Afterglow (A Bucky Barnes AU fan fiction) - Chapter 14
Afterglow chapters
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
"So, princess, who was that guy you guys were with last night? One of Bucky's rich friends?" Nat asked as soon as she saw you sitting alone in the booth. You stared at the red cushion in front of you and said:
"He kissed me." You whispered. "Bucky kissed me last night."
"Holy shit." She ran so quickly towards the booth that you thought you saw red and yellow streaks behind her, like The Flash. She occupied the empty space in front of you. "Tell me everything. Everything. I want all the scoop. Aaaall of it."
And that you did.
You fed Nat what she'd wanted to hear. From the way Bucky spun you around, to how hot you felt when your bodies collided, to the fiery passion embedded in your short kiss, to how it felt like it lasted forever, to how he tasted in your mouth, to how you savored every inch of his hot breath, to how his veiny hands pulled your waist into his, lips still tangling, to how his face felt so warm in your hands, and finally, to a sleeping devil awakening inside you.
As you told Nat every little detail of your passionate kiss, she looked at you in awe but all you saw through her dark irises was the silhouette of me and Bucky as you kissed last night, with the thousand city lights just outside the window. It would've been the perfect first kiss anyone could have; that you could have.
"Not gonna lie," she said, tucking her chin under her palm, "the way you describe it was so cheesy but wow, that was so romantic. Spontaneous kisses are so romantic. Did you also feel sparks just flying all around you?"
You grinned, still admiring the silhouette you kept seeing in her eyes. "Now who's the cheesy one?"
"You did, didn't you?"
"I don't even know if there are sparks, like, how do you even feel it?"
She shrugged. "You just feel it, I guess. Maybe it's like with people who can taste a number or a word."
"Synesthesia?"
"Yes, that. Maybe it's like that. Who knows? Romance is an enigma. You can't really explain it but you can feel it."
"Huh, maybe there was." You whispered, watching you and Bucky move your lips against each other. The picture was getting bigger now. "I've never really felt that with anybody. You should've felt my heart, Nat. I thought I was going to have a fucking heart attack."
"If you did, at least you would've died kissing a hot guy." She laughed.
"God, it felt so good. He... he felt so good." You said, ignoring her comment. "It also felt, somehow, right. I thought it was gonna feel wrong but it felt so right. Shit, is it too soon to say that?"
"Did you sleep with him?"
"No."
"Then, it's too soon." She answered. "And what the hell, if that make-out session was so hot, what did you guys do after?"
"Nothing. He went to Peter's room to sleep, then I went mine."
"That's it?"
"And then we kissed again this morning."
"And you still didn't have sex?" She hissed. You shook your head no. "Oh for fuck's sakes. I know he's not that old but he's fucking slow. Anyway, you guys kissed again this morning... So, how did that go?"
Oh god, this morning.
With the images of me and Bucky stuck in your head last night, you couldn't even bring yourself to a good night's sleep. All you could think of was how badly — badly you wanted to march in that room, throw yourself onto him, and have his soft lips against yours; you wanted it so badly that you kept pacing back and forth right in front of his (Peter's) room but then decided against it. And then the rest of the night, you wondered if he did the same, or even thought about it.
You woke up with a smile on your face and what you would usually hate in the mornings, you found pleasant. The hummingbirds on the trees sounded like angels sent from heaven, harmonizing with the knocking against your window, and the sun, although nearly blinding your eyes, gave you a sign that today was going to be a good day, if not, then a better day than the days you’ve had. Then you got up, staring at the busy street ahead, thankful you didn't have to go through that, then went towards the bathroom. You opened the door, and just your luck, Bucky was standing in front, his mouth slightly agape at the sight of you.
"Good morning, beautiful." He said, nearly whispered.
"H-hi." was all you could muster, bewildered at the sight of his blue eyes, the same color of that of the high seas, washing over you. "I was about to, uh, go wash up."
"Right, right of course. Go ahead." He stepped aside, giving me space to walk into.
As soon as you were done washing up, you turned around, opened the door, and lo and behold... Bucky.
"Oh wow, it's like, one of those game shows," Nat interrupted, "you pick a door, they open the door then you get your prize."
You chuckled. "Oh, Natasha. You're so weird."
"So... did you get your prize?"
"Nat!"
"What? It was right there!"
And the answer was yes, you did.
Because as soon your eyes met, he wrapped his arms around you and wasted no time finding your lips. You threw your arms around his neck, elbows on his strong, broad shoulder for support. This time, you opened your mouth wider, allowing his tongue inside of you. A moan escaped your lips. The taste of minty mouthwash sitting on your tongue, and overlapping his.
"Wow," you pulled away, grinning, "Hi."
"Hello, doll."
"Hi, good morning."
"Okay, I'm gonna need you to shut up 'cause I'm still not done with you."
"Oh, okay — "
"Not another word, doll."
You opened your mouth to say some more, curious what he'd do if you continued to speak but no words came out; only his tongue coming in first in your mouth. He lifted your body so easily towards the couch, never letting your lips detach. He laid you down, your head landing on a throw pillow, and he hovered over your body.
"And then his phone rang." You groaned.
"Ugh, what a cockblocker." Nat mirrored. "And who the hell calls at seven in the morning?"
"He had some business emergency. He told me he could stay but I urged him to go."
"Why the hell would you do that? You were about to get some." Nat searched your face for some answers. Younavoided her gaze. "Oh, I know. You got cold feet."
"I think so." You replied, nodding and biting your lower lip.
"Please don't tell me this is about Peter. Honey, you're not betraying anyone if you sleep with Bucky or date him. How many times do I have to tell you that?"
"I know, I know." You sighed. "Surprisingly, that's not why. Gosh, I haven't even thought about Peter. But yeah, he's definitely not the reason."
Nat stared at you for what felt like forever. "How long?" She finally spoke.
You frowned. "How long the what?"
"How long since your last?"
You paused and thought about it for a moment. "A little over a year."
Nat's eyes almost jumped out of her sockets. "Over a year? Jesus, it's like you're a virgin again. I could never last that long."
"Of course, you won't." You replied. "That's why you went with Steve."
She scoffed. Now, it was her turn to avoid any eye contact she may have with you. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Please. He imprinted his scent on you like a freaking werewolf."
"I don't know what you mean."
"Have you never seen Twilight?" You rolled your eyes. "Deny all you want but it won't change the fact that I could smell Steve on you a mile away."
"Ugh, I thought we were being so secretive." She placed her forehead on the wooden table.
"Then stop having sex at his office."
"We don't — "
"You come in smelling like you, then you come out there smelling like him. It's not rocket science." You shrugged. "How do you even do it there? It's so cramped and full of papers."
"How did we go from talking about your sex life to mine? Let's get back to you."
"There's nothing to talk about." You sighed. "I barely have one."
"The more we have to talk about it." She smirked. "So, who was your last and why was it your last?"
Nat could be so straightforward at times. You didn't know if you liked that about her or not.
"I don't know. Some random guy I met online, and I just wasn't interested in anybody after that, and I have no plans on having a long-term boyfriend then. Or even a girlfriend."
"Why not?"
"My ex-boyfriend wasn't that good to me and I guess I haven't felt anything romantic or... I don't know just something." You replied. "Until Bucky."
Nat leaned back on the booth. "Huh."
"What?"
"I just realized I don't know much about you." She shrugged.
"Nat, we weren't really friends back then; more like acquaintances. But you're here almost everyday now, thanks to Steve."
"We should go out soon, y'know." She said, clearly ignoring your last comment. "Just the two of us and hang out like real friends do."
"Sure, why not." You grinned.
"Anyway, back to you," she continued, "y'know sex is like riding a bike. Once you hop on to him, it'll get to you. And then you ride him into oblivion."
You couldn't help but giggle. "God, you and Steve must have some pretty kinky sex."
"Hey, what happens there," she pointed at Steve's office, "stay there. But what happens between you and Bucky? Should stay with me."
You let out a small huff. "Don't count on it."
"You're gonna sleep with him one way or another, maybe fall in love, who knows?"
"Okay, sleep with him — yeah, sure but fall in love with him? That's a bit of a stretch, Nat. Now, that's too soon."
"I didn't mean now!" She said defensively. "And again, don't speak too soon. Remember when you told me you'd never kiss him 'cause it feels like betraying Peter?"
"Uh-huh."
"Case in point." She smirked, resting her feet on the table. "Just flow where the river takes you. Don't think too much about it. Do what you feel."
The door opened briskly, revealing Steve with his signature denim on denim attire. He looked at you, a feigned confusion crossing his face. "Y/n, you're not supposed to be here."
You tilted your head. "I'm sorry, are you gonna have sex in the bar?"
"Y/n!" Nat reached across the table and slapped your hand.
"Jesus, woman. Don't worry your secret's safe with me."
"That's not what I meant." Steve nervously chuckled. "You have to go to the rooftop. Now."
"Wait," You paused, "you're serious."
"Yes, I am, and you need to go now."
Before you could even ask Steve what you were supposed to do on the rooftop, he was shoving you right towards the door and slamming it in front of your face, kicking you out of his bar. You brought your fist on the door, pounding it, yelling for Steve to let me in. The bastard did open the door only his head was out, looking like a floating body-less ghost.
"Um, hello?"
He flashed you a smile. "Hi!"
"Rogers, what the hell?"
"Just go, y/n. You're running out of time."
"What are you talking about? What the hell is going on?"
"Just do as I say. No questions asked. Goodbye. I'll see you tomorrow."
And with that, Steve slammed the door on your face for the second time that day in a span of two minutes. You let out a scoff and kicked the door, stomping your way towards the apartment, then climbing up the rooftop while thinking of a hundred ways to murder Steve Rogers. But those thoughts soon dissipated, seeing Bucky emerge from a white cottony teepee tent which was sitting perfectly in the middle.
He turned around, your eyes meeting each other. He was wearing a black wool buttoned cardigan, a black shirt inside, tucked in a pair of skinny jeans. He strode towards you, grabbed your face and planted a kiss on your lips.
"Hey," he breathed as he pulled away, "you made it just in time."
You bit your lower lip. "What did you do this time, Bucky?"
"I felt bad leaving you like that earlier this morning so I thought I'd make it up to you." He walked closer and held out his hand. "Come on, doll."
You grinned, placing your hand on top of his and letting him walk you towards the front of the tent overlooking the city — just like last time. The inside of the white tent was big enough for two people (at least). On the ground were a pile of blankets and pillows, and unlit hanging lights on its pointed roof. Upon the pile of blankets was a take-out plastic from a Chinese place.
"Sorry, I only know how to cook breakfast so I got us Chinese." Bucky said whilst sitting down. "Come sit." He said, patting a space on the blankets. You did as he told you to, and was handed a little Chinese take-out box. "I hope you like orange chicken."
"Are you kidding me? I love Chinese food." You said while taking it from him.
"Good, good." He said, opening his.
You looked back at the space behind you, admiring how beautifully messy it all was. Then as your eyes went up towards the hanging lights, a memory took place right before your eyes.
"Remember that thing you said about the hanging lights?" Bucky asked, following your gaze. You sheepishly nodded. "Well, I thought today was the right time to put them up."
You bit your lip, looking at him. "So, this is a date."
"Is that okay?"
"Bucky, we've already made out twice in less than twenty-four hours." You giggled. "I think it's only appropriate, but you should've asked me first, y'know. On my way up here, I was already planning on how to kill Steve for kicking me out the bar."
"Yeah, I called in a favor to Mr. Rogers. I'm glad he agreed." He laughed, popping an egg roll in his mouth. "I apologize for not asking you out on a date formally but in my defense, I like being spontaneous in hopes of whisking you off your feet."
You hummed. "You're not quite there yet, Mr. Barnes. You're gonna have to try harder."
"Challenge accepted."
A gasp came out of your mouth as soon as the sunset hues appeared above, like a painting coming to life. You drowned out the noises from below, and listened to the whistling of the cold wind.
"I know you miss watching the sunset." Bucky started.
"Thank you, Bucky." You smiled. "This is a breath of fresh air."
You stopped blinking for a moment, eyes glazed over the sun about to be cradled by darkness, and then for a brief moment, the afterglow lingered — the remaining radiance in the skies before the night takes over; for a brief moment, your heart stopped.
"Wow." You breathed, watching the moon come up. "I haven't seen that for a very long time."
"Neither have I." Bucky replied. "But the magic doesn't stop there." He turned to his side and flicked a switch, the hanging lights coming to life.
"God, this is so cheesy." You commented, shaking your head at Bucky.
He smirked, planting a kiss on your cheek. "Now, it's a date."
You sat there side by side, enjoying the Chinese take-out Bucky had gotten for the both of you, as he asked you questions about your life before New York — the classic first date stuff. You teased him, "Is this what you usually do with other girls?"
"Doll," he chuckled in a low tone, "I don't do this to other girls."
You set down your chopsticks and faced him. "So tell me, what do you usually do on first dates?"
He laughed. "Well, for starters I wouldn't do all this on a first date — or any date for that matter. It's usually just one date and then it's pretty much over."
"How so?"
"Because I don't plan on keeping them around for too long," He shrugged, swallowing his food before continuing to speak, "because they're not interesting enough for me."
Well, am I Bucky? was what you wanted to ask but you repressed yourself from doing so. "If they're not, what do you guys talk about on dates?"
"Boring work stuff. Nothing I've never heard before." He replied. "How about you?"
You snickered. "Oh god, I don't even remember the last date I've been on. But, I guess, it's just the normal stuff. I ask him about himself, and his family. That's pretty much it."
He hummed, nodding to himself as he lifted an orange chicken to his mouth. "So, how come you haven't remembered the last date you've been on?"
You squinted your eyes, looking out of nowhere. "Let's just say it wasn't much of a date."
Bucky frowned, confused, until the realization dawned on him. "Oh, you mean — "
"Yep." You nodded along. "I'm not proud of it. I just wanted to feel something, I guess."
"Did you?"
"God, no." You scoffed. "Meaningless, is what it was."
Under the bright luminescent lights hanging in the tent, you talked about past relationships. Bucky with his unending parade of girls, and yours with a decent number of people (yes, guys and girls), not exceeding twenty. Unlike Bucky, his were just one night stands and short flings, while you, in those number of people you’ve been with, fell in love with one and had your heart shattered into pieces by the same jerk back in college.
"If you don't mind me asking..."
"He... Well, he," You paused, wriggling out of his stare, "he became pretty abusive."
"Oh, I'm so sorry."
"He also cheated on me," you said, "with my sister."
Here, you met his eyes — his wide, unblinking eyes. "Are you kidding me — with your sister?"
"My sister visited me in college once and they bumped into each other somewhere. She didn't know he was my boyfriend, they hooked up, and then when we met for dinner that same night, all hell went loose."
He frowned, shaking his head. "I'm really sorry to hear that."
"It's okay." You shrugged. "I punched him right after. That felt good."
He smirked, nodding his head. "Attagirl."
From there, Bucky asked you about your family, your life before New York. Comfortable enough to tell him about your past, you did. You told him about the afflictions of being the middle child growing up, about how you’ve almost ran away from home back in high school, about how your parents constantly badgered you to continue the family business, about how you wanted to chase some silly dream in New York, about how you got cut off by your family, and about how you left them all behind for a new life in New York. You were pretty much close to a definition of an orphan — which you shouldn't have said in front of Bucky.
And then he asked you about Peter and how you met, and how you did back in college.
"That must've been hard." He commented. "Having three guys as your roommates."
"Are you kidding me? I was more of a man than all of them combined." You scoffed. "But yeah, they all sucked. Anyway, that's a lot about me. Let's move on to you." You set down your take-out boxes, seeing that you already done eating. You grabbed the bottle of water, quenching your thirst. "What's your story, old man?"
"We're gonna go with that? Really?"
"Yes, really."
"Come on, you know all about me. Didn't Peter tell you about all those stories about me?"
"You know that's not what I'm talking about, Bucky."
"Let's save that conversation for the next dates to come." He winked, finishing his food.
"Let's see if you're ever going to get a second date from me." You teased. "Depends on how this night will come to an end."
"Then, I'll make this one a date you will never forget."
You smirked. "Your move, old man."
"Challenge accepted."
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Listen I'm late to this and not sure what got asked so feel free to not answer all three for the following three characters lol Lucy: 2, 6, 22 Scott(lol I'm biased): 13, 19, 38 Brad: 35, 37, 43 A character of your choice you don't talk about often: 21 YOU - G
Bro you managed to ask completely different ones for these OCs! :D BUT ALSO THIS IS A LONG ANSWER YOU BUTT, BUT YOU ASKED FOR IT.
2. How easy is it for [Lucy] to laugh?
Super easy. She enjoys being happy and showing other people that they are making her happy so ALL THE JOY AND LAUGHTER. She’s a giggly person. c: ………nowadays. Not so much as a babbu :c
6. Do[es Lucy] consider laws flexible, or immovable?
Definitely Flexible. Laws LITERALLY change all the time, man. Stuff that was legal/illegal when Lucy was born is seen as old fashioned in the present so who knows what insight the future will bring even further down the line? Lu is also really really reeeeeally bad at actually knowing what’s legal and what isn’t because between the two different countries and two different time zones she is so easily lost. And like. There’s laws for stuff that didn’t even EXIST when she was born so the poor girl has no hope with those.
22. How does jealousy manifest itself in [Lucy] (they become possessive, they become aloof, etc)?
*EDIT : ANSWERED* herp derp :I
Lucy can be kind of childish when it comes to jealousy. Sure she can be coy sometimes but if she’s actually jealous she’d definitely err on the side of possessive more than aloof. She’ll waaaaay over-do it too. Someone has something better than she does? She must improve her own Things. Someone look better than her? She must improve her looks. Someone doting on a person she likes? SHE’LL BE EVEN MORE DOTING, THAT’LL SHOW ‘EM.
13. What color do[es Scott] think they look best in? Do they actually look best in that color?
Scott looks the best in every colour how dare you. Lolnobutrly Scott probably likes obnoxious colours like bright red the most, but he wears whatever tbh. He looks the best in green/blues though because of his eye and hair colour.
19. What is [Scott’s] favorite number?
THIRTEEN. Lol no. … Damnit I kind of do want it to be 13 because I thought of The Thirteen Ghosts of Scooby Doo and Scott would have watched the heck out of that show. Hmm. I don’t think Scott would have a serious favourite number. It probably changes depending on when you ask him. Is he hungry? Fav. # is 3.14 because Pi. In Germany? NINE. Silly stuff like that!
38. What memory do[es Scott] revisit the most often?
Scott figuratively and literally revisits one particular foster family for the longest time. They were just a really nice family and he grew pretty darn attached to some of his foster siblings, but ended up cutting ties because Scott is a drama queen and when his Adults expressed concern over his constant coming-and-going he just went for good. :I Well, almost for good. Like I said, he sometimes literally visists to see how things are going from afar. They live in Philly so it’s nbd.
35. How do[es Brad] treat the things their friends come to them excited about? Are they supportive?
Are you excited for the Thing? Are you in Brad’s company? Congratulations Bradley is also equally as excited for the Thing. You may both now fangirl to the max for as long as your heart desires.
37. Do[es Brad] have a system for remembering names, long lists of numbers, things that need to go in a certain order (like anagrams, putting things to melodies, etc)?
Uhhh. He probably should but apparently I’ve not put enough thought into this beyond “Brad has a good brain therefore good rememberings yes”. Honestly his synesthesia probably helps a helluva lot with recall. I’ve mentioned before how certain peices of music will look like certain colours, for example, so he’ll be able to tell something is Motzart because it ‘starts purple’. Patterns seemingly naturally reveal themselves to Brad, so it’s probably like that for everything. So like a phone number is super easy to remember because the numbers make a tune in his head, or a person’s name has a certain flavour. Links everywhere! Links make things easier to remember! EVERYTHING IS CONNECTED
43. If someone asked [Brad] to explain their sexuality, how would they do so?
TIM-SEXUAL. Ok no but it depends what point in his life it is… Initially Brad associates with being Asexual, but after Tim rears his stupid sexy face Brad slides across that grey-sexual spectrum to feel more comfortable calling himself Demisexual. I mean, in his brain he’s Tim-sexual 5eva, but that’s not a recognised sexuality and also Brad wouldn’t say that outloud to people so he’d explain himself as demisexual for sure.
21. Why do they get up in the morning?
ANSWERING THIS FOR PAIGE :D
Legit. she gets up in the morning because she has 234892734 animals to look after so if it’s not a dog licking her face it’s a cat biting her fingers or a parrot squarking her awake. She needs to see to them so she’ll wake up on her own anyway, but yeah. She loves being able to look after the critters c:
G) What trait of theirs bothers you the most?
Lightning Round!
Lucy: Her maaaajor neediness for attention/stimulation. Gurl just plain wears me out sometimes.
Scott: His utter selfishness. I like writing him as an asshole, but I’d be so annoyed if I knew him in real life. xD
Brad: Being a literal Know-It-All? (Especially since I’m NOT and have to figure out how to sound like a supergenius when writing him. >:I Boi.)
Paige: She can be quite the self-depreciating wall-flower when she wants to be and that makes me a Sad :c
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Bernadette Mayer’s Writing Experiments (selected)
Bernadette Mayer's Writing Experiments (selected)
* Pick a word or phrase at random, let mind play freely around it until a few ideas have come up, then seize on one and begin to write. Try this with a non- connotative word, like "so" etc.
* Systematically eliminate the use of certain kinds of words or phrases from a piece of writing: eliminate all adjectives from a poem of your own, or take out all words beginning with 's' in Shakespeare's sonnets.
* Rewrite someone else's writing. Experiment with theft and plagiarism.
* Systematically derange the language: write a work consisting only of prepositional phrases, or, add a gerund to every line of an already existing work.
* Get a group of words, either randomly selected or thought up, then form these words (only) into a piece of writing-whatever the words allow. Let them demand their own form, or, use some words in a predetermined way. Design words.
* Eliminate material systematically from a piece of your own writing until it is "ultimately" reduced, or, read or write it backwards, line by line or word by word. Read a novel backwards.
* Using phrases relating to one subject or idea, write about another, pushing metaphor and simile as far as you can. For example, use science terms to write about childhood or philosophic language to describe a shirt.
* Take an idea, anything that interests you, or an object, then spend a few days looking and noticing, perhaps making notes on what comes up about that idea, or, try to create a situation or surrounding where everything that happens is in relation.
* Construct a poem as if the words were three-dimensional objects to be handled in space. Print them on large cards or bricks if necessary.
* Write as you think, as close as you can come to this, that is, put pen to paper and don't stop. Experiment writing fast and writing slow.
* Attempt tape recorder work, that is, recording without a text, perhaps at specific times.
* Make notes on what happens or occurs to you for a limited amount of time, then make something of it in writing.
* Get someone to write for you, pretending they are you.
* Write in a strict form, or, transform prose into a poetic form.
* Write a poem that reflects another poem, as in a mirror.
* Read or write a story or myth, then put it aside and, trying to remember it, write it five or ten times at intervals from memory. Or, make a work out of continuously saying, in a column or list, one sentence or line, over and over in different ways, until you get it "right."
* Make a pattern of repetitions.
* Take an already written work of your own and insert, at random or by choice, a paragraph or section from, for example, a psychology book or a seed catalogue. Then study the possibilities of rearranging this work or rewriting the "source."
* Experiment with writing in every person and tense every day.
* Explore the possibilities of lists, puzzles, riddles, dictionaries, almanacs, etc. Consult the thesaurus where categories for the word "word" include: word as news, word as message, word as information, word as story, word as order or command, word as vocable, word as instruction, promise, vow, contract.
* Write what cannot be written; for example, compose an index.
* The possibilities of synesthesia in relation to language and words: the word and the letter as sensations, colors evoked by letters, sensations caused by the sound of a word as apart from its meaning, etc. And the effect of this phenomenon on you; for example, write in the water, on a moving vehicle.
* Attempt writing in a state of mind that seems least congenial.
* Consider word and letter as forms-the concretistic distortion of a text, a mutiplicity of o's or ea's, or a pleasing visual arrangement: "the mill pond of chill doubt."
* Do experiments with sensory memory: record all sense images that remain from breakfast, study which senses engage you, escape you.
* Write, taking off from visual projections, whether mental or mechanical, without thought to the word in the ordinary sense, no craft.
* Make writing experiments over a long period of time. For example, plan how much you will write for a particular work each day, perhaps one word or one page.
* Write on a piece of paper where something is already printed or written.
* Attempt to eliminate all connotation from a piece of writing and vice versa.
* Experiment with writing in a group, collaborative work: a group writing individually off of each other's work over a long period of time in the same room; a group contributing to the same work, sentence by sentence or line by line; one writer being fed information and ideas while the other writes; writing, leaving instructions for another writer to fill in what you can't describe; compiling a book or work structured by your own language around the writings of others; or a group working and writing off of each other's dream writing.
* Dream work: record dreams daily, experiment with translation or transcription of dream thought, attempt to approach the tense and incongruity appropriate to the dream, work with the dream until a poem or song emerges from it, use the dream as an alert form of the mind's activity or consciousness, consider the dream a problem-solving device, change dream characters into fictional characters, accept dream's language as a gift.
* Structure a poem or prose writing according to city streets, miles, walks, drives. For example: Take a fourteen-block walk, writing one line per block to create a sonnet; choose a city street familiar to you, walk it, make notes and use them to create a work; take a long walk with a group of writers, observe, make notes and create works, then compare them; take a long walk or drive-write one line or sentence per mile. Variations on this.
* The uses of journals. Keep a journal that is restricted to one set of ideas, for instance, a food or dream journal, a journal that is only written in when it is raining, a journal of ideas about writing, a weather journal. Remember that journals do not have to involve "good" writing-they are to be made use of. Simple one-line entries like "No snow today" can be inspiring later. Have 3 or 4 journals going at once, each with a different purpose. Create a journal that is meant to be shared and commented on by another writer--leave half of each page blank for the comments of the other.
* Type out a Shakespeare sonnet or other poem you would like to learn about/imitate double-spaced on a page. Rewrite it in between the lines. * Find the poems you think are the worst poems ever written, either by your own self or other poets. Study them, then write a bad poem.
* Choose a subject you would like to write "about." Then attempt to write a piece that absolutely avoids any relationship to that subject. Get someone to grade you.
* Write a series of titles for as yet unwritten poems or proses.
* Work with a number of objects, moving them around on a field or surface-describe their shifting relationships, resonances, associations. Or, write a series of poems that have only to do with what you see in the place where you most often write. Or, write a poem in each room of your house or apartment. Experiment with doing this in the home you grew up in, if possible.
* Write a bestiary (a poem about real and mythical animals).
* Write five short expressions of the most adamant anger; make a work out of them.
* Write a work gazing into a mirror without using the pronoun I.
* A shocking experiment: Rip pages out of books at random (I guess you could xerox them) and study them as if they were a collection of poetic/literary material. Use this method on your old high school or college notebooks, if possible, then create an epistemological work based on the randomly chosen notebook pages.
* Meditate on a word, sound or list of ideas before beginning to write.
* Take a book of poetry you love and make a list, going through it poem by poem, of the experiments, innovations, methods, intentions, etc. involved in the creation of the works in the book.
* Write what is secret. Then write what is shared. Experiment with writing each in two different ways: veiled language, direct language.
* Write a soothing novel in twelve short paragraphs.
* Write a work that attempts to include the names of all the physical contents of the terrestrial world that you know.
* Take a piece of prose writing and turn it into poetic lines. Then, without remembering that you were planning to do this, make a poem of the first and last words of each line to see what happens.
* If you have an answering machine, record all messages received for one month, then turn them into a best-selling novella.
* Write a macaronic poem (making use of as many languages as you are conversant with).
* Attempt to speak for a day only in questions; write only in questions.
* Attempt to become in a state where the mind is flooded with ideas; attempt to keep as many thoughts in mind simultaneously as possible. Then write without looking at the page, typescript or computer screen (This is "called" invisible writing).
* Choose a period of time, perhaps five or nine months. Every day, write a letter that will never be sent to a person who does or does not exist, or to a number of people who do or do not exist. Create a title for each letter and don't send them. Pile them up as a book.
* Etymological work. Experiment with investigating the etymologies of all words that interest you, including your own name(s). Approaches to etymologies: Take a work you've already written, preferably something short, look up the etymological meanings of every word in that work including words like "the" and "a". Study the histories of the words used, then rewrite the work on the basis of the etymological information found out. Another approach: Build poems and writings form the etymological families based on the Indo-European language constructs, for instance, the BHEL family: bulge, bowl, belly, boulder, billow, ball, balloon; or the OINO family: one, alone, lonely, unique, unite, unison, union; not to speak of one of the GEN families: kin, king, kindergarten, genteel, gender, generous, genius, genital, gingerly, pregnant, cognate, renaissance, and innate!
* Write a brief bibliography of the science and philosophy texts that interest you. Create a file of newspaper articles that seem to relate to the chances of writing poetry.
* Turn a list of the objects that have something to do with a person who has died into a poem or poem form, in homage to that person.
* Write the same poem over and over again, in different forms, until you are weary. Another experiment: Set yourself the task of writing for four hours at a time, perhaps once, twice or seven times a week. Don't stop until hunger and/or fatigue take over. At the very least, always set aside a four-hour period once a month in which to write. This is always possible and will result in one book of poems or prose writing for each year. Then we begin to know something.
* Take a traditional text like the pledge of allegiance to the flag. For every noun, replace it with one that is seventh or ninth down from the original one in the dictionary. For instance, the word "honesty" would be replaced by "honey dew melon." Investigate what happens; different dictionaries will produce different results.
* Attempt to write a poem or series of poems that will change the world. Does everything written or dreamed of do this?
* Write occasional poems for weddings, for rivers, for birthdays, for other poets' beauty, for movie stars maybe, for the anniversaries of all kinds of loving meetings, for births, for moments of knowledge, for deaths. Writing for the "occasion" is part of our purpose as poets in being-this is our work in the community wherein we belong and work as speakers for others.
* Write poems and proses in which you set yourself the task of using particular words, chosen at random like the spelling exercises of children: intelligence, amazing, weigh, weight, camel, camel's, foresight, through, threw, never, now, snow, rein, rain. Make a story of that!
* Plan, structure, and write a long work. Consider what is the work now needed by the culture to cure and exact even if by accident the great exorcism of its 1998 sort-of- seeming-not-being. What do we need? What is the poem of the future?
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