dousing
hail
toy boat
skies
get better
uncover
island
vessel
balls

We needed a vessel for all the balls we had. We went outside because we thought it was raining. We did not get doused because, really, it wasn't raining. It was hailing. The sputterer went on and on about how he hates that hail is always the size of something. Walnut-sized. Fist-sized. Baseball-sized. Marble-sized. He went on and on. He grew moustaches on the side of his head.

She made a toy boat for herself. Then she made another one. Then she took the one sky and multiplied it until there were hundreds of them. Smoked dope behind a Dumpster. This is when she uncovered her doll's breast, only to reveal a compartment with balls in it. The doll was a vessel for balls. I went to an island for a medical vacation. I could have had the operation in the States, but, for the same price, I learned I could go to an island--get my operation from someone who was almost a doctor--and get a vacation in the bargain. In the days leading up to my surgery, I would be able to lounge. I would be able to get sand in my crevices. I would be able to backfloat on the ocean and wait for any of my three children to swim up to me. They would want to know if I wanted to come back in. And how long until we get to fly the kites?

cheeks
visible
flushed
underthings
skilled
red hair
pronouns
sacrifice
which

She might have been unskilled and had red hair. And had red hair. Her shoulders flushed. The chest between her breasts flushed. She saw some mound rising on the horizon. At first, the mound looked to me smaller than a house--but soon it was many stories. She had a hydraulic wood-splitter she could use to chop her wood. She poured a concrete slab and thumbed quarters into it. Those quarters. She sacrificed her lunch for a better dinner. When she looked to one side, she saw a mound. When she looked to another side, she saw a frame with people hanging inside. The largest frame built and people hanging in it. It was my job to say what the structure was and whether or not the story was cliched. My advise was to do a freewrite. Some research. To surprise. To put dough over your eyes and hope something sets in. For some reason, I put a photo of a horse with a long mane in her mailbox. That morning, I saw her coming out of a house. She stepped on a lawn, and, right away, I wished that lawn were aflame and that she was rolling on it. Later, I went to a Red Sox game. Got inebrio on Alize. The point of it was that I read fifty pages and didn't get to a point or a theme. These pieces of writing are small.

You're to find a fucking topic. Melville found a fucking great topic in the whaling industry. You are to write about a topic because--look at you--you have so much torment and turmoil in your life. Look at all the deep pain in your family. Look at how they hit each other with larger and larger branches for generations. Why is it that all your write is so short? It is because you do not have a topic that's as good as the whaling industry or the killing fields or desertification.

So I've decided not to post anymore. I will not post again. Another post, to me, would represent a lapse in what I've already decided. I have decided not to post anymore. I won't post again. I will post,,,but then I won't post. I will post,,,but then I'll erase it. There will not be another post. Another post will not be there. My motivations have to do with my not wanting to post and my not feeling as though I can post. Are you okay? I just read your blog. Why won't you post? What happened to the posting? There will be no more posting. Now, I know you all looked forward to posts--to my posting. But, what had been your looking forward will now have to be your looking back. I have set a record for gerund use. There was a woman once who spoke in gerunds. A gerund is a verbal noun and looks like a participial or the main verb in the present progressive verb formation. I do not know how to play the piano. I do not know how to lay concrete. I do not know how to twist wire into my name. Sometimes, when I have the desire to post, I stop myself by thinking of the things I can't do with my hands.

He saw a clot. I took the train to Vermont. He took the train. He smelled allspice. He would like to see the lake without the reflection of anything in it. The bustle of the house he lives in. The chaos. The clatter. I cannot write much of anything. I do not know how to write. These are not good sentences--sentences that come one out of the other. I took five bags of clothes down into the basement. The landlord had to put an oil heater in the basement. He put it near a pipe that easily froze. In the basement, a person put lots of electrical equipment. This is not good writing. Good writing is not this. It is not easy to write anything. To write anything is not easy. What they say is that sometimes you have to write a page to get to a pages. Sometimes you have to write and erase three paragraphs. Try to have few cohesive ties in the middle of the paragraph--but then put lots of ties between paragraphs. I will try that in my next five minutes. I could never do it in these five minutes. I drove down to Mississippi to sleep in a tent and sell fireworks. I was in a bad neighborhood--but no one tried anything.

I have this knot that I would like to toss off the dock. He threw the lemon into the buoyant hat. I was giddy about the pack that had its arms at its sides. She was defeated because the escapist duped her into thinking he had escaped when he hadn't. When amnesia is the thing that's most on your mind, you should ask yourself if you're being modest and, for the night, forecast your dreams. See them as a whorl in the air near your head. After they had all forgiven me, I was forewarned of a nirvanic trance. This is a world without end. This is the cutter, the biter. These front teeth of mine are the biters. It is unfortunate that they are so thin. That they are so thin is unfortunate. The manslayer found herself, again, at a keyboard. She controlled the boilers. She controlled the answers for the evening's progamme. She had a mother. She wore a tan uniform. This is the plant I cannot eat. I cannot eat this plant.

I have lost all interest in the five minute write. It is not that I am one to launch a freight of mice in the hellbent lambent cry of mania in the tall woman's throat of ventricles. The sycamore is not a tree I would like to write about. Once in a sycamore I was glad and I sang and I would never want to write a line like that. I would like to find an antecedent. I do not know enough about language to use it. Each sentence here is boring. I do not like writing these simple sentences. I do not know how to write sentences that could be otherwise. Got hit by a car. Broke an arm. Writhed on the hardwood. I listened to the floor. I listened to the snow. I listened to what I thought was a peach heyday. I thought I knew where there would be a panmixea. I thought there would be a big breed, but there wasn't one in the micro fission blast fake your madre in the fought brat broken she is not madre she would like to break the window by tossing a crab through it the session was making me giggle in the dramamine skyline dinner final of the montreal vibraphone the vibes on the basketball court they all sound like they are posing a question the pose of the question

5 MWE--his neck was open and his adam's apple looked like a kneee

There were small harnesses, and I was told that small horses would be strapped into them. This gave me time to woodshed for a little bit. I woodshedded most of the day--at least, when it was light enough for me to see. Once I no longer was able to see, I made sure to negate what bark I had in my mouth with a funnel. I cut the funnel apart. The game was to first make a mobius strip. I next asked the class what they thought would happen if I cut it. I asked them what they thought would happen if I cut it again. This was when I was on my island of Ascension. Here, I had a cape I had made of hibiscus petals and the breasts of small birds. I had shards of obsidian. I never thought that I would be able to throw a rock to where it would sink. This is my right arm. My arm was a test model yet what I wanted toknow was the I made my head on the light iof my only frined give.

I woodshedded for a while before I put out all the laundry I had. It all flapped like sad flags. Get me some lonely jewels that I can chill in a small bowl of wood. Now, let me say that I have never seen a crayon. Have you seen a wax one. It's what I should have done but didn't. What I used to do was climb the rock wall in the restaurant. I was told to stop--but not because what I was doing was dangerous. No, what I was doing was increasingly irritating to all that wondered who could have ever propelled himself upward so quickly. The anti venin was no longer being made.

They used to make anti venin, but they no longer did. The anti venin was for coral snakes. My grandmother had ordered oranges from Florida. What she didn't know was that that box had a pregnant coral snake in it. She went down to get an orange and got bit by the mother. She asphyxed. Then that thing had her babies. It was not what any of us could have constructed. This is what was floated. That was understood by no one. Consequently, we retched into a cooler. Then, afterward, consequently, we wrapped the chain of an outdoor swing around the neck of a man who could have been a convict but wasn't.

American Idioms from le Fin de Terre

Jump down my throat.

Vault down my neck. Remove my neck--with it open, it looks like a knee--and throw it across a canal. The canal has eel in it--times, we fish for them. Times, we push the unsuspecting into the canal. These unsuspecting then put their heels or toes in bad hollows and get bit by eels. The eels have locking mechs in their jaws. Hurry down my throat because, if you do so, you will get down to my bowels where all the output from the glitter factory is. This man owned a glitter factory. Jerk yourself toward my neck. I would like to see that.

*They clothed me and gave me money. **We shot horses because they were wild and sold their hair to the makers of hats. The hat guild. The guild of hatters that met in a house with boarded windows. The windows were not boarded up. They were boarded--but by whom? Why, by a man who had a small tv under his arm. As he hammered, he caught glimpses of the soaps. Was Phoebe Tyler on this one? If she was on this one, then she might have to fret about taking care of the ghost of her mother in a church.

Spill the beans.

Spill not a bean--if I tell you this. Spill these beans. Spill those beans. The haricot verts are fucked up this season. I didn't have sperm in my scrotum. I had blackfish.

I put some of my blackfish in a petri dish. Then, I put lighterfluid into that selfsame dish and lit the entire with a homemade match. Do not bung the beans if you're going to watch a matinee. What's weird is that, when you go to a matinee, it is light outside. The beans have streamed. The beans have killed the pigs. We poured beans and beans over the pigs until they drowned in the beans. We wondered if the pigs could eat themselves alive, but they couldn't. Too many beans spilled over pigs is certainly, we discovered, a breed of death.

*I knew what the money was for, it was to get me started. **A comma splice. I had no grease left, it was gone. I did not know what epinard meant, it was a word of which I had no ready definition. This is not a grammatical error. This error is what could be called a pile of epinard I wear as hair. Our goal was to make a toy submarine out of certain materials not ordinarily thought of as appropriate for water.

Pay through the nose.

Pay across many noses, okay. What we have here is lots of noses. Lost of people are on the ground. You simply have to throw your pennies over them. We made little coffins out of balsa wood and put them up our noses. We put them in our ears and said eulogies. We will say a little eulogy for each one. Pay unobstructed through the nose. I paid upon a nose--but never though about how clogged up its pores were. I squeezed noodles of dark greaze out of my invalid father's nose. This was his payment to me. He had spoiled me when I was young. He had said that I was his legacy. Once I got horrible acne, though, he had a more difficult time seeing me as his romantic legacy.

*When it was gone I would have to get more, if I wanted to go on. **Nice sounds here. No comma separating the intro dependent clause from the following independent clause. No dashes. When she named our child Vucan I knew we were going to be apart for the next year, if I couldn't make sense of our son's name. After she ignored my slobbering on the inside of her legs I felt I should offer an apology, if I wanted to light more candles and drip them onto her window sill. The problem is that I don't know how this sentence works.

Wet blanket.

First, I dampened the blanket. Then, I wrapped it around my brother. I got a corner of it deep in his mouth. When I poured oil on the sheet, it got clear. I could see through it. The sheet was wet not with water but with lubricant.

5 MWE--the old farceur and his improbable repartee

I stepped over what I thought to be a stench. This was when my odor was affected by the wind. That table could have been shortened by removing its leaves. This table is something I inherited. That one small finch is something I don't want to inherit. She was callow. She was crude. She sat on a dock and held her head down at oily water. It was the brightest moon in fifteen years--and we won't see another one so bright for another twenty. What is the dischord you can bring to a life? Name a machine. A snowmobile. Name a facial expression. The grimace. Name a tree. The tree that was sick--and we had to cut it down though we resisted doing such a thing for ten years. She was barefaced when she lied. She was not disguised. She took a class that showed her how to make her face look bruised. She had putty for lumps and plastic liguid for blood. He did not want to be called a barber. He wanted to be called a composer. A figaro. All that's tonsorial. We had angler fish, and they provided the light.

The mercury of the dog. She drank brack, and I never asked her to share it. When she lost her animals, she was concerned not so much with whether or not they'd come back. She worried they'd come back much more crushable than they were before. He launched the limb he had found. After he launched the limb, he found that he could no longer shake hands with Busiris or Poseidon. Also, she was fountaining. Besides, he didn't know how to fit the beanleaves into the small fish. Barring the slashing of his face, he was ready to have his picture taken. Hence, she had her hat between her legs. Howbeit, never once did I shake hands with a palm that was not both clammy and greased. Yea, I had not one kingcup to give to anyone. Get this Buttinski away from me. As I spoke with a woman on a corner, this Buttinski came between us. He camped. He wanted to know if I had sold all my bog violet, when, of course, he knew I hadn't. This was well-publicized. This was nothing but a bungling of the dozens of wards I had to date.

I spy--with my little eye--my posterity. This child sits in the crotch of a tree and makes wishes. This child, earlier, had sat with me on a couch. He had put his head against my arm and had spoken something to me in--I think--Spanish. Je pense que tue est une vaste plaque--mais, au contraire, je te vree dans la boulangerie, I responded. My best French. My youth had been spent on a steamship. My boyhood had been spent on wood. My adulthood--now, this is what I have little to no control of. I walk on bricks when I can, but, at times, I look at the what my feet have been doing. I was sick of her villainy. Her jockeyism. This is my time to answer the fowl with a question. Dear Chickens--which of you would like to have me put pins in your eyes? Which of you are up for stupefaction? The gagman had to give a presentation to us as punishment. He had painted himself gray because he had wanted to be a mouse. He broke a plate to cut his stake. This is sharper than any knife. The horse he bet on was Elliott Bay. Now, this is the culminate. The culminate woman on her fountain. In the fountain was a seat.