Monday, June 25, 2007


The opposite of flowers is blood. The humming of a thousand dragonflies drew near. I saw the distant figure of a man approaching, but he never came close. Everywhere the silhouettes of frightened but silent birds weaved patterns on the hard, cracked earth.

Even from the distance I knew he was a man of carefully chosen wars. Prone to false alarms and easily startled because he was really a child with undue sensitivity.

Then the dragonflies devoured a field of ripe pears. They flicked maliciously and abundance dwindled until there was nothing left but carcasses and a lingering scent of aged sweetness.

Above, the clouds were thick as smoke and choked the air. Strange light came from nowhere. I was in a land of alien sorrows.

Saturday, June 23, 2007


When I was little I hardly spoke a word. I would've sold my voice for a dollar, or nothing at all because speaking frightened me. I didn't speak, I whispered. Trapped by timidity my only articulation was through pen and paper. There was another world I lived in...that I still live in. There were times when I wanted to speak, but could not. Silence made me involuntarily secretive, and alone, but not always lonely. I'm still a wanderer in shadows, less afraid, but just as quiet.

Monday, June 18, 2007

The Lost Girl

The girl was lost in a fog. She tried, but her efforts only made her lag behind. Her speech was deliberate and she took pains to enunciate each letter. I couldn't tell if she was happy. Perhaps she's not aware enough to tell if she's happy or sad. In any case she matters little to herself and I should refrain from using "either/or". It's never that simple.

She made me her duty, and with the utmost tedium would ensure that I had everything I needed, but she did these things out of habit, not concern. Good manners are indoctrinated, and not always experienced as a practice of well-being. Often they're just necessary precautions. Whenever I glanced at her she would look back at me with hollow eyes. Then I could not tell if she was being sincere, but it's only me that judges and doubts. She was just there, unassumingly so, as if she posed no significance, as if she was on the verge of dissipating, dissolving...She was an unfilled form, a mere outline of a girl.