10 Minutes/Entry 14
Date: May 21st, 2008 5:24:05 am - Subscribe
Mood: thrilled
Singing in the night with lights. Fireflies call to their beloveds. Or is that Ms. Right Now? The bulls snort and shuffle in the twilight. Their impatient stampings and swish of tails tinge the barn a shade of impatient. The peeper frogs call from the creek, with a occasional baritone from the old bullfrog that lives under the bridge. He's like a troll, demanding payment from gruff goats.
The dance that we do when confronted with the longing for sex can kill us. It can cure us. It is the most frightening and the most living thing that we can do. We dance. We preen. We sidle into each others' lives. Sometimes we stumble in, and it's a surprise all around. Sometimes we know, and it's a matter of patience waiting for the other. If we care, we wait, cultivating a non-smothering patience. For love cannot be forced. It moves more powerfully than mountains, and more gently than a kitten's softest kiss.
Comments: (0)
10 Minutes/Entry 13
Date: May 20th, 2008 4:51:13 am - Subscribe
Mood: fine
Translated across the heavens she whooped and whorled over ice struck landscapes with bees as big as an elephant's head and livid corpses crawling from cupboards in the darkness and light she ran when she landed in the light time she sang the songs of the forgotten and the ones that remembered swallowing their wishes stealing them away keeping them safe in the dreamstores that exist down by the beach in between the tide marks but only at high tide in the kelp the cold the green the sea the sea the sea live like a river over huge boulders that have their own secrets that no one can hear because they speak so slowly that there's nothing on this planet that has the patience to listen to a rock even the lichen skitter across the surfaces on the stones heaved up from the depths of the glaciers that ran down to the seas scraping up continents and drifting ever towards the easiest way down down to the sea the sea the sea the sea narwhals live in the northern seas, their horns a fantasy come to life as other sea monsters are hidden away reasoned out of existence by the Age of Reason for when no one believes in magic, can magic be?
Light ricochets around the room prisming bright colours spearing the unwary and ungoggled alike. Hands are held up in vain attempts to hamper the vivid violets and indigos that seem to seep within the very marrow of the hands that are held up against the brightness of the shards that move without reason or prediction.
Her tiredness doesn't allow for failure. So she returns to the world. The memories remain. Who is to say that they don't happen if the experience is real enough inside your head?
Comments: (0)
10 Minutes/Entry 12
Date: May 16th, 2008 5:46:05 pm - Subscribe
Mood: nifty
Walking in the rift of a dream, she felt pulled towards full waking and back into sleep. Her heart fluttered like a hummingbird, its edges hard against her lung. Its painful pounding on the inside of her chest made her breath stagger and lurch.
The dream valley, forested and mysterious, favored small clearings of lucid detritus. Here, an apartment from childhood. There, the inchoate memories of infancy. Over there, urban euphoria--punctuated by thin screams of brakes and horns that floated up.
Way out at the edge of the valley is a prison. Much as she hated that she was so conventional in her imaginings, she knew the prison well. She'd lived there for years, its walls and floors concealed by fear and pride. Now its walls cracked and peeled, barely holding in the mistakes of the past. Leaking moments of ugliness and sorrow.
A flock of flashing masks fluttered by, level with her path along the rim. Sparkling in the dim sunlight, leaving a fairy-dust trail of wonder and discovery. She laughed, and followed along. Her upturned face bathed in the drifting glamor.
Comments: (0)
10 Minutes/Entry 11
Date: May 14th, 2008 6:51:39 am - Subscribe
Mood: feline
Falling behind already. Some excuse for a writer I am.
Her right knee feels as if a vole is gnawing from inside the joint. Sweat cools as the last burst of music fades away into the night. She breathes heavily, a hitch in her breath caused by allergies. She hopes. Her bra and shirt feel damp, like she's run through a sprinkler fully clothed. Remember the time she ran through a lawn full of sprinklers one summer? The lawn wasn't any ordinary lawn, it was the untouchable green grass of a corporate landscape. The greeness called to her from the desk. Making some excuse, she ran out to the grass. Pulling off her shoes and stockings, with garters snapping painfully against her skin, in the elevator as she rode down. Two VPs and a manager were shocked that afternoon. It was great.
Cold marble, cool enough to make pastry on from being blasted with frigid air all day and night, shocked her toes as she dashed across the floor. The panic bar almost didn't give, but her will to get outside was unstoppable.
Comments: (0)
10 Minutes/Entry 10
Date: May 9th, 2008 12:06:33 am - Subscribe
Mood: pooped
Lost at sea, caught in a wave of adulthood, Marissa gazed to the shore of childhood. Its soft sands and rippling palms were all she'd ever known. Now, cast adrift on the clutching sea of reality, she wished for someone to tell her what to do. Where to go.
"Ahoy there!" a voice boomed across the waves, "Are you lost too?"
Marissa shouted back that she was. She couldn't see the owner of the voice. The sun blinded her.
"You should follow me. I know the only right way to go. If you don't follow me, you'll end up punished."
"Punished?" Marissa shouted, "Why would I be punished for not following you?"
"Don't listen to him!" another voice shouted, "He's lying. Following him means you'll definitely be punished. I know the only right way."
"No, no! It's me! I have all the answers! And you know I'm right because we've always done it this way," a third voice yelled.
Marissa looked back to the shore.
"Y'know what? I think I'm going to try this on my own."
Comments: (0)