@gardnercambell blogs against how he is feeling. How do you feel? Write about its opposite.

This was the post that Gardner referred to http://www.gardnercampbell.net/blog1/?p=2151

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Submitted by @mdvfunes

There are 8 written responses to this assignment.


Written by karenatsharon on December 14, 2013 1:41 am
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I feel lazy and unproductive. This makes me sad and lonely, since I am too lazy to get out of bed and spend anytime with anyone. I’m not cooking, painting or writing. I lay in bed all day in my pajamas.

Heavy. Dark. Closed In.

Written by CogDog on December 13, 2013 3:14 am
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This an oppressive environment, man. I’m like closed in by dark walls on all sides. Where is the light? Where is the sky? I was not meant to be in this cube. Can you feel what I’m saying?

All day long, the same routine. Doing what someone else tells me to do. Not even looking out a window! How did I get myself to this place? The lack of any natural colors, this institutionalized design, is all meant to crush the spirit.

And its crowded. I cannot stand all these people getting in my space! Where is my bubble?

I cannot think of one good reason to be in this place. It is the antithesis of my dreams.

For an idea of the setting, see http://www.flickr.com/photos/cogdog/archives/date-taken/2013/12/12/

TDC Bah Humbug!

Written by Cris Crissman @Cris2B on December 13, 2013 12:52 am
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I think responding to a daily prompt to create is ridiculous and diminishes the act. Creativity should flow from life, either the huge passions that drive us or the small daily experiences that grab our attention if but for a moment. No value could possibly come from creating on cue to some random challenge that exists beyond our daily experience. In Ebeneezer’s words: TDC bah humbug!


Written by @giuliaforsythe on December 12, 2013 3:27 pm
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Out of complete narcissism and perhaps a lot of boredom, all I can do is sit around and stare at my navel. I mean, there really isn’t much else interesting to do. I sometimes wish I could think of something to do but then I just stare at the fluff in my belly button, deeply sigh and realize it’s really just not worth the bother.

How am I NOT feeling?

Written by AstroComfy on December 12, 2013 3:21 pm
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I figured a word cloud would express it best…

negative, pessimistic, unhappy, sad, tired, worthless, unimportant…

Ah, to be young and limber!

Written by @byzantiumbooks on December 12, 2013 2:46 pm
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Today is a great day to be alive! The only aches are some residual stretching pain from the 10k that I ran yesterday. Knees feel great, toes are flexible, blood flows without any obstructions.

I was listening to my teacher today, and it seemed he would often forget the correct word for some of the key concepts of the course. On the other hand, I knew exactly what to say!

I think I’ll have a couple of Big Macs, fries, and a couple of chocolate shakes for lunch. That’s usually enough, but an ice cream and piece of cake might be good, too. And tomorrow my weight will still be 145 pounds! No worries there.

Labyrinthian Wrongs

Written by Ron Wodaski on December 12, 2013 1:35 pm
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I am up in the mountains
looking down on me in the valley.

There: late summer,
mature wheat waving,
smoke in the fish-house,
berries being pounded into jam.

Here: already cold,
piercing winds,
foxes diving into the snow
and me: crouched, bold
arrow poised, waiting
to know the moment of release has come.

Peace Like a River

Written by Sandy Brown Jensen on December 12, 2013 12:02 pm
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Peace Like a River
(“How do you feel? Write about its opposite.”)

Push back against peace,
that river of green oxbowing
the high mountain meadow of my life now.

Freeze it right down
to the playful otter’s den;
iced juncos fall like raisens
from a Payne’s gray pudding sky.

Call all the bad birds:
Mock me, Bitter Raven, deride
my easy laughter with your own
ironic groan; prove to me

the cruelty of the real.
Carrion Crow, friend,
you have been pecking out my eyes,

forcing me down into darkness
with no extended wings. In the frozen
meadow, even the ravenous fox

has stopped, one paw up,
tufted ears cocked
for the sound of the poacher’s gun.

The river shifts, shivers:
a patterned craze of cracks
races to either shore.