duskhwy
For the first few stories I fell through this glass tunnel, I could see my brother and sister and friends and my boyfriend and everyone I've ever cared about watching me. Some people pressed their hands against my wall when they saw me reaching for them. Sometimes no air at all and only a few inches of glass separated my hand from one I would have loved to have felt, but all I could touch was the cold, smooth innards of this chute, and soon, all of those faces and loving hands were miles above, and I was in hell.
[I'm not sure how long I worked on this, but it was closer to five minutes than one. The page loaded with the gong already sprung.]
zip zip
"Thank you guys. You've been very sufficient."
"Don't you mean efficient?"
"Yeah; sufficient means acceptable. 'We've been very acceptable'? Pssh. We rock this. We're efficient."
Measure the flour at eye-level.
Measure the beat at heart-level. Or ear-level.
Measure the marigolds.
Measure up? PLEASE. Only in the ways that suit you.
I saw reality and the senator had known for decades what was now dawning on me for the first time. I had a lot to learn, and if I was lucky, perhaps I'd stick with this job and get some insight. Wait.... How had I gotten into his campaign circle in the first place?
All of us step into the Bronco, buckle up, and slam our doors. Our ginger buddy turns the engine and the CD converter picks up where it left off: Ozzy Osbourne's "Mama I'm Coming Home." We hit the road, our worries and obligations left behind in our dorms, and open the sun roof. We're overjoyed that it's time to hit the beach and sing our hearts into the wind.
Spinning rivulets and line segments dancing across the wall like water skippers
Sunlight on water where tiny ripples divide one surface into dozens, light on some smaller surfaces and others darker
Complexity of the water shimmer and complexity of the water skipper
The first person I spotted at the Lexington bus station was a man in overalls with a bit of hay poking out of his lips. He had to be my uncle. Nevermind that I'd never met him or seen his picture. He was the countriest man on this curb; the one radiating banjo-fueled, feverish "BLUEGRASS!" vibe while everyone else whispered a cool, smooth "Jazz." But at least he was here.
Written down in dozens of volumes as fact, the tale had seen two decades of skewing and embellishment. Mark bit the head of his favorite green ballpoint. After months of research, he had a theory about the bias with which the facts had been fictionalized. He half-smiled at the fleeting thought of his teachers' claims--"History is written by the victors" and "Maps are designed by wars' winners" and "Cities are named and renamed by those in power." But: Where to start? And would he have time for writing at all if he were going to compete for a hockey scholarship?
Dance the night away
("You are the dancing queen")
Sing your heart out, louder and louder
("Sing through the laughter and sing through the tears")
This is your refrain of starlight & darkness
so make it worthwhile.
Find your beat, make it memorable, and have no regrets.
Gamers who eat cupcakes rarely go to bed without further sugar cravings. The frosting is all over their lips and makes them jones all the harder for a way to calm their sweet tooth.
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writing since 2011 · 67 entries · 66 days shown up
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