http://slow.writerscafe.org/jr_maston The original writings of author JR en-us Copyright 2026 WritersCafe.org 1776012930 WritersCafe.org RSS Generator 15 Huntress, witch womanchild of the green and skyhow quicklythose lithe feet scramble light over loamand leaf as I draw backthe string and notch my arrowjust to have you dodge away just before the hitagain and again,draw and let looseto your blur to your dexderous lilt mocking laughter from the d.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/jr_maston/2951183/ I waive the Hispanic guy to go in front of me in Walmart already packed no speedy checkout him with his two cases of cheap beer American colors and other assorted crap, I didn’t see already packing my own nick knacks on the conveyor (fresh canvas, masking tape, waterco.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/jr_maston/2928280/ Stood in line at Walmart and I thought abouttaking out my eyewith something sharp something rusty  sharp set of fleecing shears something that would hurt hurt hurt as much as it hurts me to see humanity  standing in stinking rows filthy rows stinking.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/jr_maston/2916137/ Knotted up mess it’s a knotted up mess. old dog can’t see s**t can’t hear s**t can’t take a s**t can’t eat always sleeps keeps breathing. fridge died of asphyxiation won’t get cold let’s food get old and dead in moldy piles. cleaned with bleach smells slight.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/jr_maston/2911378/ I thought about immolating myself on aisle twelve pictured what it would be like to cruise through the stretched gape maw of the entrance captured by cameras with that 5 gallon can without the safety s**t  the one my mom got in Nevada, the big white one which would gurgle, f.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/jr_maston/2901307/ Heavy is the hammer he hefts overheadto bring crashing down pinning ore between the weight of steeland unforgiving bulk of ironhe strikesstrikes again, and againsweat like mineral beads glisten from skindark birds wheel overhead breaking the sun into long shadowsagain he strikes, againthe fire .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/jr_maston/2901224/ World becomeweary andworry andcountingpilesof consolidated coinsconsider10% upthen 3% gained and7% betweenand countless waysto weigh our worthfind their is a loss indeed;(yetbillionaires hangweightlessin phallic orbitand dream in shadesof red..)wonderthe reasonwhywe are&nbsp.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/jr_maston/2898930/ The bloom of the mushroom is done the dominion of wild flower has begun; Nature is as relentless as I hope to become.  http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/jr_maston/2888323/ -- To the serpent we are the scalesundulating along divine waters we sail as one the body attached to the head  filled with financial blotters a little existential dread and projections and plans following the current of money and a******s  who .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/jr_maston/2881269/ scene: basementyellowing the carpet yellowing the door and frame delicately nickedyellowing the postersyellowing the window glass the window paneyellowing the fan blowing SE corneryellowing the dust particlesyellowing the game controllersyellowing the books neatly lined in rows showing their as.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/jr_maston/2872100/ one long catfishmottled ancientshadow fleckedscales alignedbelly in the slimewatching the surface tensionfor fliesflicks his spined tailthis way and then thatflicks his dagger tailthis waythenthat http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/jr_maston/2870721/ If you watcha snake long enougheventually it willshed its skinleave behindghosts leaves shredsfeathers pinwheelsan agony ofits history;fatterit waitsuntil it shedsagain. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/jr_maston/2868510/ my thoughts should be my thoughts my thoughts should not be your thoughts your thoughts should be your thoughts your thoughts should not be my thoughts; there should never be Our Thoughts - just you with your roses and me with my pot. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/jr_maston/2868417/ “Guerre” means “war” but this feels a lot more like a clown circus which used to make me laugh because I know the idiom is supposed to be funny a bunch of idiots in grease paint bumping into each other haha look the frowny face one tripped on the orange haired guy and the one.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/jr_maston/2866070/ Soon we’ll buy all our drugs from the government stamped pure and concentrated we will be hemmed in soon we’ll be stuck in little habs on the moon stamping hammering yammering at the surface to give up its gold and they’ll send it back in rockets so someone can have an Olympic size.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/jr_maston/2866069/ -The world is a no good place full of no good people standing in lines at the market or queueing endlessly in uneven rows like lambs led to the no good slaughter to a no good god and its getting hotter no good clothes in a no good winter no solace in our shoes just more blues and.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/jr_maston/2865987/ So  many stones thrown into the water making waves; Standing in the shallows under boughs only ripples; Always wonder when the weight of the waves will finally find me.  http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/jr_maston/2865772/ So the question I guess is  do I embrace the monster that is me?  Give into greed and thievery  give into the curse words and the slamming of hands  on endless tables  while the blood beats beats  behind the temple  that is the Temple  that is me?  Give i.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/jr_maston/2863983/ I wish I could change this world with my fingertips really get in there and tear things up a bit alter perceptions with my writing take something with no form and give it shape let it walk and breath and terrorize and plunder minds and get greasy with contempt let it get slimy let it get wet and wei.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/jr_maston/2862726/ I’ll bet he thought about it for months before he did it maybe years. Maybe always a background hum that became a whisper that became a wail. Just do it just do it just it like a Nike enthusiast, like a race being run I’ll bet he started to listen to the hum like an insistent friend prod.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/jr_maston/2861922/ Tonight I’m eating tomato soup which I associate with being poor because its what we lived on in college when I had nothing but bills and I didn’t care about inflation because they were .50c a can and I could eat like a hundred of them mixed with ramen and I didn’t die though I was.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/jr_maston/2861756/ He did it over a typewriterpuzzled overthe word counselorsafter a lettersent days beforeand everyone talkedabout how fucked uphis hip washow it must have been a reliefbut I thinkwhat everyoneglosses over arethe detailslike who had towipe uphis brains?and who had tosweep up h.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/jr_maston/2860933/ I gasp sometimeswhen I breathebreathcomes inbutthere's no airthereI gasplike a manlosing his gripof a ropebeforefalling intothe abysslife isjustbreathdeathand this. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/jr_maston/2860895/ Desperately unhappy people do desperately unhappy things they breathe so evenly and then mention how life bent them over against their will they b***h endlessly about the System and punch a clock realizing with every click jaws that bite and claws that snatch are coming for them stay up late chartin.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/jr_maston/2859760/ Insular child thorny, wild un- rooted  care  free could have  gathered leaves all my life defiant I chopped  down the  tree. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/jr_maston/2859513/ They say that a whole bunch of folks died they say they were sent in the Russians with shovels at points instead of guns I have no idea what it would be like to die like that my struggles are internal my lines are deeply divided my trenches are fortified like them but you don’t see the smoking.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/jr_maston/2855273/ My flesh is sad  my heart is heavy  troubles and aches and woe is me  but inside where crawls my molecules  everything is ecstasy and cries out  in harmony  stretching for the sun  it’s only my man-ness  that acts .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/jr_maston/2855269/ In the entire three or four months we soft dated I never once saw you cook it seems like something that would have happened we saw each other three or four times a week and we talked of kitchen knives their gleam the way they could strip to the bone and I let you know how I&rsquo.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/jr_maston/2853288/ There are new ways of doing things new algorithms shining paradigms;   I turn  a simple grape  into alcohol but back then Jesus turned water into wine.  http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/jr_maston/2853287/ I’m on my own; its all on me the weight is like a plush bear pressed inexorably into my whole body at once there is no out there is only plush and the strain to breathe everyone wants their money everyone wants me to f*****g MOO like the c.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/jr_maston/2853286/ The front man  for every single band  I liked in high school  is dead;  echoes pop around  an ever emptying room  they say the Russians went  and popped  that dam  now it’s emptying  like 90s front men  it popped off  the pressure &nb.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/jr_maston/2853112/ The night before the kill they would gather together in the long house the one with the hole in its roof and the sides covered in swatches of thick cedar bark until the building can barely breathe. And there wasn’t much room for breath because they wanted it hot lot of wood on the fire smoke w.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/jr_maston/2847353/ I'll tell you whatNatashaif you're gonnaride my a*s like thatyou should at leastpull my hairor buy me dinnerwhat's got your titson fireI'll drop into the slow lane and let you blowpast mebecause I knowOld Man Jesus and hismerry mensay peace and peachesand turn the cheekbut goddamn NatashaI kind.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/jr_maston/2847352/ This is me getting drunk on vodka and Gatorade This is me remembering the sock drawer of my youth and middle age This is me knowing my mother will read every last word This is me barely not getting suckered into FB videos of young girls and jiggling tits This is me wondering how .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/jr_maston/2843895/ I think it's a curse, something dark, something black, generational like a spreading bruise.Like the god of love slapped a whole lot of hard energy into a black spot, a mark, on the head or hand.Jesus the carpenter contructing a massive cold shoulder and a mote in the eye.Forever outside the circle,.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/jr_maston/2840635/ Now I have to dealwith a sore backaching finers, a palmthat stingsdisplaced objectsbroken things,the end resultof evilBut for a momentI was a free goda whirlwind of rageI was Kalieater of worlds...all other peoplewere still justpeople. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/jr_maston/2839329/ Incense smokerichthick drips like mother's milkfrom terracotta nipplesinto a bowlstained dark brownwith resinI thinkwe all spendtoo much timealonedreamingof heaven. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/jr_maston/2839328/ She says, good morning I love you, as soon as he wakessmiles with thousand dollar teethhe showers, and she cooksegg whites, nine grain toast, and strong coffee hums and hunts through his phoneto read his texts from the night beforesends him on his way with a peck on the cheek,I love you have a .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/jr_maston/2839326/ Frombirthcaught inthe slowgracelessarcoffalling. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/jr_maston/2839324/ She said even after it's head had been removed with one swift sweep of the gas man's shovel,it still moved in the dusttwitched, and was stilltwitched, and was stillreaching, hoping, grievingetching symbols like fatal Sanskritchewing nothingrubbing grains into its woundsleaki.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/jr_maston/2830173/ Its a wound and I howlI moan and I groanI spin and eat at myselfuntil I'm rawand bleeding on the rugand I run myself in circlesbash gnawed edge holesin the sheetrockI let it gut mewhile I thrash and drink and curseonline in various forms and forumsbreak all kinds of shitthat I throw down t.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/jr_maston/2812579/ She stayed in the nowhereplanted dogwoods alongthe stream of nothingdelighted by the ripples,sang songswrote poems and playsscrawled through her phonerelentlessly for hoursdid dopewith silver spoonsparted her hair just... so,then did it againselfies with pursed lipsenvisioned as irises with rub.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/jr_maston/2790642/ They lay thereas though sleepingwaiting for their momentto riseslide from their delicatewoven wombborn within the glasswith a somnolent ethereal groanto take wing againstthree pane daybeating beatsand buzzing a nasty buzzfurious struggle to riseinto the finite air,contained within the silicatecontai.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/jr_maston/2783959/ Can a building really eat a person? Can a hotel transfigure asoul? She came by bus, she wrote better when she was in the moment. Flashes ofthe coast and the rough smell of worker sweat and commuter breath. She workedbetter when she was inside herself, her writings proved it, tender and gentle... http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/jr_maston/2766908/ She’s given over to the dustshe’s let them hold her arms,let them peel back her layerslet them inject what they would…four months of stone grown fatin her bellybefore she vomited it out for them, behind the bleeps and bings and squeaksof rubber-soul.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/jr_maston/2765142/ Everything I touch is hot,every time I fall it’s like flame like… Those poor blind stupid b******swho were dropped into the caldera of what used to be Reactor Number Four;in sixty secondsthey went in fleshand came out a messforever changed,.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/jr_maston/2762012/ As children we watchedThemdo some work on cattle,cutting out earmarkshitting the cows withthe ironsspitting red sparksand they screamedand they screamedtheir eyes rolled backand forthtongues pink withtheir painand they screamedand they screamedorga.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/jr_maston/2760436/ I am enthralled by the feel of your framebeneath the squeeze of my fingersthe weight of you, the way you move, the thrum of youagainst the side of my thumbI stand erect, you below meresting in the firm of my gripsurrounded in your fragrant oil, a mist of movementtogether .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/jr_maston/2760434/ I wrote a love poem to you on the underside of a deskin the library, back in ’66 but people didn’t read itthe way it was intended, from my heart, rather than my fistpeople never read anything right because they are peopleand back in ’66, like now, people don’t.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/jr_maston/2467660/ I remember when you were writing your simple poemsthe way the light caught you, across the kitchen, sunbeamand a bar from the Formica countertop that would burnat your hair, brow creased in that way you had/have, the frown of concentration, the linesthat once were laughter than b.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/jr_maston/2462985/