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After writing some books, having used many drawing and painting sheets and having spent many hours surfing the Internet out of passion and culture, being always eager to find something significant to engage me in, I thought it was time to look for a contact with the audience, to put myself out there more frequently than I did in the past.

Object (Verb) Writing - 3

Submitted by ebeMajor on Tue, 02/27/2018

Feel

I feel it coming. Do I know it? Of course I don't yet I'm expecting it anxiously. No sound but I can feel it. It will creep under the door which I keep close, just in case. It will reach me every moment now. I'm sweating. Minutes are tickling away yet it isn't showing. Playing tricks on me, eh? You nasty one! A smell like I were back at school, waiting to be caught unaware, it's wasn't me, it wasn't me! Taste your waiting, trust it. Touch it, bandy it, juggle with perception. Nothing happens. I stand up and wonder. Maybe I was too late. Maybe it will not come, after all.

Object (Verb) Writing - 2

Submitted by ebeMajor on Sun, 02/25/2018

Legs shoulder-width apart. Very slightly bent knees. Soft diaphragm. Upright bust. Open shoulders. Long arms, natural hands. Free neck, light head, hanging from an invisible string. Relaxed face - remember to keep it expressionless, almost dopey. Vertical mouth. The tongue tip resting on your lower teeth. Breath. Draw your breath from behind, let it spin into the pelvis, let it expand there.

Upon My Lover's Breast

Submitted by ebeMajor on Mon, 02/12/2018

Upon my lover's breast I'll lie
Counting his heartbeats out of mine,
Mingling his breath with mine,
And when his wishes will have meet mine,
I will dream of him
And he will dream of me.
Sweet joy that caused us to be
A hand in front of a hand,
A star in front of a hand,
Please, let us together be
Like the sun and the moon,
Like the day and the night, forever!

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Object (Verb) Writing - 1

Submitted by ebeMajor on Thu, 02/08/2018

Distort

Distort. Distort. Distooooooooooort. Diiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiistort. D-d-d-d-distort. OK, le'ts begin. Are you ready?, 'cause this will be no easy, no pleasure cruise.
Voices can be muffled. Sight can be blurred. Smell can be altered. Food can be adulterated. Limbs can be twisted. Features can be wry. Truth
can be manipulated. Logic can be fooled. Habits can be perverted. Words can be misunderstood. Facts can be deceiving. Intentions can be disguised. Proofs can be forged. Swooning can be simulated.

Metaphor Writing - 4

Submitted by ebeMajor on Tue, 02/06/2018

Smokey Train

Sitting on a park bench, with all his belongings crammed up in a rather crumpled plastic bag, with no money, no cigarettes, no food, he felt adrift. He was not comfortable in the park at such an early hour, no willing joggers that morning, no dog sitters, no patrolling cops that day, no lonesome drunkard muttering random curses in his desperate malaise. The newsagent kiosk was closed, the traffic light was blinking vainly at the desert crossroad. A cold drizzle settled over his worn out suit, making his bones resentful.

Object Writing - 4

Submitted by ebeMajor on Sat, 02/03/2018

Surfboard

Surfboard. This words is waiting for me on the blank page. As to be big, it's big. Cumbersome, I'd say, how can they bring it around without not shattering it, I wonder? What else? Weight? I've got no idea but it must be light enough to be easily carried and sturdy enough not to collapse under a squatting man. Smooth? Yes,. Compact? Probably. Coloured. Plastic like when new, salty when used. A dance. The seventh wave. The ocean. Tanned sun bleached boys. The Beach Boys. California Girls?

Object Writing - 3

Submitted by ebeMajor on Fri, 01/26/2018

Rainbow

White is the snow on the mountain tops but the rainbow is not. Grey is the cloudy horizon but rainbow is not. Black is the approaching night but the rainbow is not. What colour is the rainbow? It is red, like poppies among the grass and apples on the trees and cherry lips to kiss. It is orange because there are autumns leaves and carrots and tangerines and the setting sun. It is yellow for the full day sun, the sun smiling down of buttercups and lemons, the sun reflected on sunflowers, which adore it.

Object Writing - 2

Submitted by ebeMajor on Sat, 01/20/2018

Crayon Box

Cold as it is, it cannot but be of metal. Thin as it is, it cannot but be a crayon box. Large as it is, it cannot but contain forty-eight crayon, to say the least. Good. What else? Shake it and you get a shuffled jazzy sound. Sniff it only if you want to be balked. Hold it and you can feel the world in it, bubbling and crackling to get out. Now it's time to open it. Look, here they are, arranged in the order their manufacturer chose, tint after tint, shade after shade, ready to cast their matter onto your page in violent contrasts or subtle accords, at your will.

Object Writing - 1

Submitted by ebeMajor on Fri, 01/12/2018

Typewriter

Vintage, smooth, light and grey. Very grey. And very smooth. And oily. It may stain. But, oh!, those keytops! All in order, layer by layer, all upright as during attendance, they are waiting for the magic to come. Fingertips, are you ready? Eyes, did you find the letters? Nose, can you please stop smelling that funny grease? Mouth, shut up, it's not your turn. Let expectation take control, it may not know where it will lead but it knows that it will be music. All the typebars are flashing, quickly, quickly, it's a melody, it's a symphony!