Wednesday, April 30, 2014
Tuesday, April 29, 2014
Coming up and out of the neighborhood, as if it were Fitzgerald's valley of ashes, or Homer's underworld, he had the sudden urge to hurl his refill mug as far as he could, because he could--though really the culture had paralyzed such impulses for better or worse at a very young age--thus walking naked and unencumbered, although fully clothed, freely and truly as intended.
Monday, April 28, 2014
You would think that flinging the laptop from the Eiffel Tower, or into the Grand Canyon, would provide more than adequate satisfaction, but it wouldn't do at all, it wouldn't come close, because such a ridiculous height wouldn't provide the ultimate, necessary experience, which was in fact the end of the line; no, what he really wanted was to drop the damn thing from a parking ramp, maybe three or four stories high, so that he could still see and hear its demise.
Saturday, April 26, 2014
The feather drifted high and low on the current of the breeze, seemingly in slow motion, before landing in her lap as she sipped lemonade, languidly reclining in a chaise lounge in golden splendor behind a dark pair of sunglasses and capturing all of the afternoon sun, as if feather and sun and time were hers, and hers alone.
Friday, April 25, 2014
Thursday, April 24, 2014
Tuesday, April 22, 2014
Monday, April 21, 2014
He forced himself to look and see, insisting that his sight pass over as much as possible, the term "much" encompassing many things, including things he couldn't actually name, or things that he didn't realize he was actually seeing, and all the shades and hues were made more substantial by the dampness of the early morning rain.
Saturday, April 19, 2014
Friday, April 18, 2014
She was able to exhaust life just as thoroughly as travel from her bed or from the couch when necessary, or when she preferred to remain in one place, perfectly still, staring calmly out a window, her rich imagination traveling at break neck speed, a book of poetry splayed open on her chest as she drifted off to sleep.
It was as if she and the sun had been going for a walk, the lilac bushes near the cafe beginning to bloom, behind the fogged glass the regular customers lined up for coffee, the garbage trucks groaning from within the depths of the neighborhoods, the traffic making the damp streets sing, the sun leaning in to murmur in her ear as with each step, as the morning began and the sun continued to climb, her confidence soared.
Thursday, April 17, 2014
Wednesday, April 16, 2014
Tuesday, April 15, 2014
Monday, April 14, 2014
Saturday, April 12, 2014
Thursday, April 10, 2014
Wednesday, April 9, 2014
Tuesday, April 8, 2014
Monday, April 7, 2014
Sunday, April 6, 2014
The combined effects of her late-morning dream, which by now was only the vague outlines of a one-act play she couldn't recall--a muted, faded drama she had perhaps never seen but had only heard from the vestibule of her youth--and the malaise of a Sunday afternoon, which she recognized as a remnant from her pollen-filled Catholic childhood, almost always resulted in an anxious desire to go for a walk through the neighborhood in search of what felt missing, as if she would know it when she saw it while each twig, each stone, the anemic lawns, each porch, each storm-dirtied house, the dull cars parked along the curb, the abandoned toys, each stride, each swing of her arm served to rebuild her confidence.
The effects of the dream persisted well into the afternoon like a determined clump of yellow crocuses inconspicuously thrusting upward toward an ambiguous, noncommittal cornflower blue sky, disrupting an unnoticed arrangement of pale, dead, matted leaves at the base of a telephone pole, something only an artist or photographer would catch, the feeling of a lack, of missing a flight, of losing a wallet, of being told over the phone that the relationship had run its course growing steadily like the strength of the sun, the shortening of the shadows, until the weight of it, the significance of everything unnameable and beyond reach, hung directly overhead, pushing down on his brow, neck and shoulders while he sat on the patio sipping his coffee.
Saturday, April 5, 2014
Friday, April 4, 2014
Thursday, April 3, 2014
Something odd was happening during the night, the resultant outcome extremely vivid dreams (some rearrangement of the vase of flowers, mostly tulips [which was how he thought of reality, and therefore memory] which reversed itself ever so slightly, although never completely, in the morning, like a glass half-full of water being picked up and set down on the opposite side of the night stand by a ghost, leaving him with a vague sense of having been manipulated by internal and external forces to which he had never been formally introduced).
Wednesday, April 2, 2014
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