🖋 Writing Journal

All my writing journal entries

• My Medium Posts
• Character Ideas
• 💡 Ideas and Idea Jotter

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Logged

• #on/writingjournal she flew out of bed with sorcerer transition, jumped into her combat boots and a mini skirt, slithered into a
• #on/writingjournal She was hired for the sole purpose of stealing a glance at the highest bidder, no matter who it was the guilt would be traced back to a sequence of events they couldn't possibly foresee. The night before the auction she met a twenty something graduate student in the dressing room. She fumbled with colors of sex and desire in the curtained hallway. Someone in the same mood tossed a love red bra over the hardly concealing curtain and clocked a set of clear inquiring eyes pass by. Fingers slid the silky satin divider and her heart cried for mercy.
• #on/writingjournal her long frail fingers, with battle cries inscribed upon the knuckles, ripped the burning chrome door handle to it's limit, inviting the coo of soft bodies to tear through the shock and plight of the outside. In a voice all but running away from her lips a grounding fair-trade blend slithered up, inside.
• 01:05 #on/writingjournal the ol'factory memory clanged while what remained of the recycling center blazed, forged a new but beaten path. The phone calls danced on the silver swirls oozing out from under the locked door, the floor swelling of heat beneath these feet that have seen too much, laid rest on disobedient necks gasping for orders. He chuckled at the burn of fueling each consecutive arson with increasing denominations of cold hard cash.
• #on/writingjournal waves of corpses infiltrate my dreams, and my backyard, the grave keepers garden.
• #on/writingjournal in the year ahead millions of human lives will be tossed to the wayside at the behest of the demons sipping Alize on their gem stone thrones. A population of glazey-eyed dejected worker ants forced to kiss the spray tanned toes of oligarchs led to an unforeseen turn of events. In fact, many are comparing the affirmative poisoning to the second coming of Christ if Jesus spent the past millennium spinning slowly for some high school summer jobber chewing neurogum and blasting his naked body with a hot new tanning formula.
• #on/writingjournal coalesce space between us, strattle it, harness the inseparable reproductive power to multiply, begrudge the tyranny of dolla dolla bills, slide into the speakeasy thru the secret hole in the puddle, bring a camera and some scratch offs, tonight's the night we fight to maintain celibacy, before we get fucked. brushed up against the bearded loose lipped tavern, refreshing for "notice of intent to evict (draft)", under it all it smells the same as the first time I smoked a Benjamin for views, daddy track marks would be jealous, belt the line about that war is bad, and roll up her goodbyes so it can run its course and black my lungs.
• #on/writingjournal Deputy Fenton lobbed his precious donut at the store window when he saw who was peering through the opposite side of the glass. He made the split second decision, the type you learn from years of training and experience, to cock his weapon, aim the barrel down the hole where the donut stuck, smearing the pretty face like her makeup from the tears after he pulled the trigger. Glass shards littered the ground with different angles of the same scene, some covered in blood, some sprinkles.
• #on/writingjournal Becoming the top brass in any field is never easy, shit it's hardly possible. But I met a guy at the laundromat with three eyes, one of which leered at the sexy cash register chick while the other two sized me up, scoping out the size of my pockets for any chump change. It was easy to see he wasn't all there but i had half an hour to kill so we got to talking and soon enough we had a plan drawn up. The plan wasn't important, the girl at the register was. Tilly Winters the ex model blacklisted for clawing the eyes out of a red carpet photographer related to some sleazy fashion industry head honcho.
• #on/writingjournal The calming effect of staring into her eyes, through the flames, the crowd, the darkness, allowed me the faculty to escape the shame, even if for a few soft seconds. An alarm shuttered and the ground jolted beneath, the digital red numbers on the floor indicator shuffled at random, scarring the moment with a hot coal of panic. Beer spilled and her friends giggled. Eyes peered in through the cracked door as the cramped cage plummeted. She wore a mascara that sucked up the night and a smile disconnected from her body.
• #on/writingjournal Mi amor skates the surface between a life of drug use in perpetuity and the amateur free jazz trio asleep at the horn.
• #on/writingjournal Crawling. That's the only way to put it. The news of her chronic illness turned acute infection sent my skin into military mode.

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