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Week 3
May 12, 2014 16:01:03 GMT -5
Post by A Right To Write on May 12, 2014 16:01:03 GMT -5
**Jami (Writer of the Week)
puddles of warm water expanded slowly around her feet on the plush shower mat and she stood, eyes closed, holding the towel bar like a friend
she padded toward her bedroom softly, expertly straddled the creakiest floorboards, and careful not to wake him, grabbed her nightstand journal and pen
she paced a warm oval into off-yellow kitchen floor linoleum, and teeth clacking like castanets, scrawled a message he would read again and again until the paper went limp
she left her ring on a bench at the station
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Week 3
May 12, 2014 16:04:28 GMT -5
Post by A Right To Write on May 12, 2014 16:04:28 GMT -5
**Jackie
*pink
your baby magic lingers. Reminiscing our first introductions
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Week 3
May 12, 2014 16:04:59 GMT -5
Post by A Right To Write on May 12, 2014 16:04:59 GMT -5
**Natalie
This white screen is my straightjacket arms tied behind my back rocking to the hum of the furnace pacing within my brain the synapses adding the percussion line I wish there was more yogurt in my cup more cream in my coffee that the buzzer on the dryer would make that annoying sound that someone got paid twice my year’s salary to invent just so I’d have an excuse to walk away to unload my whites the absence of color the last thing you see before you die the center of my clock face I used to have underwear that color until they got washed with my 69 blues now they’re gray so is brain matter. I wish it mattered.
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Week 3
May 12, 2014 16:05:44 GMT -5
Post by A Right To Write on May 12, 2014 16:05:44 GMT -5
**Lynn
*White Shoulders
Sunlight through dust Tangled hair
Back when everything was quiet
The greenish smell of old jewelry The kind that makes you need to wash your hands
That's where it sits By the sink Salmon pink
Caressing two plastic roses And hammocked lady Floating in a sea of swaths
Fingers rub the sides and corners Slightly rounded Slightly softened Creating a sound only elephants can hear Elephants and maybe little girls
Side ridges bite my little fingers As the lid turns
Powdered grandma escapes from underneath The lifting puff
Summer birds are cheerful Muted through drywall, insulation, beams And brick
But I'm decades away Lost in musty, bottle green velvet And cameo brooches
Her voice shuttles me back To 1983
Hastily, crookedly, Screw The round lid
Askew On the plastic cube
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Week 3
May 12, 2014 16:06:55 GMT -5
Post by A Right To Write on May 12, 2014 16:06:55 GMT -5
**Zach
*Green
On a small table from Ikea, use a tiny white cutting-board and a 7-inch Henckel santoku to cut
two stalks of celery and three asparagus spears into segments of roughly an inch,
then along with eighteen leaves of spinach and three of deep green kale, begin to load your blender.
Halve an avocado and remove the pit. Slice a banana and peel off the skin. Sever a lemon and squeeze the juice. Bisect a kiwi
and spoon out both halves. Place two tablespoons of flaxseed into you coffee grinder. Suffer the scream and whir until it is finely powdered.
Add a half-cup of water and enjoy the dimming lights in your Philly apartment as you hold down the button for Blend.
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Week 3
May 12, 2014 16:07:43 GMT -5
Post by A Right To Write on May 12, 2014 16:07:43 GMT -5
**Tara
He leaned against the City Bank glass, looking down the street through scratched black goggles, fumbling with the loose change and bullets in his right coat pocket. It was 3:06 AM The city was once made up of noble brick and stone buildings, And now it was an overambitious mess of twisted metals and gears lined with neon pink and blue lights, eating away at what was left of the skyline. He could hear the rusted mechanical spiders scurrying down the alley. Removing his black top hat, he smoothed down his greasy brown hair with his other hand. It was 3:07 AM He began to walk with an overemphasized sense of purpose. Each step was heavy, each step was deliberate. The tail on his trench coat waved as he picked up speed. McDonalds wrappers and broken beer bottles crunched beneath his shoes. It was 3:08 AM His eyes focused on a woman leaning over the rail of a bridge her red dress popping against the black background. The street noise crescendoed as her features became more distinct. He removed his goggles and threw them on the ground And without slowing, without breathing, without feeling, he violently reached into his left coat pocket. The woman looked up at him, sadly. It was 3:09 AM
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Week 3
May 12, 2014 16:08:15 GMT -5
Post by A Right To Write on May 12, 2014 16:08:15 GMT -5
**Cir
*Blue and Yellow Goal
An azure dawn revives twilight dreams
as the voice recorder receives my privations
and proclamations ring true
through the blueberry scent that surrounds me
as I race toward a collared disguise the same color as the sky
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Week 3
May 12, 2014 16:08:55 GMT -5
Post by A Right To Write on May 12, 2014 16:08:55 GMT -5
**Lisa
Running worn dirty hands through his mangled hair, Max struggled to keep from choking on raw emotion. The scrap of paper was no longer wedged in the door. Without taking a moment to think, he raced to her car. Spotting the chalk marks, he bent over with his hands on his knees Laboring to breathe and powerless to stop the images in his brain.
The simple paper and chalk became evidence of her infidelity.
As he entered the house, the sound of running water drew his attention. He walked to the master bedroom Knowing, this time he would not bother with accusations. He opened the drawer housing his gun Seeing only what he wanted to see
Sam lay in bed trying not to touch the comforter Welcoming the images of her life with him Each one washing some of the guilt away When the blaze flashed across the screen, she smiled Wishing she could thank him for the idea.
A simple wire became evidence of his plans
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Week 3
May 12, 2014 16:09:44 GMT -5
Post by A Right To Write on May 12, 2014 16:09:44 GMT -5
**Ilenia
through spring, around summer, skip fall the days stretch on with winter where the ground and the sky are painted the same as the walls in your padded cell 365 days a year
pulling grey through my hair picking it from my eyes toes dangling i jump
deep away tucked under blankets of water I swore I wouldnt breathe in I'm in the back of my mind it's morning there
I'm laying on my side in your bed my smile is shit-eating wide childish with vibrance my cheeks, too
your greens fit the gaps where my browns don't quite connect reflecting you back into your possession
I blink I capture fragments you leave behind I store them away to knit together for when the sun burns out
I'm outside-in brushing the blades flipping through the tiny hairs pointed with purpose toward the sky begging for attention before their time becomes someone else's chore
finger-print edges trim the split in your lips you start to slip away
further and further I can't get closer Newton's law
I wake up pulling grey from my hair picking it from my eyes
lonely vile coats the void next to me I tell it I only lie when I swear I pull the covers back over
you stole my spectrum
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Week 3
May 12, 2014 16:10:38 GMT -5
Post by A Right To Write on May 12, 2014 16:10:38 GMT -5
**Dan
You don't realize how many things you own that are black. Unintentionally. Things you don't have control over. Reusable water bottles, televisions, coffee makers, books, remote controls.
I didn't notice, until about a week ago, when every black object in my home began to "bleed" into everything else. I noticed when I needed to hook up my new blu-ray player that the wall behind the television was black as night. I was terrified! I thought it was burned from the heat of the TV, but upon inspection the spot wasn't warm or brittle. The wall hadn't changed, only it's color.
A day or so passed before I noticed that the black had spread. The wall no longer had the black box from the television , but a giant blotch of black, a foot farther from where it had been when I first noticed it.
I looked around and found more things. The television remotes had turned the arm of the sofa a thick black. Again, the couch wasn't wet, or harmed in any way, just stained. My bookcase, which had two or three books with black covers is now a black block in my living room. It's even began to cover the wall behind it.
The kitchen floor, under my trash can, now has a ring like a giant coffee mug was sitting there. The counters, once a rich white marble is now blotchy from the various black appliances that rest upon it.
By the end of the night, my entire bedroom was black due to the comforter on the bed. I slept in the living room, in an easy boy, in the farthest corner from the black.
It was hard to tell when morning did come because the windows and the doors are now black as well. Most of the floor is black, but I was able to maneuver around the few areas of cream carpet that were still visible.
I finally decided to type this up, but I fear I have made a fatal error. The keys to the computer are black and as soon as I touched them the color spread to my finger tips. At this point, the stain is now at my elbows.
I don't know what caused this, but if it starts to happen around you, run where ever you can. Although if this is happening anywhere else, how long will it be before it spreads across a city?
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Week 3
May 26, 2014 19:47:02 GMT -5
Post by A Right To Write on May 26, 2014 19:47:02 GMT -5
Prompt 3:
Choose 1-3 colors max
Reference your subconscious color library.
Write a poem using the emotions,images, and forms you associate with the color or colors.
For example Blue could produce a poem that feels calming and relaxed. Or yellow, bright and happy. We could choose unusual colors like burnt sienna for an experience in Arizona. Use your imagination and your emotions.
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