This thread is about having a place to write. I've had such a fucked up life that I want to write a fictionalized book about it. I always procrastinate; I don't want to write when I'm stoned. But I have over 5,000 posts, 95% of which were written when I was baked. Stoned or sober, I want to make progress on this idea. I'm going to post passages of what I write towards my book here for safekeeping, motivation, and feedback! I've lost so many starts on this book - that's why I want to develop it online.
You may use this thread to write in, as well. It can be anything, but I ask users of this thread to follow two guidelines.
1) Please use this thread only for your writing and constructive feedback of others' writing. It is not for stories of what you did last night, as you can post those in GC. It is for you to develop any stories or ideas that you may want to share and pursue!
2) Please spellcheck your work before posting, and give us something to read. Entries must be at least a paragraph (except feedback, which should be at least two sentences). I love to read just about anything, but in this thread I want to read your best prose. Lack of grammar and punctuation, basically anything that is difficult to read because you didn't care enough about it to do it right, will not be tolerated. Unnaceptable entries will be copied, sent to the author for editing, and deleted. If you would like your work checked by me before posting, please pm it to me.
I don't want to discourage anyone from joining me in this free write, so please check your work carefully for readability.
FREE WRITE. The best new thread on weedguru!
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Caro
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FREE WRITE. The best new thread on weedguru!
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Caro
- Ganja God
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- Location: Possibly in the bathtub... God bless wireless internet!
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This is my first entry. It is a VERY rough draft that has not been altered at all yet, except for spelling. I tend to edit my work many times before it is finished. I will include edit updates at the bottom of my posts.
The screen door of a blue rambler burst open and a young girl ran out. She fled the house as if it contained something evil, a darkness threatening her though she was in no danger. Twelve years and farm chores had toned her body - her legs were wiry and well muscled, suited to running - but all grace had left her and she flailed clumsily in her escape, nearly falling as she leapt down the porch steps and away. She wanted to be miles away, away from the house with its dark decor and wood smoke, a house that had never made her feel safe and now delivered a horror previously inconceivable from the wall mounted phone. The phone hung almost to the floor, beeping irritably but no one moved to replace it. The beeping was a connection to this world, but did not phase the woman who sat crumpled beside it, her eyes dead and cold, her beauty taken in that moment. Sari could not bear to see her mother die, and surely this would kill her. Her body was warm and technically alive, but her mind and heart were disconnected, and they did not seem to inhabit the woman. Sari wanted to go where her mother was, but shock and recognition of the events to come could not separate her mind from the awful truth, and burning hormones flooded her bloodstream. So she ran.
Past the shed where she slept, across the drive, the parched dirt loosing plumes of dust behind her, she ran. The long coop and turnout for the chickens directed her; she ran along the backside of the rundown structure without a thought as to where she was going. A tangled mess of barbed wire and leaning posts that used to be a fence was leapt; the scratches drew fine beads of blood but the minute physical pain was refreshing. It felt good against the backdrop of pain in her chest, a wound that could not be bandaged. Now strands of clover alfalfa brushed her legs, irrigated dewdrops wetting her. The sun shone and the sky was impossibly blue - how it could be so beautiful when people were dying, she didn't know.
Past the crop circles that mystified farmers, but she was responsible for, and into an endless field of growing hay that had always brought her pleasure before, she ran. She knew there was no runnable end to the fields behind her house - they stretched on for miles. She wanted to be miles away and never come back. She lived in the moment, blood pounding in her ears, the corn now taller than she, hiding her from the world and from God. She did not stop running but the first tear escaped her eye and her lips quivered.
Oh how could it be - how? They had been through so much already. But the violence and mental abuse were inconsequential, now. What did it matter what they had survived, her mother and her. What did it matter when he was going to die?
He was going to die. The words manifested themselves in her brain and she stopped. It was from those words she ran, and they followed her here. In between the tall rows of corn, she stopped and sank, breathing heavy, face and body flushed red and slick from exertion. She knew he was going to die, as sure as if it had already happened. So did her mother. Though he still lived and breathed, and only felt slightly ill, the grief somehow came in crushing waves. Grief for his life that would be shortened and painful, grief for his baby son who would grow up without a father, and grief for herself. She would have to say goodbye.
How could she say goodbye forever to the man so recently reclaimed from that dark night years ago? For most of her life they had been separated, and her mind involuntarily went back 7 years, back to the time they had been together....
Her earliest memories were of him. Of the two men in her life, he was the kind one. He had big blue eyes and a smile that was impossibly bright. Years later she would remember that smile, suspended... because so many things are lost with the passage of time. As a little girl, her brother loved her and cared for her more than most siblings. Benjamin was only eleven when she was born, but knew enough of his world that he didn't want her hurt. He did everything he could to keep the monster from hurting her, though his very presence was a deterrent. Nothing hurt her until he was sent away. Nothing hurt her until she saw him leave, blood pouring from his face, and after that... life was a series of hurts, for an innocent child is defenseless from evil without protection.
It frustrated him that he could not protect his mother. He tried. He was no match against the man she married, the man he called the monster. Life had never been easy before, but he preferred living in a car to financial security and the punishments that occurred behind closed doors. He had seen his mother beaten; he had seen her tormented with words. He had seen her broken down until she was a shell, no more able to leave than a caged animal, and they had tried. Twice she had fled with him, and twice the monster tracked them down, across state lines, across laws and across all reason. She was his property and any children she bore also belonged to him.
Benjamin did not blame his mother. She had nothing to stand on except a childhood even crueler than his. It was a miracle she was even alive. Impregnated by rape at 15, his father was her step-uncle, though no one spoke about it. She was ostracized, and supported him by working as a dishwasher at a small town diner. They lived in rented trailers when they could afford it and an old VW bug when they could not. It was a life of wondering where the next meal was coming from, of trying to keep warm in the cold season, of being cramped, of not having anything. But it was also a life of love, for his mother was the most beautiful and loving mother a boy could hope for. She took good care of him until the monster came.
She met him at the bar of the restaurant she worked at. He had a reputation of being wild and savage; he and his brothers were a gang not to be fucked with. Everyone knew they broke laws, did drugs and carried guns. But he was handsome and persistent in getting to know her. He listened with empathy when she told him of her troubles; he acted like he cared. He said he wanted to lift her and her son out of poverty. He met Benjamin and even invited him on their first date...
The screen door of a blue rambler burst open and a young girl ran out. She fled the house as if it contained something evil, a darkness threatening her though she was in no danger. Twelve years and farm chores had toned her body - her legs were wiry and well muscled, suited to running - but all grace had left her and she flailed clumsily in her escape, nearly falling as she leapt down the porch steps and away. She wanted to be miles away, away from the house with its dark decor and wood smoke, a house that had never made her feel safe and now delivered a horror previously inconceivable from the wall mounted phone. The phone hung almost to the floor, beeping irritably but no one moved to replace it. The beeping was a connection to this world, but did not phase the woman who sat crumpled beside it, her eyes dead and cold, her beauty taken in that moment. Sari could not bear to see her mother die, and surely this would kill her. Her body was warm and technically alive, but her mind and heart were disconnected, and they did not seem to inhabit the woman. Sari wanted to go where her mother was, but shock and recognition of the events to come could not separate her mind from the awful truth, and burning hormones flooded her bloodstream. So she ran.
Past the shed where she slept, across the drive, the parched dirt loosing plumes of dust behind her, she ran. The long coop and turnout for the chickens directed her; she ran along the backside of the rundown structure without a thought as to where she was going. A tangled mess of barbed wire and leaning posts that used to be a fence was leapt; the scratches drew fine beads of blood but the minute physical pain was refreshing. It felt good against the backdrop of pain in her chest, a wound that could not be bandaged. Now strands of clover alfalfa brushed her legs, irrigated dewdrops wetting her. The sun shone and the sky was impossibly blue - how it could be so beautiful when people were dying, she didn't know.
Past the crop circles that mystified farmers, but she was responsible for, and into an endless field of growing hay that had always brought her pleasure before, she ran. She knew there was no runnable end to the fields behind her house - they stretched on for miles. She wanted to be miles away and never come back. She lived in the moment, blood pounding in her ears, the corn now taller than she, hiding her from the world and from God. She did not stop running but the first tear escaped her eye and her lips quivered.
Oh how could it be - how? They had been through so much already. But the violence and mental abuse were inconsequential, now. What did it matter what they had survived, her mother and her. What did it matter when he was going to die?
He was going to die. The words manifested themselves in her brain and she stopped. It was from those words she ran, and they followed her here. In between the tall rows of corn, she stopped and sank, breathing heavy, face and body flushed red and slick from exertion. She knew he was going to die, as sure as if it had already happened. So did her mother. Though he still lived and breathed, and only felt slightly ill, the grief somehow came in crushing waves. Grief for his life that would be shortened and painful, grief for his baby son who would grow up without a father, and grief for herself. She would have to say goodbye.
How could she say goodbye forever to the man so recently reclaimed from that dark night years ago? For most of her life they had been separated, and her mind involuntarily went back 7 years, back to the time they had been together....
Her earliest memories were of him. Of the two men in her life, he was the kind one. He had big blue eyes and a smile that was impossibly bright. Years later she would remember that smile, suspended... because so many things are lost with the passage of time. As a little girl, her brother loved her and cared for her more than most siblings. Benjamin was only eleven when she was born, but knew enough of his world that he didn't want her hurt. He did everything he could to keep the monster from hurting her, though his very presence was a deterrent. Nothing hurt her until he was sent away. Nothing hurt her until she saw him leave, blood pouring from his face, and after that... life was a series of hurts, for an innocent child is defenseless from evil without protection.
It frustrated him that he could not protect his mother. He tried. He was no match against the man she married, the man he called the monster. Life had never been easy before, but he preferred living in a car to financial security and the punishments that occurred behind closed doors. He had seen his mother beaten; he had seen her tormented with words. He had seen her broken down until she was a shell, no more able to leave than a caged animal, and they had tried. Twice she had fled with him, and twice the monster tracked them down, across state lines, across laws and across all reason. She was his property and any children she bore also belonged to him.
Benjamin did not blame his mother. She had nothing to stand on except a childhood even crueler than his. It was a miracle she was even alive. Impregnated by rape at 15, his father was her step-uncle, though no one spoke about it. She was ostracized, and supported him by working as a dishwasher at a small town diner. They lived in rented trailers when they could afford it and an old VW bug when they could not. It was a life of wondering where the next meal was coming from, of trying to keep warm in the cold season, of being cramped, of not having anything. But it was also a life of love, for his mother was the most beautiful and loving mother a boy could hope for. She took good care of him until the monster came.
She met him at the bar of the restaurant she worked at. He had a reputation of being wild and savage; he and his brothers were a gang not to be fucked with. Everyone knew they broke laws, did drugs and carried guns. But he was handsome and persistent in getting to know her. He listened with empathy when she told him of her troubles; he acted like he cared. He said he wanted to lift her and her son out of poverty. He met Benjamin and even invited him on their first date...
[img]http://a.im.craigslist.org/wb/wN/JlAJzS6s36uxWLoTVAezHhtGuWqk.jpg[/img][img]http://i5.photobucket.com/albums/y175/Denverbroncofrk/weedgurucopy.jpg[/img]
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cutthecashflow
- Intellecutally Wasted
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cutthecashflow
- Intellecutally Wasted
- Posts: 7747
- Joined: Sun Aug 03, 2003 8:19 pm
- Location: Home of the Sioux!
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Allright I'm just going to jot some stuff down in here. Caro if this is in the wrong place feel free to move it.
I just got home off of a thirteen hour day of work and I feel that writing and sipping back on a little whiskey should do me some good while I wait for my bag of green to show up. Well work isn't too bad, I no longer work at the airport; those guys were drug testing like hell froze over and I figured I'm still young and want to have some fun yet so I quit that job. I now work at Ruby Tuesday. Yes, yes I know I'm a waiter, but before you laugh the tips are outragoues. I will easily pull in an extra hundred dollars a night on tips alone and this tends to add up when I am working four to five shifts a week. All kidding aside, I have started smoking the sweet cheeba again, but at a much slower rate. It's kind of funny because for the last six years of smoking it's been kind of a daily basis of getting just full blown stoned. Now however it does not take me hardly any weed at all and I get super stoned. I don't know if this is because I have a low tolerance or because I've just been smoking for the last seven years and maybe the process is reversing itself?
Sipping on this Jim Beam right now, and this song by Blind Melon just came on. It's called No Rain and this song is just down right awesome! Any ways, does anyone else ever wonder where in the hell have all the years gone? I remember just like it was yesterday that I was on the swingset, playing baseball with my dad, waking up and going to school,hanging out with the same group of friends, playing night games, junior high dances, art class in elementary. Now look at it I'm twenty years old and every chance the world gets it winds up and tries to give me a cheap shot! Get a job, go to school, pay loans, bills, girlfriends, allnighters, cops, feelings, emotions, friends, backstabbers. Where did all of this come from? It's like I woke up one day and the world just slapped me in the face and said here I am better get ready or be taken down! What can I do though, all I can do is get up everday and look these things in the face, take them head on, put on a smile, and say nothing is going to bring me down. It is all a process, next I will be in my late twenties out of college and on my own making a living, then the money will start coming in I hope.
I also miss my home. I miss my family (never thought I'd say that) I actually enjoy it now when the call and just want to talk on the phone. It's amazing how many things I've taken for granted in my time. For eighteen years I've been living in a luxiourious home, I've had everything I've ever wanted handed to me on a platter, but I've been blind to it all. Now that I've got a place of my own I realize how good I had it made back home. It seems like now all I want at the end of a long day is either a bowl or a couple of beers to relax me througout the evening. A little bit of good loving never hurt either.
Music sweet music where would I be without my music. Some people like to turn on the boob tube and watch TV, others like to go out to resturants and movies. Not me all I want with my spare time is my sweet music, when the vibes hit and the music is flowing there is no better feeling, especially if I've got a joint to keep my company. They can take away my cable, they can take away my heat and electricty, but I will always have my battery powered radio. I love all types of music, wheter it be Skynard, Red Hot Chili Peppers, Zeppelin, Metallica, Snoop, hell even Kenny Chesney. I mean what greater talent is there then just putting pieces of lyrical talent together. How can people pick up a guitar, bang on the drums, play the bass, and sing the lyrics all at once and make it sound good? Truly their is no talent compared to music. Right now Zeppelin, Over the Hills and Far Away just came on. Zeppelin now there is the greatest band ever to walk on this planet. Jimmy Page and Robert Plant are pure masterminds. If anyone begs to differ then just look at the album sales!
I've gone on just about long enough and now I think it's time to turn on the PS2 and play some Metal Gear Solid, the first Metal Gear Solid for the playstation. Call me wierd but I like playing the old games better then some of the new games. I guess it's just my nature. So to all a goodnight!
I just got home off of a thirteen hour day of work and I feel that writing and sipping back on a little whiskey should do me some good while I wait for my bag of green to show up. Well work isn't too bad, I no longer work at the airport; those guys were drug testing like hell froze over and I figured I'm still young and want to have some fun yet so I quit that job. I now work at Ruby Tuesday. Yes, yes I know I'm a waiter, but before you laugh the tips are outragoues. I will easily pull in an extra hundred dollars a night on tips alone and this tends to add up when I am working four to five shifts a week. All kidding aside, I have started smoking the sweet cheeba again, but at a much slower rate. It's kind of funny because for the last six years of smoking it's been kind of a daily basis of getting just full blown stoned. Now however it does not take me hardly any weed at all and I get super stoned. I don't know if this is because I have a low tolerance or because I've just been smoking for the last seven years and maybe the process is reversing itself?
Sipping on this Jim Beam right now, and this song by Blind Melon just came on. It's called No Rain and this song is just down right awesome! Any ways, does anyone else ever wonder where in the hell have all the years gone? I remember just like it was yesterday that I was on the swingset, playing baseball with my dad, waking up and going to school,hanging out with the same group of friends, playing night games, junior high dances, art class in elementary. Now look at it I'm twenty years old and every chance the world gets it winds up and tries to give me a cheap shot! Get a job, go to school, pay loans, bills, girlfriends, allnighters, cops, feelings, emotions, friends, backstabbers. Where did all of this come from? It's like I woke up one day and the world just slapped me in the face and said here I am better get ready or be taken down! What can I do though, all I can do is get up everday and look these things in the face, take them head on, put on a smile, and say nothing is going to bring me down. It is all a process, next I will be in my late twenties out of college and on my own making a living, then the money will start coming in I hope.
I also miss my home. I miss my family (never thought I'd say that) I actually enjoy it now when the call and just want to talk on the phone. It's amazing how many things I've taken for granted in my time. For eighteen years I've been living in a luxiourious home, I've had everything I've ever wanted handed to me on a platter, but I've been blind to it all. Now that I've got a place of my own I realize how good I had it made back home. It seems like now all I want at the end of a long day is either a bowl or a couple of beers to relax me througout the evening. A little bit of good loving never hurt either.
Music sweet music where would I be without my music. Some people like to turn on the boob tube and watch TV, others like to go out to resturants and movies. Not me all I want with my spare time is my sweet music, when the vibes hit and the music is flowing there is no better feeling, especially if I've got a joint to keep my company. They can take away my cable, they can take away my heat and electricty, but I will always have my battery powered radio. I love all types of music, wheter it be Skynard, Red Hot Chili Peppers, Zeppelin, Metallica, Snoop, hell even Kenny Chesney. I mean what greater talent is there then just putting pieces of lyrical talent together. How can people pick up a guitar, bang on the drums, play the bass, and sing the lyrics all at once and make it sound good? Truly their is no talent compared to music. Right now Zeppelin, Over the Hills and Far Away just came on. Zeppelin now there is the greatest band ever to walk on this planet. Jimmy Page and Robert Plant are pure masterminds. If anyone begs to differ then just look at the album sales!
I've gone on just about long enough and now I think it's time to turn on the PS2 and play some Metal Gear Solid, the first Metal Gear Solid for the playstation. Call me wierd but I like playing the old games better then some of the new games. I guess it's just my nature. So to all a goodnight!
Get busy living or get busy dying.
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Darth Inhaler
- Bonghead
- Posts: 454
- Joined: Sun Jan 22, 2006 4:58 am
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holy shit...if you read that first one while listening to led zeppelin - No Quarter....it feels real good like you're watching a movie
i've always meant to write some stories...so I guess I'll be back here later
i've always meant to write some stories...so I guess I'll be back here later
I think drugs have done some good things for us, and if you don't believe me, do me a favor. Go home tonight and burn all your albums, tapes, and cd's. Because the musicians who made all that great music...rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrreal fucking high on drugs.
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