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, April 26, 2012

the brink

his calm demeanor
deceptive serenity

in the eye of the storm
one tiny grain of sand
blows across the endless tide of the smooth desert landscape

breath caught
as the brisk arctic wind cuts across flushed cheek

everywhere they speak in tones of silence
with bitter blackened tongue
and the scream it has no name..

alone in a room filled with people laughing
he wants to jump into the swollen gaping chasm
the one thats always waiting
beckoning
taunting
leering

jump

whats the worst that could happen
maybe he will finally hit bottom

but he knows it leads nowhere
and he will fall short

unsatisfied.

only one thing will quiet the scream
and shut the chasm down

..no
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