Six Word Theater

Six Word Theater


Click here for last week's entry.

Inspired by the challenge Hemingway undertook to tell a story
in six words("For Sale: baby shoes. Never worn.”), I attempt
to polish my skills by telling a six-word story or phrase each
Wednesday.

Feel free to "continue the story" or start your own.

Today's entry:


First drafts are all I write.


-Adam Barnick

The Post 5am Post

I'm trying to remember...

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-Peter Rinaldi

Bedbugs XXXVIII

Bedbugs XXXVIII



Click here for an explanation of how Bedbugs is created.

Click here for last week's Bedbugs.



Hidden mental poisons threaten to creep in as soon as we’re sure of
ourselves and our rightness and our confidence- keep away from
all of us is what we want to shout back but it’s already been
released and it’s time for torrents of doubt and traveling back
to seventeen years of age. Now the phone’s ringing and
interrupting me as the solemn piano plays on in my dusty head.
Outisde the fifth floor window the necktied ants shuffle until
someone tells them to play dead. Routine for numbing each layer
consists of Monday through Friday and occasionally longer. You
can’t find wood decays faster with intention as little shadows with
teeth start breaking in. Bits of sharp metal are stuck in your life.
One prick and the rust sets in until after retirement. Painting the
room a different color still leaves you in the same place, just
delusional. Now come and see what I have for you, turn off the
TV and don’t sleep when you’re told. I don’t care how many
colors you paint to watch over me. I don’t need them or you.
Surprising her the mood lightens on the fifth hour that you keep
clean. Make plans but don’t act on them. Be subversive by being
successful. Love the right one, might want to listen to that one.
Stop playing victim or pretending you’re legend in your own little
house.


Next week’s seven phrases/groups of words:


-Perfect weather in these times
-Friendship contracted under duress
-Eye contact forbidden during his rant
-Come and keep me warm
-I’ll have a cup of your coffee
-asphyxiate aurally while holding your breath
-wasting time with a purpose


-Adam Barnick

Six Word Theater

Six Word Theater

Click here for last week's entry.

Inspired by the challenge Hemingway undertook to tell a story
in six words("For Sale: baby shoes. Never worn.”), I attempt
to polish my skills by telling a six-word story or phrase each
Wednesday.

Feel free to "continue the story" or start your own.

Today's entry:


Window's broken..
Masked figure inside.
"HEL-"



-Adam Barnick

Start Talking: Melissa King

Every episode will have a different person sit in front of the camera as I announce their character name and a brief description of them as if they were a guest on my program via satellite, except the person has absolutely no idea who they are playing or what I am going to ask until the words come out of my mouth. At which point they have to, simply, Start TalKING.

Guest: Melissa King


-Peter Rinaldi


Check out other episodes of Start Talking -
Start Talking #1: Timmy Cassese
Start Talking#2: Jonathan Roumie

Bedbugs XXXVII

Bedbugs XXXVII


Click here for an explanation of how Bedbugs is created.

Click here for last week's Bedbugs.


As soon as she and one of us and the rest who get a chance to
do so, the 'victim act' starts up again and drains everyone around
them until the color is gone from their flesh. Knowing mechanical
emotion brought forth in spurts of implanted inspiration tries to
fool everyone tied down into thinking it's real. I don't look into my
past anymore. Too many reasons, clouds gathering upstairs and
eventually I'll have to move out. Weekends become the hiding time
and Mondays the day you spin fiction describing how your life
is the one you wanted to lead. Across hiding in the open field is
your conscience..waiting for you to stop wasting its time.
Underneath her eyes are intentions and revelations coming
out in each curve of a lip; but you can't even look at her so
you miss the point as does everyone else. Clouded heads turn
the words into something found at the bottom of a bucket.
Spill it all over a white room and call it 'art.' Some idiot somewhere
will pay you for it. I'm lucky enough to wake up again. But
give anything to turn it back seems to be the mantra, realizing
there's no way to earn a past change in one's life. March on
before the house burns down. Somewhere at the end of this
field's road is something better that's not molded from toxic
material, rounded up and they're filled with absolute joy.



Next week's seven phrases/groups of words:



-keep away from all of us
-the phone's ringing and interrupting me
-routine for numbing each layer
-wood decays faster with intention
-come and see what I have for you
-the mood lightens on the fifth
-legend in your own little house


-Adam Barnick

The Post 5am Post

MWM said tonight:

"If you never recognized the greatness of what you had when you had it, or even fully know what it was that you had, then how could it be true that 'you don't know what you have till it's gone'?"

There are only two answers to this:

1) In the "true reality" (as opposed to the reality of your consciousness) you were actually experiencing that which you had, in full appreciation, and you just didn't "know" it because your conscious mind (with all of it's filters and egos and fog) was clouding it, until, when you actually lost it, you were "shocked" out of the cloud of your "ego reality" and had a realization (albeit fleeting because the "ego reality" has to come flowing back) of the greatness of the experience, person, or thing.

2) It's not true. You'll never know.

-Peter Rinaldi