Saturday, February 25, 2006
by Christy 3:42 PM
Thursday, February 23, 2006
"We now pause for station identification."
by Fred 3:47 PM
Friday, February 17, 2006
Can't you imagine that you're in this field, and this teeeeny bunny comes up to you, and she's all; "Come with me! I'll show you the secret bunny burrow—we'll be safe there! But we must hurry!"
by Fred 2:55 PM
Wednesday, February 15, 2006
by Christy 11:18 PM
Tuesday, February 14, 2006
What is Love?
It is a prickly pear cactus.
Beautiful flowers within pointy needles,
The breath of spring against a mountain side
Colouring a world innocent yellow, soft pink,
violent red, brilliant peach.
Bringing to life a beauty all its own,
each one different and new.
At times, hard to make it past the thorns
to lie in a boundless field of bliss.
So wonderful its bloom in spring,
a true moment of elation, only to
fade in real time,
yet lasting forever in our minds.
What is love? Much like life,
good and bad,
sweet and sour,
happy and painful.
A prickly pear cactus,
all wrapped up in you.
by Joyce 11:59 PM
by Fred 2:23 PM
Monday, February 13, 2006
A higher tolerance for deviance.
by Christy 1:49 AM
Friday, February 10, 2006
"What the hell is wrong with New York?" That was the first thing she said to me after 15 years of absense. No "Hello." No "How you doin'" Not even the "I've missed you," that I'd been hoping for.
"What are you talking about? There's nothing wrong with New York."
"But there is," she said. "Don't tell me you don't see this. It wasn't like this when I left." She pointed impatiently toward the George Washington Bridge.
"You've been gone a long time, Grace, maybe you're not remembering things right."
I leaned down to kiss her, but she was already clearly annoyed with me, and pushed me gently away from her. Damn, that didn't take long. I figured I'd indulge her a little and, maybe, sometime this century I might actually get that kiss.
I looked in the direction she pointed, but didn't see anything out of the ordinary except for a pair of worn out tennis shoes that had been knotted together and tossed over a lamppost. Vaguely Stephen-Kingish, I thought, but nothing that should cause her to react the way she was.
by Christy 11:57 PM
What the hell is wrong with New York?
by Christy 9:44 PM
Wednesday, February 08, 2006
In his dreams, he's still reading the book. And in his dreams, he still doesn't know how it ends.
In real life he knows. Of course he knows. He's the most powerful man in the world. he'd read the book plenty of times, maybe ten. That's if you count some of the summaries his aides have written up, and of course he counts those. Of course they count. He's heard some of his aides suggest they don't, but it's just like in school when people said Cliffs Notes didn't count. He never passed a test when he went with the book instead of the Cliffs Notes. Nowadays, he's a busy man -- busiest there is -- and so he's got good people, his best people, working on the summary-ization. He thinks that's the word.
It's not a long book, but you'd be surprised how long you can sit reading a book even if the words aren't real big like in some of them.
Like in his dreams, where he's still sitting there in that classroom, reading it for the first time, marveling at the pictures for so long he's pretty sure time itself must be getting close to run out. The whole world could be ending around him, and in his dreams all he ever sees is that book. The end never gets any closer. It never gets any more read. Somebody whispers in his ear, he thinks, and the kids all look at him, like they're waiting for him to finish. But in his dreams he never does. My Pet Goat just stretches on forever and ever.
It's a long book in disguise, is what he's thinking.
He's tried asking his aides if maybe they can do something about it, like ban the book or get the publisher rounded up in some kind of prison or camp. Don't they have camps for this sort of thing? He's a powerful man. He should be able to take care of this. For closure, at least. A divided nation needs its closure. But his aides all said it was illegal. They thought he was joking.
So at night he still dreams about the book.
by Fred 11:59 PM
Your pet goat is missing. There are eight likely, yet extremely different, suspects.
by Fred 9:46 AM
Sunday, February 05, 2006
"I promise it's not always going to be this way," Judy said, and she fiddled with the windshield wiper speed control. The rain had been coming down in spurts; a slow drizzle, then a torrent. We were traveling now through a dense fog lit only by street lamps glowing like UFOs lined up far above us. Whenever the weather is like this I feel dead, removed. I didn't answer her, and she drove in silence for a while longer, trying to stay focused on the double yellow stripe that seemed to fade into nothingness a mere ten feet from the front of the car.
It wasn't that I wasn't paying attention to her. It was just there was nothing else to say. That things had to change was part of the problem, I knew it and she knew it. It was just that we didn't know how it'd change. Every time I visited, she was glad to see me. Every time I left, she seemed glad to get rid of me. I had mentioned this to her this morning before coffee, depressed and touchy as our last few hours slipped by. It had hurt her, which was part of the reason I had done it, of course. She protested that it wasn't true, that she really cared for me, and then she helped me pack. Sanitized every corner of her apartment of signs of my presence.
"I'm really going to leave Richard." she said as she pulled up to the curb to let me out. "It's just... now is a bad time."
"I understand," I said, although I think what I understood and what she wanted me to understand were two different things. She popped the trunk and helped me unload my suitcase. Then she kissed me goodbye.
"I love you," she said. But at that moment an airplane came in low for a landing, making conversation impossible. So I just picked up my suitcase and headed for my gate.
by John W. 4:11 PM
Friday, February 03, 2006
"I promise it's not always going to be this way."
by Christy 2:07 PM
Thursday, February 02, 2006
[removed by author]
by Fred 6:31 PM
by Fred 11:10 AM
Wednesday, February 01, 2006
What do you do with a jelly robot?
by Fred 3:00 PM
- Check in for today's topic, or offer one on your appointed day.
- Log into Blogger.
- Once the edit window loads, start the clock.
- Write for ten minutes. Then, stop.
- Select the text, press Ctrl+C to capture it, then publish the post.
- In the unlikely event that Blogger consumes your post, thank your lucky stars (and Sharon) that you copied it onto your clipboard. You're welcome.
Copyright 2005 Sharon Cichelli, Mary Ann Borer, Martha Cichelli, Blythe Christopher, Fred Coppersmith, Faith Drewry, Dan Gabbett, Ben Gibbs, Jonathan Leistiko, Josh Martinez, David Menendez, Christy Roy, Shawn Sharp, Bryan Storti, Remi Treuer, Margaret Whaley, Glen Williams, John Williams, Erik Wilson