Crafting

There's something about the account of an imagined happening from the perspective of the only person telling it. We are engaged in an invisible process.

Post dated material

I am the son of the transistor radio. I have not come from far or near, but from between. And I seek knowledge. All that I know is not false, but cannot be counted true. How long am I here? I don't know the answer to that. Events are too large to grasp, so we become aimless in them. What do we do? We quietly become more curious.

As She Sat

She traced poems by her favorite author about other people in the sands. And she yearned.

Counting Photos

Sigh...here lies Eunice. Wrapped up and dressed fancy. Wearing the wrinkles earned by her years and from her troubles. I would never have expected her to go like this. I knew she was popular and had her picture taken often, but I had no idea that it was too often. Everyone knows it, few remember it, but Eunice reached the limit too soon. I remember that last photo. She was fragile, yes, but I thought she had a good 5-10 careful years left in her. Even assisted, she could enjoy a certain quality of life. The surprise on her face was heartrending. We were leaving dinner, leaving the restaurant more precisely, when out of the corner of my eye I see that bulb flash. I was careless about it until I felt Eunice, who's arm was wrapped in mine at the moment, buckle and seek the floor with steady aim. Her eyes were still open when she hit, and I could see the impact of the flash in them. It slowly receded into the back of her visual mechanism and her eyes gently closed. She took steady, ever deeper, ever weaker breaths. Gathering strength, she asked,

"Who was it?"
"It was Ingrid," I said.
"Good," said Eunice, "It will be nice for her children."

And how simply a life ends! Her counter had spun down, there was no way to stop it. I don't know how many pictures she had been able to stand. Only the individual knows their own number.

So, here, with matching clothes on, we will walk for a bit. You'll remember her through what I can detail. Later I will show you what she looked like.

Once it hits...

Through your words you ease them into a steady state of convulsion. You see it begin, and you cannot help but encourage it. They are locked up from laughter. You even follow them physically as they can no longer hold themselves upright against the need for air and the problems with getting it. It is a most joyful thing to participate in. Then you tickle them.

It will soon be twenty five of them had.

The thought that occurred to me as I ran the hair from the periphery of my nipples through my fingernails was just how people change. Choosing the next thought to speak. The events that change our lives. The events we use to change our lives. The things that are a long time coming, and still more to come. People do not stay the same. They are not always the son, and the parents are not always going to be able to label him the same. What is unceasing is change, and at times it is almost unnoticeable. Suddenly we can see deeper. This is to be hoped for. Sought after.

To carry the waking moment onward. It has a life of its own that we cannot dictate. It is up to us to realize. It is what helps us grow. Through torture, through struggle, through all matter of feeling.

Our thoughts are not random, blown apart, though they seem to be.

Don't miss the transformation going on right now.

It's going fast and furious, and sometimes it goes from bad to worse, but it never stops going up, up, up. It's past the time to wink the eye, it's almost time to cast the die, and it's getting very warm outside, we need some place to sleep.

A sprinter's stance and half-raised pants are all that stands between the doing and the being of what is necessary. I am glad I went with what I knew at the time. Things have a way of zig zagging and finding a way back to what was left behind.

It's all so available. It's all so ready. And it's going on right now in this very room. The place where I sleep, study, dream, make believe, grow, confront, allow and feel. It's all coming from a certain place. We must needs call its name.

I call it Alsonde Pronerndride.