Skip to main content

Barf Language

Flynn couldn't understand his friend. He sounded garbled and terrifying.

The front porch swing felt suddenly unsteady beneath him.  He turned into an ooze and slithered to the ground.  He found a wall and stuck to it. The wall may have been the floor.  The people, the porchlights, the dark and the bugs all whirled violently and Flynn knew they'd made an error.  His friend grasped the porch rail tightly, eyes tightly closed.

The morning shift was 8 hours and 100 miles away.  If they wanted to party, they'd have to do it like rockstars.  A half-fifth of Jack Daniels was their only sustenance, and they knew how to make it count.  Each held a glass tumbler full like a massive shot glass. See you on the other side, they said.

The midnight screening was over, and those Kansas kids had invited them to a party in Lawrence.  It was too far, but they each knew instinctively they would go.  They were already packed.

They thought it'd be easier to procure flasks for the movie, but the whiskey sat tucked away in the trunk.  Probably safer there anyway.
Labels:

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Practice.

Artist! Writer! Practice your skills. Read something, pen something, sketch something still. Swiftly unraveled,  Long work to re-bind, The tenuous strands 'tween thumb, fingers and mind. Let not the dreams slip, Through unclenching hands. Guide them, direct them. Make patterns of sand. Pay no mind to mistakes, They belong, let them be. They're trees in the forest you're trying to see. Make ready your keyboard, Sketch paper and ink, You're readier now than you may ever think.
Post a Comment
Read more

Front Porch Ramble #5

The old man who lived across the street sometimes glared at Jeremy while he sat smoking, his lawn waiting very patiently for a trim.  In the 8 years he had lived here, he had never learned the man's name.  So long after moving to the neighborhood it would have been awkward to seek introductions.  Jeremy thought of him as a man with nothing else to do but dedicate himself to a nicely tended lawn and well maintained landscaping.  This was in part due to the spotless emerald carpet that left no doubts as to property lines, but also due to the 8 plastic cans in varying hues that appeared on the curb every Monday morning on yard waste day.  Without fail, Jeremy had never seen less than 3 bins out week after week.  He sometimes wondered if the old man was slowly digging out an in ground pool in the backyard, or perhaps something more nefarious.  No, there was the old woman, poking her head out to check on his progress.  This was real life after all, n...
Post a Comment
Read more

Blog Structure

When I set out to create art, I usually follow my instincts when I decide what kind of art to create. By that I mean I consider various possibilities until I find one that doesn't disgust me.  Artists, you might know what I mean. Some nights the sketchbook is your best friend, other times you can't even stand to look at it. I was looking at the blog my brother and I used to do, called Fight the Nothing, and I was inspired to make a change here in my writing journal. I need two things, structure and diversity. I have always been principally a visual artist, and I would like to improve my skills on that field as well. Also, as I said above, sometimes I just don't want to write, at least not on the blog. Therefore, I will now be including visual art in my notebook, just as it has been in every class I've ever attended. I think I require some structure to create good art, or at least to start on the path towards it. I know myself to be somewhat defiant, and I love to twist ...
Post a Comment
Read more