Ondrej David

Writers are scared of no ideas, no thoughts. The blank mind. I think It’s a beautiful opportunity. With nothing set to sway you in either direction, there’s no right or wrong. You write from an emotion, not a fantasy. Perhaps that’s the sad part if you are

There. Where? Like this? Like that. Great. Yes. OK. Got it? Almost. Good. Thanks. Hmmm. What?

Chimney fumes out black ashes swimming toward the blue sky and the chubby clouds. The fuel of coal and anger generates the turbine’s spin with wet steam. The general’s gaze turns in careful degrees to prevent the neck from breaking. Neverending progress and the metal nature of reduction

Tickled time tumbles towards the town’s local clown who throws tables then touches thick thighs well he tries tricked by thought he topples and tramples as the time the clown together intertwines.

Sticks and stones I still throw we’ll have a go a blow after blow. You blow me I blow you until there’s no one to stand in the door of the new beginning.

Pluck pluck pluck. The bass moves along Pluck pluck pause pluck pluck Swinging the crowd around. One lower dance’s chieftain plucks pause pluck pause pluck the crowd still follows. Cheers erupt when the piano hammers start to mine in the high altitude. Singer joins in the improvised verse called