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!

Thursday, February 2, 2012

shhhh...

im an insomniac.. by choice
a night owl
i dont really like to sleep
i might miss something

even as a kid.. lights out by 8:30
flashlight on by 8:31
covers over my head
book in hand
dr. ruth talking in my ear

----------------------------------

my dad worked late nights
ma was afraid we wouldn't 'know' him
and i was afraid of him.. so they say
on friday nights
when she would hear him rounding the corner, grinding the gears on the old honda
she would wake us and hide us all over the house
candles lit
each child in their special hiding spot
my brother in the dryer
me on top of the fridge
and my sister in the cupboard
tromp
tromp
tromp
shhhhhhh....
dad would come find us
scoop us up
and give us hugs and kisses
and ask us about our day
no matter how haggard
she always made him look for us

i will never forget that





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