Government Flowers.
On the table there is an empty glass water bottle holding marigolds my mother took from the plot outside, which technically belongs to the government. How she manages to justify this with all her political views and party involvement I don’t understand, but I’ve long reconciled with the notion that my mother’s madness has no method, no [...]
Too Bad There’s Really No Such Thing As A Careful Or Unbiased Observer.
It’s easy for the careful and unbiased observer to pinpoint the development of fights. Ah, they might mutter, now he’ll ask her why she’s never introduced him to any of her friends. Oh yes, here comes the part where she claims he’s undermined her self-confidence. Mhmm, and now the threats, the violent gestures. Yes, yes, [...]
Unnamed #4.
She has a smile like a firetruck siren – sharp, quick, electrifying to anyone able to catch it. She was taking vicodin before House was, though what for no one really knows. In any case, we believe her. It’s impossible to even entertain the notion that she might be lying.
She speaks of her mother affectionately, [...]
In A New Place.
Conscience Round has found its name from the phenomenon of the blank cartridge in firing squads. It doesn’t sound very happy, does it? Not at first glance. I like it though.
Comments are once again enabled after a three month long break, so comment wherever and whenever you want (that means you, Hershey). The tagline randomizes [...]
Here And Dysfunctional.
The house is directly in front of the boardwalk. With the windows wide open and the door practically hanging off its hinges, all the passerby can peek into our living room and watch us in very the spirit of a Disney movie. We’d make a picture perfect family if Alex were wearing a shirt, if [...]
Our House In The Middle Of The Beach.
At the beach my mother decides to try a little new-age parenting. Dressed in bathing suits and old flip-flops, we grab chalk uncovered in a dresser and start drawing on the exterior walls of the house. They are white and smooth - more than adequate for our enthusiastic doodling. It is our grandfather who built this house and [...]
For Daws To Peck At: I Am Not What I Am (Or, In Which I Release The Past Day's Collective Thought Process. No, It Will Not Make Sense).
Sometimes it’s easy to believe times follows a logical progression, just as 1 leads to 2 leads to 3. Days will pass exactly like the previous one, each step following a pre-drawn path that has long lost its novelty. I let my motor abilities take control, guiding me through the hours steadily, feet one in [...]
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