Here's a little thing I wrote this morning, a silly-sweet ode to my friends. To friendship, I suppose. (maybe fiendship, haha.) Comrades in arms We’re a cartoon parade a platoon volatile and jolly. A second line, a peanut gallery sporting rotten things— vim and vitriol, endless collaborations of mockery and gentle mean-spiritedness. A swirling whirl, bright splinters and barbs; elaborate scenarios that populate and… Continue reading We who have each other’s backs
Category: writing | reading
Change, spare and otherwise
Like some day in early January, it’s one of those days I want to delete half of what I own. Easily half of of it wouldn’t be missed; things in closets, stored away in boxes. The boxes themselves. Things collected against a possible future use. But so much of it is pointless. A strategic purging is… Continue reading Change, spare and otherwise
More empires and ruins
Something in the air shifts, and I lie down with the cows before the rain arrives. It isn’t barometric.
A brief return of Winter in the form of snow on the Vernal Equinox
This sort of thing has become more and more expected or anticipated over the decades I’ve been alive. When I was a child, seasons followed the patterns that the picture books laid out. Less and less every decade though, and the intervals grow shorter. Change is the engine on which the universe runs, a well-oiled… Continue reading A brief return of Winter in the form of snow on the Vernal Equinox
Celestial navigation, dream parallels
Here is a tiny excerpt from a dream that I'm certain is somewhere in one of my books, but when I searched for it a couple of months ago I could not for the life of me find it. Was a long and winding one. I began writing a short story based upon it but lost the… Continue reading Celestial navigation, dream parallels
Day-to-day or ordinary magic that has no good and fitting name
Magic. Mundane, day-to-day moments where we laugh, feel some joy— share it and it reverberates. Increased joy. As they say, a candle loses nothing in lighting another candle.
Everywhere all the time and just below the surface
Not enough words for magic. Language is a kind of magic itself, in that it is also the means of controlling* and steering a culture. It literally makes things the way they are; the building blocks of our perception and understanding of things, and by extension our approach.
The persistence of sense memory.
Music, in a lesser but similar way, is a memory trigger like scent / smell. Visceral. And a visceral response is a true thing, or at the least a real thing, which may be the same after all.
The unreliability of memory*
There was a cafe in the 10th where Zac and I had our first breakfast. It was run by a couple of elderly men, had a mural on the rear wall. It's a place I think my dad would totally dig; charming, very unmodern.
A sort of eternal ‘to-do’ list
Z has given us an assignment; a prompt for writing. What's good for you, and why†. I've been trying to find a way to frame it, find an angle, but I think a list will do. A practical approach against missing a deadline*. The players: Creating, Reading, Writing, Moving, Listening, Traveling, Observing, Editing. Whys after the jump.
e daggar art: THE MUSEUM 