Pencils

Really fun, short read. Check it out!

Art's Arts

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“Please no” the pencil murmurs as the sharpener rapidly approaches. “I’m small as it is…”
A nearby pencil case cackles cruelly at the pencil as it’s cries fall on deaf ears.

Oh how he wished to be a sharpie… those guys were so cool, with their ever lasting ink. His work could be brushed away with a simple rubber.

“it’s what’s inside that counts” His mother had always said, completely unaware of the irony. His grandfather had been Shakespeare’s pencil. He was just downright average. He just didn’t have the creativity of the rest of his family.

The sharpener slowly and cruelly shaved away another chunk of wood reducing his length ever more.
Forever under appreciated…
Poor Noris…
Noris

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Past Life

This was an absolute joy to read. Like a Faulkner story, you need to hang on to the end to get the full effect: a message of acceptance and love.

genderqueer.me

Looking down, I realize it’s not my credit card I’m handing to the checkout clerk, it’s my mother’s. I don’t own one yet. I’m only 17, living at home with my parents. It’s my senior year in high school.

Looking down, I realize I have breasts again. No problem, I can handle this, I’ve dealt with breasts before. I just need to buy a binder online. Wait! I don’t have a credit card. I don’t even think you could buy binders online in 2004, much less have them shipped to Mexico. But even if you could, I don’t have a credit card. Or any money, for that matter. I’m only 17.

I realize I could do with a haircut. My hair is not long anymore, but it’s not as short as I’d like it to be. Maybe I can convince my mom to drive me to the supermarket (of course…

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Writing From Below

Interesting topic from one of my favorite bloggers.

Stealing All the Sevens

Stars at night

 

Sally Sparrow:  I love old things. They make me feel sad.
Kathy Nightingale:  What’s good about sad?
Sally Sparrow:  It’s happy for deep people.

I have been writing in my writing-journal for the last hour. When I write in my journal I put every thought in my head down on the page. At least, that is the idea. When the process clicks it is seamless. Often I do not know my thoughts until I read them on the screen in front of me. My brain, the keyboard, and the screen are part of a single closed system. My thoughts have momentum and tangible definition. It is effortless.

Right now it is not effortless. As I type my fingertips slip into a gap between my mind and the keyboard. I pause for minutes at a time as thoughts swirl around my consciousness. When I look up at the screen it…

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The Writing Exercise That Actually Worked

Very helpful tips if you should ever find yourself stuck. I’m going to try a couple.

Stealing All the Sevens

Writing Ball

I love tricks. Teach me a way to peel garlic in 10 seconds, and I’m hooked. This is partially because doing things the easy and interesting way is better, but for me it goes deeper than that.

Habit-forming does not come naturally to me. When I was 8 years old I got glasses for the first time. In the first year I had them, I spent more time looking for my glasses than I did wearing the stupid things. This plagues me still. Every time I move into a new place I spend six months searching for my keys before I leave the house every single morning before I figure out that I need to put them in the same place, without fail, every time I get home. Even now, if I don’t put my keys on the small bookshelf next to the yellow chair as soon as I…

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Disgruntled Birds #1

Hilarious story about a grumpy goose and siblings. Read and be enchanted.

Milk & Whiskey

I seem to have a bad luck streak regarding birds. This is probably one of the reasons I feel totally okay about eating them. The first fowl experience was The Mad Queen and the hits just keep coming.

For example, I’ve been hit in the nuts by a haunted plastic goose.

When M.I.L.K. and I were small, our mom took us to a duck pond in Palo Alto. We jumped out of the car, each clutching a loaf of stale bread, and ran to feed the duckies. We got to the water line and began frantically shredding and tossing bread to a bunch of enthusiastic ducks. The duck feeding was going swimmingly when a goose almost as tall as me, and easily eye to eye with M.I.L.K. ran towards us. Neat, I thought.

But this goose didn’t want to be fed, it wanted to hunt.

I was in awe…

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37 Lessons from 37 Days

This is just so inspiring to me. Read and be enraptured.

Stealing All the Sevens

Möbius transformation

37, day…thirty seven!

For thirty-seven days, I have been violating the laws of hyphenation. Also, I have been posting in my blog every day. I noticed that I wasn’t posting nearly enough. Worse still, I wasn’t writing nearly enough. This was a serious problem, and like most serious problems it needed a silly solution. I decided to undergo a transformative journey. A hero quest of epic proportions, where upon I would journey into the underworld, fight mighty philosopher-dragons, take tea with weird gods, and return with a profoundly enhanced understanding of myself and my relationship to the expansive and nuanced cosmos.

I didn’t do that. Instead I wrote a bunch of blog posts.

The obvious way to end all of this is to talk about how the experience has changed me, and what I have learned. I had a sense from the start that I was not going to…

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