snip... clip...

A few random scribblings from October when I tried to write a paragrah a day (not connected and umm... if you notice the dates, a very short lived project! :P)


[1]Thursday, October 6, 2011 shhhh
She wasn't sure exactly when she started whispering but now she wasn't sure if she could stop. She really was fascinated by how intently people began to listen when she lowered her voice to near hush. When she asked softly for her grande mocha latte, the barrista would lean part way across the counter and focus carefully on her lips singling her alone out from the hustle and bustle of the morning crowd lined up behind her. She loved the attention. When she arrived at work and told Samuel, the security guard a breathy "Good Morning," he would take a step closer, look her directly in the eyes and smile back a cheery greeting.

Even on the telephone, she had begun to speak clearly, carefully but quietly. She had the idea that her clients might be pushing buttons on their own phones trying to hear better. She felt powerful and in control.

She remembered her mother often saying "Less is more," and it seemed she had discovered that as far as volume was concerned, her mother was absolutely correct.

[2]Friday, October 7, 2011 her left hand
for one entire day she used only her left hand. she consciously had to disable her right hand, frequently reaching absentmindedly for something then tucking it behind herself and restarting the motion with her left. it really took a lot of effort. by mid-day she hoped she'd be more used to it, but the right-hand-dominance seemed inexerable. by evening she was frustrated. unbuttoning her blouse before bed was like torture. reaching for her bedside light awkward. a single tear slipped silently down her cheek. and she brushed it away, without thinking, using the back side of her left hand. oh sweet success.

[3]Saturday, October 15, 2011 the truth about her
she often cheated. she often lied. she didn't feel guilty. she did it without thinking. she did it seamlessly and without a second glance. she almost never thought about it. she almost never cared.

[4]Sunday, October 16, 2011 the perfect poem
sometimes, just before falling asleep, the perfect poem would float gently into the edges of her near dream consciousness. she could trace the edges and taste it on her tongue, but she could not exactly grasp it. she could not convince her wakeful self to open eyes, open light, grope for pen and write. and so she never did write that. she never did.

[5]Monday, October 17, 2011 his eyes
he was present. she recognized him, he knew her, she could tell. she spoke and he blinked. once yes. she touched his hand gently. kissed his cheek. murmered a few cheerful things in contrast to her fake smile - painted on. her eyes telling only the truth. then a misunderstanding and his eyes bulged in alarm. she tensed. she knew this was goodbye. She wasn't going to come again. it wasn't a positive experience for either of them. she took a deep breath and walked away. she didn't look back.

[6]Tuesday, October 18, 2011 toots
It was like a raucaus gaggle of Canadian geese, the cacacophony of their honking as they fly south, endless noise doppling across the evening sky... only without the crisp clear autumn air, no scent of dry leaves, wood smoke or rich earth after rainfall.

[7]Wednesday, October 19, 2011 the aftermath
For years she had futuristic post-apocalyptic dreams of leading a group of survivors to scavenge and scrape an existance out of the remains. It unsettled her enough that she began taking classes in her spare time. Gardening for Urban Life. Making Cheese. Darning and Hemming for Dummies. And eventually, even weekend classes at the rifle range. She didn't know if and when it would happen, but she decided it couldn't hurt to be prepared.
brown tones me (happy)

write more...

New Year's Resolution: Don't make resolutions! :)

But seriously, I want to start writing more ... I haven't been ... not just here on LJ, but in my own journal, letters, post cards, just the kind of writing I have always done -- it's petered out. I hope to write more this year than last :)

(and hopefully not always at one in the morning when I really should be asleep!)
dragon tattoo (poem)

(no subject)

Somehow I don't think I ever posted this one here --

Seagulls & Sunsets
Summer (1997)

By the waters edge we called to them
Offering all we could give
Loving each one equally
Yet sometimes,
Favouring the brave.

We watched the water kiss the rocks
Wind breathing warmth against our skin
Naked under a red hot sky
Waves lapping just outside our reach

Saturn's rings ... Read morealive in your eyes
Worried look upon your brow
If you could walk on water,
Would you carry me with you
To the distant shore?

I breath.
We touch.
I am.
In the dark of night we laid as one
Offering all we could give
Loving each other equally
Yet sometimes,
Favouring the brave.

(no subject)

a thought...

Is it possible the the TV Series "24" created a comfort in America with having an African American president .. and watching it over the past 7 years eroded the stigma a bit?
dragon tattoo (poem)

(no subject)

Fiona's Birthday Poem

she speeds halfway across the world
to
     slow
           down
to take inventory
to rethink, to reclaim. to rejoice
vivid colours, rich fragrance, warm sunshine, warmer smiles
only happen for fractions of days also filled with
confusion, loneliness, fatigue, frustration
everything layered
           heaped
           a disarray
but nothing we would trade (on most days)
knowing in our very cores that we are young enough,
                                       bold enough,
                                       strong enough,
to survive and celebrate in alternating breaths
to feel the pulse of a continent between our hearts beats
to etch the experience within our cores
and then speed on home again
dragon tattoo (poem)

(no subject)

This poem is a cut up / mash up of some snippets from myself and three colleagues stream of consciousness writing. I like how it turned out. We all started with the phrase: "Whirling dervish on a spider web" and wrote for five minutes, then took three or four of the snippets that most resonated with us from our own pieces... wrote them on strips of paper which we then re-arranged into this poem:

I am in control but also not in control
concentric repetitive circles  tah-te   tah-te
secure & stable & centered -- moving in rhythm
strawberry-jam-pot music
laughing as the skip skip skip thwap of the rope
safety net that protects me from danger
one thin vulnerable thread
its purpose, its relationship with divine...
we are responsible for our own liberation and state of peace
How does a whirling dervish fit in a spiderweb?
brown tones me (happy)

(no subject)

Oh, by the way, have I mentioned that as of June 1st I am moving to Duncan, BC?

Anyhow, LJ folks on the West Coast -- let me know if we can be real life friends!

Cheers!

(no subject)

I just discovered: http://www.time.com/time/2005/100books/the_complete_list.html

I have already read:

Animal Farm (George Orwell)Are You There God?
It's Me, Margaret (Judy Blume)
Beloved (Toni Morrison)
The Big Sleep (Raymond Chandler)
The Blind Assassin (Margaret Atwood)
Catch-22 (Joseph Heller)
The Catcher in the Rye (J.D. Salinger)
A Clockwork Orange (Anthony Burgess)
The Crying of Lot 49 (Thomas Pynchon)
The Grapes of Wrath (John Steinbeck)
Gravity's Rainbow (Thomas Pynchon)
The Great Gatsby (F. Scott Fitzgerald)
Invisible Man (Ralph Ellison)
Light in August (William Faulkner)
The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe (C.S. Lewis)
Lord of the Flies (William Golding)
The Lord of the Rings (J.R.R. Tolkien)
Midnight's Children (Salman Rushdie)
Mrs. Dalloway (Virginia Woolf)
Naked Lunch (William Burroughs)
Neuromancer (William Gibson)
Never Let Me Go (Kazuo Ishiguro)
1984 (George Orwell)
On the Road (Jack Kerouac)
One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest (Ken Kesey)
A Passage to India (E.M. Forster)
Rabbit, Run (John Updike)
Slaughterhouse-Five (Kurt Vonnegut)
Snow Crash (Neal Stephenson)
The Sun Also Rises (Ernest Hemingway)
Their Eyes Were Watching God (Zora Neale Hurston)
Things Fall Apart (Chinua Achebe)
To Kill a Mockingbird (Harper Lee)
To the Lighthouse (Virginia Woolf)
White Noise (Don DeLillo)
White Teeth (Zadie Smith)
Wide Sargasso Sea (Jean Rhys)

So I have only 60 or so more to go -- but what strikes me as interesting is that for a number of the books mentioned I prefer another by that same author, and also there are quite a surprising number of double dippers (when I figure there must be AT LEAST 100 separate authors over the time frame worth exploring). As well, a number of my favourite books of all time are missing... I read their bit about how they came up with the list and its truly really books of their own choosing/liking and I guess being two older men in New York they're not likely to see things my way :) I wonder if I can find a similar list compiled by a South African newspaper, or one from China or India. Hrmm.