Pepper Dolls

While some of the writers were having a discussion after dinner, and the most fastidious were taking their plates to the kitchen, the devil within Mud set him to cutting up two tiny strips of paper dolls, five men astride and five women dancing. There had been eleven at the table, but one of the dancers had only come out by half, and so as not to appear lame, she was discarded. Certainly, a fragment of the observing souls of all who remained seated was immediately drawn into one of the figures. For those that were ambient or still on their way, well, they would have to share a doll’s eyes or take turns because these were special cutouts made to keep watch over this space long after the night in question. Attempting to find a spot that might not be cleaned frequently and noticing a thick layer of dust on crystal in the corner cabinets, Mud placed the tiny watchers on a door lintel where he hoped they would remain undisturbed for the foreseeable future. So, if you have the urge to return and observe, or if you just want to peep in on a magical space, fly there one night in a dream, and disregard those beige people watching the television we never turned on or who may be sleeping in our beds, but be careful not to disturb the karma in any way because remember the devil had a hand in this, and he’s an ornery cuss to mess with.

© Michael D. Brown 2013

Originally posted at 6S Social Network

Zero Conditional

I have said it so many times, I think people have gotten tired of hearing it because they think I am procrastinating. I don't consider myself a whiner (did she just call me boring?) by nature, but sometimes the sound of what I've just said lingers round my ears long after it should have died away. I'm gonna be. Fuck that--I AM--hell, yeah! Ten minutes out the door, and feeling I've forgotten something, I return, and knock, but nobody comes to let me back in; Christ, they can't hear me for all the laughter going on, and I can't even hear myself think. I'm not complaining, mind you, just stating the fact: I am.

© Michael D. Brown 2013

Originally posted at 6S Social Network

An Excuse for Dreaming

It is becoming more and more difficult to wake feeling refreshed (and I sleep a great deal these days), though it is not a chore to be awake and doing once the weariness has been waylaid. A bit of the perception with which one invaded others’ lives with asperity has lately dampened, but apart from the physical clacking out of details in which they are deficient, there is still the spiritual affinity, the kinship of lacking-in-tandem, that has only recently faltered in making its way into the script. I have no time, really, for analyzing my defects (though I waste much doing so in some areas), and this is one of the reasons I must carry two sets of keys on separate rings, so as not to find myself fiddling overlong at familiar keyholes. Apparently, too, I had come to believe in my misconception that history began in the middle of the twentieth century when a curtain dropped closing off in obscurity all that went before, as if it were of no consequence, had no bearing on what is being hoisted upon us all under the banner of Current Events, and only lately have heard, through intentional listening, I must admit, the clamoring of voices of those ghostly actors offstage still wallowing in the results of their own misdeeds. My parents, heavenly angels though they may (or may not) be, are no saints, and now, in my knowing, can never be considered such, as I have inherited all their misgivings, all their foibles, and the proclivity to repeat their inappropriate actions. In dreaming, none of this matters a jot because in that realm everything is possible, and forthcoming, and that is why I linger within its boundaries, for, seen from that side, there are no frontiers at all.

© Michael D. Brown 2013

Originally posted at 6S Social Network

The Great Escape Looks Feasible.

I am rifling through notes and false starts and contemplating extending stuff already considered finished. I am in pursuit of the last thing I did correctly, attempting to wring a little more solace from the successful completion of a job well done because even though it’s already provided a return on my investment, I am lately feeling that the the next last “i” dotting and “t” crossing won’t provide the same rush that one did. All my recent plans have had to be adapted in a way with which I am not comfortable leading to the throwing up of hands in a gesture of surrender I am unwilling to concede. I am acting like a diva as if my petty concerns were those of many, but am not hearing more than vocal dissatisfaction from any of my mates as they scurry and make enormous changes to be witness to the latest in a long line of paradigm shifts rather than relax at a beach or enjoy the gossip at a cousin’s wedding or just spend the days shopping. I have an opus to write without a fraction of an idea forthcoming. This fence-sitting is depressing the hell out of me, and I don’t give a good goddamn for paradigms shifting or remaining static since I cannot find an affordable escape ticket, but then...

© Michael D. Brown 2013

Originally posted at 6S Social Network