Semi-Daily Scribbles
Carving out a corner to post random crap.
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Category: Memory
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A slash of weak sunlight fell across the trivet with the blue rooster. It served as a weight so the construction paper wouldn't fly off the kitchen counter. In black ink Maia printed for the kids' sake, and used the words reminiscent, introspection, distaste, and exemplifies in her note. She wrote the date and time…
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She doesn't think I see her, but I do. Oh, I do. The ramshackle lady in flimsy pink flip-flops is a ghost. Is a ghost. We all haunt the places we miss the most. Even when the body is bound up by the present day, the spirit struggles to have its way. It asks: "Is…
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Just when I say I'll get a new lens to look through (in the hopes of seeing something new) a bird (a big one with a 6-foot wingspan) swoops out of nowhere (o.k. – swoops down from the snag I walk by every a.m.) and squawks in my face: "It's like this, little chicken;…
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A one-way fandomThe passive act of dreamspeakVicarious Me Injurious You Reflections make safe idolsA warped and torn faith
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It's going to take years to untangle the knot, so get used to inconclusive results. The words'll sound right but won't jibe with the idea. Or, the idea will feel like a hot poker jabbed in your belly, but you've lost your last coherent sentence. Years, I'm telling you. And you're going to end up…
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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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Yeah.Love him/hate him.Hype: The Song of Life.Blame fame.Shame bleeds on white sheets.
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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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Mae's walls closed in on her, Fred, the shelves filled with dusty tchotchke. Golden age turned lovers and objects into death traps. She needed to speak. It'd been years since Mae had anything to say. She'd long ago hung her heart on the wall in a nice Certificate of Achievement-sized frame. It had the most…
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Anne doesn't want to answer your questions. She knows you know her dark glasses aren't a fashion statement. Looks like rain today. Anne can't understand why you'd want to know how she's doing. Truth is bothersome when it comes to chitchat. No one likes to hear a fear story or a shame story. Her hero's…
Semi-Daily Scribbles 