Semi-Daily Scribbles
Carving out a corner to post random crap.
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Category: History
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Who's story am I allowed to tell? Can I hand over free rein to my imagination so it can wander unchecked as it dictates the rules of an existence lived outside of my skin? The safe play is to write what I know; access to opportunities and the freedom to consider more than one path…
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If someone uses the phrase "safe as houses," think twice before you accept their invitation to come around for tea. Houses are portals to places we've never been, and would do well to traverse with care. Is it hospitality or the promise of the unknown that propels us to cross the threshold as we stand…
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longing for the old countrywhere its inhabitants would eat your tender bellyand spit out what would be left of any backboneyou are neither just off the boatnor are you 15 quid short of the price needed for membershipyour contacts are clouded by a pretty shade of pussy willowwhile you struggle to juggle disparate worlds in…
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A number on the bathroom scale does not determine health or warm fuzzy nudges of "I am the best lookin' bitch on the block!" Rather, how many times I can walk around the block before I get winded is my measurement of cardiovascular wellness. This bipedal mode of locomotion is also a super way to…
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I've tossed all my maps on the Yule bonfire, so you're my guide now. What will the world look like when we make up new coordinates? Ah, the fallacy of maps! They seem to ask: What has power over you? Maps suggest the uncomfortable, too: Greenland is Bigger because White is Better. Paper trails, that's…
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The things you make define who you are. You do what you do to pay the car note, but don't forget to write notes, play notes. Leave a story behind for others to try on. Thoughts and Words and Actions matter. Just know that what lights you up may hardly start a spark in the…
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A bromide that sets my teeth on edge is Everything Happens for a Reason. It's insensitive to use that phrase in the aftermath of Hurricane Harvey, but it's because of this deadly storm that I'm thinking about why we tell ourselves the things we tell ourselves. If we say a sentence, do we understand the…
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And like o.k.: There's this particular writer whose work I've read and enjoyed and whom I find interesting and irritating all in one big, messy mouthful of come-one-come-all (talkin' bout chyoo JD). Yeah so, brutha man goes on about fat folks in his stories and he himself is pretty thin (cute, though – I'm shallow,…
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Marnie avoided her best friend for the past two weeks. If she thought she heard Lettie's voice, or smelled Lettie's attar of roses while she was out running errands, Marnie ducked down dark alleys and hid in really spider-webby photinias. She began to get disgusted with herself. She should have just come out and said,…
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Sure Corrie felt shitty reading her big sister's diary. Did feeling like a degenerate make Corrie put away what wasn't hers and go do something productive like laundry? Hell no. All of the people Shelley wrote about in her big red book were thinly disguised real folk, like too-close-to-home-folk. Like who could this bitchy character…
Semi-Daily Scribbles 