Blog Manifesto

Blog Manifesto


This blog is dedicated, as the title would suggest, to the qualities of being young. We are young writers. We are playful and sensitive, fluid and changing. We are unashamed with our art. We wonder at the world, puzzle over the meanings of things and twirl in delight at images and ideas that float by, grabbing at them as they pass. We are curious and constantly inquiring and prying concepts open and taking assumptions apart. We are on the ground, close to the earth. We have bare feet and wiggle our toes into nature. We carry our blankies still and wrap up cozy and comfy with each other and tell ghost stories and shiver at creepy things. We laugh and we cry and we take a lot of naps, drained from our outings and exertions.

We write as gifts to each other, tying them up in ribbon and leaving them around for each other to find, hiding and waiting for the person to wake up and read. Surprise! We weave our stories together to create a bond. One writes, then the other. then another again. We have a shared reality that we have crafted, bit by piece by patch, by string. We write simple, honest authentic things, with our unique voices. You can tell each one of us from the other, without knowing who wrote what. Our voices are clear and gentle and original. We whisper and our personalities roar! Like children, our feelings are strong, our passion for what we write shakes us. We are moved and sometimes left breathless, by our own words or the words of each other. We cannonball into each others spaces. We fall backward into each others writing, like into a pile of leaves or a soft bed. We gobble and grin and ask for more. (footnote kudos to JC)

Then we go to bed, wake up to a new day and do it all over again!

Sunday, February 26, 2012

A case of the eyes

She woke up in tears and rolled over to retch and cough.  Every time she thought of it she would grab her stomach and choke back the bile and the tears.  No matter where she put her head or her mind, within a few minutes the images would all come back to her and take another swipe at her sanity.

There he was exposing himself, careful to keep it shielded from the view of others.  This long snake hanging down outside his pants was for her eyes only.  It took her a while to realize that she was actually seeing what was there in front of her.  And how he looked over to the other patrons and back to her, the main thrill he was having was that they had no idea what he was doing.  He carefully placed himself behind the washing machines to stay out of their line of sight.  And the expectant look on his face...

Thinking about it 50 years later still made her grimace and shudder.  It had been dormant for a long time, but it had come back to worry her till she beat it back.  Like a snake found slithering in the grass, she lifted the memory up and walked it to the edge of her garden with her iron rake at arms length, and helped it over the fence.

It was gone.


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