These waves are a figment of my imagination
Of our collective belief
Problems washed out to sea
Pulled away as we lounge on the shore
A collective fatigue
Roasting on the boardwalk
We try to collect it
Pay copper coins to taste it
They clang into an endless bucket
While our tongues shrivel
There’s no water here
No salve for our burns
These waves wash us out to sea
RDP: Fog
I wish I could breathe you in
Let your smoke burn my lungs
And exhale the fear hanging over this
A heavy fog and matte rain
Slow drips of diluted love
That waters the flowers
But not enough
Welcome back to Stream of Consciousness Sundays, where I have a random word and write for whatever comes to mind for a certain amount of time (5-10 minutes). Today is 5 minutes (more or less)
Word: Austere – FOWC & Lollygag – RDP
Austere words line the hall
Pictures in which we lay
Slow smiles lollygag across the face
Spilled milk resting in the valleys
Against graham peaks
Bury me there
Where lesions are eased
I’ve been busy for months it seems. At some point I decided to start my own business which has preoccupied me like nothing else. I know I need to make time to write though and have been working on freeing time up for that.
Offering a sort of sangfroid, the music was unlike anything the crowd had ever heard. Notes weaving from the stage slid their ways into the patrons brains.
They swayed.
They bounced.
They flailed.
They … except Marlon. A singular bastion of disgust in a sea of enthralled fish.
Marlon watched the band jump around the stage creating a cacophony.
“I will never understand.”
“You don’t have to! Just let the music take you!” His right hand woman, Aileen, jumped around beside him. “I can’t stop!”
“I can’t imagine why. Instead of dancing why don’t you help kill the vampires.”
Aileen spun away, joining with another vibrating group of club patrons.
“Fine, I’ll do it myself.”
There’s something gnawing at the edge of my spirit
Small but persistent, hidden
Words once exchanged, hasty love
Bought sight unseen
Stored away in dark, cool places
It becomes secret doors
Scraped away in stone
And hidden ruminations
Based on smell alone
Ragtag Daily Prompt: Gnaw
Slowly this aberration emerged, a plume of thick smoke sneaking between the cracks in the wall. We were no longer welcome here.
As if the stiff lipped fear ever meant we could stay.
A collective thought grew among us, slow and warming, passed in the offering plate from one to another and nurtured with each passing hand.
Who are we to stay?
In the darkness we gathered what little we could claim and disconnected ourselves from this place.
Incorporating a couple of the daily words. Abberation from FOWC and emerge from RDP.
“My confidence is gossamer.”
“Gossamer?”
“Gossamer.”
“That guy was pretty confident I guess.”
“That guy?”
“Yeah, the heart guy. The big monster one. Like an olden days Kool-Aid man.”
“I don’t think … Gossamer is a word. It’s not a person or monster or whatever you’re talking about.”
“No offense, I know my Bugs Bunny. Maybe you mean another word?”
“Maybe you have the name wrong. My word is Gossamer.”
“Google it then. Let’s see who’s right.”
*furious typing*
“Gossamer, thin, delicate, insubstantial.”
“And, right there, Gossamer. Big red heart dude.”
“Huh. Ironic.”
“Yeah, also, have you met yourself? Your confidence is not “gossamer”. You’re not a wilting flower or silk blowing in the wind.”
RDP: Gossamer
That over there is Henry.
Henry is currently neck deep in a bowl of lucky charms. I’m not sure if he’s sleeping. I’m not sure he’s even alive.
I’m not sure I care either way.
I sweep back and forth, not really cleaning so much as biding my time. Any minute now these little monsters will rise with the bell, a fastidious cult. Once they’ve filed away into classrooms to be pumped full of information, whether it’s right or wrong, I can get on with my day.
“Get a job at a prestigious private school.” They said. “It’ll be great money.”
Have I got news for them.
“Think that spots clean enough Maude?”
The principal is this little round man. He covers his smattering of graying hair with weird hats and always wears a cartoon tie. Today’s tie is Marvin the Martian.
And now he’s shuffling me to another corner of the cafeteria.
“Jimmy spilled his milk.”
He puts me to task cleaning up Jimmy’s failed science experiment. I swear there’s something unearthly in this milk. It’s green and doing a little jive. I’m no scientist but I’m pretty sure that’s not right.
The bell rings summoning the demon spawn towards the halls.
I watch them go with not one bit of regret but notice Henry, still head down in his lucky charms. I suppose I have some obligation. I poke him with the end of my broom.
His head lolls over sending milk strangely tinted with green splattering over the floor.
Shit, is Henry dead? I think he might be the richest kid at this school. That’s no good.
As I’m sorting my alibi and evidence that I had no hand in this event, Henry opens his eyes. Jet black pupils take over leaving only thin edges of white. He throws his head back, emitting a punctuated screech.
Huh. Well Henry’s not dead. I’m not sure what he is but I’m not sure I care.
Word Count: 327
Words from FOWC (Fandango’s One Word Challenge) – task – and Ragtag Daily Prompt – fastidious
It is an act of happenstance that humans age. We were supposed to be the all supreme, controllers of our environment and all that means.
At least, that’s what this book says. Personally, I’ve never felt one bit in control of this life. Try telling your military commanders or your knuckleheaded children to just go with the flow. They laugh in your face and tell you to put your glasses back on so you can see reality.
They’ll see one day. All these lies in the name of control will fall away. Someone will need glasses, it won’t be me.
Word Count: 100
For Friday Fictioneers AND the RDP word of the day: happenstance
2 for 1! And Friday Fictioneers on Weds!
