misbirthed, a quandary in time

A setting sun on the clouds of a day similar to today. I've reached my past and climbed the present and at these heights the only focus is on the wind, the rain. Washing the dirt of misinterpretation, misconception.

The abortion of time. A clot of flesh birthed and deathed too soon. The soldiers of the wound run to find the reasons why It wasn't right. It, being those depths of love that carry your voice to my soul.

I am weary and even I buy their reason, believing the stories of my own mistake. I am caught in the slow forgetting and the prison of never letting go.

Absorbing the visual

A clear and concise tale can be cut and layered by emotional descriptives, mirroring a familiar scent of memory back to the reader. Texture to color, deflect intent. Opening veins of thought, tapping heart strings to play the processes of the mind. Rewarding the churn with slow and complex visuals. Giving the story a pull, a drag, the mind follows, playing catch up, eating and enjoying the complexities of the read.

I reside in the dust of Darfur, in the land of Sudan

I am far from myself, so close to empty. But I have my own hand to hold and for now this is what I crave to own. I will not move from this place, this place in the sand. I will not walk away with another stranger, candy given, pain to come.

I have seen pictures of bodies, dead on the fields of Sudan. So still, so done, rotting in the sun. The breeze shifts a cuff, pushes the sand onto the nail of a hand that once caressed someone it loved. The rot and decay quietly consume every memory, every kiss.

I lie there with them, inviting the decomposition of my existence. The great leveler of egos, petty concerns and trivial worries. The peace maker between warring hearts, broken and deferred dreams. Dead on a field, in a land not my own. I would become the dust of Sudan.

Neptune's bidding

This is just jest and play. There is no trip to Spain on a train or a plane. No Egyptian dogs or robots to reboot.

It's all a dream, weighted and thrown to the sea. The dream and she. They live on the sandy bottom with the crabs and eels. She's Neptune's jelly fish.

She's stung my ragged edges until she's reached indifference. But it's a hateful indifference. A difference indifference.

Through the currents she looks to land, gloating in her ability to breath water, to swim away smug and pleased knowing I am land locked. But I wade, I'm a wader in her sea, her spineless body and heart sting to paralysis my stupid stupid soul.

Us, on a bus in Madrid

I, we and you are a different us than yours. And really, your us probably doesn't include me. It is another us, on a bus in Madrid.

I have a ticket to us. It carries me to Spain by way of plane. Two cats and an unskilled communicator. Visiting a robot and a dog with an Egyptian name.

I will arrive and kiss her metally mouth and search for the on switch to her heart and push the friend button again. There's software to download, forgiveness and an open mind to soften her hard, drive.

help me

3/4 root-canal. Tomorrow. I am not happy. I don't do well with Novocain, it doesn't work for me. The last time I had work done at the dentist (12 years ago) the doctor finally said, "I can't give you anymore, it's effects won't increase at this point." This was after seven shots.

The thought of the needle going into my mouth makes me squirm out of my seat. I just looked at myself after writing that and I'm halfway off the couch, ass hanging over, my ex's laptop precariously dangling between my knees as I dodge the needle and the doctor that's not really here.

Dad will you please come with me and hold my hand and tell me what an ass I'm being? Need my daddy.

I know, I know, it's so not cool to need your daddy when you're 37. But I never said I was cool.

soft serve

There is this wacky guy who lives in the building of one of the dogs I walk. He gets into the elevator with me and my dog and screams, "HI INDIE!" Indie sits close to me looking at him with half interest half discomfort.

I'm looking at the guy trying to not let my lip curl into a snarl. He's not a bad guy just fucking clueless and overly happy in that fake loud pushy way.

Loud Happy Guy yells, "ARE YOU GOING FOR YOUR WALK IN THE RAIN INDIE?!"

Indie: Why yes, I am accompanying my dog-walker here for an hour long stroll where we will also stop by Nellie's place and pick her up too. Hopefully I'll have a nice firm shit so it's not too much trouble for Robin to pick up as she does get pissed when my shit comes out like soft serve. A few pisses on choice trees and hydrants and I should be home in time to grab one of my owners shoes, jump onto the couch and have a chew or two before she comes home. Thanks for asking.

Loud happy guy always thinks if the dog looks at him he has to say, "OH SORRY INDIE, I DON'T HAVE ANY TREATS ON ME RIGHT NOW!"

He then looks at me and by now I am snarling at him because I know what he's going to say "ISN'T IT FUNNY HE ALWAYS WANTS A TREAT?!"

And for the 76th time I say, "Actually just because the dog's attention may be on you doesn't mean you need to anthropomorphize his behavior into behavior you yourself exhibit, the need for a treat, your treat being the crumbs of attention you get from being such a kiss ass loud happy guy."

Ok so I don't ever say this.

I just spread my tight lips into an imitation of a smile, staring dead eyed beyond his head biding my time till the doors open.