Sometimes even a little is too much. When even some /sigh feels like a screaming complaint of first world problems it is time to turn everything off. No stream of other. No picture. No news. What is now? It’s breathing. It’s taking a dish to the kitchen and clearing a space. If I concentrate there is warmth where my blood goes. There is the cold of that part of me …
Music and savage beasts and all that. Stepping up scales hoping for my head to break surface. It’s closer. I can see the light. In the meantime, music. It’s a reminder of outside the self. Cool dat. The way it can play the spine, or run rills on the skin, move feet and I don’t even know I’m at it. I’ve been in my own head. This is a decent …
Never underestimate the comfort and protective shield of a blanket.
“What is this?” “I swear, I haven’t used. Not since you caught me months ago that second time.” And I looked into his face. And I could see the boy who was mine and isn’t now. All that innocence that used to be. “You lied to my face. I want to believe you. And you might be telling the truth, but I don’t trust you and that bums me out.” …
With each step, the hallway doubles in length. Behind each door is the possibility of the man. Maybe behind each door. She can’t escape him. Turning around doesn’t seem to matter. “Am I turning at all?” “You’re thinking.” The hall recedes and disappears into a spoon in a cup.
Everything has something that makes them tick. Sometimes it’s a battery. Sometimes that battery is dead. Thought there were words enough there to get a story going. Sometimes that battery is dead. So there is the review of the day, the asking of feeling, maybe a revisiting of memory and looking for holes. Perhaps it is safe to visit the box labeled “dead to me” for some thing, some spark, …
“You’re thinking.” he said. Coming back to the physical world is swimming to the surface from the bottom of a swamp. She lets it go. Reluctantly. That pearl of thought is lost. Never very good at holding on to ephemera, even the stuff that lives inside her mind. Cute. Okay. He can be forgiven for interrupting that particular reverie. Seems unimportant now. It turns out it really was important, but …
It’s been a perfect weekend of beautiful weather and not talking to anyone. Thought about how very different my friend, Liz and I are. For her, thoughts aren’t quite real until they come out of her mouth. Experiences aren’t quite real unless shared. So different than this tangible grounding of uninterrupted solitary wandering that went as far as imagination and all within the confines of my (now tidy) home. There …
Nothing did ruffle rattle or roll me. See that? Still standing.
Let’s try this. Cancel all the noise, the self-criticism, the need for an objective; a pithy ending; a self-contained palatable chunk. Well, that doesn’t leave much. I baked cinnamon rolls. Sun is shining. The weather is fine. Here I am. Three little birds. And with that it’s a Bob Marley kinda day. Ramble. Skip playback on life leitmotif . For a little bit it was Aha’s “Take On Me” (eff …
