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 21, 2012

last surviving member

"You are the last surviving member of the human race.  What do you do?"

According to Jean, you just collapse from the reality of being forever alone.  Pfft.

Me? I'm going to go explore.  What is this catastrophe that has left me for sure the last of my kind.

I'm already the only one of my kind, Unique as are we all.  It ends with Me??   Well first of all, I'm now the prettiest woman on earth.  The cleverest, the fastest runner, the best in chess. It's an bit of a head rush to be last.  I outlived all my enemies too. How cool is that?

The computers survived.  I have a chess partner.   All the infrastructure is complete,  This dreadful epic fail has come and gone without trauma to me.  I have clear streets and no decaying bodies.

First I drop to my knees and clutch my stomach.  Half in relief of being spared and half in grief of losing my precious family.  and the whole human race.  Gone in a flash without a why or a good bye.

No closure, No sense,  Just the inexplicable massive loss of human life erased from the world like it never was here.

That is breathtaking but I eventually right myself and get busy with life.


The dogs aren't dead.  I pick myself out a trio.  Akita, Rottweiler and a hardy little Rat terrier that is in charge of them all.  We huddle together as a pack.

Rivers start to recover.  fish return to the Gulf and Atlantic.   Trees thrust up through the asphalt.  Silt covers the sidewalks and remain unswept away.  Weeds grow tall in lawns. 


The friendliest of golden lights comes down from the sky and keeps me company.  It's from my imagination, which has gone into overdrive.  Some days I don't move from the sitting place.  Others I run and run till I collapse in exhaustion.  Occasionally I enforce some moderation on myself, but mostly, I just live and think and plan out my day to survive.  I listen to music and I dance and I sing.    I raid stores and outfit myself outlandishly.  I liberate a fancy ass RV and roam around.   I get to the ocean and grab me one of those Ocean boats, It takes me a week to find one I can run on my own.  I get my maps out and head out for sea.  I'm gonna make it across this ocean and see the other part of the world.  I"m going down swinging.

I'm a survivor. always have been, always will be.
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