Cash Prize Contest

Incite Change (social criticism, social change, social justice)

Photo by Thought Catalog on Unsplash

WE ARE HAVING A CONTEST! FOR MONEY!

Yep. Actual money.

I’m so excited.

Here’s how it will work: The editors will choose an essay topic. Writers will have one week to enter their essay before the deadline. Editors will then deliberate for a week to vote on a winner. The winner will get paid.

We would love to have one of these money essays each week in perpetuity, but only have enough money for 10.

If you would like to see more money essays, you can seriously help by promoting the TBI Ko-fi page, and…


It may take the shape of poetry

Trigger warning/suicide

Photo by Hailey Kean on Unsplash

Praying to the Unicorns? No. Not praying.

Begging.

Pleading.

Wailing.

Unicorns are as real as Gods and sons of Gods when

your wrists are slit open. When

you are bleeding out. When

there was no other option, no other person, no other thought, feeling, emotion.

Only desperation.

Praying to the Unicorns makes as much sense as accepted nonsense, water to wine, bread and fishes, invisible power listening, caring, allowing pain and

suffering

no proof of existence.

Unicorns are as real as Gods and sons of Gods when

you are crawling or curled. When

your body spasms. When

your…


Memory loss and brain fog aren’t just annoying; they are dangerous.

Lamp posts along a trail in the fog.
Lamp posts along a trail in the fog.
Photo by Rory Björkman on Unsplash

I'm far too young to be this old.

I started the aging process a bit younger than most. Not only did I have a full hysterectomy in my 30s, jump-starting menopause, but I have done a lot of damage to my body. I started smoking cigarettes when I was ten. I poured a lot of poison down my throat and have put worse into my veins. I began drinking and using drugs at 13. I continued well into my thirties. I no longer use drugs or even drink beyond the occasional glass of wine or bottle of beer. I do…


With a pen in her mouth and ink in her hair?

Headstone in a cemetery reads “Cast a cold Eye, On Life On Death. Horseman pass by -W.B. Yeats”
Headstone in a cemetery reads “Cast a cold Eye, On Life On Death. Horseman pass by -W.B. Yeats”
Photo by Mark de Jong on Unsplash

What is she doing over there? Eyes glassy. Blank stare? Is that ink in her hair?

Words pressing in her brain. Images went in, they want out again. They are trapped in a prison of fear and shame. The words want out. Now! They are beginning to cause pain.

The small voices speak inside her. They say she is bad; she is wrong, they can’t abide her. She’ll fail. She’ll fall. She’ll stay off the horse. She’ll let it ride her.

Too many years chasing the dragon. The words build and build. She hops on the wagon.

Years and years…


50/100 Words

Roundup of Thrifty Words 100 #16 and Fifty Words #37: Taboo

Photo by Michael Dziedzic on Unsplash

I feel like I am always apologizing for being late. The irony is, I can’t stand lateness. I feel it is incredibly disrespectful of the other party to be late.

My mother is always running late. If you’ve followed along here on TBI, you already know how I feel about my mother.

Well, once again I am late and feel I am turning into my mother. I suppose it is inevitable; we all turn into our parents in the end.

Becoming my mother is my biggest taboo. And not because she is sacred!

Here are yall’s taboos. Enjoy!

50 Words


It’s time to tighten up my social media again

Photo by bruce mars on Unsplash

So many names. I don’t recognize most of them. Who are all these people?

When I start saying these things to myself, I know it is time to clean up my social media accounts.

I have quite a few solid friendships made on social media. Some of these people I’ve met IRL and we adore each other. We will continue to be fast friends for the rest of our lives. A few I’ve met IRL and felt lukewarm toward them. Many I’ve never met IRL and will still ride or die for them.

There are many more with whom I…


50/100 Words

Thrifty Words 100 #16 and 50 #37: Taboo

A sacred god figure wrapping for the war god ‘Oro, made of woven dried coconut fibre (sennit), which would have protected a Polynesian god effigy (to’o), made of wood. The mana of the god was symbolised by feathers, usually red in colour, which were attached to the surface of the woven covering. Figure held at the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York.
A sacred god figure wrapping for the war god ‘Oro, made of woven dried coconut fibre (sennit), which would have protected a Polynesian god effigy (to’o), made of wood. The mana of the god was symbolised by feathers, usually red in colour, which were attached to the surface of the woven covering. Figure held at the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York.
By American, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=7359845

Taboo. The word itself has come to mean many things. It is a perfume. It is a television show. It means forbidden, unacceptable, sacred.

I grew up knowing taboo first in the sacred sense. In Polynesian society, sacred items, food, and people could be considered tabu. These items were to be left alone. It was forbidden to touch them, approach them, and in some instances even to talk about them.

As I got older and well, wilder, I came to know the concept of taboo as unacceptable. Mom said smoking was taboo…


Crypto blogging

I’ve become a crypto enthusiast and evangelist.

Photo by André François McKenzie on Unsplash

My husband has been investing for years. He lives to talk about his investments, his strategies, and his exchanges. For years all I heard was Charlie Brown’s teacher.

I happened across read.cash and noise.cash while surfing around trying to learn about Bitcoin Cash (BCH) and Bitcoin (BTC).

Read.cash is just like Medium in that you can blog about whatever and the AI will give you a bunch of tips. But other users can also tip you directly and can sponsor you with a monthly amount.

Jonica Bradley

Writer/Painter/Poet/Believes in magic/nature/prays to unicorns/goat expert/bee farmer/mental health advocate/C-PTSD/jonicabradley.wordpress.com

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