Free Writing Exercise #2

As promised, my second try at free writing was much better than the first. What I forgot to mention before is that spleling, grammar;   and p.unc/tuati”on. are meant to be left to the wayside when free writing. This is so that the writer will be able to write as quickly as possible and let ideas flow forth instead of pausing to make revisions. As much as it pains me to leave these untouched, their hideous mistakes need to be left alone. It’s one of the essential qualities of free writing.

Anyway, here’s a picture of two hedgehogs.


Written November 12, 2012

Free writing is a fuuny thing if you think about it. Anyway I’m gonna free write here for a bit kittens! Kittens are what popped into my head cause my cat just sat on my legs. What if there was a cat who lived in the clouds and could go anywhere? It’d be like a cat tour guide for everyone who’se flying different places and he’s have a big Cheshire cat smile but he’d be more sarcastic than creepy and his name would be milo. He’s an orange tabby with a big ol toothy grtin and a sardonic sense of humor. Like when someone asks him a dumb question like does this cloud train go to my city? The cat would be like, no, I sold you this ticket so I could take you everywhere but.
Or what if meanwhile on the ground, there’s this guy who throws paint on canvases in the street? I don’t mean lying down on the street but they’re on easels and the guy is standing on the corner of a cobblestone street and he flings paint onto cancases on the easels with a zesty flick of the wrist and sells it to the people on the street. No, he’s on a boardwalk selling his improved painings to people who’re vacationing at the beach and he has a peg leg. Wait, what? Seriously, John, a peg leg? It’s ok, go with it. No wrong answers in free writing. Yes, he has a peg leg, sure whatever. So he has this peg leg because he’s an old war vet who can’t afford a proper prosthetic and so he’s selling his Jackson Pollock paintings to raise money for a new leg and that’s why he wears a beret. Oh right I didn’t mention that before. Yeah, he wears a beret and you figure it must be because he’s an artist type and they wear berets and those funny French moustaches but no. It’s cause he wore it in the army and now it covers his head from the sun while he paints by the beach all day long and sometimes when a seagull is flying overhead it drops a splatter of white paint on his canvas and he’s like, ew a bird just pood on my painting but then some rich guy comes along who sees the painting and figures that the bird feces is just a bold new medium so offers to buy the painting for a thousand dollars cause it’s obviously going to be worth a million dollars someday and he needs a good investment because he’s not doing too well on the stock market lately and when he comes home to his overbearing wife she’s all why don’t you bring me home big money? These boobs aren’t going to pay for themselves, you know. That doctor is really choking me for every penny that I have and you need to bring home some big money, mister, so the rich guy is like I need to find a good investment and so he buys the poo painting and brings it home to show his spoiled wife and she sees through the ruse and is like, no that’s just a dumb poo painting what’s wrong with you?
So anyway the sarcastic cat cloud guy flies overhead and sees the army guy throwing paint around and swoops down and says hello, but because he’s sarcastic he also makes fun of the guy for having a peg leg right noext to the ocean like a pirate and holy crap where is this story going? At first I thought it was going to be the army guy going on a voyage with the cat guy but whre would they go and why? To get a better prosthetic leg? Why? Whre? Who would agree to that? But then when the rich guy showed up I thought that maybe he would try to hire the army guy as his personal painter to get this whole gallery of poo paintings and then the rich guy would try to have his own museum and show off the army guy to rake in big bucks, and then I thought maybe he would come to the beach again to see that the army guy was gone, cause he went off with the cloud cat and then the rich guy would fall to his knees all melodramatically and shout DOUSHITE? Which means why in Japanese. I don’t know why I put that, the guy isn’t Jpanese in my head, he’s white and has salt and pepper hair and a suit with a red hankie sticking out of the pocket. I guess it just sounded funny and admit you would think so too if this guy just fell to his knees on the boardwalk and shouted DOOOOUUUUUUSHITEEEEEE to the heavens.
So anyway I don’t know where exactly this can go after that. That was only like, three minutes of writing? Dang. Next time I shouldn’t free write right before bed. Now I’m drained. Like a faucet. Like an evil faucet that gobbles up beach goers when they’re rinsing off after coming out of the salt water. Those showers never made sense to me because they only make your feetmore attractive to the sand, so like when you shower off with that freezing cold water that only comes out for like five seconds before you have to push the button again, your body is sand free but then as soon as you take two steps in any direction both your feet are caked in sand again, even if you’re walking on concrete. How is that possible? I don’t know, how is it possible for a beach to contain more cigarette butts than there mathematically can be on the planet Earth? It’s like every alien world threw their butts in the sand over a thousand years and now we’re suffering for it. Man, it would suck for a fish to be addicted to the nicotine that seeps into the water. Could you imagine being a fish and suffering withdrawl symptoms from third-hand smoke? Like, you never see that in finding nemo or spongebob but what if a fish, who never even talks or understands addiction is just swimming cclose to the beach and has that nice… buzz? I guess? Is that what smokers get? I mean it’s not like you’re drunk. You just fee lthat stuff just coursing through your veins and you’re like, oh yeah that’s werer it’s at. I mean, is it a buzz? I don’t know. But like, fish, man.

And now ring true the words of Mark Twain that it’s better for a man to be considered a fool than for him to open his mouth and remove all doubt. My last paragraph ended with the words “fish, man.” That’s some deep stuff right there. I’m expecting a call from Mensa any minute now. OK, I’m going to end this session because all I’m doin is rambling. What I was going to type next was wondering why Mensa is called what it is, since mensa means table in Latin and, I think, month in Spanish. This is supposed to be a creative exercise, mister. Not a rant about fish and tables. That was pretty much lost after the third paragraph. So, good try old chap. Better luck next time.


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