Directions: A player writes a sentence. The next player responds to this sentence with a drawing, then folds over the original text so that only his/her’s response is show, and passes to the next player. The next player responds to this drawing with a line of text. Continue until the page is full. (Players: AM, SC, HC, MB, JF)

1.

2.

3.

4.

SECOND ROUND

For the second round we continued the process above, but with one variation. Each response had to be a reversal of the previous one.

1.

2.

3.

4.

(Players: AM, K, SC, HC, MB, BL, JF)

Directions: Non-writing players announce words out loud at random, and writer(s) must then incorporate these words into their automatic text.

(Word shouters: SC, HC, MB, BL. Story writers: K, AM, JF)

VERSION #1

There once was a shameless cookie. A knight in King Arthur’s court he was. He had a glass eye. It was made of plastic trapezoids. There were knights. Two intersected. A third was made of sushi. The fourth was parallel. The fifth liked pizza. The sixth was lost, yet to be found. The seventh had big feet. The eighth was quivering and wet. The ninth had ear lobes. The tenth was but a puppet. The eleventh was a jelly belly. The twelve had the talisman of ancient cartilage.

He knew he had to quest. Towards the headless castle. Scumbags were the parapets, tall and grimy. The spider of trash crawled its walls. The wall was made of aesthetic overripe tomatoes. Squandered married lambs. Hazelnuts. It was a mess.

Beyond the wall was the squid. It spoke in disappearing ink. Eternity was found in its fractures. The twelfth knights tattoo of a bird spoke. It said tattoo. Sunbeams lit it. The ink grew spiky. The knight pulled out arsenic. The ink millipedeed passionate tulips. The squid was shipwrecked, space was all it saw behind its eyes.

Next were the germinating flowers. They had toes as petals. Mysterious, said the twelfth night, such garrulous aborted embryos. The flowers engorged. The knight took one to nose. Autonomous and saucy they grew, up his nose. His nose grew marble, trickling fragrant flakes. He saw himself in the precious mirror: a prescient flagrant fake. He was napping like a painting. The gold rush came out his nose.

VERSION #2

The tidal wave loomed over the water house, sixty feet in the air, and squirrel clamshells on the crags shook in fear at the immensity. The solar system turned, its desperate gravity pulling on the wave like a disembodied doll arm. An epiphany then—and not enough pages to write it in—running with bulky bookmarks will not make you a smarter cookie. The shamelessness of King Arthur’s glass eye is enough to prove it. The old kings intersecting trapezoids were enough to cook sushi in parallel. I am lost in thought, the king is like bigfoot. Quivering in the mountain, earlobes perked like puppets pulled by a weak, gelatinous scoundrel. My ancient talisman makes cartilage of the headless scumbags surrounding me. Spiders crawl up my spine which bursts like an over-ripe tomato, the aesthetic squandered by the old tale of Mary’s lamb, who was so fond of hazelnuts. The squid blinds my memory with disappearing ink and I melt into eternity from loss of this fracture of my memory. The tattoo upon me shouts like a bird, the sunbeam shines down on the millipedes wrapped passionately around my fingers. The tulips bloom on shipwrecks left behind by the mare of misfortune, but fear not, for germination and the mystery within shall make new embryos of us all, and we shall not abort the engorgement of this new knowledge, The knowledge that makes us into autonomous, flagrant flakes. Napping no longer, we rise like elephants in the gold rush.

Version #3

A tide water was coming. It brought with it leftover clams and the memory of a solar wind. A desperate disembodied epiphany of doll appendages reached out from the deep, and kept running. A shameless nostalgia for King Arthur hung in the air like an intersecting glass-eye trapezoid in the parallel night. Doodle, lost in the ocean. A quivering sound scoundrel puppet squiggles its ancient gelatinous cartilage into the headless scumbag night, and I am become the overripe tomato. Squandered aesthetic lambs to the hazelnut slaughter. These words will fade like fractures from eternity, like a disappearing ink tattoo.
Sunbeams in his ass.
Arsenic.
Shipwreck.
Garrulous Embryonic Engorgement
It’s the way of things.

Directions: In the first game, an “if” statement was written, folded over, and then the second person wrote the “then” statement blind. In the second round, a three part Initial Statement/Therefore statement/This is why statement structure was used.

IF/THEN

If I am a juicy goddess…then the octopi will devour their young.
If (C5+D14>8000)…then Australia will sink into the sea.
If the double rainbow scintillates at noon…then dew will shed its light once and for all.
If the clown explodes in the cemetery…then we would all have a merry Christmas.
If 3+3+3+3+3+3+2+1= something…then the old sofa will inexplicably glow.
If the koala’s shit comes out a triangle…then then forest will sicken and die.
If all socks ceased to exist…then the apocalypse shall never reach fruition.
If the grove cries out in agony…then the world will be a happier place.
If the sphere splashes into a triangle…then all is lost, and my heart shall wither.

THIS IS WHY…

The grass has transformed into cat hair.
Therefore weeeeeeeeeeee….
This is why we have to do everything we can to stop the near-term effects of man-made climate change.

The lizard sets its sights on immortal glory.
Therefore the shin bones of the world turtle will break.
This is why noses no longer exist.

The people in the street did not want to be spoken to.
Therefore, the art museums become overrun with llamas.
This is why we can’t have nice things.
(Except for the glowing couch. We will always have the glowing couch.)

My spoon is too big of a bigot.
Therefore adherence to a marxist-leninist ideology is a serious business.
This is why you will never ever finish first place in a spelling bee.

There is great injustice in the world.
Therefore the governess will spank the tight bottom twice.
This is why it’s so hard to find good breast implants these days.

The ship which carried the golden heart of the sun has sunk.
Therefore the flow of time will turn sideways and morph into a gravitational puddle.
This is why I never reveal may feelings to strangers.

Directions: Each player starts with a photograph. They write what it is, and then pass. The next person must contradict the person before them with an alternate theory.

(Players: AM, K, SC, HC, MB, BL, JF)

• This is a sad old man.
• This is the husk of a shrike.
• A slug feeding on pink bubblegum.
• What I pooped out this morning.
• The ghost of my great grandfather reminding me to “look out.”
• No, this is the soul of a fallen tree left to float in the numinous pink fires of wooden afterlife.
• No. This is the embryonic state of stonehenge.

• This is a doll box that’s been attacked by a maple leaf of light.
• This is a maple leaf sprouting heads and legs.
• The paws of the child melting into the flash.
• This is the broken memory of a century-old doll.
• Bloodthirsty seashell devouring the body of a helpless golden child.
• A shadow box of morning light.
• Actually, this is what remains when the flaying is completed.

• This is the face of an octopus sentenced to death.
• No! This is a wooly mammoth experiencing love for the first time.
• Actually, it is the face of a dead troll, suddenly reanimated and rising from the grave.
• It is the face of old man-tree, gnarled with herpes.
• Incorrect, it is an aerial view of ridges in a rocky, lichen-covered mountain shape.
• Or it’s a bad, untreatable skin condition.
• Actually…you’re all wrong. It’s [redacted].

• This is a fairy.
• This…I can’t tell you about this….
• Actually, this is the open window of the universe.
• You’re all wrong. This is a keyhole to the doorway of your fears.
• Ha! This is merely a space-dog, evaporating.
• It is the keyhole beckoning entry.
• It is the all-seeing eye of a transcendent squid.

• Head of a puppet nailed to the wall.
• Albino walrus emerging from the floor.
• Dark matter encroaching on a spaceship.
• George (Jr.). He owed my paw money.
• In fact, it is the shocked and sorrowful face of a wall to be torn down.
• This is the Alice in Wonderland rabbit struggling to break through the portal of reality.
• Fools, turn the picture upside-down. Cthulhu has arrived…
• The rabbit of your nightmares, breaking through the plaster.

• This tree fell when my childhood dog died.
• No, this is the broken bone of a fallen giant.
• This is a bridge into an enchanted forest with a beam of light standing guard.
• But actually, it is a jelly fish grabbing fresh prey.
• The forgotten arm of an angel, broken at the senior wrist.
• In fact, it is white moss in the shape of god’s clavicle.
• Could it be a log fallen on a wintry day?

• Dead bark under a microscope.
• No way, it’s totally the guardian ogre of the underworld.
• The faint traces of a memory…
• But really, it is your face. Not your surface face but the true face you see in the black mirror behind your eyelids.
• Or… it’s the face of the immortal sea demon, banished to a life of darkness.
• A dried out pancake, waiting beneath your floorboards, ready to pounce.
• A deflated volleyball, breaking from your pores.

THE END

DO WHATEVER

DARK NIGHT

SENTENCE BUILDING GAME

Directions: Each participant is set to be adjective, noun, or verb, depending on the desired structure of the sentence. Players signal when they are ready, each saying their word our loud in the proper order.

the squeamish wistful turtle catfishes shitty soiled torture.
golden hung maps gallop glass-eyed undulating appendixes.
the titillating scoopy crib eats exsanguinating ponderous princesses.
the cutesy perfect extraterrestrial dies meowing lunar preachers.
pious epileptic lollipops exterminate fleshy cornered puppies.
the silky crispy unicorn is oinky* surreptitious blockage.
The throbbing luxurious flamboyant smarmy crystalizing diseased porcupine.

*oinky: that feeling you get around 2:30pm, when can go no longer stomach work and dream of jumping off bridge instead.

(Players: AM, K, SC, HC, MB, BL, SM)

DEFINITIONS

The first round started with the old classic: write a word, fold the paper over, and have the next person write a definition blind.

Shingles: A dog without any spots.
Marshmallow: A trance involving a sensation of wind and hallucinations of light.
Cucky: The term for sex aboard an airplane.
Globule: A happy accident, or a loose bowel.
Kiwi: An irresistible itching sensation.
Triangle: A bloodless marble heart.
Epilepsy: Mischievous, troublesome, exhausting.
Pesto: The whispering you hear when you rest against a tree in the forest.
Amoeba: The art of seeing the world colored by the scent of a loud soft fish.
Siren: The reason you cry yourself to sleep at night.
Now: The squandering of all your dreams.
Chicken: The sound a dolphin makes when contemplating existence.

In the second round, we instead first wrote the definition, and then the next person created a made-up word for that definition, skipping the folding element of the previous round.

Shadowskance: The feeling that someone is standing behind you.
Brainblarg: The sensory experience of epilepsy.
Storkbillion: A sore in your mouth that you get when you talk too much about the stock market.
Gnarlgurgle: The way your stomach hurts thinking about eating a last meal before execution.
Kettlebugging: Silly socks seeking sooty satisfaction.
Burkenboogers: A type of fruit found exclusively in supermarket corners.
Xloongi: The place where idle wings in the world fly to.

Directions: First player writes a statement, any statement. Next player tries to write a reversal of that statement. Next player tries to write a reversal of the reversal. Etc. (Players: AM, K, SC, HC, MB, BL, SM)

A shipwreck divides into islands of missing rings and lost desire.
An airplane loft unites the continents of discovered holes and found fears.
A warship seaband divides the oceans of unknown surfaces and lost loves.
Lost loves and unknown surfaces are divided by an ocean warship seaband.
Found hate or known mirages aren’t united in a river’s grace.
Lost love and mysterious realities fracture outside the sky’s vengeance.
Rediscovered hate or obvious simulacra inside the earth’s hate!
Forgotten loves and cryptic truths outside a planet’s desire.
If planet’s could desire, outside of them would exist forgotten loves and cryptic truths.
Unfeeling space, within must be inextinguishable hatred and clear-cut falsehoods.

It is murderous to ignore the wave of a tree.
When trees wave, don’t murderously ignore them!
Where smoke stops, make sure to healthfully pay attention?
When the clear, clean breeze extends, let your mind wander and be free.
As a heavy, dirty wave collapses, my skin reforms, and I am chained.
Before the light, clean wind upwells, your viscera dissolves, but you are free.
After the dirty darkness in the water drains, rocks form and enslave you.
Before a plastic weightlessness in the cloud lightens, the fish fall apart, and embrace you.
After many wooden weights underground grow heavier, the birds come together, and disavow you.
Before the single leaden breath above decays lightly, the worms diffuse and affirm me.

The willow tree broke my window.
An oak stump fixed your wall.
A rock mountain broke my moat.
Many velvet hills sealed your bridge.
Your fate is sealed by velvet hills.
My death isn’t opened on rough surfaces.
Your life is closed below below your insides.
My death as an opening above or inside my spirit.
Your birth was the closing over the outside all of your bones.
My death was not the opening beneath my inner flesh.
Your existence was the wall on top of your exterior spirit.
If your spirit is a wall, your existence lies on the exterior atop it.

I feel like a mint jalopy just entered me!
You don’t hear the pint of milk as you vomit it up.
I can taste an emptiness of toast in a swallow of your dirt.
You cannot hear the wholeness behind fresh bread outside an excretion for my water.
Listen to the emptiness of rancid meat, in the inhalation of your breath.
As you inhale, listen to the emptiness of your rancid meat.
I’m farting, speaking of the fullness of my fresh fish.
You breathe in, listening to the emptiness of old livestock.
I suffocate outside, deaf to the cacophony of new flesh.
I inhale life within, listening to the silence of old bones.

The song of the whale makes me heart into liquid.
The sentence of the dolphin suggests your mind solidifies.
The nonverbal cue the ostrich interprets has his body turning into a pile of mush.
A linguistic fart for the jellyfish sings while angels cease inside pindrops of jewels.
The mute inhalation of a hard bird croaks before humans begin outside cannon blasts for pebbles.
The raucous exhaust of a soft ship screams after aliens cease inner unorthodox whispers for marbles.
“This is for all the marbles!” the alien whispered, as the raucous exhaust of its soft ship screamed.
“Thank you for the jello,” said my grandmother. Later that day, the quiet gasoline of cargo sang so quietly.

The forest is aflame with the spirits of the deceased.
The desert is frozen with the bodies of the living.
The bodies of the living freeze in deserts.
Dead minds melt in ice.
Living bodies freeze in lava.
Zombie specters burn as snow.
The reborn dead grow as trees.
The pre-birth death, decaying clouds.
Dying clouds, birthing death, bummer.
Living earth, dying birth, yay!
Dead space, rebirth, oh woe!

The wheels on the bus go round and round.
The stones besides the bike stop squares once.
The gelatin inside the cruise ship triangulates repeatedly.
A stone above a slug plane circles once.
The sand below the centipede boat triangulates many times.
The sky above the worm diffuses, but only once.
The mantle of the earth beneath the bird expands, and always twice.
Mantle tectonics only move twice, look out birds!
Lintel oceans often stay still forever. Mammals aren’t speaking?
Tomato soup deserts never stop moving. Noisy fucking camels.
Beefy forests remain at rest…Whispering lovely needles.

The time and place of the murder is inconsequential, it’s the smell in the air that gave the crime its lasting notoriety.
A statue or void in birth is sublime, like a touch of my earth, take a blessing w/ short ephemerality!
The painting and singularity of death was tormenting, rather than a taste for your sky, give a curse w/o long eternity.
The music and banality of life was boring, in addition to the smell of the earth, praise the short blinking of existence.
The humdrum vividness of death excited me, minus the sound of hell, curse the drawn-out whole note of my disappearance.
The loud blurriness of life dulled you, plus the touch of heaven, love the pieced-together partial pieces of your finding.
A silent focusing on death sharpened me, I minus your wind of hell, hating the growing apart whole-god in my lostness.

If the nile rises only twice a day…then the shoreline recedes into dust.

If you take a breath in springtime of doves…then the dog would fetch his ball and frolick.

If the triplicate sun ices over…then the lost lives will be restored.

If the flow of time were to break…then the journey towards the city will bring joy.

If the snow melts in winter…then the flume is a plume of silk.

If I miss the boat this time…then the cast off castaway will grow reptilian.

If the genes are fish…then someday we’ll heal the wounded deer in our hearts.

If the dodo bird reclaims its rights…then the wisdom of the ancients will blind the present.

If I could prove mathematically that all thought is folly…then the pockets will be deeper than the trunks.

If the basilisk is in the sun…then the neurons in our heads will merge as one and we can harmonize at last.

• Players: AM, K, HC, SC, MB