Semi-Daily Scribbles
Carving out a corner to post random crap.
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Category: Contemplation
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digressive chatterdigestive splattermy display dripswith statusthat doesn'tmatter turn off the worry machine
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You need to spend a lot of alone time to figure shit out. Like, for example, is anything random? If you could hover above a topographical map of where you've been (and where you haven't been) because of decisions made, you'd see little black ants fanning out toward all sorts of possibilities. In that sprawling,…
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blip says: don't feel like it's a slap in the face. it's nothing but a donut in the hole. if betsy needs to come back to earth pretend you're unaware the air is so thin up there. no one cares for know-it-alls. fading star power left a churning, swirling whirligig in its wake that ate…
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So here's what I wanted to tell you the other day in Piggly Wiggly => => More people need to make art for medicinal purposes. Cheap therapy! But does that art always have to be labeled with a $9.99 sticker and set out on the shelves? Ask yourself: Would someone who does not live inside…
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Tess told me she fought with her old editor to keep that part of the story intact. The teen pregnancy/baby makes two part of the novel. I didn't say anything. I simply smiled and nodded and poured Tess a fresh cup of tea. The middle child learns to keep her mouth shut and to play…
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Community is good for kvetching but it's no place to get work done. Who wants to watch you become unhinged? Soil yourself? It's just an uncomfortable situation all around when you toss your entrails on the rocks to figure out where your story should go. That is magic best kept behind the red velvet curtain,…
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It's hot today, but you always did like a good soak in the sun. It's been a year since I was able to scratch your chin and tell you it was too early for supper. We can feel you roam about the house, taking head count as you move from room to room so no…
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Lula drowned in the summer sun. Her features faded under golden molten rays of light. Her brain turned into sticky sweet tar. Lula's power to project an essence of innocence melted like fat off her bones and splish-splattered down the storm drain. Lula stood exposed, worse than naked even. Her fanbase saw for the very…
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it's round it's squareit hits you on the noggin from out of thin airnaw, it was already therecoiled up in your bellystretched out on the grasswide-eyedor wearyhot coals glow and winter's grip goes slacksummer keeps coming backthe thought can't find its word butthe world still turns Inspiration
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This just in: This just is. Time, breath, pain, bliss. We're all in it. Minute-to-minute. Possessions are a blight. We chase after filler and fluff and can't keep up. Little of what I have can be called my own, so just let go. Three cheers–one wish–follow at your own risk.
Semi-Daily Scribbles 