I Count My Chickens Differentlyme, in response to my debating whether Schrödinger’s Cat is responsible for my current and future state of mind. Did my own self-analysis collapse the superposition of states? Am I myself the one to blame?
I told her the only likely path ahead was writing books not looking back a writer? her response in the native tongue we share hesitating no… well… maybe… just writing… doubts rising maybe not writing books, I said, but only time will tell if good or ill success befalls me
I eat. I remember. I eat to remember. We fell in love. We ate. We were. I still remember. That life, that love. The food we shared. I eat. I remember. I eat to remember -- You.
sell me some courage / sell me a pint / a wannabe human declared / before resisting the plunge / sell me some courage / a bottle of dew / so I might continue / I beg you / I do
the unbreakable chains holding me in place / the bars of my involuntary cage / the locks to which I have no keys / …
“Of what are those unbreakable devices made?”, you ask
“Fear”, I say, “out of fear are they made, out of fear are they kept alive. Fear I fear; the answer…”
An accidental departing the box called home, I found plants limping and my frog belly up just so, Hoseing down the pots in joyless sunshine then, Plants in recovery; my frog - unlikely I say
Tomorrow, as I rise all will be as they intended, Black and white across my skies the magpies sure will fly Tomorrow, as I fall all will be as they intended, Bloody crosses under purple skies; the magic slowly gathering Tomorrow, in the land of addictions; they will wake me; hurting Tomorrow, in the land of searching; my fingers crossed and bleeding Tomorrow, as I rise and fall all will be as they intended, Black and white; turning grey their observations I obey
note to self: when your tutor suggested that you should drop your character into a situation and watch them develop, your story would probably have benefited (in length) if you had chosen a situation other than “open ocean + boat sinking + protagonist wearing concrete boots”. A short story does not imply a short life!
I blame Satan’s Little Mignonettes
I blame an innocent reboot of the black box in the corner
I blame stupidity on the part of the accused
I blame the stress being much too much stressed
I blame it all on the rogue DHCP server which served up
the drinks; the smokes; and the invalid IP addresses
