Forever Young: Gone Tomorrow.

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, March 11, 2012

Gone Tomorrow.

Hair today,

the sign on the side of the road said.

Small little wooden sign.

500 feet down the road another sign.

Gone tomorrow.

then...

Once a day the easy way

Burma Shave.

George hoped he would get home to his wife before the bomb hit. The warning sirens had gone off, the radio had squawked, "This is not a test" The TV at the appliance store had a serious faced anchor man barely able to keep his voice from wavering. "Today the US coast guard has spotted an enemy submarine surfacing near the bay of ...."

The blinding blast behind him blew out his window, vaporizing George, leaving a flash shadow where he had been a millisecond before. The car's metal melted and the rubber flattened to the road, as the car blew sideways the wheels gone, the driver gone, tomorrow gone.

Lordy, I think I read this opening in an old sci fi magazine I need to rewrite this piece, was not happy with the outcome.

Turns out from my subconscious. George is the name of my Step father....

1 comment:

SharonMarch 20, 2012 at 7:42 PM
It seems familiar but unique in its whole. I like it.
ReplyDelete
Replies

Add comment