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!

Wednesday, April 18, 2012

limp dick

He stood over her body, dazed, smiling, a tear rolling down his grimy cheek. The knife still in his hand.

He had watched her for weeks.  He knew all her quirks… every mannerism… and her route home from school.  He had to be sure she was just right.  She looked so vulnerable and sweet. She was blonde… slightly overweight… and slumped when she walked. She had turned and smiled at him once. Laughing. Just like the last one.

And then a flash of Mama’s face blinded him. She was laughing at him. Pointing at his small flaccid penis. His face contorted and he stabbed again. Then he heard Mama cooing in his ear, ‘It’s all right, honey. Come to Mama. Mama will make it all better.' Her hand rubbing him…

He ran his finger over the bloody edge of the blade, thinking about how she looked just like Mama.   Then licked it clean. This one won’t ever…
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2 comments:

  1. JiniApril 18, 2012 at 12:34 AM

    This is incredible.

    ReplyDelete
  2. SharonApril 18, 2012 at 4:16 AM

    Nice job with the task...certainly can feel a smattering of sympathy for him.

    ReplyDelete

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