019 Permalink | Reply

      [marydianesanford]

      What do you discuss with the hummingbird?

      If the death of a flower is such a very personal question, what is your very personal answer?

      Like

    • etmoseleyc 18:06 on 16/02/2019 Permalink | Reply

      [TK Camas ]

      What happened after you went down the corridor and became lost?

      Liked by 1 person

    • TK Camas 09:24 on 17/02/2019 Permalink | Reply

      [etmoseleyc]

      Of course, I have never gone down the corridor and been lost.

      Like

  • TK Camas 12:01 on 15/02/2019 Permalink | Reply
    Tags:   

    DWP No. 046 

     

    WEEK THREE | 21 QUESTIONS + YES

    For WEEK THREE, we are going to do a little character development through a series of questions.

     

    Objective
    • Each day, THREE QUESTIONS will be asked
    • Assume a character and answer the three questions IN CHARACTER.
    BUT HERE’S THE RUB!

    If anyone comments on your writings, you have to intake that as part of your character, essentially agreeing to whatever anyone brings up as either a comment or questions.

    For instance, let’s say you were thinking that your character is a doctor. If someone comments and asks if your character is a circus clown, then you have to say “Yes,” and take that little tidbit and incorporate it into your character, whether or not you like how they’ve changed your character.

     

     

    046

     

     

     

     

     
    • TK Camas 15:00 on 15/02/2019 Permalink | Reply

      “Even”

      What’s your earliest memory?
      Do you mean when is my earliest memory? I mean, I suppose I would have to know when, like, from which existence do you want me to recall my earliest memory? How about my most recent earliest memory? The thing that I remember first, or, I don’t know. I don’t really like this question because it just doesn’t make any sense at all to me. Like, what’s the first thing I remember, ever? Oh, maybe that framework will work. Okay, so, the first thing I remember is some like lady with dark hair all wrapped up on a chignon at the top of her head looking at me with a sort of glare or with evil intent. You know that feeling? That feeling when you just know that someone doesn’t like you? I don’t know how old I was when this happened. Next.

      When in time would you like most to exist?
      Well, I suppose this is fairly straightforward, but it’s hard to choose, you know? I would say that sometime between the late 1600s and early 1700s were pretty spectacular, but only if you’re rich and/or prominent, I’d say. As far as a time without or apart from human civilization, I would probably go for sometime toward the beginning of the end of the Sun’s reign. There’s some pretty cool stuff that happens in those few hundred years. Next.

      Where will you be later today?
      There’s no need for you to know where I will be later today. Next.

      Liked by 1 person

    • etmoseleyc 15:14 on 15/02/2019 Permalink | Reply

      What’s your earliest memory?
      I have a memory of a time when, well, I must’ve been in primary school… though anything much before my twenty-fifth birthday is more or less unreliable information. Anyway, I remember hustling back from somewhere in my old neighborhood through a narrow alley and I feel like the sun was setting so I’m sure I was anxious to get home before the cracks of the city started spilling out their nocturnal nightmares. And I remember slowing down and having this feeling like the street and the cars and buildings and the whole city was crumbling and disappearing behind me as I was moving forward through it. And I was scared to look back around behind me, just in case it was all true, and I was making the world vanish. But I couldn’t run, either, because then I might destroy the world even faster. The lingering whisper of being trapped between those two ideas has stayed with me ever since.

      When in time would you like most to exist?
      I would like to exist at some time in the future that is so far removed from this one that I can’t possibly understand at first glance how things operate. I suppose that appeals to me the most as its the only type of society I can imagine that I can’t even imagine.

      Where will you be later today?
      I have a speaking engagement at a startup conference this evening and then I’ll be dining alone, as usual. But, of course, I can’t disclose to you where that will be.

      Liked by 1 person

    • etmoseleyc 15:18 on 15/02/2019 Permalink | Reply

      Regarding the second question: How will you subsist at the end of the Sun’s reign apart from human civilization?

      Liked by 1 person

    • marydianesanford 23:50 on 15/02/2019 Permalink | Reply

      My earliest memory is when I was about 3 1/2 years old in rural Long Island. My GG was going to be thrown out into the street, and I was inconsolable. Sister Sandi and brother Bob snatched her out of my snotty little hands and got ready to throw her out the front door and down the steps out onto North Country Rd. My GG gray matted faceless doll. I covered her with the love of my snot and cherished her as my baby.

      To me the only place to be is now, for now is reality.Now is the only reality. I’m not smoking crack, not chowing down Devil Dogs but dam those pastries are amazing. I’m just living in the now. You got a problem with that?

      I don’t know about you but later on today I’m going to be scarfing down an extra large cheese pizza with some sun-dried tomatoes on the top and maybe, I don’t know, maybe a chocolate milk. Yeh, that sounds really good, Going to get me a Hersheys one, yeah, an put my feet up after working so hard picking up all crap that people leave behind when they hit the theater- really slobs. And maybe watch old episodes of I love Lucy something really decadent. And fart. I love to fart.

      Liked by 1 person

    • marydianesanford 23:52 on 15/02/2019 Permalink | Reply

      I like the matter of fact tone to this.

      Like

    • TK Camas 07:49 on 16/02/2019 Permalink | Reply

      [ the comments section is currently not functioning correctly, thus be sure to direct your comment to someone until the issue is resolved. ]

      Like

    • TK Camas 07:50 on 16/02/2019 Permalink | Reply

      [etmoseleyc]

      Of course, I would just move on to some other place during some other time.

      Like

  • TK Camas 00:01 on 14/02/2019 Permalink | Reply
    Tags:   

    DWP No. 045 

     

    TWO-DAY CHALLENGE | LOVE

    Happy Valentine’s Day!

    In lieu of spending money on trash for which you essentially trade your hard-earned cash, I challenge you to spend your time on a love letter to someone you love. Sure, the letter itself may become trash someday, but the words on that page will last a lifetime.

     

    DAY TWO of TWO | LOVE

    045

     

     

     

     

     

     

     
    • marydianesanford 11:29 on 14/02/2019 Permalink | Reply

      Dear Steve,

      Happy Valentine’s Day. The assignment today was to write a letter to someone you love and you’re my first choice.

      I have said this so often but lest you forget, I love you. Always. To the moon and back. To a big box store and back. On Black Friday. For a Door Buster. And then some. That’s how much I love you.

      I love your big brotherness. I love how you took care of me when I crashed into a glass door at age 15. I loved how you took care of me at Rick’s suicide when you paid for my hotel so I didn’t have to stay with the rest of the family. I love your expression of generosity. I love your grumpiness and your genius. I love what a great dad you are to your kids even though our dad was pretty terrible.

      I love your fabulous home fries and the fact that you started making them for me at 2 AM when I came to visit. Is there anything better than the smell of Steve’s home fries and onions at three in the morning? I love your loving thoughtfulness in doing that.

      I love your constant supportiveness of my writing and your honest feedback.

      I love your kindness to others and your wizardry as a lawyer.

      Mostly though, I love you for you, for exactly who you are, as big brother Steve, and for loving me back, no strings attached.

      Love you, always,

      Mary

      Like

    • TK Camas 15:27 on 14/02/2019 Permalink | Reply

      To: My One and Only

      No one will ever know the extent of our love, for to share it with any other is to pierce it in its center, forever allowing it to drain of the precious moments that are and forever will be OURS.

      I love you,
      EI

      Liked by 1 person

    • etmoseleyc 21:53 on 14/02/2019 Permalink | Reply

      To the girl who wiggles her toes when she sleeps:

      It seems like only yesterday I found myself in your orbit, slipping closer and closer beyond my control. It was only a matter of time, I suppose. Since then, though I don’t really know when I first realized it had happened, time has baked our life together, and in the most marvelous way. It’s so marvelous, in fact, that it matters little to me whether we load our baked-life-dough with unprecedented heaps of leavener and it expands so large it sears itself on the Sun, or disaster befalls our bread-life and we crumble apart at the crusty edges and fall into an adorable pile of bread crumbs. Whatever the case, and beyond even any conceivably more insightfully descriptive metaphor, just remember this: You don’t need to forge a silver bullet. But if you do, then you don’t need to rely on the kindness of monsters.

      I love you.

      O|

      Liked by 1 person

    • Mary 22:08 on 14/02/2019 Permalink | Reply

      I like the imagery of baked life dough.

      Like

  • TK Camas 00:01 on 13/02/2019 Permalink | Reply
    Tags:   

    DWP No. 044 

     

    TWO-DAY CHALLENGE | LOVE

    Alright, that’s enough unstructured writing for now. As the day(s) for LOVE dawn upon us, let’s get right to it and spread the love! To begin, in honor of Galentine’s Day, start off with the prompt below. Tomorrow, we’ll stay with the theme of LOVE, but we’ll work with a different facet.

     

    LOVE | DAY ONE of TWO

    044

     

     

     

     

     
    • marydianesanford 12:52 on 13/02/2019 Permalink | Reply

      Joey, you were much too big for me but I didn’t care. How I love you. 110 pounds of beautiful black fur, your feet, your footsas, as big as frisbees and your relentless love. When I met you you barked. And you continued to bark. I miss your tummy tummy tum tum tums( “Joey, show me your tum-tum!” and you did.) You would also do a full frontal and loll out like a piece of gum.

      You were the junior lieutenant to the other half of our family, Stretch, always the loyal soldier to your fearless captain.

      “Stretch, there’s a squirrel! Stretch, I’ll get it for you!”

      You were the first dog who loved me for me, not for a handout or a handful of treats, a Lab- Newfoundland extraordinaire. When I walked into a room, you would wag your tail, hard, on the floor, so happy to see me. With you, I stopped worrying about dog drool flying everywhere like birthday confetti. I stopped worrying about dog hair clogging every vacuum cleaner around. I stopped caring about dog fur in the freezer, the microwave, and dishwasher. It was always Joey and Mary, true love forever.

      I miss you so.

      Like

    • TK Camas 17:43 on 13/02/2019 Permalink | Reply

      “All About That Hair”

      She’s my Golden Girl, and yet, to put that pressure on her is to ruin the thing that makes her shine so bright. Aware, intelligent, musical, quick, funny, smiley, bold, courageous, curious, with a hint of sass and a touch of rebel, she moves through the world with her head held high. Adventurous, easy going, cool, chill, friendly, generous, comfortable, she faces each day head first.
      Born to two opposites that indeed attracted each other, she equally splits the best of both parents. A self-proclaimed comic, her father laughs easily and often. A self-proclaimed reader, her mother keeps largely to herself but sees everything. And then the rounds of cancer treatments spared her life but kept the hair.
      Upon our first meeting, the hair was gently explained to me as a point of pride and embarrassment. She survived cancer, afterall, but in a society like South Korea, the difference something like hair can make on the psyche of a blossoming adolescent ought to have shaped much of how she felt about herself. Instead, her cancer does not define her. Her mother has worked hard to create a sense of normalcy around her hair. They shop for wigs like they’d shop for haircuts, and she gets a wig change about twice a year.
      Lately though, I’ve seen none of the wig and all of the hair. At first, she used to wear a little beanie in the winter instead of her wig, but then, she started to wear the beanie all the time. And then she swapped out the winter beanie for a little cyclist cap in the summer, and I haven’t seen her in her wig since. This was about two years ago, and I couldn’t help but feel that this tiny gesture—being able to see her with her natural hair sticking out from under a little hat—entitled me to some closeness with her as a friend.

      Like

    • etmoseleyc 18:04 on 13/02/2019 Permalink | Reply

      “And you say you’ve been searching for this woman?”
      “Yes.”
      “And can you describe what she looks like?”
      “No.”
      “Then how do you expect to find her?”
      “I will know her when I see her.”
      “How will you know that?”
      “One never mistakes for a stranger the one they truly love.”
      “But you don’t know what she looks like?”
      “Correct. Not yet.”
      “And do you expect us to help you find her?”
      “No. You cannot help me. I have already asked to leave.”
      “Who? Who did you ask?”
      “The Detective Inspector.”
      “Who? Wait. Who brought you in here? Hold on. Don’t move.”
      The chubby, increasingly sweaty deputy yanked the door open and then abruptly shut again behind him as he stomped out of the interrogation room and huffed off to complain to some officer in some room somewhere else in the precinct – a showy gesture, indeed, but too crude of a move not to belie its deception.
      “That was a nice try, but I’m afraid I can’t be much more help to you. I truly don’t know what she looks like,” the drifter continued into the empty interrogation room, clearly certain of an invisible listening ear. “And do please apologize to that poor deputy you’ve been stringing along and tell him the real story here, confusing him serves you no benefit anymore, much as my presence is here, to you.”
      The tall, wiry drifter stood up from the steel table in the center of the room and shucked off the handcuffs that bound him as if they were old, brittle, rubber bands.
      “As I leave here now, I will vanish, and you will have no chance to follow me, nor would I ever dare lead you to her even though I am currently uncertain of the way,” he continued, “This will be the last time you have with me as I have no children or family with which to be leveraged, only my undying love for her, which I will pursue to the end. And you have proven to be no threat here in that you know so very little of her, and soon enough we will both be grateful for that fact. But I will leave you with this: A long time ago, I once knew a life before this, before I ever perceived of her, before our entanglement began and my individual unity combined with hers. That time was messy, complicated, filled with uncertainty. Now I have certainty in my pursuit. And focus in my vision. And the spectre of commotion that manifests the world you live in is a mere whisper at my heels, and no longer of any concern to me. I am hers, and she is looking for me, and you have wasted enough of my time.”
      And with that, just as the deputy burst back into the room, the space in front of the drifter screamed and split open like a gaping vertical wound in the fabric of spacetime. The drifter swiftly stepped inside and the void swallowed him up. And with that, the splitting snapped shut with a thunderous clap and coated the interrogation room with red sparks and jets of crimson mist.

      Liked by 1 person

  • TK Camas 00:01 on 12/02/2019 Permalink | Reply  

    DWP No. 043 

     

    FREE WRITE

    043

     

     

     
    • Mary 08:24 on 12/02/2019 Permalink | Reply

      Snow. Will this madness never end? Will the puppies continue to cavort uncontrollably in the the backyard, the buckets of snow well past their haunches, oblivious to the mayhem that lurks outside? Will school be canceled tomorrow? Will consumers race to the grocery store, eager to fill the driving void of nothingness? Will snow, grey white and plump as a chicken, give place to rain, gray tin, as comforting as corduroy, filling the greatness of our souls, forever endless, forever calm?

      Like

    • TK Camas 11:25 on 12/02/2019 Permalink | Reply

      “3 aM” (a true story)

      MEEP! MEEP! MEEP!

      A swift awakening.

      MEEP! MEEP! MEEP!

      What the hell?

      MEEP! MEEP! MEEP! 

      Ugh, what the fuck?

      MEEP! MEEP! MEEP!

      Is it snowing outside?

      MEEP! MEEP! MEEP!

      Uh, I’ll check.

      MEEP! MEEP! MEEP!

      Yes. God, f—

      MEEP! MEEP! MEEP!

      —ucking dammit.

      MEEP! MEEP! MEEP!

      Do you have your hat?

      MEEP! MEEP! MEEP!

      Let’s use the outside … 

      MEEP! MEEP! MEEP!

      Yea, duh.

      MEEP! MEEP! MEEP!

      Rrrrrrrriiiiinnnnnngggggg …

      What ephing time is it? Do you have your phone?

      Uh, yea. I’ll check. It’s 2:48.

      Like

    • etmoseleyc 21:51 on 12/02/2019 Permalink | Reply

      It gathered on her head, even in small drifts around her ears and the crown of her head which stuck out just a little bit further than average. If she stood perfectly still long enough, she may even find herself hiding amid a tall, woman-sized dune herself, which wouldn’t be the most conspicuous disguise she could imagine considering the gradually accumulating powder-scape in every conceivable direction around her. Like snow, she thought to herself, each little flake of it was incredibly light to the touch, but as it mounted, unlike the winter wonderlands of its benevolent cousin, she felt the weight of something devastating inside her, and the physical lightness of the matter only compounded its psychological burden.

      Like

  • TK Camas 00:01 on 11/02/2019 Permalink | Reply  

    DWP No. 042 

     

    FREE WRITE

    042

     

     

     
    • Mary 00:29 on 11/02/2019 Permalink | Reply

      A Red Poem

      R- Raging, radical, reality regiment

      E- Exploring, ecstatically erstwhile

      D- Deploring debauchery daily.

      The end. Oops. Fooled ya! I lied.

      Liked by 1 person

    • TK Camas 11:48 on 11/02/2019 Permalink | Reply

      “F.N.O.A.T. during a F.L.O.A.T.”

      And the sky was filled with the eminent glow that, powered down, the urbanscape would resort to the faintest light of all time or a F.L.O.A.T., during the funnest night of all time or The F.N.O.A.T., sounding like “Eph-In-Oat,” a town painted Korean RED; they all agreed.

      Liked by 1 person

    • Amani Darby 22:31 on 11/02/2019 Permalink | Reply

      This is my first time writing on here. It says Free Write.

      The embers of the fire flamed brightly then cooled down to the barley glowing brightness that let everyone know at the party the night was ending. Gloria moved closer to the flames wondering how she could stay the night without anyone else knowing that she had nowhere else to go. Slowly the rest of the party moved away and down the beach toward their cars and various transportation devices. Gloria fell back into the still warm beach sand by the fire and waited for the rest of the group to disperse. Staring into the starlit night she drifted off into a hazy dreamlike state.” Gloria,” the Goddess whispered in her ear and brought her back to her earthly senses just in time to see the small almost dog like creatures creeping up on her sleeping place by the fire. She moved slowly and reached for the only piece of wood still burning ,

      Liked by 1 person

      • TK Camas 09:38 on 12/02/2019 Permalink | Reply

        Welcome! Thanks so much for sharing. We’re all so glad you’re here 🙂

        Like

    • etmoseleyc 01:31 on 12/02/2019 Permalink | Reply

      The sky was red. The ground was red. The buildings were red. Everything was red, and nothing else could be seen. The rage burned within her so intensely this time that it may stain everything red permanently, and rip her apart at the seams from within.

      Like

  • TK Camas 16:01 on 10/02/2019 Permalink | Reply
    Tags: Writing Date Red   

    Writing Date Red: SURVIVAL 

    Well, we finally had our first Physical Meetup, despite the treacherous weather!
    Thus, this post is reserved exclusively for those who attended today’s Meetup here in Seattle.

     

    LoveYouALatte

    To Those Who Attended Today:

    Please use this post’s Comments Section to SHARE all or some of your writings from today’s little writing shingdig. Please refrain from sharing reviews of the Meetup itself here. If you would like to review the Meetup, please use our WRTGPRAC Meetup Page.

    Thanks, Everyone! I had a great time 🙂

    p.s. please delineate which prompt you are posting by adding the Prompt Number (e.g. “Prompt 4”) at the top of each post, and please only post one response at a time. Please do not post every piece of writing in one long post. thnx!

     
    • etmoseleyc 19:33 on 10/02/2019 Permalink | Reply

      Writing Date RED: Survival

      Writing Roulette

      Part I: Prompt 6 – “She died after all.” [epitaph]

      She wasn’t comfortable with it, really. Well, maybe she was. She had always wished that she could have come up with the perfect, unreturnable insult to place on her gravestone, the single, lasting verbal remembrance of the most powerful leader the nation had ever known.

      Part II: Roulette Continuation [Madeline] – “blackmail of the dead leader” –

      The rumor mill is currently churning out quite salacious fodder regarding the circumstances of our beloved leader’s untimely demise, but one particular trail of evidence paints a compelling tapestry of blackmail and intrigue regarding the unrepentantly vengeful subject of our attention.

      Apparently, our fearless comandante found herself revealed in a compromising position with another equally feminine world leader and little Ms. Spits-on-her-grave over here milked it for all it was worth.

      Maybe it was suicide… to avoid the fallout. Who really knows. It doesn’t really matter. What matters is that this absolutely terrifying, yet gorgeous, yet purely evil villainess, whose methods I don’t understand and which frighten me terribly, is standing right over there… looking at me!

      Part III: Roulette Continuation [TK] – “DNA copying of disgraced, deceased world leader to create and distribute likeness as sexbot”

      At this point I’m afraid I must make a confession, for I haven’t been fully honest with you. The reason I so clearly comprehend her comfort level and vindictive desires is due to my personal relationship with her, uniquely intimate, no doubt, in contrast to yours. You see, I am hers, and she is free to use me as she desires, for I am beholden to her by powers far beyond my control. That basest and most carnal of impulses within me are intrinsically bound to the same in her, and it is through these puppet strings that I may forever be hers, though I seldom offer any resistance, guilty as that may make me.

      So, though I had little interest originally in attending this graveyard on such a sunny, sweaty, shitty summer day, I have extensive and continuing interest in providing my raging libido completely obligation-less access for her potential spontaneous desires. Don’t judge my behavior so rashly; if you can’t understand the urge, you can’t understand. And, come to think of it, this particular vengeful excursion has an interesting twist.

      Any moment now, at least, that’s the loose plan she laid out for me (I certainly didn’t ask for further details, you see, I’m absolutely petrified of her) she plans to exhume the corpse of her opposition and extract from her some amount of DNA (again, with a device the description of which I dared not ask for explanation) to take along with us to our next destination. Regarding whereabouts that may be, all I know are a few words I overheard through a thin wall in our hotel while I cowered in the bathroom: mass distribution, deep fake, and sexbot. So that’s what I’m working with, but I don’t much bother with thinking things through too deeply anymore, there’s no future in that for me. And anyways, you better find yourself gone before you witness something you won’t be able to unsee, and certainly before she gets back here.

      Surely we won’t meet again.

      Like

    • TK Camas 20:47 on 10/02/2019 Permalink | Reply

      Writing Roulette

      Prompt #1 “Death by A Thousand Cuts”

      “He really had asked for a death by two thousand cuts, but by the time the surgeon had reached a thousand, he was long gone. That’s not to say that he would never return, but at least, for the moment, let’s just say he’s dead.” “Who’s dead?” the nanny asks. Slowly, the child feels heat warm her face. How long had the damn nanny been listening? “Uh,” she begins; “No one’s dead.” She feigns a chuckle. “Oh, it’s not Mr. Little, again. Is it?” the nanny asks. “No, not Mr. … wait? How do YOU know about Mr. Littles?” the child asks, indignant. “You introduced him to me last year. Remember?” the nanny assures. No, I don’t remember, the child thinks to herself.

      He eyeballs Mr. Littles who stands, cowering in his chair across from her. “Very well, if you know who he is, where is he now?” the child challenges. “Oh, what a silly question, dear. He’s sitting right in front of you, across the table that you’re sitting at,” the nanny smiles. Dammit! How does he know Mr. Littles? Oh, well, one must shake off these things from time to time and remain focused.

      Returning her attention to the nanny, the child asks, “What are you still doing here?” The nanny smiles, used to the child’s temperament, “I’m here to fetch you, but I can see that you’re busy. I’ll tell your father, and you can send for me when you’re ready to join the others who have arrived for your birthday party.” As the nanny turns to leave the child’s room the child moans, “No, it’s fine. I’m ready.”

      Quickly, the child is dressed in her finest party clothes, a frilly petticoat, patent leather Mary Janes, the works and is shuffle down the stairs to the already-lively festivities throughout the entirety of the lower floor of the house and the outer yard directly surrounding the house. Being such large, extensive property, in all, the party guests mingle and assembly mostly around the porch and green-grassed lawn.

      In the distance, she spot him, a birthday clown. Surprised, she runs over toward the clown and immediately begins to grill the thing about its current whereabouts. “What do you mean when am I?” the clown asks, genuinely confused. “I saw you! You’re the man who died from his own weakness!” the child accuses. “What?” the clown responds, feeling weepy now. The clown kneels down in front of the seemingly irate child and sits back on his heels, “Happy Birthday, Kiddo!” The child sighs in the clowns face and begins to walk away. Clumsily, the clown returns to his feet and scoots along the grass to catch up with the child, “Wait a minute.”

      The child turns, unimpressed. “I know what you’re referring to, but if you just keep it down. I’m not supposed to be here, YET,” the clown explains. “What do you mean, YET?” the child asks. Kneeling on one knee, the clown sighs and hangs his head low, “I didn’t really die.” “What? I saw you!” the child whisper-screams. “Yes, you were supposed to, but it’s just a stupid trick. It’s … it’s magic,” the clown attempts. “Yea, magic is real,” the child nods. “Yes, well, sort of, it’s like an illusion; it’s a trick; it’s supposed to make you think that things that aren’t real are real. Do you understand?” the clown winces. Yea, she understands. She understands everything now.
      Suddenly, she feels the hot warm fill her face. Absorbing it all, she begins to scream at the top of her lungs, “THE CLOWN IS NOT REAL! KILL HIM!” Screams and shouts of children running like wild beasts let free from their cages. “That’s not what I meant!” the clown shouts over the chaos. That’s not what the clown meant.

      Like

  • TK Camas 00:01 on 10/02/2019 Permalink | Reply  

    DWP No. 041 

     

    FREE WRITE

    041

     

     

     
    • etmoseleyc 11:32 on 10/02/2019 Permalink | Reply

      Stepping down easily through the wide arching doorway the two women passed, one before the other, out from under the searing, unforgiving sun and into the cool, dim corridor leading down to the cavernous indoor amphitheater that stretched deep into the echoing depths. The woman in front lead with the confidence of foot capable only from a seasoned practitioner, impressive as it was as the descent was quite steep and the frequent isolated steps down were much larger than usual.

      Feeling a cool, crisp breeze as they rounded a bend, the corridor opened up to the gargantuan cavern before them. Somehow completely occupied and simultaneously vacant, it flaunted an unmistakable ambience that permeated all newcomers with a profoundly unique sense of being helplessly immersed in the very heart of something, yet completely alone and left to one’s own devices. Every person in every point of the space was the center of the universe.

      The woman in the lead came to a smooth halt and turned back to the other in a silent indication of the proper location having been chosen. Opening her mouth to ask the most obvious of questions, the bewildered newcomer found herself preventatively hushed by her guide.

      “Shh,” the woman said soft and strongly, “it is time to pray now.”

      And as if on cue, an incredibly thin layer of dust was instantaneously pulsed off of their bodies and thrust into the air in every direction as the walls shuddered with the drop of the bass beat.

      The bassline throbbed through their bodies and quickly synched their heartbeats up along with the thousands of other practitioners in the underground sanctuary. As the music filled out and intense electronic instrumentation took hold of their bodily faculties, the congregation ceded themselves to their beholden and relinquished control of their will, allowing the purest light of freedom to open up within.

      Like

    • Mary 13:11 on 10/02/2019 Permalink | Reply

      On Church

      By Mary Sanford

      Church. It’s usually defined by a building and a. affiliation with Christianity. Perhaps it’s none of these and yet all of these and more.

      A while back someone at my school passed on. She was not religious nor did she attend any church. But she loved, wholeheartedly, unabashedly, and without fear. She loved her students. She loved the school. She loved without judgment. Her church, if she had to define it physically, was nature and the outdoors-wind blowing through tangled birch trees and slimy seaweed on the shore.

      I belong to a physical church and I attend regularly. I don’t preach, proselytize, or convert. It’s forbidden in my religion, and even it wasn’t, when people try that stuff on me, I shut them down. Game over. It took me a very long time before I found my chosen religion, and had somebody been pushy about joining their church, adopting their religion,I would’ve run in the opposite direction.

      On days that I miss attending church, I do not worry about going to hell. Hell is here and now. It’s how you live your life. I do not worry about being the hostess with the mostest at church or not. My principle concern is to love. I know people can be highly involved in the church organization, be mega volunteers, in or outside of the church, and not be loving. Not okay. Not church.

      I found church on a train in Northwest Italy, struggling with luggage overload and having a darling retired Italian couple help me. I speak 25 words of Italian but these people loved. They gave me such peace and a great sense of protection.

      Yesterday my brand new car got stuck on the ice between the bottom of my crazy steep driveway and the edge of the icy road, and it was sliding even with the emergency brake on. I screamed for help, shaking with fear, and this neighbor who I didn’t know ran over from across the street and helped me stop my car. with a cement block. That’s church.

      I found church in Madrid on a Sunday morning at an ATM machine when an 11-year-old Roma boy tried to snatch my money. A group of Spaniards, grandmas included, offered to call the policia for me and then formed a football huddle so I could safely get out my money.

      Another time I found church in Madrid at 1 AM at my hotel when a young Slovenian woman punched her boyfriend in the nose,the front staff person had no backup help, the police came, and the young woman feared she would be deported. I jumped in and with my limited Spanish, knowing I was in way the heck over my head, helped to get everyone calmed down. When he heard about it, my friend Jeff was aghast and wondered why I even bothered to get involved. Stay out of it, he argued. It’s not your place. But how could I not? I was going to church, my church, and nothing could stop me.

      Church is everywhere. You just have to find it.

      Like

    • TK Camas 17:39 on 10/02/2019 Permalink | Reply

      Off to church I went today, to the grounds where my soul ought to run and play. Instead, there only fraught was found, until, eventually, we all hit the ground. To my steady heart I whispered a plea, “Please, if I die, just let me be.”

      Like

  • TK Camas 00:01 on 09/02/2019 Permalink | Reply  

    DWP No. 040 

     

    FREE WRITE

    040

     

     

     
    • Mary 03:28 on 09/02/2019 Permalink | Reply

      Writing Practitioners MeetUp

      Daily writing deed

      Unavoidable happy

      Chomping at the prompt.

      Liked by 2 people

    • etmoseleyc 11:07 on 09/02/2019 Permalink | Reply

      Chinese take-out spill
      Sesame chicken panties
      Underwear drawer fail

      Liked by 1 person

    • TK Camas 12:39 on 09/02/2019 Permalink | Reply

      “6 AM”

      every day I wake
      awaken to life again
      a return to sleep

      only within sleep
      do I feel the peace of death
      into life I rise

      awake, I must live
      aspire to life within
      create a life to be shared

      cold, the white night sweeps
      flustered flurries all a swirl
      bright, each branch holds firm

      alone, inspired
      each flake contributes itself
      greater overall

      Like

      • Mary 16:58 on 09/02/2019 Permalink | Reply

        I really liked your last stanza. To me, it has a 1-2 punch.

        Like

    • etmoseleyc 15:23 on 09/02/2019 Permalink | Reply

      Big, long, slow, inhale
      Cough, cough … cough, cough … cough, cough, cough,
      Cough, cough … too big … cough

      Liked by 1 person

      • Mary 16:58 on 09/02/2019 Permalink | Reply

        “Too big”- great surprise humor!!

        Like

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