#word exercise

[studioimart]

I miss you, you bastard (prose)

I shouldn’t.

Haven’t thought about you in a while since “The Incident” that finally pushed me from pushover to over the edge. You know what you did. Except…

You probably don’t. I mean, that would require you to think outside your bubble, about someone else. That someone else being beyond an amusement when convenient.

You don’t do that.

It’s not to say you aren’t without your appeal. The best monsters are, lest their claws find no purchase in the heartstrings of their prey.

Smart, charming, debonair.

Broken, splintered, thirsty.

All of it or none at all.

That was your muchness, until it was simply too much.

For me, anyway.

The one piece that lay certain in the rubble at my feet is knowing that this stupidity is not reciprocated by you.

The only fool I see is me for how easily, repeatedly, I forgot my place in this facade, this masquerade of feels, tickled emotions, empty promises assumed to be filled, when looking back, I see you offered me nothing of substance, just pretty words and inaction.

[beaumontwrites]

A Bitter Pill

I take my bitter pills with a glass of whiskey, it helps with the metallic after-taste that stains the mouth. They’re dime a dozen, my healthcare keeps them cheap. When I was first diagnosed that had been my biggest fear, my second was the names. Some people just like to add insults to your injuries - even if the injuries are on the inside.

I swallow a pill and unfold my newspaper - the bar is mostly empty at this hour and the television is on some sports game. I’m roused from my reading at the drop of a hat, the young woman across from me has tipped over her table trying to get up. I jump up myself offering her an arm and a leg to pull herself to her feet. She smiles and begs my apologies, she is having trouble with her boyfriend and somehow that made her clumsy. I offer her hat, “I’m all ears.”

Literal Idioms week.

Pool:

A bitter pill. A dime a dozen. Add insult to injury. At the drop of a hat. An arm and a leg.

Check me out on wordpress or support me on patreon.

[beaumontwrites]

Jump

He took a small step, jumping up to see me off. It is a little off-putting the way he grabbed my hand with both of his and shook it tightly. At least it was over, that sick sinking feeling you get when someone goes over your head to cause you problems.

I stepped from the office, the dissent still rattling around in my skull. Co-workers look at me with horror - the spectacle going through their heads, the way they crowd the space around me waiting to hear the bad news. “I’ve been promoted.”

Word Pool.

Jump - Off. Off - Hand. Hand - Over. Over - Head. Head - Space.

[beaumontwrites]

18/4/16. Word of the Day: Sound.

This week I'll be doing leapfrogging - picking a word, then continuing that word to form new words.

Sound - Wave. Wave - Form. Form - Able. Able - Body. Body - Image.

The Sound fills with waves, crashing against the shoreline. Waveforms undulating their distress against the rocks and beaches beneath the lighthouse whose form rises up from the weary peninsular. It casts its able light against the craggy beaches and wards away ships. Able-bodied but not indestructible the whalers sail in from the deep sea’s black-body swallowing up vessels that venture beyond the horizon of the land. The image of the sinking ships still haunts the light-house as it must watch them sucked under.

[beaumontwrites]

Exercise of the Day - Friday, 15th April, 2016.

This week’s exercises were word pools by sound, but warp fucked me up. Anyway... Find me on wordpress or support me on patreon.

Word of the Day - Warp. Water. Wear. Watch. Waist. Witch. Ore. War. Waif. Corpse.

Water witch waste not this war, corpses don’t speak quite so well. Wells swell with warping waters, turbid ores rise. Forge for me a song to chase away your blues, but instead litter it with insecurity. Forge for me bars so you can imprison yourself. So waifish my water witch is, fighting over scraps and melodies even when I provide everything. The warping leaves this man muddy and wet, corpses do not have passions. Sing away your blues, dance away your pains - clutch to your waist and hold in your entrails, they will spill out eventually. Corpses don’t need pity, do they my waifish water witch? Water wears, it grates, it washes away. So watch as the warp waters waste away, consumed by man and land - don’t waste this war Waif, corpses do not speak quite so well.

[beaumontwrites]

Exercise of the Day - Wednesday, 13th April, 2016.

This week’s exercise of choice is word pools by sound. Find me on wordpress or support me on patreon.

Word of the Day - Scene. Seen. Saw. Sore. Sow. Sewn. Sign. Sigh. Sip. Sin.

The scene begins with the sowing of a smile, she slips over to me at the bar and softly whispers. “If drinking is a sin, then sip it slowly.” Sin is a sore point for me, but I see what she has sewn - the signs before me. I smile back, already able to hear her seductive sighs. “I suck at self control.” Slender fingers slide across my spine, “There is no chagrin in surrendering to sin.” Sin is a sore point for me, but I have seen what happens next. The sowing of a seed, I saw the dark of her eyes and agreed. “If drinking is a sin, then sip it slowly.”

[beaumontwrites]

Exercise of the Day - Tuesday, 12th April, 2016.

This week’s exercise of choice is word pools by sound. Find me on wordpress or support me on patreon.

Word of the Day - Shoe. Show, Should, Shroud, Shudder, Shock. Shove, Shame, Shake, Shatter.

You put your red shoes on and sit naked on the bed. There is no shame in the show you put on - stuck between the sheets. A vengeful god does not look down at you and shudder, if they do why do we care? Red shoes and a little mascara running down your cheeks. There was no shove to your shake, be free in knowing that the shames all in your head. Feel good about the way you shudder, the way you show me you had a good time. Red shoes and a little lipstick smeared across your lips. The world doesn’t shatter the moment you show a little skin, stuck between the sheets is ecstasy - why is it a shock that we are so good - you should never be ashamed of your shoes.

[beaumontwrites]

Monday, 11th of April, 2016.

Word of the Day - Mercurial. Mercy, Ephemeral, Emergent, Murder, Mercenary, Cured, Queued, Real, Merchant.

There is a mercy to the mercurial nature of life. The mercenary way we live queued for precious moments, hoping the next event or product will cure the monotone. Real moments seem so few and far between out here, where dreams are murdered by the cold of reality. Happiness isn’t a commodity bought or sold by a merchant, it is a philosophy - emergent from a sea of darkness, finding beauty in the bleak and abstract world we live in. Just because life is short, finite and bloody does not mean there is no beauty, no hope, no happiness to be found. That is the mercy of life’s mercurial nature - it is erratic and therefore there is always the chance lead will turn to gold.

Find me on wordpress or support me on patreon.