This poem was written utilizing auto correct. Any mistake the function made in writing the poem was kept in: rhymes were attempted to be maintained with the mangled thoughts. Enjoy.
Posted in NaPoWriMo, Non-fiction, Poetry, Slam
Tagged Australians, Canadians, ducks, exercise, Las Vegas, MGM Grand, napowrimo, nature, phone, poetry, public transit, technology, walk
So – I have been keeping up with the Challenge but have been super-busy and under-the-weather. Took a health day today and stayed in bed (and on my computer) working. That “time-off” was well spent in that I now have Days 28, 29, and 30 edited and formatted, just waiting for your perusal! Like in all the other posts, read the play by clicking the title. Hope you enjoy!
Posted in #31plays31days, #31Plays31Days, Fiction, Love, Non-fiction, Opinion, Personal, Plays, Prose, Theology, World Events
Tagged #31plays31days, actors, auditions, Bible, blood, comedy, cum, damnation, death, Erica Griffin, eyes, fatherhood, fiction, fights, happiness, hate, healing, heart, heartache, hell, history, hope, humor, Jean-Paul Sartre, Judaism, Las Vegas, life, light, Love, memory, motherhood, mythology, No Exit, passion, personal, plays, religion, Satan, science, sex, skin, skin cells, sperm, Tarot, technology, theater, University of Pittsburgh, wisdom, writing
This might come off as sad, but last night I had a dream that included the OKCupid app notification that a match was near me. Chalk it up to the infiltration of technology on the brain, I suppose. This morning, under the impression that I’d be in a position on my feet all day at work, I set out to write a super-short entry for the 31 Plays in 31 Days Challenge: Day 9, about digital dating in Hell.
The result? OKSatan, where douchey Eddie finds himself before Satan himself and is too jaded by the world he came from to even tremble properly.
Posted in #31plays31days, Fiction, Plays, Prose, Theology
Tagged cellphones, dating, douchebag, hell, okcupid, Satan, sex, technology, torture
While Pray for Japan plays Pauline, who is frying, undoes her lumberjack shirt, revealing her red bra as she revels, the only girl dancing.
Too many dicks on the dancefloor during a love-song,
The girls sitting it out on stools,
Or are off in a corner getting memorialized by a photographer with all the trimmings, a flash on his camera, two umbrella’d cans rebounding the light about.
At the bar, another photographer places his triachnid tripod on the top and photographs Melissa, the bartender, as she takes his order;
A collector, unabashed until he sees me staring:
His face turns red and he doesn’t make eye contact again, embarrassed at being made, unaware I’ve been doing in a different medium the same.
Posted in NaPoWriMo, Poetry, Slam
Tagged beauty bar, bra, cigarettes, dancing, drinks, embarrassment, facial hair, food, music, photography, poetry, sound, technology