• Scrine is the home of lost, forgotten, and lonely sentences.
• Play nice. Be kind. Post only single sentences.
• Scrine gives everyone plenty of rope to play with, but reminds everyone that even the longest rope is capable of hanging a person.
• Censorship is ugly, but still not the ugliest bird in the sky. Happily, this has never been necessary.
• The appropriateness of all sentences will remain the sole discretion of Scrine's tender.
• Anyone. Reading along costs nothing but time.
• Membership is required to post your own sentences. Joining is quick and painless.
• With membership comes the unique privilege of calling yourself a Scriner.
• Your information will never be sold, given away, shared, or even traded for an unimaginably delicious slice of pie.
• The above sentence may be the only sentence on this site that is 100% true.
Use this space for notes and reminders to yourself.
This is a private space. Only you will see your notes.
Expiration date is not required, only if you want the note to magically disappear.
A great place to keep your fantastic ideas, like, "Hey! I need to write more sentences about crickets and English gentlemen with unruly beards."
If ‘Mouse could be granted just one wish, just one, it would be to be able to share the music in his head with y’all.
I can turn around, look at my hands, I can see my own breath here, at this site, where my friends all conspire.
grudknows, grinning mischieviously (and snickering behind her tackily ring adorned hand) offers Boot a virtual yellow rose - not a real one, just the idea of one, in friendship - because grudknows, of course, values boots friendship.
All is forgotten!
Okay folks, listen up—if I’m going to stop being a ‘mouse and start being a ‘muse, y’all have to start listening to me—Keith, good job on “Bottle Cap, Going Down,” keep up the good work; Bakerina, throw on that apron and get to work—I wanna see apple pie and an eggy update by Monday; anyone else? Jo, you get Jen pregnant yet? What’s next? Step right up, I’m ready for ya! Come one, come all, the ‘muse is in the house.
Boot has gleefully pointed out that I have now appeared in the list of ten scriners, which is a little disturbing… and lead me to wondering *where is* Bunni - the person whose posting made me discover the scrine site in the first place - I wanted to cite the quote I’d received via messenger, before sharing it willy-nilly with others - come back bunni!
(not counting Keith and Other who, I presume, go way back) have actually met IRL, as it were?—I ask only because we’re all taking on the characteristics of old friends, at least to me.
Via Snowball and Bakerina, and in honor of ‘mouse’s upcoming birthday, let’s all sing along.
they’ll be back, they’ve just got other stuff they hafta do right now so i’m here and it’s you and me: merry christmas, scrine.
And in a tentative, trembling way, she paused with her fingers over the keyboard, realising that the only reason she was able to make this first one sentence Scrine for 2006 was damn well geographic, but she forged ahead nonetheless, as she had to let them know how enjoyable and creative this bit of the world has been for the last few months thanks to the Big Rusty Metal Bird and his friends.
Keith, I really need a new fence.
What might be good for what I anticipate to be upcoming months of sheer hell, might be some kind of library I keep for myself of Things That Would Cheer Me Up, No Matter What.
is anyone else deriving the beneficent fortitude i am from the apparent fact that we are all in our heaps o’ trouble here and that in our numbers, if in nothing else, there is solace?
i’ve just broken into my scrine mailbox in desperation and found 103 (or so) messages; and to think i had been feeling neglected- i’m down to 59 now, and…and i love all of you (you didn’t see that beer i just took a slug off of did you?).
Boot and grudknows continued to argue about who should put the guest posting on scrine, of course - it could have been an endless argument but grudknows finally gave in and didn’t post anything from the source at all.
I step out of the office for a quick coffee only to find that time has warped, making a minute seem like a pleasurable hour and making three hours only seem like one.
it’s the process that gets me high and the product that makes me cringe: like the pie that turned watery, the bread that went flat, the mashed potatoes that stayed lumpy; i prefer to walk in the present, free and easy, without dragging the little red wagon of the past behind me- which is why i’m done blogging, (i know, i’ve said it before, but this time it aches so much that even i know it’s true) though, until Keith stops serving me drinks and tells me I have to go home- I’ll never finish scrining.
It’s surprising how much pleasure can be derived from catching up with people you haven’t seen since before ‘a long time ago’ even came to be - and - other than the fact that they’ve grown up, had a family and “stuff”, it’s warming to find that the things you loved about them ‘way back when’ are the things you find yourself loving about them now.
My hot tip for catching up with long lost friends is simply to become unemployed, email everyone you know to tell them you are looking for work and then sit back and watch the dinner invitations roll in.
I got the job - well, both of them actually.
You will join a quirky and lovable community of linguaphiles, who will adopt you as their own and make you feel welcome and loved.
Instead of flowers, I bring you words.
I know I’m in my own little world, but it’s okay, they know me here.
As a young girl, I dreamt of finding a secret door to a small community of caring, if slightly odd, people… hello everyone.
... is a good dose of goliard. Happy Birthday, g.
I think I may just have realised why I initially felt such immediate affection for our very own ‘mouse.
Some people have their yoga; I have my Scrine.
I need a big shiny red button that I can push when I feel the need for the company of other Scriners, hopefully one that will reach towards their slumbering forms and swiftly prod them in the buttocks.
Happiness today is knowing that half way across the world someone is wearing the same socks as you.
My friend Schuster doesn’t pull any punches when it comes to Rufus’ feelings and calls him loser and “a pathetic waste of flesh and blood” all the time, but they’ve started hanging out together again on weekends now that Schuster’s pawned his gun.
I have an old Buick Century with a very large trunk, large enough to accomodate an IRS agent, a shovel and a bag of lime.
Sometimes a random-play selection on the jukebox reminds you of someone (green) and has to be shared.
1. The existence of a woman like Bakerina.
I miss darksteve.
I would hold you in my arms and we would travel to another place, one of our choosing, one of our own.
Friends are the people who, regardless of the passage of time, always feel like friends.
Some days are so beautiful, breezy and gentle that you wish you were a bear lolling about in your very own field of flowers.
One can not ever give thanks enough for this peaceful place.
Now that the next ten days are wide open for you and your family, if you’d like to spend those days over here in Gomorrah-on-the-Hudson, I’m sure that my landlord would understand if I told him we’ll need to knock a wall down so as to provide the most comfortable accommodation possible for you and your family; of course, the tenant in the apartment on the other side of the wall might not be as enthusiastic, but I’m sure I can negotiate an acceptable solution well before you get through baggage claim.
Woohoooooo! and a beer.
You may well be able to have fun with words, but eventually someone will get hurt (falling off their chair with laughter).
It might be an unusual name for a pub, but Cassandra was sure it would attract her sort of customer.
I was just admiring the word paucity and how fitting a little word it is when put to appropriate use, so I thought I’d leave it here where it could be admired by an appreciative crowd.
Always calls me back, always offers me shelter, even when there isn’t rain.
I’ll be a city girl, all in black, with fabulous hair and an expensive handbag; I got the job!
We were drinking beers in this dive bar in Seward, Alaska and Imaginary Juan was listening mesmerized to Imaginary Keith’s amazing stories.
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