Posts Tagged ‘prose’
Accidental Intelligence
It was an artificial deadline set arbitrarily by his own initiative. Who else would care? As time flittered away, reality began to press upon the drowsy writer that nothing was going to simply drop out of the sky onto the page. Someone was going to need to pull a worthy tale out of their proverbial top hat (or some other oft-referenced lower anatomical location).
Meanwhile, sleep was making a valiant run for the pole position.
Why did any of this matter? Frontline was on later and it was going to be all about the 2018 Camp Fire in California. That kind of real-life drama beats made-up stuff hands down. If he was going to immerse himself in the experience without distraction, his plan was going to need to kick into action ahead of time.
There was nothing noteworthy to report about the animals, the weather, the landscape, the trees, the shrinking hours of daylight, the amount of sugar in dinner, the spinning gears of the day-job, the greatness of family and friends, or the stature of the recently refurbished deck, so something would need to be invented.
.
maybe a poem
rich with deep thoughtful meaning
evoking sky blues
.
It could be short, like three lines of haiku. Words could be tossed out in a free-form flow of curious reasoning that defies logic but reaches souls. Why not? It’s worked in the past when down to his last gasp for a grasp.
How many times before has he written random nonsense that struggled to hint at coherence and later learned of recipients who thrilled over the poignancy to their very lives? You can’t make this stuff up if it already happened.
The thing is, such a denouement happens in absentia. Often times he never knows, just wings it and relies on grace for an outcome that holds a possibility of reward.
Occasionally, it works.
Such end results get labeled “accidental intelligence” but that doesn’t prevent him from occasionally pretending to believe the results were exactly as intended. <cough, cough>
.
.
Powerful
.
.
there is something to it
the energy
brain chemistry
powerful juju
but who’s in control?
who’s driving that bus?
because it’s not in control
and moving way too fast
so much momentum
ignores the breath
it’s flooding the circuits
alarm bells and whistles
betray their intent
when employed so flat out
too many days in a row
searching for relief
from the race
by racing
until
by some different magic
the solution just shows up
with little in the way of fanfare
the race can be over
if you can choose
to simply
stop
.
.
.
Fragments
.
wisps of thoughts
tumble past in random fashion
a glimpse of an emotion
flashing across her face
remembering a fragment
from my distant past
passing judgment
despite my better intentions
scratching the cat
when she shows up for attention
until she stalks off
in another direction
only to return
in a repetitive cycle
that goes on
for years
choosing to stand naked
and alone with myself
listening for a solitary voice
that speaks an honest truth
from deep in the soul
in a language so unique
my mind struggles
to pay attention
.
.
.
