Semi-Daily Scribbles
Carving out a corner to post random crap.
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Category: Memory
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Picture the journeys we've embarked upon that have led us to this aisle, staring up at the same title, wondering if we've found that lost thing we could never quite nail down. What is found was never lost. Let go of the illusion of going with the flow. We agreed upon this meeting place —…
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yea, vow not to cut your hairfor how will the fine headed lads of that bygone surly seasonbe remembered if we tame our knots, kinks, and kurls?the bellicose boys have been felled by spoon and by fire and remain barelyone bar's worth of grace notes on a dime
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You have no discernible shape. You are all pulsating gray matter and no body. I want to give you form. I want to give you a frame from which to hang your sentiment and shame. You rise and roll right up over me. No string, no tail. Nothing to grab onto at all. My hand…
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No fairytale, this. Just fast friends, a gruesome end, and a few fond words shared at the wake. But I pretend, just to mess with make-believe, that love is a redemptive endeavor and not at all about insecurity / jealousy / obsession / regret: The two of you sip limoncello on Capri. I wait for…
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The dream is meant to be given up just when all the Big Ideas roll in; a most inopportune time. The verdant years of youthful pursuits give way to ass-numbing commutes. Behold, the careerist is born, and Art is an old-fashioned name. Ambition whispers, but the tease is brief and weariness cuts off any outbursts…
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May 11th, 1996 was the day we met. Me in purple velvet bell bottoms bought at The Potter's House and a little, lacy cami (a doily, really) to cover the upper bits. You in lederhosen and a grey t-shirt with the name Stuckey's stamped in red letters across the chest. A downpour, a shallow stoop,…
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The Filchers don't care. You are just in their way. We're not real to them. Things, though. Things breathe, and feel, and transmit messages to us when we're fast asleep. Take that house on the corner, for example. It whispers a reedy greeting each time you pass by. "Hallooo Yoo." Things know us by how…
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I know you didn't think much of her when we brought her home, but Lily's still looking for you. In the closet. She's in there right now because a big, bad thunderstorm rolled through here a few minutes ago. She hates them now, just like you did. Funny how she never minded the wind and…
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doors are madedoors are foundperception dwellsunderground voices once hearda four-letter word nine months' worthof onenasty hang is a memory best kepton hold (cue the music)
Semi-Daily Scribbles 