some place else to be driftin’…
Posted in Letters on Jun 2nd, 2004
This is the way I write: a brook, over and beyond, sliding over a thought; a bread knife, planned and pell-mell, cutting through cheese; a conscience, learning to plot behind, and between, concepts potentially good or evil; an eddy, stirred into motion by contrary winds; an emptiness, holding itself sacrosanct — if only […]
Posted in Journal on Jun 9th, 2004
He had never learned to whistle.
His dad, a whistler of the first rank, had tried to teach him the proper ways of forking a tongue preparatory to the act. Even then he had no ambition involving perseverance. He had a father, and as fathers go not much different, from everyone else, in a […]
“Hullo,” the voice breathed the word out.
In an eternity that breathed for one real-time second, he tasted the quality of that voice; the depth to which it reached into his soul, the echoes achieved in its rise and fall way inside him where the familiar crossed into the untried. The simple reality of it […]
Posted in Journal on Jun 25th, 2004
Someone engaged in taking a photo unconsciously prepares himself to wait, and indeterminately. An artist who sets up a blank canvas on an easel, there on a high bluff overlooking a sight stretching to some horizon, consciously seeks to align his inner vision with the sensitivity of the fingers holding the paint-brush. A person, waiting […]
