four people get together. Put scrabble words together however you’d like. Write something in fifteen minutes using the words you create. We created: Box, Both, Half, Owl, Hope, Sex, Sing, Nut, Oat, Told, Dorms, PJs, Mug, Glow, Wig
“If I told you once I told you a thousand times – stop putting your wig on my pet owl!” screamed Timothy.
“Listen, asshole. Who is the freak who steals my sister’s PJs and sings Whitney Houston covers on YouTube?” replied Paul..
Timothy said, “Bitch, I’m famous in these dorms! I’m a YouTube partner! I got loans to pay!”
Timothy and Paul were roommates. They were both 19 years old and studying at Uni. Timothy’s dad owned a bird sanctuary – the owl was just one of many birds his family took care of. Paul was an accounting major.
“And another thing,” Timothy added, “Can we please just buy lightbulbs for the room? I’m so tired of trying to read with glow stick lighting.” Their dorm room had glow sticks duct-taped to the walls.
“Glow sticks for lighting looks so cool and you know it,” Paul said.
“Yeah OK but it freaks out the owl sometimes,” said Timothy.
“No, that’s the psytrance music. But I hope we can agree to keep that going, at least.”
Timothy lectured, “For sure, psytrance is legit. OK, look, I know I cross dress as the opposite sex, but man, look at the times we live in! Student loan debt is higher than Tommy Chong in a skyscraper on April 20th. We need to think outside the box to solve our problems.”
Paul replied, “True. I don’t know, dude. Hey, I know your owl loves oats, but why do you have to feed him out of my favorite coffee mug?”
“Your mug has pictures of trees and forests on it. He likes it. It’s the only way I can get him to eat these days. Besides, I only use it half the time. The other times I let him roam free, hunting mice and other wild game.”
“But Paul,” Timothy inserted, “Why do you even have a wig? Why do you put it on my owl?”
Paul said, “I think it’s hilarious, dude.”
“I guess. But it’s animal cruelty, in a way.”
Paul added, “Also, I think it’s hot as fuck! I bust a nut just thinking about your owl with long flowing hair!”
“Take a joke, bro. Let’s dance to psytrance.”
Brobro. Number one stunna. Inspiration my whole life. If my second grade students always had their choice of activity, they would be running around and laughing at the playground till they passed out, inventing games on the spot, or silently sitting and concentrating on artwork or reading a book. These are all natural states of being. Everyone loves to hear stories and play and create, especially happy for the teacher if that play results in the students’ successful acquisition of the material being taught. It feels good to learn new things. The kids remind me of us as little kids, always running around or doing something wild. Jiu-Jitsu. Practicing wrestling moves from WWF. Improv games. Matt’s Pizza. Creating voices/characters out of stuffed animals (Mutsy/Fluffy Sunshine/Spike/the Baby characters/etc.) Getting totally pissed off at each other and then laughing five minutes later. Doesn’t really seem like too long ago in the grand scheme of things. You were like four years old and I knocked your tooth out. But no matter what we were always on the same team.
Bro love to the max. Beyond bro hugs – super bro hugs. I love you just for being my best friend my whole life. We share the same mind, we share the same blood. We’ve applied ourselves in different degrees to slightly different things. But at the core we’re the same.
If scientists took your musk and put it in a cologne bottle and I had to do a blind Pepsi Challenge to guess your smell, I’d guess right even if I had a cold and couldn’t smell anything. But I can smell you, bro. It’s like familial vibes. You’re a powerful mass moving through space, creating attractive gravitational waves and making a positive difference in the lives of others. My spirit runs up the stairs and hugs you – super bro hugs. You’re the light in this big crazy scene. I know we are more than just our physical bodies, but it’s still really important to take care of our temples, our bodies. You inspire me with that. So that’s reason #2 why I love you – you smell inspirationally great.
3rd reason why I love you is we balance each other out. We are each others senseis and pupils. You’re the drummer and I’m the guitarist. You sit on the right side of the car backseat and I sit on the left. We can tea time chill on a chilly night and chill out experiencing synchronicities and watching shooting stars. We can put our minds together and stop hurricane winds. Warriors in the garden.
I love you brother.
Sunday mornings are a day of rest
Snuggling tight in a cozy nest
Unless you’re the dude in the Thai Style hat
Moving around from this to that
Shoveling dirt on a massive pile
He’s been working for a while
But no mud stack can compare to my love for you
A tower of affection rising to the sky blue
If love could be measured in mounds of dirt
We would need to fill up the entire Earth
If you were an outdoor fire hydrant,
I’d build you a wooden house to protect you from rain.
If you were an air conditioning unit,
I would still build you a wooden shelter to guard you from the elements.
And yet, if you were actually an electrical circuit breaker,
responsible for all manner of lightbulb functionality,
I would proudly and joyfully construct for you
a shield made of chopped tree parts, or wood,
and surround you with protection from invaders.
Such is my love for you,
that you may rest easy outside, in case something happens,
like if there’s a fire, you can put it out,
or if it gets hot you can keep us cool,
or if there’s an electrical malfunction, you’re on it, already.
And I assure you that you’ll be safe.
You have a home. A cozy wooden home.
The wall clock isn’t hanging on the wall. The wall clock rests on top of the audio speaker placed stage-right adjacent to the television. A series of negative taunts becomes my reality. I breathe and don’t expect anything. The tick and tock of the clock beats with an entrancing pulse. Rhythm adjusts the vibrations. The room itself hums in silent congruent resonance. The reverb of my breath shakes away a certain feeling and allows proper tuning. What was it that was getting at me? A sound! I turn around and see nothing but my own laughter. How easily startled! So becoming of faith and foolishness! The wall clock stares at the ceiling. Oh, yes. The rhythm hasn’t stopped. The AA battery will only last so long, but alas, what worry have I tonight? Verily, a man who checks his wristwatch with impulsive rapidity would do well to avoid positions of high authority, lest he enter la vie un Sheol in a paranoid, self-induced slavery. Truly I tell you, the man who measures his days is wise, but obsession with temporal materializations is the methodology of fools. The clock cannot be seen but still ticks in perfect time. Sure, you have to reach around the back and set the time manually. And what good is it to set the time manually if the battery is depleted? Will you set the time? Will you keep checking the time? Hark, the clock may run slow or fast! Do you consider this problematic? A lad late to the date makes a mate quite mad. Will you be tolerated? Can you even tolerate yourself? Are you able to tolerate the tick? Do you have the ability to handle the tock? There is a piece of melted dark chocolate sitting right on the clock face. The chocolate is still edible, but the devil himself cowers at the increased difficulty of removing melted chocolate from its foil wrapper. Oh, yes. The rhythm continues. Such sensation! A sinless sensation! What could compare? Distraction here, and distraction there, there’s distractions everywhere! A chirp! A knock! A candle that burned yesterday! A fresh candle seen earlier today at the market! The inexpensive vegetables! Father time, my grandfather clock, a tick from heaven, from earth a tock. The soft mellow strum of an A-432 classical guitar. And has it really been so long since we loved? Since our embrace? Has it really been any time at all? Silent in the moment I sit, dipped in honey, patiently and earnestly waiting for your touch.