Quoted in the Grove:
When my bed is empty,
Makes me feel awful mean and blue.
My springs are getting rusty,
Living single like I do.
~Bessie Smith
Iron rusts from disuse, stagnant water loses its purity, and in cold weather becomes frozen, even so does inaction sap the vigors of the mind.
~Leonardo da Vinci
The mintage of wisdom is to know that rest is rust, and that real life is in love, laughter, and work.
~Elbert Hubbard
EndQuote:
Everyone needs a warm personal enemy or two to keep him free from rust in the movable parts of his mind.
~Gene Fowler
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Posted from the Grove:
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Prewritten for Thurs (10/06) @6pm PT/9 ET is: treason, ecstasy
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@Writers Platform:
Prewritten: a pic
~Piffin: “Cut It Clean”
Razor in the bathroom light
Everyone’s in bed
Crickets serenade me
And the circus in my head
Pink scar tissue sergeant stripes
God, I love this war
T-shirt for a tourniquet
Then I unlock the door
All of the things
I can’t stand about you
Are the things that I know about me
Cut it clean
Standing on the bridge again
I try not to sway
Look east, into the future
Five minutes away
Sunrise on a city
That looks pretty much the same
As one I hated yesterday
But beggars can’t complain
All of the lies
That I keep telling myself
Are truths if I were brave enough to see
Cut it clean
Drinking in the moonlight
I’m working on my tan
It’s someone else’s sunlight
But I do what I can
It’s funny when I think about…
It’s funny when I don’t
I’d like to think I’ll think more often
But I think I won’t
It’s time that I got me
Back to earning my stripes
Razorblade clutched in my hand
Cut it clean
~~
~MissMerry: Prewritten by MM
Howard leaned forward on the bar, nursing his second Dr. Pepper and Crown. His stomach rumbled, empty save for the liquor as he had opted for a liquid lunch. He’d gulped his first drink -chasing the buzz that warmed his chest and helped to numb the edges off of his frustration.
Now, deep in thought, he sat at the bar alone on a Tuesday afternoon in the lull between lunch and the “old fart” time before happy hour. The barmaid always fudged the happy hour start time for the small group of elderly curmudgeons who were regulars in the early afternoon. Still a little early in the day, they had not yet arrived. So, for now, they were alone.
Stymied by one of those turning points in life. – A fork in the road so to speak, he was frustrated to be stuck, paralyzed with indecision.
Fingers tracing lines from the top of the glass to the thick paper coaster, he absently hastened the slide of the condensation on the sides of his glass. The coaster swelled as it absorbed the water, ink starting to spread like watercolor where someone had doodled a picture he could now not quite make out. Like the doodle, he felt faded and a bit fuzzy.
You live your life with an ingrained sense of ethics, he thought to himself. Sure, it may be different for each of us as we go forward. You try to do right. We decide; yes or no, white or black, good or evil, often without thought. Even little things like, to beat a yellow light, fudge a bit on a tax return, add an hour on a timecard… It could effect himself or someone else if things went badly. If we stopped and thought about each choice, and the possibilities that could unfold, myriad timelines opening up with each possible decision made, it could make us crazy. But some things you can’t help thinking over before you deal with them.
Sometimes it just looked like you were screwed no matter what you did.
He looked up at the yellowed Budweiser Clydesdale clock… thinking he had better get on out. Usually he enjoyed talking with the old guys. They all considered themselves as wise and sage advisors. But today… well, he just didn’t feel like hearing their bullshit.
Sitting up with a start he took a large gulp from his drink, the ice clattering as he turn the glass up to get the last few drops. He set the glass back down with a thump of finality that made the barmaid look up with an expression of bored annoyance.
He had to decide, it was for a good cause. No, not good, just a necessary cause. He did not want to think about how many bad outcomes there were, he just hoped the odds would somehow turn out in his favor.
“Care for another one?” the barmaid asked, pausing from her endless scrolling of the cable tv menu.
“No thanks. What do I owe you?” he asked as he pulled a dirty and crumpled ten out of his pocket.
“$7.50” she said. He was not sure if he should be happy or annoyed that she gave him the old fart price… but he pushed his empty glass forward and laid the bill on the bar.
The barmaid nodded and smiled as he mumbled “Keep it…”
He walked out into the blasting heat and glare of the afternoon sun. If he hurried, he could get the job done and behind him before too many people were around.
For better or worse, he headed to the polls…
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~BarTalk: Wrong, twice
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