Story of Tim

The timed exercise. Write non-stop for ten/twenty/thirty minutes (I don’t remember, I did this one a while ago). Keep your hand moving. Don’t cross out. Don’t worry about spelling, punctuation, or grammar. Lose control, don’t think, and go for the jugular.


Once upon a time, there was a boy named Tim.
He walked and he walked, he walked on four limbs.
He did this because he was only two years old,
Even though it wasn’t what he was told.
People said “walk upright, it’s time to grow up!”,
but Tim walked on all fours and showed them his butt.
They said “it’s time to grow up, stop being a baby!”,
Tim said “Ef you and ef me and give me a lady.”

Twenty years later and Tim was twenty-two.
Where he felt most comfortable was at the zoo.
He wasn’t an animal, he walked correct now,
but more than people or persons he connected with cows.
People are mean, always pushy and bossing around.
Animals are nice, they are sweet, and they don’t make a sound.
People are stupid, they are grumpy, they think they’re so smart.
Animals don’t care, they stay quiet, they sit around and fart.

Twenty years later and Tim is forty-two.
He misses the cows who only say moo.
He has a job now; he’s square as can be.
He only has freedom when he goes to go pee.
In the bathroom, alone, he can be free, be himself,
not some puppet striving for plaques on a shelf.
In the bathroom is where Tim is free to be free,
not some faker loser who stings like a bee.

Twenty years later and Tim is sixty-two.
Now he goes around, creates lots of hullabaloo.
He quit his job, got out of that life.
He juggles chainsaws now, swords an axe and a knife.
He performs on the street, crowds love what they see.
Tim does what he loves, and that is the key.
Crowds give Tim their money, at most dollar bills.
It is not too much, Tim can’t buy his pills.
But now Tim feels great, no pills does he need,
his life is fulfilled, his soul has been freed.
He even got lucky, met the girl of his dreams.
He takes her home where she moans and she screams.

Now it’s Tim’s last twenty and he’s eighty-two.
Twenty more years, that just won’t do.
Tim is old now, juggling hurts his arms,
it’s taken its toll and he has lots of scars.
He’s still married though, still happy, still free.
He lies in his bed, dies at eighty-three.
His wife stays behind, she’s sad, still alive,
she’ll never forget this magical guy.
Who followed his heart, never fit with the rest,
and that’s what made him his very best.
That’s the story of Tim, the story’s at an end.
If you feel like you know him, I hope he’s your friend.


About Gabriel Bruskoff
I make movies! See for more information.

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