Three Different Ways:
Dreams, Madness, and Myths
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Dream Journal: 2012-03-13.01
Keri wakes up in a dystopian future. Still cynical as ever.257 words.
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More Disjointed Scenes
Yea, so, earlier today I went away again. Two weeks of nonstop stress + fever? I’m surprised it didn’t happen sooner. So I went round the way and came back with the most disjointed series of images. What follows are the scenes I could remember clearly on waking. 713 words.
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Just Another Day At The Mall
The rough driving wakes me up. Sometimes I think my father intentionally aims for every pothole, dip, and raised bump when he’s driving. He calls it showing off his luxury car’s smooth suspension. The only thing suspended here is his disbelief. Another bump. “See! I didn’t even feel that! If I hadn’t been looking for…
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Wit
Where Keri tries to write of the Sunday Scribblings prompt, “Wit”, in 143 words.
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The Lady’s Baby Blue
Sitting by the windows, I have a clear view down the road leading up to the Lodge House. Feeling suddenly alarmed, I look away from the Brother pouring my cup of tea. Before I have turned fully, I see a glint of light from the road and hear the sound of metal rubbing against metal…
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After
After the party After the feasting After the wine is spilled and dried After the kissing After the loving After the tears run down to hide After the loudness After the madness After the ecstasy that lives to die After the midnight After the dawning After the crowing at the bright dawn sky It’s time…
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Rest
With many a pattered strum and thrum, The silent man spoke with his well worn drum. Limber fingers did tap, smooth nails did scrape. Into me the percussive language did drape. 146 words.
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Vision: I Walked Away
(This vision occurred in early 2002. My mindset has changed since then. However, I still remember how I was then, and will write this from that point of view. It’s dominating my thoughts again, and I write it down to contain it.) Classes were over early for the day. Don’t go to work until late…
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Skating to Nowhere
I don’t have ice skates on. The physics of this world would make them a moot detail. It feels like I’m sliding in socks on a freshly mopped floor. But with a frozen floor. And with leather boots. I extend a leg, and with a sudden movement launch myself into a lazy single salchow jump.…
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Pagan? Me?
By denotation, I’m pagan. By (popular) connotation, I’m not. By hell, I’ve stopped giving a shit. 211 words about one of Keri’s pet peeves.
Got any book recommendations?