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He never considered the consequences, did he. On no, he'd just go right along, not looking, not thinking and then bam! something else would happen and he'd whine whine complain and deny his own responsibility. It was like that with the olive, not looking, one bite, one pit and a $785 trip to the dentist.
The silence felt like a treaty in my house. When my mother and brother stopped fighting the rest of us just waited to see who would break it first, who would offer poisoned hope and help that the other was too addicted to the noise to avoid.
I always wanted to be a reporter, to wear a cool hat with a press pass that would get me in anywhere, to have ink stained fingers and an incisive eye. I think I was ruined by seeing all the presidents men too young, wanted to take down the bad guys with the power of words alone.
I love architecture, the way it tells me the story of a place, it's ebb and flow. Can it afford design flourishes or is it all austerity and straight lines? Are we romanticizing poverty or wealth? Where we live and work, how we shape those spaces, shapes us. We are our own constructions.
I'd like to lodge a complaint.
His voice was thick and hairy, unused.
I'd like to lodge a complaint against this establishment and the poor service I've received.
He looked as neglected as he sounded, and I wondered what his complaint could possibly be, his odor and self out of place amongst the mirrors and glass.
I wish I had a backspace bar for my life. Just a moment or two, I could take back when I say something stupid or do something mindless. It would be so nice, wouldn't it, if I could just tap a key and there! I'd get a do over.
I might abuse it thought, and backspace myself back to childhood. Then I would never know you.
I don't know what, but I have a fascination with the slow movement of insects. Their skittering rhythm, the beat of their antennae, the hopeful start and stop of their pace. Not the flying ones, they get too annoying, but the ones that scamper across the ground living in a world too large for their liking.
The recipe said to separate the white from the yolk but she wasn't careful and the last one broke, shattered yellow into the clear albumin in the glass bowl. It wasn't worth it. She poured the mess down the sink. Take out would have to do.
Oh, these hallowed grounds, these sacred steps these never to be repeated actions.
The myths we make of our ancestors, the boys in blue, our values and forefathers and those who were only human but now, oh now they stand taller than we ever can.
Let us not beat ourselves to death for the hallowed ground for the lost for the never real in the first place. Let us instead live now, in this moment, with kindness and hope and pray we can be better than we were.
I have no alibi nor do I want one. My confession must stand as an article of belief, of integrity, of action. You who strive to hide behind excuses, to live your lives through a lens and a mask, are not my kin.
My alibi, if there must be one, is this. I am as much animal as man. I am as much villain as hero. I will not apologize.
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