Archive for the ‘Creative Writing’ Category
Flurries
.
all day long
flurries of flakes floated down
where were they coming from?
there was nothing visible on radar
yet flake after flake kept falling
barely enough to cover some surfaces
but turning the brand-new lake ice
white
if falling as rain
it would have been a mist
maybe a sprinkle
but only barely
just relentless white flakes
floating from the sky
one after another
from sun up
to sundown
picture postcard perfect
for sitting by the fire
gazing at large white swans
busy in the open water
creating idyllic scenes
out the window frame
ushering in December
all day long
.
.
Dear Rob
Dear Rob,
Just a note to say I am beginning to think you are insanely desperate to buy the property on Ravenscroft Ln that you seem to think I own after several years of texting my number despite the resounding silence you get from me in return.
I’m writing to ask if you might know Kristen who keeps leaving me messages that sound like she is fixated on buying my property for cash. Any chance you two happen to live under the same roof?
Sorry, I’m just teasing. I know that you are both some guy named Vlad who lives in his mom’s basement in a country that doesn’t even bother putting basements under their metal-roofed shanties.
I could be wrong, but it seems to me that if you actually used the correct names and addresses of people and places that you wish to extract tax-free income from, the chances of fooling people have got to go up by some fraction of a percentile. Also, a lot of other schemes are employing the fine art of making the number that comes up on the caller ID of their targets show the local area code. True genius when it first started happening.
If you look it up on the dark web, I’m sure some bot would be happy to sell you the details of that fancy trick.
Don’t lose any sleep waiting to hear back from me about that delivery from US Postal for some imaginary package that can’t be delivered because the zip code is incorrect. I accidentally deleted it while I was tripping in front of running horses from the falling tree that was about to kill us all since Asher’s leash was tangled around everybody’s legs and the cloud of pigeons taking off from all the commotion was obscuring our view and I was looking down at my phone anyway in case it was an urgent call from someone I love.
Just kidding. I thought it would be funny to show you I can make stuff up, too. But if you want to call me back and give me your account numbers, I can help you pay us for a therapy session we are going to need after that imaginary scare about the tree falling and almost killing us.
Back before you were born, the running joke about pranking the snail mail solicitors who put postage-paid return envelopes in their offerings involved sending them a brick with their convenient envelope taped to it. No one believed that would work, but we all got a good yuck out of imagining it could.
Hey, tell “Kristen” that if she (you) shows up at our door with the cash in hand, it’s possible I might consider a swap, especially if the offer is significantly over market value like the pitch hints at. Don’t let Asher’s ferocious bark cause your knees to buckle. He only attacks people who are trying to take advantage of innocent victims.
No response necessary. I’m sure you are very busy with your cybercrime enterprises. Just mark this message as “Junk” and block my address. If you need any help doing that, I can show you. I’ve got the steps memorized.
Insincerely,
Everyone you harass
.
.
Falling
.
it’s the way sunlight comes through the window
when no one is home to see it
like a song playing
when no one is bothering to listen
without waiting
your eyes close
catching up with your mind
that already went to sleep
recording layer upon layers
afterthoughts
under cover of darkness
dipping into all those sun rays
raising suspicions
stridently emphatic
snowflakes are falling everywhere
and no one is bothering
to listen
.
.
Absolutely
.
wistful waiting
for absolutely nothing
all day long
for days on end
while occupied with everything
twenty-four seven
in the sun
the rain
the wind
the light
the dark
the reasons undisclosed
overindulged expectations
notwithstanding
small suppositions
never fully realized
lives lived
in a breath
involuntary
evolutionary
unabashedly discretionary
involuntarily evidentiary
mildly aghast
nothing
never
comes
.
.
None Taken
“No offense,” she said. “I was just trying to make a point.”
It didn’t make any difference to me. I wasn’t listening. It was her eyes. I was lost in the mysterious feeling I was experiencing from the way they commanded my attention. It didn’t matter that she occasionally over-formed her mouth when she spoke certain words.
There was a person in there and I didn’t know who that person was. Something about her eyes seemed familiar.
For most of my life, I had no reason to consider the idea of reincarnation. I had no reason to consider New York, either, but that didn’t mean it didn’t exist. For all I know, reincarnation has been happening since the beginning of time. How is it that there are infants who demonstrate abilities beyond their years?
Sometimes I wonder if I am remembering someone from one of my previous lives. What if I went to grade school with this person? Could they have lived across the road when I was a kid? What about those three months when I lived in Detroit Lakes? Who was that woman in tech school? How many people have I interacted with during my working life?
“Are you even listening to me?”
“Oh, sorry –no offense– I was just distracted for a moment there. If you were 45 years older, I’d ask if we’d met somewhere before.”
“None taken.”
.
.
Snippets
.
random snippets
flashing in distorted order
photo-realistic memories
no longer connected
to reality
changing names
won’t make a difference
about what happened
the way it seems to have happened
the looks in all of our eyes
the laughter
always eye-watering laughter
usually just after
tension is broken
in sensational ways
ways we will remember
in any order
for the rest of our days
including last night
on the off-beats
as the music faded out
leaving goosebumps
and tingling spines
in its disappearing wake
.
.
Relative Something 