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!

Monday, February 13, 2012

ghost story

i dont believe in ghosts
i dont believe in anything really

but my ma used to talk about the old house she and my dad rented when they first were married.. out on route 68.. all alone in the middle of a corn field along the side of the road.. about a mile north of town.  i know the house.  its normal enough looking.

the toilet would flush by itself.
the tv would turn on and off..
she would hear footsteps upstairs when she was alone in the house..

so the story goes..
there was an old man who lived in the house with his paraplegic son.
the old man went nuts one day and took a baseball bat to his son.. the son threw his bloody hands against the wall in the upstairs bedroom as he was being bludgeoned to death. 

so the handprints couldnt be washed off..
and they bled through paint..
so the bedroom was wallpapered.

......................................................................................................................................................................

a few years after i graduated and moved out..  i heard that a young girl committed suicide. 
she lived in that house.

.....................................................................................................................................................................

my ma was pretty sensitive to stuff.  she had an uncanny sixth sense.  saved our lives once..
(i know this isnt ghost related.. but it spooks the hell out of me)

ma used to pile us all up in the van and take us to have lunch at Indian Lake with my dad when we were kids.  there were many stops along the way.  we came out at a stop sign which led out onto a main road.  but ma just sat there.  sat and sat for no reason.  then she slowly pulled out onto the road..  up about a mile the traffic had come to a standstill.. people were out of their cars.. asking others for blankets, water, towels, first aid stuff..

there was a 3 car pile up
3 people killed, one was an infant.. several people wounded.

if ma had pulled out from that stop sign any sooner.. we woulda been in that pile up. 

she didnt know why she sat there.  but we are all lucky she did.



Posted by at
Labels: ,

No comments:

Post a Comment

Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom)