Forever Young: 02/24/12

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!

Friday, February 24, 2012

discordant

i sit here looking at the scream prompt.

this scream..
is silent
not quiet
but a powerful voice.
horrific
disturbed

how many times i have silently screamed..
.. digested the ugly discordant noise of a world that is cleverly masked in beauty.

distant and howling
like a shrill nagging whistle..
whining dissonance crying to be soothed.
harping
in reedy hollow tones

haunted.
teetering on the edge of reality
begging on my knees
for relief
release..

in the pure sweet silence of a vacuum

{[ Free Falling ]}

I step..
    I walk..
         Ground gone..

Falling.
     down...
        down...
           down...

Heart beat racing.
      faster...
         faster...
            faster...

Echoes.
   louder...
      louder...
         louder...

Eyes closed.
     tighter...
        tighter...
           tigher...

Am I ever going to touch the
..
..
..
   ground?

The Scream

In spite of the chaos at home, I was too dang happy yesterday to write about the Scream. My journal companions and I were laughing and making merry and I didn't want to stop that silliness to take up a serious topic.

Well it struck me this morning, the image of the woman screaming, enough enough enough! I have truly had my fill of the intensity that our house runs in. Today is the day that was scheduled for my hubby and I to go out to eat and go on a beach date. But son is refusing to go to school today. My husband has said he can come along and go fishing with us. What?

What would have been a relaxing sea side excursion has turned into the Scream. I won't be allowed to sing in the car. I will have to adjust my day to the reds and swirls of a busy turbulent emotional man-child.

My day was supposed to have been a Monet.