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!

Tuesday, February 28, 2012

i never forget a face

when i was about 7 i had these.. weird.. freaky.. recurring dreams.  i had this dream for at least a year.. not every night.. but quite frequently.

it was always halloween.
and next door i would go trick or treating.. for some reason only to that house.  and i was always alone.
i would walk slowly up the steps, ring the doorbell, and wait.

now it gets kinda strange.. mind you, i was a kid..

frankenstein's monster and igor.. answer the door.  and i see their faces clear as day.  even now.  i never forget a face.  the monster looked like a tall gaunt older man.. sallow skin, sunken cheeks and blackish bags under his eyes.  igor was, yeah.. short.  but had straight black hair in a bowl cut.. same sallow skin, same blackish circles under the piercing evil eyes.  and he is a.. kid.

they grab me and drag me screaming into the house.

they drag me into the basement and torture me.

the next day.  i am out on the street, wandering in full daylight.  and no one is to be found.

and i wake.  completely freaked.  every time.

FAST FORWARD

im maybe 12 and we get new neighbors.  well.. the nice little old lady next door has a son who's moving back home with his kid. the kid is 13.  mom says steer clear, they are trouble.  we steered clear.  i never once set foot in that house, though my brother and sister and i had many altercations with that kid over the time they lived there. 

i will never forget the day they moved in. 
i remember their faces from my dream.
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