Huh.
a wry thought
You just never know what might be playing out behind the scenes.
I'm Houdini and there is. no. key. this. time.
Panic! because
Sometimes I am furious and convinced that I've been wrong all along
Other times, I'm sure that it's all about everyone else's misunderstanding.
Maybe the point at it's crux is that it doesn't actually matter
And in that case, I accept and even embrace the error in my paradigm, and the rest of the world's indifference is not a crime at all.

I brought people together! I thought of others! I set plans in motion! I listened, and I was mostly honest, and I was present,
Yet I feel like I wasted a lot of energy today
With any luck, it'll be one of thousands of days that doesn't make the cut onto my mind's hard drive.
Thank goodness I'm Batman.

Chilly creek flows, placid
Chestnut slicked-back fur surrounds two smaller chestnuts gazing confidently
At the rooty sloped bank
There is nothing to see
And noiselessly
She slips under once more

Summertime makes my feet hard
Dirty
Perpetually covered in a dry film of dust, shower be damned
On this summer night, when all that I have yet to accomplish for the week is to rest
I read this letter that someone handed to me earlier, and muse:
I wish I knew more men who would chance to speak to me in this way
With grungy toes and a face not yet washed of the day's sweat
The bedspread beneath me all but cries out YOU ARE GONNA NEED TO WASH ME SOON
No matter- I am entirely charmed
And I know that I deserve this, and more of this
And then, like a tactless and blunt and out-of-place punchline, I remember
Life is waning.

I

Escaped

The Rain Today

Only By Minutes

And Just By Chance.

Today Was A Day Set

Aside To Celebrate Others

And I’m Learning That I’m Ok

At Celebrating Others, And That

I really Enjoy Tackling The Creative

Challenges That Come With Having

Such an Aim. Joy Is Easily Transferable.

Plan It. Make It. Share It.

Smile for the camera
C'mon, give us a smile
You're prettier when you smile
But grief is tugging hard at the corners of my lips
Walking along falsely through this week
I've watched fifty different people dodge my sorrow in their own ways
It's tiring to drag it along behind me like a runaway's sack of dear and worthless belongings
And then to tug it out of the way to keep it from tripping anyone else
There's no end to this piece
Because the end isn't in sight.

Something happened tonight
The world slowed down
Life changed
One moment, everything's as it was- the next, there's no going back
I find it entirely strange

Impact,
and then like a mushroom cloud after an explosion
New knowledge ballooning out into thought

But... everything is quiet and I don't know what to think
I don't know what's going to happen
To me; more importantly, to you

I think... I think that the sky must be weeping for you
Clouds' tears are pattering gently upon the skylights in my room
The heavens rumble and sob passively

Will you cry, too, tonight? Will you lay in your bed and stare blankly at your ceiling?

There is fear, but there's also a sense of inconvenience
The realization that life is going to get a lot harder

That life is going to have to change entirely
Or that it may end before it gets the chance to.

What am I doing here?

I mean what the FNK am I even doing here?


They talk of their aspirations
Musical exploration
Creative computation, wanting excellence out of this new situation
And I'm in such a different place
Don't even feel ashamed or want to hide my face about it
Because they know it well enough and they ask me to tag along anyhow
Like a baby sister, like some not-quite-hipster
Who sort of gets the look, the style, the rules of the game
But all the same
Can't quite play, has novice aim
Something that more years of experience, practice might tame
Yet it remains
I'm just not there.
I'm the weakest link, a tear
In an astronaut's spacesuit
I'm the leaky pipe, and I think, buoyed by their collective ability
They'll say it's silly of me
But actually it's silly of them
To pretend.

Justin McRoberts

I am comfortable with deconstruction
I am comfortable with doubt
It's the assurance that "I'm right" about the mystery, the assurance that "you're wrong"
That I can do without

So everything
Everything I knew about You
Everything I thought I knew
I tear it down 
Yes I will leave it all in pieces
If finally what it means is that I'm left with only You

-Deconstruction



Some dreams are far too small to hold the soul, to hold the soul, like
My life, my land, my money
My family, my country

-America and the Soul

I don't believe in nothingness

And of that, I am quite sure

But the Great Hall of my mind echoes with mysteries that I can never expect to solve

Questions, they're alright, I suppose

But my mind's voice, hollow, bounding off its own walls, unheard by any other being outside of myself

I can hardly endure it-

The empty cacophony is far worse than would be complete silence
Is there anything new here, anything being birthed?
No, I think that I am still laboring to strip away the old weathered and worn planks that once fortified my soul

Chapter Two

Nightfall was still an hour or two away, and while the sun gave the air less of its warmth at that dwindling hour, it warmed the color of the sky and the earth in a quieting, delightful way. Doug and Spitzy walked side by side at a casual pace as they passed the first houses and huts at the outer edges of the village of Glen Illyan. This particular community was known far and wide for being quite a progressive place, where canines and felines of varied breeds lived together in intentionality and peace. Spitzy was  on the small side of the spectrum, as far as her species goes, but she always felt like a giant when she visited this particular place- with obvious reason, of course. And she had visited before, several times in fact, with Doug and his sister Tugg (Tuggetha, if you wanted to elicit a sharp bark and a smart nipping from the lass; safer to stick with her nickname). The siblings had gone through a phase of serious interest in their family tree, and had taken several trips to the village to learn more about distant family members who had lived there.

A home here and there quickly turned into bunches of dwellings all around as they continued onward. In no time at all they had reached the center of the village, which was a smaller-than-large expanse with a firepit and gathering area around it; also contained in the center's open space were grass patches as well as places where tiny paws clearly trod often in play, reducing the ground to dust and dirt. And in fact on this evening the small community was abuzz with activity, kittens chasing puppies, dogs and cats preparing picnics for their families. A group of females sitting around the fire had taken up raucous song and dance, singing at times both in English and in their ancient tongue, Caéttish.

Oh I once saw a lass,

With tadpoles fer toes,

Who wore a glass

Upon 'er nose.

Ay, Meowmers O'Quinn

She'd tickle yore feet

And when y' jumped up

She'd steal yore seat!

Meow-mers, Meow-mers,

Meow-mers O'Quinn, bless me hat!

Meow-mers, Meow-mers,

Meow-mers O'Quinn, wot a cat!

Sometime during the verse, a poodle had joined in with a fiddle, and as the singing dissolved momentarily to laughter, hollering, and silly dancing, the fiddle continued on. Spitzy and Doug had absolutely no desire to join in, but were having a considerably lovely time witnessing the spontaneity of the scene. Soon the singing picked up again in that ancient speech that was nowhere near recognizable to the pug, nor to the llama. 

Mrrrrow, meeeow, mew MEW, mew

Myow, Yow, Yow, mrow mrow purrup....

Smiling, the friends wandered toward what was commonly referred to as the GIGH, or the Glen Illyan Guest House. These days, free guest houses were becoming more common, the GIGH had been a beacon of welcome and hospitality for many decades, pre-dating any current trend. The cabin, as it appeared, was completely free to travelers, and was kept up in a joint effort between several village residents and the visitors who made use of it. 

An otter turned his head over his shoulder in acknowledgement of the newcomers as they entered the cottage. He was quietly chopping some watercress, and as Doug and Spitzy stood reacquainting themselves with the place in the entryway, which opened to the right, into a kitchen and space to eat, he retreated to the rustic porch off of the front of the building to be alone with his thoughts and to watch the coming dark extinguish the remaining light in the sky.

A quick stroll through the hallway served to inform the pair that it was a rather empty house on that evening. They claimed a room, pulled out Doug's choicest marbles (he had had to leave so many behind...), and began to entertain themselves. Since entering the village, they'd been quiet in the way that close friends will often feel comfortable being with each other.

Clack!-snort.

“Didn’t mean to do that,” murmured Doug as his play pushed one of his own marbles out of position.

“Ohho, Dougie boy, youuuu’re done for,” Spitzy said matter-of-factly, largely trying to push her friend’s buttons, only half paying attention, and not at all in a particularly competitive mood (after all… they were playing at marbles).

The pug licked his nose in consternation and wiggled his rear as he repositioned himself ever-closer to the floor for maximum… balance?... and, finally set up to his liking, flicked forth his paw to hopefully recover some of the ground that he had lost. A second later it became clear that the damage had been done, and that Spitzy would be the victor in another few turns no matter what happened. “You’ve basically won,” he said, as he lifted himself into standing position and trotted toward the door. “I’ll grab us some grub.”

Walking carefully on his hind legs, Doug returned carrying a tray with water, a mess of greens mixed with a variety of fruits and vegetables, some chicken, and two small dishes of berry trifle. (One of the most notable ways in which the GIGH served its visitors was in regularly stocking the kitchen with fresh food, the accumulated extras from farmers around the village. And this was a land of abundance, and there was always more than enough.)

It was night, now, dark enough outside the two windows in the room that nothing could be viewed from inside. Spitzy went to town on the salad while Doug gnawed at the meat, unable to surpress tiny grunts as he ate. A minute or two into their meal and conversation, Tap. The two looked in near-perfect synchronicity toward the window, where something – bird? rock? branch? – had caused a sharp rap against the glass. It was impossible to see anything, though, and the tap did not repeat itself, so the two carried on noshing and chatting. 

“I’m just saying that I didn’t sign up for any sort of life-threatening excursion with this book report research,” Spitzy joked. They were again discussing the poetic directions (specifically the line about the winged guard) that promised to get them the help they needed to succeed in their quest. For the land in which the eagles existed was a place that was generally thought of as most likely real; but many, and probably the majority of folks, in fact, would never venture there in the entirety of their lives. And the ruler of this land was said to be a watchful king, brutally just, honorably protective of his subjects and exceedingly cautious and wary of foreigners.

"Don't be anxious over that line; I think if the Bette family had dark murderous tendencies, we'd know about it. They're pretty high-profile."

"Yes..." (munch munch munch) "....But people with money have the power to cover that stuff up!" She sounded almost excited at the prospect.

Snort. "Whatever," and the pug smiled into the chicken leg that he was gnawing at.

Spitzy, sitting down, kicked playfully at Doug. "You wont be saying "whatever" when we're fleeing for our lives and you can't keep up with me. Something about how you don't have to outrun the winged harbinger of death- just the other guy...."

There was always something to tease (or be teased) about, and always in good humor, but eventually the pair lost interest in such verbal sparring for the time being and turned in, their stomachs full and their minds largely free from burden.

Chapter One

--I began to tell this story in May, as an exercise. It is still in progress. I am not practiced or talented when it comes to telling long stories and I hope to just.. see where it goes. Haven't really tried my hand at this kind of writing since grade school. Here's ch.1--


Snort. snarfle.

It was the best he could do to express his desire to enter his old friend's house - knocking was certainly out of the question, and he tended to feel a bit rude kicking at someone else's door. No, as long as he projected a bit, this should do the trick.

A moment. And then, from inside, the distinctive (and on this day, especially excited) thumping of Spitzy's feet as she pronked her way towards the door. Two seconds more, the door began to open, rigged up to a button on the floor that only needed pressing to allow admittance. Home ownership as a llama came with its own set of challenges, but nothing so far that couldn't be handled with a bit of creativity. 

Doug the pug immediately sprang up towards his friend's back with the typical grace and majesty expected of his breed of canine, as she flexed lower to the ground in a wobbly manner, and then the two were nearly at eye level (though unable to face each other). Once mounted, Doug rode with an posture of victory, pride, and dignity, though he felt none of these things in any conscious way; this was just a smart logistical choice so that the two could talk and keep up with each other. A typical arrangement. "Hey Dougereedooo-oo-ooo!" A small uncontainable extra little bounce.

"Hello," with a chuckle. A bit less effusive, perhaps, but then tail-wagging told a different story.

Spitzy bobbed towards the kitchen. Laid out and ready to go were most of the necessary provisions for the professional-grade adventure that the two now prepared to embark upon shortly. Indeed, they had both heard tell of a foreigner-than-foreign land where giant eagles - eagles the size of more than several llamas laying on the ground in eagle configuration - soared through open skies. It was for this place that llama and pug were bound, for the friends had a class presentation due in two weeks on the subject of aviary predators, and perhaps if they could bring one of these fabled birds to school that day, their teacher would be distracted enough to overlook the fact that neither had written their mandatory reports.

And so, all hope rested on the success of this journey.

"Rice krispie treats... 'nilla wafers... kumquats (have you been burglarizing Farmer Maggot's crops again?)... capri suns... yes, we may as well bring every last one of those," Doug rattled off the items as if cross-checking against a mental inventory list. He tugged and tucked each into a pair of saddle bags, and soon the friends were maneuvering them into a position of balance over Spitzy's back. From a small rucksack hung about his waist Doug pulled a pin, the background image of which were a pair of wide bloodshot eyes, and the foreground text which read YAY! Pinning it to the saddle bags, he shrugged and with a hint of defensiveness qualified his action by saying, "I think it's funny." Spitzy hadn't asked.

A few last-minute items made the cut- a small bag of marbles, for passing the time; a few packs of beef jerky; a harmonica, which one of them owned and neither knew how to play in any meaningful way; etc, etc- and within 30 minutes they found themselves standing outside of Spitzy's lighthouse home, surrounded by sounds of ocean and gull, cricket and rock. Wordlessly they set off, pug perched atop of pachyderm.

Spitzy navigated the glorified pile of rocks that lay in a jumble, heaving out of the ocean and bearing the lighthouse she called home, with familiarity and agility. Only once did her feet falter, resulting in a startled *spit* and, from Doug, a sharp fart-toot. The friends sniggled simultaneously, but said nothing, their minds largely preoccupied with what lay ahead. In a few short minutes, she reached the mainland where a breathtaking expanse of grass stretched out for miles with no end in sight, only showing its finiteness in spilling over sheer cliffs that made way to ocean.

Doug settled in on Spitzy's back as she found her stride. The day was clear, the air was slightly warmer than crisp. Faltering every now and again, the pug began reciting a cryptic rhyme, speaking in a manner as if exercising his memory so as not to lose any of the words:

'Neath Bette Manor's bricks

Tiny Grandfather clock ticks;

Behind it, another existence.

The clock at 2

Will let you through

Without any resistance.

Through darkened lair

to find it, there,

Just step into the closet.

Hark! do beware:

The winged guard there

May be your death, or cause it.

The fortunate soul,

Once past first goal,

Best hasten towards the throne.

The gift he shall bring

As fit for a king

Will cease a dying ruler's moans.

Now Traveler, go,

For King shall allow

Peaceful presence in his domain,

And assist in your quest

Royal Guard at your behest

For as long as you remain.

"I'm really impressed that you remember all that." 

A tail wag from Doug.

"Well, we know where Bette Manor is. Have you parsed out what some of these lines could mean, or were you too busy memorizing?" Spitzy grinned a tiny impudent grin.

Indignant snarfle. "The Manor is easy, yes. Detective Bette and his long family history of Detectives as masters of the house, and all that. The bit about the grandfather clock is complete nonsense of course; it must be a riddle, because tiny grandfather clocks don't exist. Seems pointless to look too far past that because until we figure out the clock conundrum, we're nowhere." Doug yanked a Fruit Rollup out of one of the saddle bags and tore into it as he spoke.

"My best guess is that the line refers to a small-sized Grandfather clock, essentially as written. If they don't exist, they should! How incredibly hip would I look walking around town with a tiny Grandfather clock tied around my neck?"

"You would look... so... hip. Incredibly hip, Spitzy."

The llama spasmed her back a bit, to playfully throw the dog off of his balance. Noontime and the afternoon passed in similar fashion, with the llama trotting along with her pug pal perched alertly on her back, banter flying every which way. Their path took them through beautiful but largely featureless terrain, where they encountered other travelers only on a handful of occasions. Afternoon faded to evening, and the pair set their sights on the pursuit of dinner. Glen Illyan wasn't far ahead. Soon there would be hot soup and crusty bread aplenty.

High overhead, the mechanical hummingbird drone that had been trailing llama and pug for the entire day veered suddenly and noiselessly away from their course.

Purrrup
Headbutt
Nuzzle, pull back, sniff,
Pull back... not done
Sniff
Sniff
Nuzzle
Knead - ouch
That actually hurts, you know
Knead
Examine
The spot! Climb
Claws
Ow! Just sit in my lap, not the shoulders..
Higher, must
Must.
Purrr, accomplished, balanced, settled, sitting
Perched
A NOISE DOWNSTAIRS!
INVESTIGATE!
I'll stay here and inspect the claw marks you left me.

There's something new over there,
and I can only bring myself to look in side glances,
Out of the corner of my eye
So I suppose it's hard to give a fair report of what I've found so far
But what I've found, I've become a bit fascinated with, and am simultaneously extremely skeptical of
This tugging at my sleeve,
This exuberance and direct-address
It's not safe, I tell you.
It's not safe.

Traipse into the bathroom, flick on the switch
Tug off your clothes, get your shower-song starting pitch
miiiiiiii mi mi mi mi do re fa re sol mi do.....

the water's up to temp, steam's filling the air
pull back the shower curtain but HOOOOOOOOO beware!

there's a bug in the shower!
what did you say?
there's a bug in the shower!
get out of the way!
tryin to crawl up the wall to escape; (HEY)
but he doesnt stand a chance, this for sure is his last dance

Sooooo

Here’s a rhyme for all the softies out there

A tale of caution, buyer beware

It’s-bout my pull up bar, way up in the air

First problem- Gots to stand on a chair to get UP!

I can’t reach it, yo

Just one of many issues that’s really stopped my flow

Of enthusiasm, now this rigmarole

Is for sure the only thing tween me and getting swole

All I wants to get buff but it’s a lot of work

I bought a pull up bar and now my elbows hurt

You'd already done enough for me today
-As if you were obligated to do anything for me on any day!
But before turning in and out of habit I checked, and I saw
The place in your space that you dedicated in silent fashion to me, on this day

You'd already done enough for me today
-Your friendship is a gift in itself!
But after you invited me in, fed my stomach and my heart
Your final correspondence fed my soul

You'd already done enough for me today
-You want so badly for us to be close, and we may get there if we keep trying!
But a night in Newburyport wasn't enough
And I was not safe from your affections! For your sent flowers, and messages upon messages of love to me

You'd already done enough for me today
-You're so, so far away, and I feel it acutely!
But you met me and you sang to me
And I was assured that we are still sisters

Unexpected day
The moon and my heart are full
Smiles give way to sleep...