or say no,
Open your mouth and let
the voice of yourself out.
Use your fists if you must,
(more) don't be a passive observer of life.
Let the songs of your ancestors
fall into dry cracks in your mind,
for all their wisdom
isn't your wisdom.(less)
It's easy to sit here and pump out 300 words at the drop of a hat. The blink of an eye. Hell, sometimes I even do it without the inclusion of a single beat-like-a-dead-horse cliche. But not often.
(more) It's easy to detach from normal life and case briefs and patient charts and hysterical relatives and plug into the back parts of my brain that never get used, the story-making parts, the parts that matter.
It's easy to eat a sandwich over my laptop on a sunny Saturday afternoon and write a three page email to my mother focused solely on the life, times and highly detailed in-coop drama of my four chickens.
What is not easy it to take that next step. I need to reach out from the warm bosom of my trigger-happy cohort and dive deeper into this land of pennies-per-word, if I'm ever going to get away from the case briefs and patient charts and hysterical relatives. I'm trying, but that guy in the middle keeps raising his eyebrow at me.
Stop it, dude. I'm trying. Really hard. I swear. It's just that these chickens are so much more interesting than the crap they want me to write about. (less)
It takes a feather touch patience to love without lacking,
continuing on in a ramshackle, rough rooted sort of way,
gulping down ensnaring webs, prior to preying on simple fare.
What an inefficient and poisonous practice!
Much better to dine with your jailer.
I see your deceit and raise(more) you care.
Chances are you'll find ghosts in the floorboards, with such talk.
But hell, no one said loving was easy.(less)
Bleached and dead branching corals of concrete and steel tangling over the Willamette appear man's fitful expression of bewilderment as Things Fall Apart.
"Up the Klamath, a gray whale swims to a lonely death," as we walk under the black grapes of Daedalus. Through the tendriled morass, lily(more) pads are shady hideouts for uncertain koi. We stand at apposite ends of the pond, unsure.
"This is awkward."
"Everything is awkward."
In colorful rags, ruddy-faced and barefoot, we were quick to dance with gypsy freedom and kiss the cheeks of any in our space. Lantern-jawed and straight-backed, in the shadow of the skyscrapers, we flinch at the hand on the shoulder, and the hands seek out shoulders no more.
"It feels impossible to say anything."
"It is impossible to do anything."
A toe dipped in the water is nothing, and I pull back. Still surface waves pulse to your feet seconds after body waves assault your rock.
"I..." and the stones of the pond rolling down the slope under our feet join in the water where we move forward again. You turn back, but I'm running through splashes, trampling flamingos and kicking a waterfall. I grab your waist and fall backward into the murk. I want to rip you apart with the energy long bridled in dissipation and constructions. Your fearful eyes are blinking at the precipice.
Softly, softly we undress conventions button by button,
only ripping and tearing the constrictions of undergarments. When we dress again, we'll move newly free in our custom cum costume. Hands linked we'll stroke the flinching, downcast eyes of the honeysuckle crowd. The terroir comes up through our feet, and we look heavenward, but the glory is all around waiting, waiting to stripped down and tenderly violated.(less)
It was barely visible, just a brief twinkle in the murk, but Brydon saw it too. It was either far away or small, he wasn't sure. He wanted to believe it was another lamp--and a friendly party. Yet all he could feel was unease.
(more) Weddich said softly, "I say we find out what it is. If it's fellow travellers, they may be willing to help us. We will approach slowly, to be cautious. Vassy, put out that lamp. If we can see theirs, they can see ours."
"I don't think that's a lamp," said Vassy. "And how are we to make our way to it in the dark?"
"Slowly." Weddich took Sero's pole and tested the step before him.
The going was excruciating at first; Brydon didn't think they had gone a hundred yards in the first hour. Soon, however, the light ahead seemed brighter, though still far away, and vague outlines of the swamp around them came into view. Their footing was better, but they still moved slowly, pausing behind bog trees, standing and fallen, until Weddich felt it was safe to move on. Any noise they made was drowned out by the buzz around them. Weddich was ten yards ahead, squatting behind a cypress tree, when he looked back at the rest. Suddenly his eyes grew wide. "Sero!"
Brydon looked over to see a small ripple in the dark green ground where Sero was once standing. He ran towards the spot, felt the ground give way before it, and fell into knee-deep, slime-covered water, plunging his arms into where Sero had fallen through. Brydon felt nothing; he had no idea how deep it was. Behind him, a voice said, "Let me help you." The push sent him head-first deep into the dark waters.(less)