The Fire

1000 Words Game

If a picture is worth a thousand words, then I'm turning quite a profit.

Here's the game:

I post a caption every week or two, and you interpret it visualy. Any medium, any style. Get your draw on, get your camera out. Load up MS paint and shows us what's stewing in that brain pot of yours. Whatever it takes.

All skill levels welcome. Talent is a myth, so I do not accept that as an excuse for not participating.

This is not a judgement community. This is a personal endulgence and an exploration into how various people can interperate a common theme in different ways.

Sound like fun? Sure it does! All are welcome!

Join 1000_words_game today!
eye in earth
  • laurat

it's true, i am crazy

physically the pain subsides,
the marks you left which scarred me heal.

bruised, battered, beaten.
lip is swollen and neck is dry.

my heart is worse.
my head knew all along.

the kiss tasted of flowers,
but was poisoned, deep and completely.

gently, you parted my mouth
leaned in and i tasted you.

your confident strokes sicken me
as i lay down where we slept.

i would cry, long passionate sobs
if crying would not equate loss.

tragic, devastating injury
felt time and time again.

alone and hollow,
you so full and strong.

taste of alcohol still lingering
as judgment is relied upon

the sweet and bitter, poignant fragrance of sweat
long looks in your flawless eyes:

touch, refreshed, longing
teased, decided, pleasure.

the lies of forehead kisses,
not true but so very tender.

it's what i needed last night,
that's what i wanted to believe.

used, so completely
used, time and time again.
face me

this community is for sale!

i have abandoned the electronic-me that made this journal.

and so i'm selling it...

the price is 0.00

if you want it

then take it

i love this community...even though it isn't often posted still has some sentimental value...of the kind that i'm not sure anyone should appreciate...

probably something to do with the green in it.

anyway...the name of the community is you know

the password is

face me

(no subject)

treacherous cicada infestation...

oh jesus.

um yes well, another day another plague...and all the blackness is spreading up my arm

damn is creeping to the corners of my mouth and trying to get in. smelling all of fungus and lard.

and you with your super narrow...slendery-long hat...ha

you with your flags...all shredded and proud...and hanging...and carried...and all of that.

slang up to swing in a sling, with some slouching, silky slit to slumber with.


that it'll be alright

that it'll be.
face me

the new normal is now

the only thing that matters in my life and in all of our lives are the things that we do in the spirit of u.t.i. to influence the world, silently and secretly, never to be aknoledged, and never to be found out. there is no one to critique, so they will be forced to critique themselves. thier thoughts will be thoughts not thought about me, but about my world, which has found them, which they have found.

the consequences could be emmense, and still far removed.

the consequences will last a second, a spark that pops out of the fire and disappears durring its decent to the ground from the sky...becomeing the ground itself by the time it reaches there.

if there are so many people who are makeing things, why aren't those things takeing over every square foot of this earth... and this culture, non-culture...whatever this greyness is?

a creative revolt to answer whatever there anonymous response so loud that it can't be discounted as just some anonymous response...

over and over and over it sounds reach for the door, and there is a painting on the drive down the road and there are strange figures made of strange things all down the side of the drive under the bridge and there is a gallery on the walls of the underside of the bridge...things hanging in the public stall...things sitting on the shelves next to cereal boxes, next to the meat...

constant reminders of something else...that there is something else...that there is anything else...that sanity is not sane, and that insanity is not insane, and that reality is not real, and that fantasy is not unreal...and that sense is not sense and that nonsense could begin to make sense...

that this can be that, and that might be this, and everything conditioned can be reconditioned, if it is there enough times.

a secret on the lips of everyone.

we trespass, we don't ask permission, we don't ruin anything...we don't stick around for long, we may stick around to observe the obeservers, we may leave and never go back, and they don't know what hit 'em, cause it is a new nature...a new normal,

the new normal is a surprise.

the new normal is a thought on the meat rack

the new normal is unsolicited paintings on your doorstep.

the new normal is drive by art-object drop-offs.

the new normal is an increase in your heart rate

the new normal is not knowing what you'll see on the way to work

the new normal is poetry and music on the condiment counter with a note describeing what you have found.

the new normal is a fluctuateing, unpredictable feast for the eyes, ears and mind.

and the new normal is whatever you can think of.

the endless possibilities of what is inside jumps powered by your heart and electrically charged, doesn't cost anything...and is makes the world more you, and it makes the world more us. it doesn't defy or destroy what is, but now it sits next to it...and now there is a choice...and now you can hav e both...and now they have to share the time and the space and the there is a point of reference...and now you have to think.