Wednesday, September 30, 2009
Friday, September 25, 2009
It's not a puncture, or a stab, or even a prick (too easy -- let's leave that one alone). It's an unfamiliar pain, which allows you the unique benefit of not registering it immediately. And there's no counting it off for you either, as in, "ready? here we go." Because it's that first impression, the how you take it, how well you absorb the hit, how credibly you can pull off nonchalance, that sets the tone for the rest of the session.
And if you can not react. If you can manage to hold your breath stealthily, and expel your sighs in whispers as it slides in deeper and deeper, as the first signs of red liquid begin to bubble to the surface, as it bobs up and down, in and out, interweaving threads of color with your own DNA, then you've got a pretty decent chance of not only coming through this selectively scathed as planned, but of maybe actually really really enjoying it.
Thursday, September 24, 2009
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
Monday, September 21, 2009
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
Monday, September 14, 2009
Saturday, September 12, 2009
It always reminds me of Seattle, of New Orleans, of Texas. You remember? It always makes me think of you.
Here, come lay down next to me. You can hear it perfectly from right here on this pillow.
Mmm...can you smell it? Man, there's just nothing like that. It's dancing off the cars and the stop signs and the street lamps. Not quite the same as a lamina roof, I know, but it's still such a powerful sound. Can you hear it from where you are, baby? Is it there somewhere above her whispers and giggles?
Look! Did you see that? Here comes the lightening now. Lightening! I can't even remember the last time I saw lightening. The whole sky just lit up like fireworks! Why are you missing this, dammit? Why aren't you here?
God, I do love the rain. It's the first downpour of the season, you know. How much do you think it can wash away tonight, I wonder?
Friday, September 11, 2009
That maybe they, too, can empathize with the loss, with the sorrow, with the grief that comes with the realization that you're no longer one half of a whole. That your birthdays and holidays and vacations are all fast becoming pawns on a chessboard. That you, too, feel like a failure. That you, too, just want to be happy and complete. That whether you were allowed to marry, or barred from the institution, or even chose not to marry, your heartbreak is no less painful. Your long dark nights, no less lonely.
Thursday, September 10, 2009
Monday, September 07, 2009
Sunday, September 06, 2009
Two-and-a-half hours later...
We'd scaled one mountainside too many, scraped up our elbows and knees, lost the majority of our crawfish water, but emerged triumphantly on the other side...and just in time for dinner, too. And no, it was not crawfish and clam chowder (much to their chagrin). We're, apparently, holding them (still) in our garage in vicious vengeance for their treacherous trickery in deceiving us into believing a shortcut is a shortcut is a shortcut. THAT should teach them!