There are strings attached to her hips. When she runs and dances they whip along with her, amplifying her motion. They write on the world.
But sometimes she stops – just stands – her heart pounding against her ribs, chest rising and falling to process air as she tips an ear, listening. And a breeze catches a string, and she looks at it. She looks, and then she follows, hips first, with the rest of her slinking behind.
The rough places made smooth (made safe) but oh! White moving against blue on the other side of foggy windows, and tangled murmurings and chords inside and the lights move. And there you are knitting it all together with one hand as you unravel with the other; you crab!
When we blush, tiny red blood cells rush to our cheeks. We get warm as they remind us of our hopelss, helpless, meaty little selves. We have emotions, snot comes out of our noses, and we call it life.
What is more lovely than that rush of blood to the epidermis? We go out boldly and return sheepishly with tails between our legs and then we go out again, blush warming us for the return voyage away.
They walked out of a bookstore and onto a just-rained-on street along which church bells were ringing and off which late-afternoon light was reflecting and when she asked where the car was and he said it didn’t matter and they walked.
There are these pieces of media- quotes, photos, videos- that have been kicking around in my brain for years. I’m tired of holding on to them as I wait for them to crystallize into something intelligible, so I started a separate page to collect them. If you’re interested in seeing the things that distract me, go ahead and take a look. Let me know if you know what I’m trying to think. Nothing there is original work, unless you count the arrangement of it all to be original work, but that’s dubious.
I walked down the street frosted with ice surprised at the amount of loose snow being kicked up by the wind until I realized it was actually smoke blowing from around the corner. I heard wails and saw people running and almost turned around because I was afraid I might see a car accident with trapped mangled bodies dying in front of my eyes but as I got closer I saw flames peeling out of the second floor of a house. A man in a t-shirt tried to wrangle his pit bull and a woman screamed to anyone who would listen that her brother did not start the fire. I felt strangely proud that I had accidentally strolled into something really happening as fire trucks closed in from three directions.