We’re not always the best at updating, are we? Scribillare lives! Thanks to everyone who kept re-tweeting our messages on Twitter as we let folks know of the extended absence. Are you ready for more? You’ve waited long enough. You’ve probably shopped for groceries while you waited if we’re following the law of averages here. And we do. And you did. And when you were out there in the vastness of harsh overhead lighting and discount snack foods you may have seen the subject of today’s musing: the food item in a spot it shouldn’t be. Enjoy
Frozen pizza in the beer cooler. Ice cream on the shelf with cheese. Meat wrapped but sweating next to the avocados. Where did these items come from? Why are they here? Who picked them up only to discard them just maybe a moment later and replaced them with another?
I first noticed this phenomenon at my local Kroger. The location was in a canned vegetable aisle. Someone had discarded a couple of tomatoes next to their canned cousins. The first thing that i noticed about this situation is that without intervention these tomatoes would surely spoil. Lingering, languishing there until the inevitable occurred. What happened here? What schemes of cooking started in the produce aisle and ended here so unfairly? What kind of person would just abandon food like this?
I was disturbed and bothered by all this questions but I moved on. Unfortunately, a week later it happened again. Ice cream. Ice cream sitting on a shelf without even the benefit of a cool breeze. It was in between coffee and pasta. The flavor was French Vanilla. Was this the same person from before? Did they just get a taste of their horrible food waste and this was the second victim? As before, I was guilty too, too stunned to act I had left that tomato to die and now this ice cream to melt. With a shudder, I finished my shopping.
It happened again a month later. Cheese. Who could do something like this to cheese? I had begun asking friends and family if they had seen examples of this “decision made.” They too had seen the neglected and forgotten items in their own grocery spots.
The cheese was Sargento Extra Sharp Cheddar. It was a block of cheese. It was hiding in the beer cooler, right next to tasty 6 pack of IPA. Someone had decided dairy was out and hops were in.
I picked up the cheese and put it in my basket, whispering quietly :
“Not today. Not today. “
Greetings, salutations and hearty hellos to our vast and amazing audience. Although Scribillare is a mere speck in the vast digital ocean we know that you being here is not happenstance but instead a purposeful choice. Today we welcome another new contributor to our growing ranks. Daniel Rule works exclusively now in marketing and although reading that might make you want to scroll on to another piece of creative writing , instead, take a moment and give him a chance. Not all corporate shills started out that way.
Do you know what a vanity publisher is? No, I’m really asking you if you know. For years I’ve used the term loosely to insult people who pay large sums to book publishers who will bind and push their tome regardless of quality. As an avid reader, I think I assumed that this distaste was stemming from some kind of high concept source of “oh well I read books by real authors who have to earn their publishing. ” Not so! Apparently I was riled up whenever I heard someone paid to have their book printed for a single reason and that reason was tied to a gift I received nearly 25 years previous…and had forgotten all about.
Today’s Scribillare entry is something extra special : a snippet from an ongoing novel from one of our favorite submitting authors. In the spirit of supporting all types of writing we encourage you to submit your own pieces to be featured here on the page. You can find the appropriate email in our About section. And now, without more ado, step into Tales From The Wasteland:
The engine roared as Frek shifted gears, sending the mechanical shriek into new decibel destruction, barely blocking out the vicious drumbeats erupting from cracked and dusty speakers. If one could fly as high as the deep desert buzzards above Frek and his screaming combustion creation as it trundled confidently over the dunes, he and the machinery he rode would be but the tiniest speck amidst a white blur wasteland with no sign of life or movement. The picture could be described as “lonely” by some standards : luckily for Frek, he and his blood brother Dust Dogs did not understand such emotional concepts and thereby did not feel their barbs.
There’s nothing better than having a good friend to lighten the load when it comes to …coming up with ideas. We’ll hope you welcome this first guest entry in the world of Scribillare. Guest writer Darcy has day job though too so if you’re ever in need of a caring and capable home insurance broker she can really help at Murfreesboro Home Insurance. Now settle in and sit back for a truly enjoyable read:
Who says writing is *actually* writing? You can cite Charles Dickens all day. You can tell me that even e.e. cummings knew that the written word was indeed words written on a page. We could rouse Rand and bug Balzac but even the angriest authors have that one concept in common : writing is a mechanical invention that involves pen to paper, typewriter to paper or in this digital age, keys to screen. There doesn’t seem much space for someone to say that these incarnations of thought are anything but the raw materials of writing.
I’m here to tell you different. I know what writing is because writing is compressed thought. There’s a stark difference here between “stream of consciousness” writing and the concept I’m …writing about…right here. Inside the idea of streaming is just that : ideas. The difference in thought compression and streaming is a basic premise of preparing thoughts in a fashion of expression. Similar to the ideas of art and how the audience is the target of emphatic expression, compressed thought is a technique that aggregates errant ideas into a certain function.
” You remember that bag from American Beauty? I wish I was that bag’s dad. ”
Years ago, when we still could be fooled by the Internet, folks used to fire up hosting websites like Geocities and Angelfire and blog their little hearts out. They’d tip-tap the keys all the way from the late 90s into sometime around 2004 which scientists agree was the official death of the personal website.
As Christ gave Lazarus the power to become undead we here at Scribillare will be dedicated to reviving the lost art of the 90s web blog AKA “look at this crazy stuff dude” AKA creepypasta before it was pasta AKA truly engaging content from falsely cogent minds.
Save this, bookmark it, get a brand – this space will soon have something worth your eyeball’s time. Until next time, here’s a quick cognitive creation to show you just how serious we are:
M Is For Mancy
A is for aardvark, an industrious fellow
B is for bellows, though you’ve never owned one
C is for cretins, they always love bologna
D is for dancing, which she wished to show ya
E is for eagles because honestly even as a cynic you have to seriously appreciate how those birds swoop down on prey, seriously.
F is for flaws, although we have none
G is for garbage we put on the curb
H is for hats although get real your head is a little too oddly shaped to wear one fashionably
I is for icing on a birthday cake
J is for jokes which you’d think by now this poem would be one
K is for kale ( high in antioxidants)
L is for laughter which sounds better alone
M is for Mancy and that’s the end of this poem.