reading the room

mind love misery’s menagerie. first line friday

untouched books crowded his shelves, shiny leather spines and faded first editions, meticulously dusted and never read. unnoticed the moments flex their power, passing into hours, casually creeping across the day. the sun spreads in silence, dressing the emptiness, delivering light and heat and driving back the empty shadows. quietly calmly bursts the break of day. awakened, the books stir and bend, stories start to stumble, congregating with crazy calamity.  panicky pages quietly quivering, for they all knew he would appear and so they watch and wait.

fulfilled.3ww

faithful to the cause he wandered over intoxicated by a mouth watering scent hanging in a still air. pressing his nose through brush and dirt he began circling madly as if under a spell to isolate the fragrance. oh so happy and unwilling to howl he plopped into oblivion his paws clutching the prize. tuned in to an unchanging truth he began to scrutinize and sniff the horizon searching the unknown. Noting nothing he chewed and licked till the very last of the bone’s marrow disappeared.

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three word Wednesday: faithful, isolate. scrutinize

magpie94.duplicity

somber shelter sincerity, subterfuge speculation, suffocating faceless fantasies he’s not so sure he’ll last another day. cravings for a cigarette his current distraction.

she unexpectedly found herself with thought thinking he was always different. as if this is always as it was. yes, he is just there rummaging about creating an economy of movement.

his difference so subtle only by accident can one catch the commitment in his eyes. living in a halcyon hurricane amongst the quietly unperturbed, they began to gather their sails dreaming of departure.

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magpie tales no 94 photo: Lunch, George Tooker, 1964, Columbus Museum of Art

magpie89.typing still

magpie tales no 89
photo: overcoming writer’s block

contemplating summer’s hot days a barrenness breathes lightly aspiring to imagine a coolness where the distraction of words born and dying fly with wings on white weightless paper filling a hollow with stories bound and tied in published perfection.

the world is spinning spring page 8

napowrimoo 2011
my everyday journal day 8, page 8

this everyday journal comes in handy at the oddest moments. i began day 1 of the napowrimo 2011 excited with the anticipation of the finish fully loaded for completion. each day embraced soft and smooth as the freshly laundered shirts of my lover. well that all changed once the dawn of day 7 appeared and took off as a fast filly running a renegade herd. all the while i kept up with my two feet doing what i was suppose to be doing. but by noon i had to acknowledge the anchor of my reasoning was sorta sputtering slow quick in an unseen quicksand yanking all thoughts askew. preoccupied with more pressing nothings i just sorta let go in absence and went with the winged current i was caught in. washed ashore there at the end of the day entangled in bunches of tied up empty words going every which way rushing nowhere and everywhere. extreme the exasperation, i let up on the accelerator slowed to about 85 then 50 then to a cruising 30 and pretty soon i was idle. pulling the plug i parked in a peaceful place and i gotta tell you it felt good, real good. a long while later i settled into supine and the sounds of still. it was around midnight quiet outside and the world was sleeping. unhurried i could hear the momentum of universal slumber.

let’s see now it’s day 11 or is it 12? who knows what day it is but i’m pretty sure it’s way past 8. i’m considering picking up day eight and kick start to catchup. a few seconds pass. ok, i skimmed over my options and, nah, i think i’ll just cruise on in my normal haphazardous literary fashion and catch it next year.