join us
{it's free}
already a member?
home recent triggers submit trigger news  
People will do a lot of things for a promise alone. Or at least for the faint shimmer of hope a promise offers. The fall-through never seems as real as the prospect of success.  Funny, that. Perhaps it has to do with the kinds of stories we tell.
A few hundred years ago, one in four birds in north america was a passenger pigeon. They were highly social, and nested in great flocks. They numbered in the hundreds of millions.

In reading about the passenger pigeon, stumbled across the concept of predator satiation. The operating principle(more)
We are not WE until we become the selves we see in our unliving ancestors' locked-away and dreaming eyes,

We are not WE until we recognize it is our own yearning we hear in the shapeless cries of the newly-made,
Wet dumpster metal glinting in cadmium streetlight. Car horns slurring. A crowd of strained voices. There were other people out there, somewhere. There doesn't seem to be anyone now.

Head thrown back. Tracers flit across eyes. Chipped white reflective paint phosphorescing on asphalt. There's a hum coming fro(more)
It's a race against the ache.
I just want to be warm
And loved
And alone.

When I'm gone, I don't want your pretty words. I don't want gatherings and reminiscences. None of you have earned that. You'll do it anyway, I know. You'll do it to prove that you owned a little piece of me.

But you're wrong. What you had is wha(more)
They love the you they want you to be. And they sing that love so sweetly that it hurts not to try to be that. It happens slowly, and you don't notice. But before long you're more interested in being their you than yours.
I set sail with the morning sun over my left shoulder. The way generations of local lore told us never to go. I didn't sail out of hubris or naivety. But because the only thing worse than death is not knowing.

I took a small vessel and lef(more)
Our lives were designed to be short, and our sense of foresight was designed accordingly.

We came from thickset forest and fields of tall grass. At any given time, our entire world was a short sight line about half the radius of a circle. Objects flitted in an(more)
Just start. Momentum matters. Like overcoming rejection, or public speaking, or working out. Waiting for the right moment to start hardly ever works. There are refined techniques. There is an art to it. But first you need to get better at the act  of doing.
There used to just be milk. It was white. It came in a glass bottle, or a waxed cardboard carton. That was what you got, and you either take it or leave it.

I think about that fact while staring at a wall of milk varieties in the(more)
Who were we before we stopped loving each other

Were we wiser

Did we know something in our innocence that we lost through experience

Did it only seem infinite because we never tested it
Did we build it for a fair-weather world only for it(more)
The driver's side door on my work vehicle won't open from the outside any more. Supposedly some latch inside the door-panel is broken, and the whole thing has to come off in order to fix it. I wanted to do it myself, but the screws they use to attach(more)
In the end, we're all strangers to each other. Travelers coming, lingering, and leaving again. Our journey is a slow one. Here and there we find joy, dam the river, and linger awhile. But the motion just below the surface is constant, and it all snaps back eventually. (more)
Stale beer. Strewn glasses. Sweating cans. Wet rings on polished wood. Big Ed steps under the light. Towels the sweat off his forehead. Mumbles something about a special guest into an overly-hot mic.

Nobody looks up. 'Cept me. When I see Lev hunch his way to the stool(more)