I put on gloves, long, slick, black rubber skin, sink smooth fingers into the mud ( Read more... )

If this contains any truth -- http://www.livejournal.com/users/wakingupdancing/33421.html -- it is time. Past time. Always time ( Read more... )

I've called it my "fall blooming"..... magic tricks, papier and cloth mache, music, guitar, juggling, and now ( Read more... )

Light bounces, collides, and divides. Light enters the smooth curve of the eye ( Read more... )

Past midnight. The end of a disappointing blues dance. Tired. Started searching my pockets--no car key. Searched my bag, my pockets again, my bag again, no key. Searched several times more, and realized I had definitely left the key it in the car. Arrived at the car. Key in plain view on the passenger seat ( Read more... )

I get to ride 41 miles with the kids tomorrow. That will be my workday.

Oy.

Then one day a millions moths woke up to the lights of the new flames simmering in their bedrooms, basements, offices, studies, dens, kitchens, and otherwise electronically equipped rooms. From the hearts of the coiled and folded electronics of their machines burned the brightness of mirrors, the drug-mad grip of self-reflection. They discovered ( Read more... )

Love that word. Love the myriad images it evokes. Standing at the edge of a precipice just before leaping. Slowly pushing open a door painted blue. Pausing to consider a fork in dusty road. The possiblities are endless, and at points such as this, it seems all the world is a possibility ( Read more... )

He was sick of Harry Potter, sick of drowning his brain in the grim ecstacy of video games, sick of sitting in desks dying minute by minute while teachers droned. Harry Potter not because he hated the writing or the storyline or even the characters--he had actually savored his brief forays into that fantastic world--but because nothing magical had ( Read more... )

Why the seed of a myth involving clay? My hands recently started working again. Look:


( Read more... )