Doodling with the Aboriginal Writers' Collective of Manitoba

I belong to the Aboriginal Writers' Collective of Manitoba. It's a collective of Winnipeg based Aboriginal writers . . duh!

But, for the most part, it's a place where we can get together, chill, write, and share our stories together. Even, if, for the most part, we're pretty dysfuctional as a group. But, we're kinda like family, we fight, bicker, laugh, and slam each other down in battles between wits.

Afterwards, we head down to a pub, called the 'Kings Head', where we drink ale and smoke lots of ciggerettes. Where we fight, bicker, laugh and slam each other down in battles between wits.

In any case, here is a piece written tonight, as it was written during a writing exercise.

The Perfect Moment (albeit at 5 o'clock in the morning . . .)

'The green neck of a wine bottle is perfect to hold at 5 o'clock in the morning, when the beer is all gone and the hard liquer has been drunk. By this time, the sun is beginning to creep above the horizen, the birds are beginning to chirp, and I'm enjoying the moment.

I have found a joint, rolled from the collective remains from all the roaches, smoked earlier that night. There's a bit of ash, mixed in with the toke, but it's all good in this perfect moment.

I'm inhaling, swigging wine, with a smile on my lips. You can hear David and his old lady having drunk sex in the bedroom upstairs. He's going pretty hard tonight, judging by the sound of her voice, "Oh God! Oh God! Oh God!"

The wine is almost gone, the joint is coming to an end, and I need a fucking smoke to enjoy the rest of this perfect moment.'

Talk to you later!