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Weekly Contest #84
I open the gilded leather bound notebook, its pages made of beautiful heavy textured handmade paper. Oh I could write thousands of words about the paper I was writing thousands of words on. What would be the point you would think? What's the point of anything when the world has crumbled. Am I being too dramatic? Well ok let's say the world has crumpled - like a ball of paper squeezed in the hands of a child. The world is as small as the living room that I sit in. The world is the couch I rest my potato behind on, while potato chips lay scatt...
Weekly Contest #82
How is a creator supposed to feel when they are bested by their own creation?The right feeling, the most proper and appropriate feeling of course is one of selfless pride stemming from unconditional love.But at their core, all artists are human.An artist craves recognition and attention.An artist craves to be understood.So what happens when this attention is snatched away from them?What happens when the painting jumps out of the painter's canvas and proceeds to make a painting the likes of which no one has even seen before?The sniveling, gru...
Weekly Contest #81
He sighs and shakes the can of spray paint vigorously. It is a sheer drop down to the busy highway below, and the suspended rampart he stands on swings madly in the wind. The longer he thinks about it, the longer he would have to think about it. He starts spraying:Spray my brains Spray my soulSpray my heart Across this wallFor life was onceSunshine and goldBut is nowDrudgery and coldMark me love's latest victimJoy drawn, quartered, and soldShe sighs and brings her goggles down over her eyes as the plane begins to make its ascent. It is a cle...
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