Wow, I know it’s only been two weeks, but I feel like I’ve been away forever Internet!  I missed you, of course I did, but real life just beckons and demands sometimes.  Evil Kenievel is mending well, or so it seems.    We meet with the surgeon again on Friday.   Considering the amount of metal Evil Kenievel now has in his arm, perhaps this week’s writing prompt should have been Metal instead of Plastic.

Plastic it is.  I’ll be reading all your posts on this topic for the first time as I write this, so go back and check for comment love!

The Wandering Author starts us off with an unforgiving piece about the role of plastic in our culture.

Plastic, a cheap substance not inherently beautiful like metal or wood, breaks easily in use, yet refuses to degrade and go away when tossed aside to clutter up meadows and forests. At best an inexpensive, less satisfying alternative to better materials, the ultimate cost to our world is high.

Plastic, not real, not honest, not strong enough to resist pressure.

In neither sense is plastic a positive idea. Yet our society makes more and more from plastic, trusts it to do more; we vote for plastic leaders, idolise celebrities with plastic bodies and personalities. What does this say about us?

I like what Fiction Scribe did with this piece.  There’s something about the rhythm and cadence that captures well a culture’s frenetic drive toward perfection.

Eyes. Ears. Mouth. Shoulders.

Neck. Lips. Cheeks. Eyebrows.

Fix. Pluck. Colour. Exfoliate.

Cut. Trim. Tease. Curl.

Diet.

Accessorize. Prioritize. Organize. Glorify.

No success? Try, try, try.

Don’t be shy or chance goes by.

Blush on cheeks. Shadowed eyes.

Exercise.

Change. Mold. Mesh. Mingle.

Trim. Taut. Terrific. Anti-wrinkle.

Suck in. Chin up. Chest out. Glitter sprinkle.

Shine and twinkle.

Surgery.

Money. Shine. Pride. Pose.

Liquid lips. Hint of rose.

Spine distort. Deforming toes.

Beauty’s price. So it goes.

Virginity lost.

Realization. Past generation.

No room for age in new Y nation.

Old dress, news, style, fashion.

Nothing left. No education.

Plastic.

Renee Daniels writes about a specific kind of plastic.  The kind we should all be avoiding like the plague given economic forecasts.

“Pre-Approved!”

“O% APR for the first six months!”

“Improve your credit!!”

Hmmm. It would be good to have in an emergency…oh look!  Saks is having a sale…

Credit increase?  Well I’ve earned it.  And look!  Nordstrom’s is having a sale…

What do you mean it’s rejected?  Well try this one…what?

Where did all this clutter come from?  It’s time to simplify, organize, reduce and reuse.  Time to go green. Perhaps I should remove the plastic in my life…

Secret Agent Mama slayed me as well as her unwanted visitor with this clever piece.  Mishi is clever!

Dear Unwanted Fly In My Abode,

I know you have your place in this world. I know that without you I cannot exist, but you need to realize that your incessant buzzing in my ear is the beginning of your demise.

I will not swat you with a plastic fly swatter. I don’t have one. I will not Mr. Miyagi you with chop sticks. I’m good, but not that good.

Over yonder you wait.  What you don’t see is this damp towel.  It’s the only weapon I need in this war. Insect, prepare thee for death!

Sincerely,

The Fly Slayer

Mr Lady over at Whiskey in My Sippy Cup creates a riddle of sorts.  To find the answer, you’ll have to visit and see the picture that accompanies this post.

For thirty years I traveled through this world in a haze. I was out of balance, life was a mere blur that passed before my eyes. And then a little girl came into my life, and I realized that I had to take care of myself if I was going to be a good role model to her. I stopped making excuses and fixed something in my life that desperately needed attention, found the one thing that I thought could bring focus to my life. And that same girl, who inspired this in me, stole my fake plastic clarity today.

I’m thoroughly enjoying witnessing the young Night Blogger’s evolution as a writer.

The streets are crowded.  Conversations, cell phones, men in business suits walking swiftly.  The click of hells, the honking of horns.  Taxis pass, hold up a hand.  Birds crow, street lights flicker.  Nervous expressions, confident ones.  Smiles.  Frowns.

 

A quaint shop nestled between towering factories.  Quiet and ignored, its mannequins watch with dignity as strange faces appear and disappear from one moment to the next.  Lavish masks, feathered ones, sequined and weighted with gaudy fake jewels.

 

“What business is there in selling masks?” she would ask.

 

I would reply, “Everyone wears a mask.”

 

“These ones are plastic.”

 

“They all are.”

 

I don’t think I missed anyone.  Lceel I checked your site just to be sure.  Sorry to hear you were sick!

 

I just started reading The Pillars of the Earth but I don’t have that with me so I’ll have to pick up another book.  Hold on while I go grab one… Ah, perfect.  From The House of Mirth by Edith Wharton the word is:

 

Protection 

 

 

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