It's that horrible time of year where a billion students are moving into/back to Boston for college just as half a billion former students have to move out to the wilds of Not Boston. It's a season of parking space wars, sidewalks jammed with abandoned furniture, and UHaul trucks trapped in places they were not designed to get through. Apart from a day where I accidentally volunteered to help my boss purchase a comic collection and drive it back and forth to the store, I haven't had to be a part of the Boston September 1st moving carnage since 2009, and I hope to never be a part of it again. I will likely have to move again at some point, but I will do it off-season.
It got me thinking, though, where do I want to end up when I never have to move again? What is my ideal place? Write about the place you'd like to make your permanent residence when you are forever exhausted by moving.
Last week, I was in The Champion of Champions Slam, and decided I would write a series of new pieces for it. One of them involved the idiot who was climbing Trump Tower. I wrote it before all the facts were in, and assumed it was some sort of protest, and not the actions of a Trump enthusiast. I rewrote the poem as the night went on, and it inspired the following prompt: Write about a historical event before all the information was in. An ode to the Titanic's successful maiden voyage. What helpful psychiatrist Bruce Willis was in The Sixth Sense.
Bonus prompt: A couple of nights ago my apartment was invaded by three recently de-housed bats (I originally thought there were five because they were sneaky and flying back and forth between a room I thought had been sealed off). I mocked my cats for not making any attempts to catch the bats or even interact with them but, actually, if the bats had been rabid and the cats Had interacted with them, they could have caught rabies, which is 100% fatal in cats.
Write about a time when being lazy or simply not acting has saved your life.
This week's prompt from Emily Carroll is certainly something on Adam's mind, as well as most of our Cantab regulars. It's August, and in the Boston area that means the students are coming back, and many of the cool people are leaving. Emily herself is on her way to New York, just a few short weeks after another bartender moved to Colorado.
Emily's prompt: Write a poem about moving on, not moving on, or failing to move on.
You can't trip down a flight of stairs these days without landing on someone playing Pokemon Go. Since I don't have any No Trespassing signs on my property, nor an allergy to people enjoying life, I enjoy people getting excited about catching fictional animals. But how do real domesticated animals feel about the game? Are they feeling ignored by their human companions? Are they grateful that they get some alone time? Are they confused because they're used to being the only creatures in the house that can see things that aren't really there?
Write a poem about the phenomenon of Pokemon Go in the voice of a pet or a wild animal.
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