Science fiction, fantasy, mystery and what-not
The distance calls me
I try to see
who it is and what they want from me
the distance calls me
from outside
full of hate and telling me lies
the distance calls me
the people I know
urging me to love and telling me to grow
the distance calls me
without knowing why
I hide away and slip inside
He doesn’t want his father to die, but this person that he sees every day doesn’t tell the jokes that his father used to make, and he doesn’t drink beer and coffee, doesn’t go walking with his dog, or wash his cars, or go for drives (driving too fast), or watch television and argue about sports.
He doesn’t want this man to die, even though his beard is white and wispy, and his hair is gone, and the lean, tall body sags like a worn fence, and he no longer barks out demands and orders.
He doesn’t want this man to die, the drooling one who sits in a chair and stares most of the day, the one that doesn’t eat much, mostly eating candy when he does eat, the man who doesn’t remember his name and needs help to use the toilet.
He doesn’t want this man to die, no matter what kind of wreck he is, because he knows that he’s still his father, and he will miss him more when he’s gone.
But he doesn’t want this man to suffer any more, because he is his father, so he comes every day, visiting and waiting, wondering and remembering, wishing that he had hope for something besides what it is.
I have to get out of here so I can get done so I can get back and get going and finish before I have to go and get started.
Don’t you love it when you’ve parallel parked and the cars in front and behind you have each left your car two inches to maneuver? Saw a man assessing that as he arrived at his car today, and felt his frustration.
Still as watching stone
I sniff and listen for sound
with my whiskers splayed
You ever face a challenge to your desires, you know, like sitting down and privately writing (i.e., indulging in the fantasies and stories populating (or polluting) your mind) and face up to something that forces you to think, “Okay, I have to do the right thing and do this?”
Yes, it’s not really win-win. You’ve helped someone else, which is good, but you’re resentful of the encroachment on your priorities and plans. Then, you know, you go through that whole thinking process about what happened, what you did, and the interruption.
Well, maybe it’s just me. I frustrate myself with my choices. I guess it’s just a moral imperative that was planted too long ago to ignore.
finer
warmer
than yesterday
what was said who said it
the laughs the looks surprise
at the party
good pizza
okay cake
email Zee ’bout Mowgli
and Jeff?
good conversation
Goodwill the shoes clothing
televisions?
they work
don’t know if they’ll take them, need to check
old modems, other junk, have to check
Goo-goo Dolls
“Name”?
first heard in New Hampshire ninety-five
turn your mind
writing time
Pram with Kything – done
conversation on Wrinkle, unknown
Pram with red-beard, about to begin
how much more until this thing ends?
The rest is waiting to be written.
He’s wearing running shoes – with dress socks *gasp* – and an active-wear shirt when all he’s doing are the two double-yous – walking and writing. That’s not what a active-wear attire is for. What’s next, white shoes before Memorial Day and cake for breakfast?
The world is in a shocking state of decay.
You ever think, what if humans had tails that stuck out of our clothing? Ever think about how our tails might form our self-image and be part of our cultural landscape, or how your tail would appear? Can you imagine how our tails might give us away by their aspect?
“He said he wasn’t interested in her, but that’s not what his tail said. It was straight up.”
Ever read a news article, like the one from the other day, when a thirty pound tumor was removed from a sixty-something year-old man, and think, hey, I wonder if that’s what’s wrong with me?
No? Just me, then?
(As an aside, I realized this could be tagged as tumor humor.)
Michael Seidel, writer 