Monthly Archives: June 2015

What It’s All About

A couple of years ago, I started writing again after a big gap. Writing was always fun and easy (relatively) for me, so I wasn’t worried about getting back to it. Well, it was harder than I thought. I didn’t end up writing whatever I was trying to write that day. I wrote this instead.

            I’ve heard many people say that a mind is a terrible thing to waste. After too many years of wasting mine, I can only say that a mind is a terrible thing to waste away. I tried to think today, and I felt like someone who’s been lying in a hospital bed for months, trying to get up and walk. I can remember being able to do it, but my body doesn’t remember how.
            I used to think. Honest. I remember being able to think. To reason, even. I remember being able to create words on a page, create stories, bring what I imagined to life. I swear I used to do that. Now, I’m staring at this page thinking… Well, trying to think. Mostly I’m staring at the page. Head in my hands, I’m looking at the screen as if I expect it to do tricks. I know it requires my input. Words will not appear on the page if I continue to sit and stare at it. That would be nice (pretty awesome and freaky, actually), but it’s not going to happen.
            So how to relearn to think? The hospital patient would get physical therapy for their muscles and weight training to build then up again. I picture weight training for the brain, and all I get is an image of a hand weight in a pile of gelatinous goo. Oops. That’s not it. Maybe it would be reading serious books, well-written books with big words in them. Maybe I should do math problems. Heck, maybe I just need to write. Write everyday. Write and write and write whatever crap comes out until it starts to be good again.
            And hope it’s not too late.

That’s what this blog is about.

Angles of Difference 1

The dwarves made me.


Celebration and joy
One promise
Two lives
Hand to hand
Heart to heart
Two rings
Two people
One life for life


Vile curse, self-imposed
Set the limits,
Brittle and cold

Harsh truth, self-explained
Range of possibility
Acknowledged and named

Cruel lies or deliberately blind –
Belief breaker: belief designed.
Hiding from or hiding behind?

Deathwalker 1.2

             At the time, the image of dead people shelved neatly in a vast freezer terrified me. I pictured my grandparents there. My mother. My father. And I began to cry. Rough hands had patted my shoulder.
            “Shhh. Hush, Seph. They like it there, or they would be happy to be woken.”
            I hadn’t appreciated the irony as a child. Now, as a vast tomb appeared before me like a hulking guard, I was all too aware of it. If the stone pillars looked unhappy to see me, I can only imagine how their resident would feel. I stared up at the looming stone and sighed. No wonder no one else would take the job. That should’ve warned me, but I was hungry. It’s amazing what you’ll agree to do when you’re hungry.
            Resigned, I shifted my coat and made sure I had what I needed. I probably should’ve cut my losses, but, hey, I was still hungry. And stupid.
            “Come on, Seph,” I muttered, “time to go piss off a dead person.”

Deathwalker 1.1

             The mist continued to curl around my toes like playful kittens as I walked deeper into the graveyard. Where the stones were older and their residents less playful. I scanned the stones that appeared out of the dark mist only to be swallowed again. Their age made the inscriptions hard to read. If not impossible
            That only made them more of a mystery.
            I reached out and touched one weathered gray stone and let my senses extend through my fingertips. Old. Very old. But not old enough. I removed my hand. As curious as I was, I prefer not to disturb the dead without good reason. I could already hear the slight murmur from my touch, like someone muttering in his sleep as he rolled over.
            I’ve heard other deathwalkers call it the opening gates or the shifting of the curtain between the other world and ours. But the best deathwalker I’d ever met thought of it as a freezer door.
            “There are no other worlds, child. People cannot be removed from ours. They simply go into storage.”

Deathwalker 1

             I came.
            I saw.
            Death conquered.

            I traced the Latin on the tomb as I translated and wondered whether the deceased had had a sense of humor. Or maybe the family ordered the inscription. Were they angry their loved one was taken from them? Or were they gloating that the old bastard was beaten? There were so many possibilities.
            I was always wonder about graves. Who the person was, why that stone or that symbol. Graves are instant mysteries. Like people. My lips curved as I walked through the mist. In the half light, the fog devoured each stone within steps. And new ones appeared as if by magic.

            Millie Tajinsky
            Beloved Mother

            Did she order that, or did her children? I shook my head. It’s amazing how who changes the meaning. Who were you? I asked silently. She didn’t answer. Then again, I hadn’t really asked her. Shaking my head, I continued on and let the mist swallow her.
            I wasn’t there to talk to her anyway.

%d bloggers like this: