Semi-Daily Scribbles
Carving out a corner to post random crap.
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Category: Observations
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What you are meant to have will show up on your porch eventually. It may be festively beribboned. It may sit at the bottom of a grease-stained Wendy's sack. "It" is the opportunity you work on in the quiet moments of a busy day. Or, in spurts of activity that come with the full moon.…
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Turn your world upside down and see what falls out of its pockets. Any keepers, tossers, or mysteries mixed in with the lint? What have you been holding on to? Does it hug you back (like maybe a small primate with its digits around your neck?) Cartwheels reveal frightfully forgotten things.
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Pepper.Mixed with ink. Throughline – Commuter spills it. Signs.Used to confuse.
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I am a visitor here. When will the walls start to talk? Lines must be down; a widespread outage. No wonder the stars are burning at 30%. With so little light to go by, the question remains: Will I grow feet or wings, and where would those things take me? I see the pit, the…
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I'll tell you what happens. You decide what it means. Hey, we all say things in different shades of truth to make ourselves feel better. And if you find value in my words, win-win. Yeah? Show up. Just show up is what they say. You'll get a ribbon or medal or trophy for taking up…
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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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I prefer my music rough around the edges. When it comes to books, though? Ya shit better be tight. Mind your craft, mate. Clunky prose hurts my ear nubs, don't you know? And please, please adhere to the rules you've set up for your world. I can suspend my disbelief for days; no need to…
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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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digressive chatterdigestive splattermy display dripswith statusthat doesn'tmatter turn off the worry machine
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I'm a grown woman, for God's sake. I can leave the house for ten minutes and go for a walk. Can't they understand that? And then he runs out of the house, barefoot and clad in too-large-for-his-skinny-frame neon green pajamas. Maia and Pookie walk by this house nearly every day; she's never seen the boy…
Semi-Daily Scribbles 