Impulsive Writing (09)

How to treat chronic imbecility

Mix equally 1/2 tablespoon of cinnamon and honey. Soak two small gauze pads in the mixture until saturated, apply one to each of your eyes and wrap a diaper around your head to hold in place. This won’t interfere directly with your imbecility, but will spare you from seeing the consequences of being blindly stupid for up to 8 hours.

* * *

If you don’t have honey and cinnamon handy, a cyanide pill will produce a similar result. It will also act more quickly, and the effect generally lasts a bit longer.
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Impulsive Writing (08)

If you could only walk in his shoes.

There once was a king who had everything. Except happiness. One day he decided to search the kingdom to find the happiest man. He would then walk for a day in the man’s shoes, and thus hope to learn the secret of his happiness.

After an exhaustive search the happiest man was finally discovered and brought, smiling happily, before the king.

Unfortunately, the man wore no shoes.

The king was found several years later sleeping happily and shoeless under a freeway overpass near Lake Woebegone, MN.

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Impulsive Writing (07)

To thine own self be true.

Be Honest? Don’t listen to others? Do the right thing? Look out for yourself? What the hell does it mean?

He sat there, looking at the screen. Nothing. No thoughts, no ideas. The only thing he could find in his mind was the faint sound of an aria coming from the apartment downstairs. “Symbolic,”  he thinks. “I’m trying to get my mind wrapped around something said in a dark 16th century Danish castle, and it’s kicked back listening to a sunny 17th century Italian opera.” 

He closed his eyes, leaned back, and gave in to the rich, luxurient sounds from centuries ago.  And in doing so, he understood.

* * *

To thine own self be true? Simple. Ignore the thoughts on top…and listen to the music below.
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Impulsive Writing (06)

Some dreams carry beyond sleep . . .

 

At 6:30 AM the alarm went off. She reached over, pushed the snooze button and began curling back to sleep. She was almost there…then suddenly remembered that an early conference call was scheduled that morning. Reluctantly, she threw the covers aside and swung her legs over the edge of the bed.

That’s when she began to sense that something wasn’t quite right; her feet touched the floor sooner than expected, as though the bed was lower than it should be, and her legs seemed lighter than usual. As she stood up and began moving toward the bathroom, she noticed it wasn’t only her legs that felt lighter…her entire body felt that way.

“I must still be dreaming,” she thought, as she stepped into the bathroom and closed the door.

* * *

Melissa was twenty-seven years old. By her own estimate she was too short, too fat and very oddly proportioned. And her face she thought to be a rather colorless rendition of a cubist painting. In fact she would consider the term “unattractive” as a mildly flattering way of describing her physical appearance. And while she had come to accept the way she looked, she nonetheless made a conscious effort to avoid being reminded of it. This morning was an exception.

* * *

When she closed the bathroom door, instead of going directly to the toilet she paused to look at herself in the full-length mirror on the back of the door. Her odd sensation of being taller and lighter was confirmed by what she saw reflected in the mirror. The naked, sleepy woman looking back at her was not only tall and slender, she was also unusually attractive.

“Ok, I am still dreaming,” she assumed, and instinctively began yawning and rubbing her eyes to help bring herself fully awake. She then looked down and began touching herself to verify that the image in the mirror was just a dreamy illusion. But her breasts, stomach, hips and legs looked exactly as they did in the mirror, and were also returning an unfamiliar sensation in response to her touch. Her reaction was mixed. It was wonderful to suddenly discover that she had the body of her dreams. But she was also feeling increasingly anxious about being late for work. It was that growing sense of urgency that forced her from the mirror and back to her morning routine.

She used the toilet, washed her hands and face, and brushed her teeth. By then she was fully awake, and had completely forgotten the dream she’d been having. It wasn’t until she began brushing her hair that she had a reason to look in the mirror again.

* * *

Melissa’s next-door neighbor was just about to step into the shower when he heard her scream. He quickly turned off the water, pulled on his pants, and ran out to the back yard. He listened intently for a minute or so, but there was no further noise coming from her place. The only sound was from dogs in the neighborhood who were barking in response to the same thing he had heard.

He really wasn’t sure what to do next. It might not be anything serious at all. Maybe she just had a bad dream. He decided to walk over and see if she would answer the door. He knocked a couple of times and softly called her name. Then waited. There was no response. He put his ear to the door and listened for any sign of activity inside. Nothing. He waited a little longer, then knocked again, only this time much louder…

* * *

The shock of glancing up and seeing a strange face in her bathroom mirror had nearly given her a heart attack. She screamed, dropped her brush, and backed out of the bathroom, slamming the door behind her. She stood in her bedroom for a moment, then grabbed her robe and walked quickly to the kitchen, turning lights on as she went. She knew she must have imagined what she saw in the mirror, but had no idea why.

Whatever it was, she didn’t have time to think about it right now. She needed to get ready to leave within a half hour or she’d be late. So she quickly put on some coffee, then hurried back to her bedroom to get dressed.

To be continued…

* * *

Impulsive Writing (05)

Two birds are sitting on a powerline, facing in opposite directions.

One bird is looking at a sunny green hillside dotted with grazing sheep and a few scattered horses near the top. The other is looking over a busy street in the town below. The first bird suddenly drops from the wire and flies to a clump of trees high on the hillside. The other stays a little longer, then swoops down over the street and lands on a parking meter.

* * *

Neither bird knows where the other went. Or why.

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Impulsive Writing (04)

It was one of those days.

A
pen
came down
to write this
day upon a sheet
of paper. It started
at the top left side and
wrote some words to savor. 

A
pair
of eyes 
came down 
to read what
pen was writing
they found it tidy
but very unexciting.

* * *

“That’s it?”

“What’s wrong? You don’t like it?”

“What’s there to like?”

“Well, how about its geometry? Have you ever seen a poem so meticulously triangulated?”

“You’re nuts.”

“So, does that mean you wouldn’t care to recite it?”

“Nope. But I might use some of it to replace the steps to the basement.”

“Hey, that’s a thought! Maybe I should draw a little character walking down my words like a set of stairs!”

“I gotta go. You’re beyond hope.”

“Ok, then. Bye-bye…”

After eyes had gone, pen lay quietly down upon the words so freshly written, and then began to cry.

The End

* * *

One of those days that would have been better spent choppin wood.
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Impulsive Writing (02)

I’m about to discover something new.

That’s the feeling I had last night in a dream.  Somehow, I’m on a steep trail walking through tall trees and dense undergrowth.  As I climb, the trees begin to thin, and the soft layer of soil and pine needles transforms into an uneven trail of stone.  As I pass up and through the last of the trees, the trail simply disappears.  What lies beyond is a steep, boulder-strewn slope to the mountain peak above, surrounded by wide-open sky.

I stop briefly to catch my breath and consider my options.  Ahead it’s exposed, barren and trackless.  Behind lies the security of trees, lush vegetation, and a well-worn path.  The temptation to turn back is compelling. But I remind myself that I’m here to discover something new.  So I continue to climb.

But soon a feeling of emptiness begins to grow.  With each step I take, a little part of me seems to stay behind.  When I finally reach the top, and take that last step, I feel as though my entire past has been stripped away and left scattered on the rocks below. And that’s when I discover something new. . .

A clear, fresh and uncluttered point of view.
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