oneword: deep

whenever someone says they don't like people who "try" to be deep i am instantly offended. because how can you really tell if someone is "trying" to be deep, or if they really just are? i mean, don't we all have the capacity? isn't it just a choice as to whether or not we take things on surface level, or if we read between the lines?

oneword : deep

The beat sounds at a steady pace while she stands on the moving platform. She’s awaiting her next destination also known as mission impossible, except without the guns or the spies. Suddenly, the platform that appeared flat starts moving downwards. Faster and deeper. Almost like a flip book or those advertisements that appear in motion on the metro, the speed of the platform are like the images that she holds tightly since they seem so fleeting. These images... she holds close since she knows her thoughts easily become images, which are almost real enough touch. The beat and sounds increase with the addition of a few images that are momentarily holding their presence for
just
a
little
bit
longer.

oneword: deep

push harder. move faster. dig deeper. i ignored those words for so long, valuing idleness and constancy over progress and change. i kept my wings tucked in close because i was too afraid of flying without directions. fuck road maps. i am doing this my way.


and it makes me wonder...

maybe i have only scratched the surface of my potential.

wordcount #1: the

The best. The one. The life. The answer. ThetheTHEThE.

The finality of things lingers in my thoughts. It pollutes my breath. It stalls my dreams.

How do paradoxes work? And why do I love them so? There are infinite options and unlimited roads to take in life, and each of us makes these choices every second of every day. But a little demon exists, an itty-bitty nymph hanging over our heads. It nags, it harrasses, it tugs on last nerves. It whines at that supersonic, almost inaudible decible: "Did you make THE right decision? Did you say THE right thing? Did you play THE game by THE rules?"

With ear drums throbbing, I take said itty-bitty nymph, I sit him down, and I force him to look at the word. We write it down and then we slice it up. We imprint the ink on silly putty and stretch it apart. We use paint and smear it around. After a few hours of this play, he stops the whining. His angst calms to a purr.

We realize that the finality of things is maleable. As is life. And I'm ready to stretch and bend and blend and break and send my decisions, my messages in a messy, sometimes unpredictable package.

Me and my nymph, we've come to an understanding: There is no THE RIGHT WAY for me. There is only MY WAY. Si?

wordcount #3: and

connection. bringing it all together. i see this word sprouting between us. between you and me and her and she and he and everything. i blink a few times and let it come back into focus. to check and make sure it's real. thankful and inspired it seems, these writers all here, and somehow sharing the same dreams. it truly has begun.

wordcount #1 and #2

The

The time had come for me to face that demon. To see him. With her. They've become a them, two individual identities merged into the one they are when they are together. I think it was the final step I needed to get over it. I felt the kind of relief that only comes when you see that their life together is nowhere near as good as mine has been alone.

Of

I watched a school of fish cross the length of a creek last night. Nature, perfectly in sync with itself. Their bodies moving with an innate knowledge of one another. A collective mass moving together, like a water comet streaking across the reflected sky.

It is funny that those fish understood each other so completely and fluidly, while we can't get going in one direction together long enough to accomplish much of anything.

Catching up

One Word: Daisy

Wasnt' that Donald duck's girlfriend? Not even the cartoon characters, with no pants and webbed feet, are safe from partnering off in this world.


Wordcount #1: The

The fear inside is not really of the other person, its of failing again to do the one thing that needs to be done. Without fixing the thing in my life that is utterly broken, I will die, but I have the most amazing shot to fix it. I haven't done it yet, because I have been afraid of the same conversation with the same end, and I couldn't stand another defeat like that. To fail myself and others is not okay with this one. Failure is not an option. The only option is to stare to fear in the eye, and fix this for real.

Wordcount # 2: OF

Of all of the things I am, I am not quite sure that creative or writer is one of them. Tortured soul, guitar player, music lover, singer (in the shower), head scratcher, workaholic (doesn't matter the job), and bartender...those are all things that I am sure of...its everything else that I am a little iffy on.

wordcount #2: of

i've got a preposition for you. just stop. stop all of it. stop the mixed modifications and calculated compliments. stop lying your way through the shambled remains of your childhood fantasies. stop waiting around and just go build it. find the souls who mirror your desires and don't let them run away this time. and stop answering the calls of those souls who fool you into thinking that you will gain from all you give but only leave you drained and unsure everything you ever believed in.

wordcount #1: the

the end. the beginning. the time... is now. we add so much importance. emphasis. with just a finite title.

label me, oh identifying identifier. sound me out, spell me slowly and use me in a proper sentence.

maybe then... and only then... will this she find the he.

wordcount: an explanation

WordCount™ is an interactive presentation of the 86,800 most frequently used English words.

I think the site is brilliant. You can look up any word and find out how commonly used it is. So far, it has kept my vernacular very humble.

But why plug this site right now? And why on this blog?

Because in the amazing swell of activity we have seen over the past few days, I have found myself wanting even more. One word every day or so is just not enough.

So I plan on going through wordcount. oneword at a time.

True, we won't have the fancy timer. Or the hundreds of other participants. But still... the challenge to write something extraordinary inspired by the most ordinary of sources?

It sounds like something this group might just be capable of.

oneword: daisy

petal by petal, this game we play with ourselves. trying to control the feelings of someone else. we tug in hopes of drowning out the fear of the unknown. that fifty percent chance of rejection and failure. we desperately plead with the cosmos to give us what we THINK we want. instead of appreciating what we are feeling and giving to someone else... it always comes back to whether or not we are getting anything out of it.

oopsy.

oneword: daisy

Daisy pokes her head out of the dry, crusted ground. Gasping for air. Longing for light. She stretches the limbs that have been cramped and encased, nearly dead, feeling the blood start to flow again. Feeling the lungs open up again. She begins to feel the air, to breathe it in. She begins to grow, live, bloom.

Her sometimes too-proud blossom faces the all-powerful sun and soaks in the warm energy deprived her for so long.

And she sighs to herself, "It's about time."

oneword: daisy

Love me, love me not. I wasted too much time listening to the petals.

If life was really like the movies, we'd pick the perfect flower with the perfect number of petals to give us that perfect answer about our "perfect" love.

That daisy was my last hope. Those petals, my last attempt to grab hold of something I had spent so much time nurturing. But plants don't grow in a world of half-sunlight and partial showers. Neither did I. Neither did we.

oneword: substance

this major thing lacking from a life less ordinary that has become routine, boring, mundane. the piece of me that has been hidden away while NOT being me. something major that someone major still brings to my life on a daily basis even though I ditched her. two letters carry so much of it, after not speaking for a while...h.i.
Hi. also quite possibly what is missing from this post.

oneword: substance

Abuse. But by whom? Do I abuse the fact that I know alcoholism runs in my family? Or does the substance really just abuse me?

And in the process of all of this meaningless, mindless thinking, have I lost the point entirely? How do I find my substance again?

oneword: substance

It is something that I dread. I cannot think of anything I'd rather not do. Cat poo. And it's all mine, now that she went and got knocked up. And why can't pregnant women clean the litter? What, a little cat poo is going to make my kid a dumbass or something? Pretty sure my ancestors came from goat farms and I kan shtill sfell.

oneword: substance

i think about it and you and i and us every single day. i think about what you chose over me and the monster that i became. about how i could never join you in that world... because you wouldn't let me. how you pegged me into the role of this innocent little girl and how you used that shit to try and escape me. you somehow kept it just out of reach and held it against me... all at the same time. you told me everything i had ever been paranoid about was true. and i may never be able to forgive you -- no -- forgive myself for trying to love you anyway. even though i knew it wasn't right.

oneword: substance

Wake up, roll over, get out. This was meaningless...again. Feet hit the cool floor, one look back at the sleeping mound left behind, then quick! scoot! out the door.

He merely existed. A three-dimensional substance, draped in blankets, one foot hanging off the end of the bed, dragging through the murky water of whatever we were supposed to be.

one word: radiate

and as the heat escapes, it hovers in the air above. i guess you could say that it radiates like the beating of my heart for you and a hopeful love. but i am a jaded and paranoid dove, having been pushed and shoved and misguided and misused and taken advantage of. so there is no doubt that i will push you away. and the heat inside will only sweat for my own heart and my own blood until a tomorrow that may only ever be a "someday."

one word: century

thinking of time longer than i'll ever see and things bigger than i'll ever be. it makes me hope that this isn't it. that there isn't just one chance. that it is all connected. that the puzzle is so big that we need more than one go-round to piece it all together.