Carving out a corner to post random crap.
10. There are many worlds one can inhabit.
9. All we have to do is lose our way.
8. Trade in the standard-issue brain.
7. Grow a backbone and feathers.
6. (Our skin was always thin.)
5. Doors never stay shut.
4. Fate lives in caves.
3. Love likes nests.
2. Let go.
1. Fly!
A fool
in reverse
set the hermitage
on fire.
In hindsight,
fly blind.
Billie rolls up in her chair as quietly as she can, careful to avoid a clod of mud/shit and a beer can pyramid. She finds a vantage point and wedges her torso between the blossom-heavy branches of a red rhododendron. She imagines herself a stealthy forest sprite in search of a lost hiker to terrorize. This is when Billie sees Lyla in conversation. Lyla stands in the park, in front of the fountain, and talks and laughs to the air. Or the stone statue that takes up residence at the center of the sputtering water feature. Or her imaginary playmate to whom Lyla never bid farewell when she should have. None of the options Billie pieces together after she watches her friend for several minutes sit well in her belly. She pulls out her phone and hits video. Billie feels it's important to record what's going on, for her own sanity, if not to confront Lyla with the evidence.
Sally hears the seventh word that comes from Frank's lips. Context? Perspective? What she hears is a form of fact. Truth it is, nevertheless. The message is clear without all the filler Frank carefully chooses. Transcribed it reads thus:
This world is noise and far from complete.
It's the struggle we've been wanting all along.
You.
Me.
Us.
Sally has never heard small talk in her life.
And into The Book That Someone Will Read Someday, Darla Varney writes:
Damn me if these scars don't open up at the worst possible time! Who's going to even want to come near me at the Prairie View? May as well kiss all my hard work goodbye what with changing bandages every five minutes. I need to be out among the people. They're the ones I've made all these artworks for. Maybe I need to find a helper. Make some vague mention of my condition. Tell them I have to get up and step away from the booth frequently to take my … medicine. Suppose that sounds o.k. Maybe if Ort stops by. He can even set up a rack if he wants. There's plenty of space if I leave a few things behind. I promise I'll ask.
Nice.
Blood looks so pretty when it soaks into the page.
(Note: Bring extra journals and stationery. Customers like this rose petal paper and I didn't have enough on hand last time.)
If you love language like I love language, you may have come across this essay on your travels. Read it more than once, perhaps? Well, lucky us: Saturdays are for sharing, pants-wearing is optional, and I can't pass up a chance to post wordy/bookish stuff that floats my goat. Fun Thing To Do (honest): watch a weeks' worth of TV and count the instances in which a goat or goats make an appearance. Report back with your tally (i.e.: leave a comment below … or above … your choice.)
*Or, for the love of all things random
We incubate dreams. When they're ready, we get you to chase after them. We dangle a shiny wish right where you can't miss it. It's fun to watch you swoon and suffer as we raise the rod just a little bit higher. Such fine jumpers and leapers you are! One day you will all be true believers. We are most happy to wait. Until then, friends:
Not all who are lost
Want to be found
No jokes today. Can't say I live an irony free life, though. I am, after all, a hipster from way back. I do put on a No Shame shirt every so often but it's awfully thin and breezy. Not the best cover up. A beanie made of multiple meanings completes the look in my humble opinion. Therefore, on this thoughtful Thursday when to give is to grow (and don't forget the feels since ultimately this is all about me), I present to you a key and a likeness of yours truly. Just because. Things are good.
April sings us to sleep with her raindrop accompaniment. All is blustery and wild outside while we dream of abundant fields. April laughs at our wistful reverie. She wonders how we could possibly think one day can serve her. One day of remembrance is a mockery. April is budding beauty kept evergreen in poetry and postcards. A puddle, a pool, a landslide, a flood. Soon these tools April uses to subdue us will be lost. The wind will finish the work April begins. Earth receives its tribute as we toss and turn in restless slumber.
Must have a strong background in:
* Facilitating the flow of forces harmonious. (Clear intent is needed to keep mirror images free of fog.)
* Serving as a Self-starter. (Knowledge of what sparks are and how they differ from illumination.)
* Art creation. (Hands-on experience with end results that are less important than the process.)
Semi-Daily Scribbles 