mmorgan
High above the rocky Utah landscape we rise like soap bubbles to the top of pan grimy with the night's meal; but here we gaze over land untouched by man's sludge, and we are more holy with the sight of it.
"Obey," she said, without speaking it. I said I would but just continued on my own way with no thought backwards or forwards. Its that non-committal word that makes conversation move on without confrontation, but behind it are no actual promises. Onward I go, in my own way.
He always had a bandana with him, the red corner sticking out of his back pocket, or tucked into the elastic of his bright blue sweatshirt. I never knew why he had it, nor saw him use it, but I could respect the small piece of cloth that followed him wherever he went and was probably there when he decided to tighten the rope around his neck.
I need to get out from under the fluorescent lights. Sometimes I feel like they are THE ONLY LIGHT AROUND. And my head wants to crumble in on itself and all I want to do is find some sunglasses, cuz surely this light overhead is hurting me more than helping. then i finish my paper and leave the library and take in the sunlight or the yellow lamplight and smell the freshness that goes with not being fluorescent
it hangs behind us as we wind up the mountain road towards the lake. It is easy to forget that it is there, dangerous, unwieldy and heavy, but the driver doesnt miss an opportunity to remind us the favor he is doing for us kids who can only think about the sun and the lake and the trailer carrying what will bring them together as we fly across its no-longer-glassy surface
that one time in fifth grade when the "intersection" didnt work and my mother's otherwise straight driving was interrupted by an old woman who sailed through the red light while looking at the green light beyond it. our car was smashed from the side and for months after that, i couldnt be looking down when we drove through one. i had to be up, checking the cross-sections, like that would actually matter if it failed again...
theres tons of these in my golf bag gathering dust in the garage. its been so long i feel like i would seriously injure someone if i tried to swing one. hopefully the dust will allow for some spider webs and maybe some new life can come from what i have consistently ignored. cuz hey, spiders are our friends
The kinds of people who are mysterious and interesting to meet. You find them at certain stops throughout your life and their adjective can refer to their nationality or just how they like their cheeseburgers. Either way, you are most familiar with yourself and so meeting someone who is wholly foreign can do wonders for your view of life.
THANKFULLY, im not a robot. Maybe someday, thats all there will be; just robots floating or moving somehow through whatever medium is of the future. They wont need food or air or companionship and they will be better than us because of this... i pity them
I had my first glass with my dad on Christmas day. It was watered down, harmless for us non-seasoned drinkers. Well, I am more seasoned than he thinks I am. But i appreciated its lack of potency, the water instead bringing out the more rubbery tastes of the golden liquid. I felt like a man at that first sip with the best man I have ever known.
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