Pork Chops.

I woke up this morning and it felt like someone set fire to the inside of my chest, swallowing hurt, and my breath came in ragged wheezes. It has given me time to catch up on some much needed reading; I went to the library yesterday to return my books that were a day late. I figured I was there so why not grab another book? Picked up a Terry Brooks novel and I had to pay a twenty-five cent fine for the late book, I read Brooks all through high school, his works take up a lot of my bookshelf, and just like in high school I can't put this one down, the book is called The Elves of Cintra in the Genesis of Shannara series. Okay if any of you out there reading this right now are looking for a really amazing fantasy series check out the Shannara series.

I took some cough medicine for the first time since I think childhood, and it still tastes like complete shit. However it has quelled the forest fire in my chest to a dull glowing ember and now I'm lazing around watching The Chronicles of Riddick on the Space Network as I type this. I can smell a mixture of coffee and pork-chops, it smells amazing. On the one day off that I had this weekend I took in the new Alice in Wonderland, all I can say is that Burton took us back, if you haven't seen the movie yet, I may or may not call you lame, but in all seriousness, check the film out.

I've been discouraged as of late in my writing, well for the past two days anyway. I don't know what it is but when I sit down in with my Lappy and bring up the word document that is called Medea at the moment, it is always as if the cursor is mocking me, daring me to break out the big guns, I know I can do it, hell I've done it before many of times, I just can't seem to make myself write anything of substance and I don't know why. Maybe it's a case of me not believing a character? Could that be possible? Perhaps I need to build him more before I can write him; if I'm questioning this character does that mean he should be kicked out the fucking story? Oh shit, the pickles that come with the craft. Maybe I just need to close my eyes, stop worrying about everything and just write the fucking story.

I can hear the sound of rattling plates and clattering silverware, pots are being moved around on the burner, I can just see the mouthwatering pork-chops coming out of the oven. Mashed potatoes….with butter….oooooohhhhhh!

J.

Free Write.

Alright so basically what I'm going to do is, time my self for five to ten minutes and during that time I'm going to write, whatever comes to my mind will go down on this blank word document. I'm trying to work on my story but I am stuck, almost as if I'm in a bog and need to fire up the ole imagination machine. Okay are you ready? Strap in tight, were going to go on what may potentially be a bumpy ride…

Where hanging from the ceiling, monstrous bats slumber peacefully, swaying slightly back and forth. At the heart of the Cavernous room sat a small machine, no bigger than a toaster, wires flowed from it like tentacles some were see through others were just pure black like audio cables, and some wires were nothing but particles that fed the power straight into the little machine.

We flee from machine and start to proceed through a long cylindrical tunnel, zooming through it so fast that I think my eyes are going to be mashed into my brains. I shut my eyes tight and cry, when I open them I'm in a small room with navy blue carpets and white walls, the room is only big enough for a bed, and I could hardly turn around inside of there. All at once a loud alarm started to blare, a blue light started to pulse so brightly that I had to shield my eyes so that I wouldn't go blind. There was a hissing noise and then steam billowed up from the door way, a small man cut through the fog, he looked at me with a face that was filled with hundreds of eyes.

Something entirely different:

He looked her straight in the eye, hers dropped to her cell phone that began to chime and a frown creased her lips. He stalked over to where she was sitting on the couch, tore the phone out of her grasp and when he saw who was calling threw the phone against the living room wall.

    "How many times do I have to tell you? Never speak to that boy again!" He snarled and his eyes glowered.

    "But Daddy," She said with tears flowing down her slender cheeks. "That's not fai—"

    His hand snaked out and slapped her before she could finish the sentence; she stood and stared at him in shock, and reached up to ease that stinging sensation just above her cheek.

    "I'll tell you what's fair and what isn't fair." He growled, as he unbuckled his belt, slipped it through the loops of his pants and then wrapped it around his fist. "Your mother would be rolling around in her grave right about now!"

 

Lets get out of that frame of mind and close this little experiment with me saying thank you for reading and I hope you all are well!

J.

What happened to Tuesday the 9th?

I'm sitting in my smoke filled room, my lungs are burning and Sports Center is on. There is a plate of cheese and crackers sitting on my computer chair that is being eyed inquisitively by my droopy faced dog. My life is topsy-turvy right now, okay, so my days are my nights and my nights are my days, fucking graveyard shift. Yesterday night while waiting for the bus, I looked at my cell phone, and saw that it was Wednesday the 10^th, and I wondered what-the-fuck-happened to Tuesday the 9th? I had to text my friend just to see if it was actually Wednesday, she said that it was and I was so lost that I wish I could have seen the puzzled look on my face.

I've completely misplaced Tuesday, I have no recollection of it whatsoever, and could it be possible that I walked around the entire day in some sort of daze that prevented any memory of the day? Or has someone snuck into my room while I slept the day away, and erased the day from my mind? Maybe something so significant happened on Tuesday and I can't remember it, that would suck. However I'm more apt to lean toward the former assumption rather than the latter. All joking aside, it has been a weird couple of days and I'm rater flummoxed about it.

Found out tonight that we had a mandatory overtime shift dumped on us on Friday night, so the plans that were made to go see Alice in Wonderland are completely out the god damned window. I'm so pissed off, one of other main reasons I took the job was so that I could have weekends off. On the other hand it is $17.50 per hour and I can make a pretty good hunk of change. So I'll just have to grin and bear it.

Alrighty, I'm hittin the ole hay, until next time friends.

J.

Silver Lining

This morning, we took our last break as the sun was climbing the sky, the clouds rippled orange and purple as The Guys I work with stood and smoked cigarettes and I sat in a chair and took in the masterpiece that is the sunrise. I can't explain why I love the sunrise more than I do a sunset? Is it because seeing such beautiful imagery in the West has become dull to me? Maybe, I really don't know the answer.

The morning air bit at our exposed skin as we sat in our rain paints and rubber boot, but we didn't mind because in just an hour, we'd be on a bus and out of there for the day. When that time came we jumped out into the chilly morning and walked the long road to the bus stop, bullshitting our way there. When it arrived we hopped on and claimed our spots at the back of the bus. But there was an interloper; she was a small girl with gray University of Guelph sweat pants on, pretty cute too, she just sat and listened to her ipod as we talked about Tommy Lee's autobiography and how talks from the perspective of his dick, if she minded, I guess she would have left.

The vibrations of the bus sent me in and out of a doze, I could have slept right there but for the fear of my snoring. There are only the three of us left from the original six who were hired on two weeks ago; I guess the turnover rate at this place is quite high. But I don't understand it, what is so hard about straightforward work? What do people have against working their asses off to make money? Are they lazy? Perhaps they are, at least that is what I think. I don't know about you but after working a tough eight hour shift, I love leaving work feeling the satisfaction that I worked as hard as I could, I threw more jerk-off jokes the fellas than they did at me, and that I get to go home when the morning guys are just starting their eight hours.

I remember in grammar school, this girl read a speech about finding the silver lining in everything, and I remember thinking the whole idea of it was stupid, fuck the silver lining. However I've grown up since then and realized silver linings when I see them. Maybe the one around this new job was meeting these guys that I'm now working with, so that they could teach me how to open up just a smidge more. Or if you want to look simply at it, it could be the fact that I now have a job to put a roof over my head and food in my and my dog's stomachs.

J.