softly humming
every night for nearly
a year
i have invited sleep with music
violins, pianos, flutes, guitars
have sung. in. sleep.
for me
last night i used silence
my dreams were empty
mollymalone's posterous
ramblings of a writer
he loves me
i didn't even have to
pluck
any
petals
wednesday
wednesday this week wasn't so great for my sister.
somewhat of a disappointment i believe.
that's not so bad though.
God always makes more wednesdays.
he's got a whole room full of wednesdays and he keeps on making more and more.
and every week...
hello! there's another wednesday!
it's kind of nice to know
that if this wednesday isn't so great
you can always have another go at wednesdy
next week
consumables
soda pop shoppe
sake
applesbroccolisemipoppedcornturkey
various flavors of exciting and tattoo-wrapped gum
our fire conquered the rain.
airplanes
they are small. they shake. they are crowded. they roar.
they get me places.
this one has wifi. slow wifi, but wifi.
this means i can post on my blog, but not watch my movies.
it's an [insert adjective] trade off.
dirigible
Suppose I were to write a story about Mark again.
Suppose he and Trevor were to share an apartment.
Suppose Amy were to be suddenly and unfortunately unemployed.
Suppose they were to build a dirigible.
That might be fun.
But mostly I just want to use the word "dirigible."
previews
my soul rebels against two things:
owen wilson in the same film with reese witherspoon. (how do you know)
angelina jolie in the same film with johnny depp. (the tourist)
i would like to save witherspoon and depp from their co-stars.
also.
is there no shame in cinema? a film called "cowboys and aliens" should not be taking itself so seriously
microcosm
let's sit outside after nine
ten
and smoke something expensive
cheap
and laugh a few more
laughs with our feet
(see top)
on the table and our cells
buzzing to be ignored
a day
Sometimes there are days that demand poetry They sit in your backyard and wait for you Shifting anxiously foot-to-foot and whining a little When you rise, they see your silhouette in the window They smile, stretch, and throw a little sunshine about Usually it takes you a while to catch on You shower, dress, eat waffles, drink some tea You run errands, discuss plans, clean something You mess with electronics and complain a little Then you finally step outside, into the waiting day Your breath catches for a moment. You blink. This day has poetry in it. Perhaps it’s the way the sun hits the tree in your front yard Perhaps it’s the way the warmth seeps through your flip-flops from the pavement Perhaps it’s the breath of air that reminds you of how a certain person smells and you remember dozens of wonderful times and imagine the wonderful times that will happen later and a smile breaks across your face like sunrise and you can’t hold back anymore and suddenly… Your poetry has become a run-on sentence.
Seamus: discussion
Seamus sat on a rock a good hundred feet from where the boy, who told them his name was Lucian, sat swinging his legs and eating the bread they'd given him.
"What are we going to do with him?" Seamus rubbed the back of his neck and grimaced. Even at this distance the opposite element made him uncomfortable.
"You've really got to think these things through." Faeton couldn't help but chuckle at his friend's predicament. "You guys can't live in the same space."
The boy looked around eagerly, enjoying his extended time free of the cage where he had spent most of his young life. He glanced their way and waved, small sparks dancing away from his fingers at the eager motion, but he made no move to come closer. The space between himself and the water mage was unlikely to be closed by either party any time soon.
"We can't! I know! But what was I supposed to do?"
"I don't know, man." Faeton shrugged.
Seamus frowned at the boy, watching him return to staring out over the valley.
"His element is all tangled up. I bet he can't use it at all."
"How do you know?" Faeton looked from Seamus to Lucian in confusion.
"You can't see it? No of course you can't." Seamus grinned. He often forgot that his friend didn't have all the abilities he possessed. "It's all in knots and ... there's so much of it. I bet he would be really powerful if he could be unbound."
"Oh, he's powerful alright. He was bound when he was three because he kept burning things accidentally." Faeton said, pulling a blade of rough grass from between the rocks and picking it into small pieces.
"Three? No one should be bound that young." Seamus frowned. "So what do I do with him?"
"Can you, I don't know, straighten out the knots even while he's still bound up?"
"Maybe," Seamus shrugged, "But I'm not getting any closer than this." He shook his head and his left shoulder twitched. "This close is hard enough."
"Well, if you tell me what to do... I could..."
"Be a messenger boy?" Seamus teased.
"Basically." Faeton shrugged and grinned. "Whatever it takes to help that kid out. Maybe if you can train him to control his element he can help you with your resistance plan."
"Maybe." Seamus frowned, deep in thought, for some minutes. He mulled the plan over his head for a while before finally nodding. "We can give it a try anyway."
