Since we all ("we all" meaning those of us cool enough to have received assignments, plus the Initiator Rob Lightner) have been invested with the awesome power of the password, let's not abuse it, OK? The blog is only for writing assignments - use e-mail to make your challenges or props, and if someone wants to start a commentary blog that would be neat too. Yeah?

thewordsthewords
you are near unto the rest of the mulch eating latch hook binder rebrobates swinging tree to tree, lunching with cranky introverts in jello pants and riding stilt-guilty down the semen-flocked straights with your clipped gait and tight hips; those spooling reams of monster hate. you lick your pencil, describe your wounds with words that jostle and hork, waiting for the ebb the depths the nadir to take hold so you might ride the rising sine wave, catapult yourself down the long tube of occassional gibbering. : ::rbd: : : writing things down isn’t hard. living is. writing things down is not so hard. living is. you are near unto the rest of the mulch-eating franklin mint rebrobates swinging from their armpits tree to tree, lunching with cranks in jello pants and riding stilt-guilty down the semen flocked strips of longitudinal residual fung. but. you lick pencils as your words jostle, lunching on neuroses and globs of desire, waiting for the ebb to catapult themselves down the long tube of our occassional gibbering. writing things down is not so hard. living is.

The Words
you are near unto the rest of the mulch eating latch hook binder rebrobates swinging tree to tree, lunching with cranky introverts in jello pants and riding stilt-guilty down the semen-flocked straights with your clipped gait and tight hips; those spooling reams of monster hate. you lick your pencil, describe your wounds with words that jostle and hork, waiting for the ebb the depths the nadir to take hold so you might ride the rising sine wave, catapult yourself down the long tube of occassional gibbering. writing things down isn’t hard. living is. writing things down is not so hard. living is. you are near unto the rest of the mulch-eating franklin mint rebrobates swinging from their armpits tree to tree, lunching with cranks in jello pants and riding stilt-guilty down the semen flocked strips of longitudinal residual fung. but. you lick pencils as your words jostle, lunching on neuroses and globs of desire, waiting for the ebb to catapult themselves down the long tube of our occassional gibbering. writing things down is not so hard. living is.

Sticker Shock
It wasn’t exactly what it cost – it was really more about what she’s getting for the money. Right now, she has the freedom to put a credit card down and walk away with whatever she wants… within reason. She knows that an even more financially secure future is in sight – well within sight – if only she can hold out through the boredom and the lackluster wasteland of routine that has become her life. She wonders when did she make a decision? Trade freedom for security, intimacy for television re-runs? She doesn’t remember that part of the wedding vows, the ketubah on her wall doesn’t mention that in its handwritten Hebrew… or English. Now, with the new life grown beyond the size of peanut, more into the phase of olive or soon-to-be egg-sized-miniature-newly-formed human, what is it really going to cost? She can maintain the security of the doldrums, never have to pander to the gods of corporate money again, when all she really wants is to grow the baby in peace, in a new home, with money in the bank. But there’s always a cost. Hidden costs, the hidden costs of housewifery. Now, she must worry about the right place for the shoes or how to properly fold the towels. Tolerate jokes about being done on the kitchen floor (snicker, snicker), when in fact she can’t remember being done properly anywhere (pregnancy hormones), and all she really sees resulting from going along with the joke (wink, wink, c’mon, let’s go) in the kitchen is a conversation about how clean the kitchen floor should be, especially since she’s home all day. --SLS 8/8/02