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Category: Writing

symbols, cymbals

Last night, the world rang in the year 2021 together.I don’t believe I’ve heard such noise of celebrationsince the turn of the century, since the infamous Y2K,when a different arbitrary marker of time’s passingwas cause for such wild, fearful abandon. On our farm on the grid of rural gravel lanes,we stood stock still until the motion-sensor lightflicked off, leaving us with the faint flashes of fireworksand the chunky clouds and the rain pelting our faces.The…

A long overdue update!

This isn’t a studiolog proper, but… I needed to freshen up the content here a little bit while I’m spooling out new projects on the regular… Since the last time I checked in on this blog, I’ve been involved in the following: Not Bad – we did it. FOR REAL. We made an EP. It’s called ATROCIT-E and there is a big ol’ story behind that name that I will probably never type out for…

Micro-magic (again)

His guitar was magic. He always found the melodies when he played for someone who was sick. The iceberg was magic. Penguins who leapt to the safety of the floating frozen mesa found themselves in possession of plentiful fish and predator-free seas. Their entryway rug was magic. For decades it kept out his professional enemies and her family. Her bookcase was magic. Every book she placed on it was richer the next time she read…

For the child

Inspired by a coworker’s wonderful Halloween costume this year… I must kill Snow. For me, and for the child growing inside me. The huntsman will regret his betrayal. He will never know his baby, his daughter or his son, and he will soon understand why I am believed to be a witch, though I have never pretended to understand how such power flows through me nor claimed to have mastered it as an art. It…

She Is

A conversation that came to me as I sat on the couch the other night… “What do you know, teacher?” “Too much.” “A given.” “Too much sadness.” “Whose?” “Everyone’s. I move through a crowd and it sloughs onto me.” “What do you know about the woman?” “She is.” Curious silence. “A woman.” “She is.” “She is, and she will be.” “While we are still watching, teacher?” “Yes. I believe so. She is coming quickly to the turning point. Not long now.” “When she is… will the sadness change?”…

Wake-up call

Preston’s eyes remained closed, though he could feel the lightening of morning outside his window. These moments were precious: self-reflection, brilliant ideas, anything that required a still mind and a complete focus on nothing else, these were the commodities he crafted in the wee hours. Then the first electric shock hit his toe and travelled all the way up through his veins. Preston used to scream when the alarm clock went off, but after five…

The street

Inspired by a strange road near my house. Content warning: suicidal actions. The man waited, fidgeting with the frayed edge of his Northface jacket. Whenever a car hissed wetly by, he looked up, gauging its speed and trajectory. None of them had satisfied his sense of perfection. He had waited too long to do this wrong. Then he saw it: a Lincoln, one of the big ones, with grill enough to do the job. The man…

The twin moons

I flicker the weak beam against the cornto find the moons, floating together.I call, and the twin moons come. The moons sail in to the ring of lightfrom the porch, a dock on a rustling sea.When I see rolling tongue and happy smileI call, “Good boy.”

Sprout

Gary wasn’t forthcoming with an explanation. I could hear him shrugging over the phone. “I mean…I guess we just wore out our welcome with each other. Y’know?” I didn’t know. But I said I did. Gary waited a few seconds, said he hoped I got some sun this summer, and hung up. I went outside and laid in the pile of potting soil on the front lawn, a seed waiting to sprout into something beautiful.…

When a Dog Howls

Amy and I flipped through Black Cats & Evil Eyes to find headers that inspired us, along with my Story Cubes. This came out of a 5-minute sprint that combined the prompt, “When a dog howls, death is near,” and the image I rolled, “speech.” Teddy is the worst. I actually have the statistics to prove it. In the last year, I’ve dog-sat every canine within four blocks of my parents’ house, and I’ve kept…