My Cardboard Balcony

So many weeks never end the way they start. You begin with a meteorologist's migraine of sorts - high winds and heavy fog, cold and dreary versus sudden impending sun and heat and strain. That sort of weather message works metaphorically, too. It's been a rough week for me, not just work-wise, but creatively, too. Work itself is fairly mild compared to the mental fluctuations I've had. Being caught on the grotesque cusp of restlessness versus a calm desire to do nothing is a pretty ugly situation. Some days I just want to be a homebody, and other days I just want to abandon my house, swipe up my girlfriend, and go on some sort of random adventure. On the bright side, today was good. You find people who like you, no matter how hard it is for you to believe or remember sometimes. You have drink and good company, and in the end, it settles you. It lets your mind breathe. And now I'm going to let my mind breathe some more by having a glass of White Zinfandel and going...

Super by Belinda Roddie There was a superficial man who lived a superficial life With his superstitious mother and his supernatural wife Read the paper every morning and drank whiskey every night So lived this superficial man in his superficial life His wife tried to put a spell on him to put sparks in his eyes But her husband would not have it in his dim and weary light He was happy with the way he was, happy with his plight Said the superficial man to her in his superficial life Two years from then she disappeared with their supercilious son In a purple smoke that filled the room and poisoned old man’s lungs His mother shrieked and clutched her cross and died from simple fright So the superficial man was left alone in dark and solemn sight The supercilious son sent letters in a cool but loving air But his father would not open them, for he no longer cared He was happy with the way he was, happy with his plight Thought the superficial man as he lived his superficial life Then...

The two suspects were sitting together on the same bench, handcuffed and very stiff. They did not move much. They barely twitched their eyebrows or sucked in the air through their feeble nostrils. One of their noses quivered slightly, white powder settling in his whiskers. We sat down across from them, waiting for them to speak. We would have to be the ones to "break the ice."

The Violin That Sang by Belinda Roddie The violin that sang all on its own needed no one to charge its battery of repertoire, no fingers to caress the strings that lay awaiting for their touch. It was a lonely violin, but a marvelous instrument, a vibrant one, a daring one in a world where the art lay not with the device, but with the man or woman who could allow symphonies to stir brains. When brought to the stage, it would sit upright, the bow hovering in front of its wooden face. It could hum Mozart or Beethoven in deep, tranquil delight, so lonely violin caught ears each night.

Zaine was on patrol. He had not expected Lavonne to be with him, but she was, hovering around the curb that joined the main street with the residential. The turrets of each home and shelter caught the line of the artificial moon so perfectly. Steely silver against brick. So faux. Lavonne lit a cigarette and Zaine could see the orange light from far away. He cocked his gun and waited.

Proxy Server Lost playground lonely clockwork bedding I wish that I'd dream of daylight streaming through windows of milky white dripping sweet arrows that sting when I kiss them and pierce when I wish them gone I can't remember the last time I figured out how many days I was spending connecting my weary head lapse battery waning premise fading backwards thinking yes, time travel's possible when you are hinging on salty regret and the way she last held your hand I cannot recollect all of the seashells I dropped on the sidewalk while I was skipping back home. playground empty cattle grazing profile won't load how did you get here?

They had her on a stretcher, the blue in her eyes becoming brief flashes of color as her lids snapped over them repeatedly. She was trying very hard to stay awake and alert, but each breath looked more labored than the next, her chest rising a little lower each time. I ran over to her side and seized her hand. She looked at me and managed a smile despite her exhaustion. "Hi, beautiful," she whispered.