phonesoffthehook
Forces of nature roared around as the ground exploded in unison and precision that was far too calculated and symmetrical to be purely chance. The winds howled, the seas churned, the earth rolled. Yet all with an uncanny sense of purpose, of creation. Was this a new beginning? Was this a reveal?
An umbrella splash of flames and water fanned out across the horizon as the sea seemed to upturn on itself. The dry base of the crust of the Halo revealed itself beneath as the entire sky burst into a crowded station of colour and the birds scattered.
Meaning one thing is different to conveying one thing. Sometimes the surface detail matters, sometimes not. More to the point, what colour is the sun when it's too bright to see? Words breed words but silence breeds thought.
Cast aside those doubts; think about the sun. Think about a positive role. Think about change. Think about a new adventure, new seas, new sights. Unlimited possibilities. Never entertain anything less. Think about change and growth. Think about happiness. Think about relaxation. Think about planning. Do it.
This man was holding up the traffic. Standing on a bridge up ahead, looking out. People had got out of their cars, shouting at everyone and no-one, red faced. A group of hippies sat on the top of their camper, looking at the bridge with binoculars. A man was walking up to the guy, holding out a hand.
It sat at the back of the closet, gathering dust, half obscured under layers of unused clothing. The backpack thought of when it had seen the world, met others like it. Those were good times. At least it had the memories.
A montage of creatures, moving and breathing and seething before me. It was all human and lion and dragon and leopard and other, alien shapes all blended into a bloody mess of a cocktail, sneering at creation and all that was natural. It bowed and introduced itself as Charles Thornton Dasious Beta Seven Thyros.
A bar more full of smoke than air. The smoke itself is heavy, drunk on fumes. A broken piano sits in the corner, played by a broken man with sideburns and a cowboy hat. This is downtown.
Minimalist. The despair of clutter. Too much weight to lug around. I'd rather be light, sitting among trees. Watching the sun filter through the canopy. Giving things away. Throwing away the clutter. Lighter now. Free to move. Free to change. These are not my self.
Bubbles in space. Never seen anything like it. The planet below shone a uniform reflection of the star beyond. Around it hung spheroid bubbles. Loads of them. Refreshing, I thought. We set course for the closest.
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writing since 2011 · 53 entries · 51 days shown up
each square is a day—lit means Phone's showed up.
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51days written
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the words Phone's reaches for
nightskylightsunseatowardsnoisecoffeebarnowsometimesbeyondoutsidelightssounddry