Archive for July, 2013

28
Jul
13

Less monster

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Photo credit:  “Dreamscape” © Luca Pisanu made for the CGSociety Event “Dreamscape”

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I was amidst a small party of faceless acquaintances, and we were navigating steps amidst columns, turning corners, taking in the sights like wares before us, a renaissance festival amongst the woods perhaps. We were in a collective state of quiet, discovery, adventure, appraisal, the respectful togetherness of a unit.
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There was no sign of distress until we were walking back to wherever it was we had come from. As we walked down a steep dirt slope thick with rocks and the roots of trees, it became increasingly clear that a man among us was falling more and more deeply into darkness. I felt him intend to lose his footing and tumble away from us, down and down toward a shallow ravine of slow-moving muddy water.
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He came to rest on his back where the ravine widened into a brackish pool. He rolled himself into it and allowed himself to sink to the bottom, but it was only deep enough so that the water barely covered his face, an awful face like Severus Snape, with dead eyes staring straight up. He breathed in the brown water and I thought that would be the end of it, but blood and another fluid of a different color began to rise from the area above his throat, and I could barely make out his hand there. He must have torn into his throat with it, to end it sooner.
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………………………………………………………………………………# # #
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I popped up from a dip in the ocean and cleared my eyes. Edith emerged a moment later slicking her hair back, her ancient face made smooth with the water pouring down it like olive oil streaming down marble. And her eyelashes, my eyes were drawn to them, and they became all there was. They were remarkably long with tiny sparkles of water resting in the bends of them.
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When Edith was alive in Pocasset, we would walk from her weather-beaten house to the sea wall and down the steps, Edith in her apron style swim suit, white bathing cap and Pinwheel sneakers and me in my black bikini. I’d help her to the steps down to the water and she’d descend them slowly, gripping the rails with her blue-veined hands, and ease into the water, breaststroke-kicking serenely with legs as white as her Pinwheels.
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………………………………………………………………………………# # #
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I woke excited to call my mother, to tell her I’d seen great aunt Edith in a dream, and ask if her lashes were really that long, because I certainly hadn’t noticed…and then the memory of the strange Snape sequence crept in, and I felt in general like I could do with less monster and more magic…
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Fin
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Click here for more on prompt “#379 – Less” from other Sunday Scribblings participants.

21
Jul
13

I wander

Nightmare02-grocery-aisles photo Nightmare02-supermkt-aisles_zps01b9f04a.jpg

Photo Credit: “Hard Shopping” by Ekinox

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It’s a funny thing, the business of balancing

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the time to day dream, to exist in a pure state of possibility, and to set about creating from the mind’s eye, to feel the joy of inspiration

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the time to work, to make money to live on mankind’s version of Earth

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the time to notice the strings of undone things about the house—don’t touch them, not even one, for they are not separate as they appear!

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the time to be tricked, to touch a string and to follow it like an endless rope that strangles the day

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It’s like wandering through supermarket aisles in a night dream – I see my list, it’s in my hand, and my intent feels strong and sure, but the floor becomes distant and the aisles are towering strange and resistant to aim and effort – I watch myself wander and gather extraneous things, deaf to my own instruction

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I find myself at the county fair on a ride with dead controls – I turn the wheel in my hands, it spins, loose, and I slam into task after task, each with a lock to get to the next level, each with a promise that it’s the last one – I watch my lips say And then you can day dream

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But when will I wake from the night dream? If I don’t, or worse, if I do, and still effect no strength of purpose, I will continue to wander the aisles carrying the list

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not feeling the quickening of my footsteps pounding or the blood pulsing at my temple

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just carrying the list

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to the grave

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Fin

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Click here for more on prompt “#378 – Wander” from other Sunday Scribblings participants.