(no subject)

now starts the "where" writing

day 13

5 minutes

a cliff by the ocean

a sea of clouds hang dark and ominous overhead
the taste of brine hangs thick in the air
down below the jagged cliffside, ocean waves crash hard down below
rushing inland, reaching up to where i stand
the waves crashing sound like short rainstorms
the mist clings to the hairs on my arms
my face is wet with the death of waves
the ocean retreats and regroups for another assault
and in their absence are sharp rocky fingers of earth
they promise to catch me if i jump
and the sea promises she'll take me away when i land
together they seek to comfort me in the end

i wonder why i went for suicidal?

10 minutes

park bench in the city

mid-day on a park bench in the city
the hour of rush traffic bustles outside the park fence
a world of rush and turmoil outside patches of grass and trees
imprisoned to a world of prisoners
they watch as walkers stroll by
idle and patiently gazing outward
they sway in the gusts of wind
wind that passes like strangers on the sidewalk
carrying a message of car exhaust and pigeons
an old woman sits alone in the shade,
tossing flakes of bread onto the pavement
she finds joy in the moments of feast,
outside of herself as she watches the birds fend for themselves
they pick through the crumbs like wal-mart
selfish and bullying
big and small
she is breaking bread with a world that barely exists in the city
her clothes wreak with the stench of a street urchin
rolling along the bottom of the ocean,
collecting whatever may be in her path
today she is content with watching
reaping the benefits of providing for those she sees as less fortunate as herself
a broken woman, she pities those who are able to fly away to other homes
but are unwilling to part with the only thing they know
unwilling to grow up
restless pigeons
they shy away at her hand reaching out
but they can't tear themselves away from the promise of more
she is at peace with herself
because surely, if an old good for nothing bag lady has the heart and mind for empathy
surely, there are others out there like her
others more fortunate, who can fly and provide
there is idle chit chat among the flock when she has expended all of her crumbs
amidst the ominous shadow of patient flora,
at peace and in observance for those who are not rooted into the ground
they give her shade she cannot provide herself



i like what i did there. i think it was clever. and it is something that came to me as i rolled along. that's what i learned from that one. inspiration isn't forced. it is encountered.



90 seconds

hotel bar

last call for alcohol
late cries in neon lights
scribbling a phone number on the sheath of my room key card
she smells like rosemary
and scoffs when i ask for her to repeat her name
and yet she answers my phone call
the sound of adventure and mystery in her voice
last call for alcohol
and she skootches closer
her...



anyways... i skipped the real "day 12" because i felt exhausted. but i didnt see a point in giving up. so i made one mistake. it's ok. these reals are merely suggestions, not unbreakable laws of physics.

i like that i used the word "skootch." it's made up, i think? or if it's real, i don't know the spelling. so i used the logical system of a phonetic alphabet. but i changed a "c" to a "k" to avoid the confusion of symbol culture based on aesthetics over logic.