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Page 33
His eyes shut tight, within the tiny tapestry of it’s wings he could envision TEN OR MORE ACRES OF BEAUTIFUL, TRANQUIL, PEACEFUL LAND, WHICH PERFECTLY SUITED HIS DREAM LIFE, AND INTO WHICH HE FIT PERFECTLY, LIKE A WARM BLANKET, A WARM HUG – A HOME. HE SAW A BEAUTIFUL, RUSTIC, LARGE, OPEN BUILDING, INSIDE OF WHICH HE COULD CREATE, WORK, CLEAN, COOK, SLEEP AND ENJOY THE PEACE OF THE MUNDANE. HE SAW A SOUTH-FACING SLOPE, UPON WHICH GREW A WONDERFULLY ABUNDANT GARDEN. HE SAW A GROVE OF BIRCH, SUGAR MAPLE, CONIFERS, SASSAFRAS, OAK, FRUIT AND NUT TREES TO HARVEST FROM, AND THROUGHOUT WHICH HIS ANIMALS COULD PLAY. HE COULD SEE…
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Page 34 to 35
The beast had already begun turning it’s back to him when he finally returned his attention to it. Slowly, it wheeled about in place, heavy thumps vibrating the earth. But BEN turned his focus back down to his finger and again smiled at the aphid, which continued to dance in ignorance and bliss. He then raised his hand to his shoulder, to allow the insignificant bug to go dance freely there for a time, and then to disappear somewhere down the back of his shirt. The beast completed its turn, breathing deeply as it took a few steps forward, and then halted. It stood in place, its head lowered. BEN…
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Forcing Home
I’m sitting in my childhood bedroom – albeit, it’s in an entirely different arrangement than it was when I was a kid (unnecessary aside: I’ve finally, after all of these years, begun to refer to myself as a man, rather than as some wandering kid). Today, this room is set up more as a cozy office than a bedroom, with a nicely made mattress on a boxspring on the floor, off in the corner of the room, next to a floor lamp – an arrangement seemingly made as an afterthought. I’m in a clear headspace, and I’m calm; a condition which I have not, in truth, experienced often throughout these…
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10.3.2024
Dear Deluded Diary, I’m thinking about buying a 20-something foot step van (think UPS truck) on Facebook Marketplace. It’s $2,300, runs, has a diesel engine (though a notoriously problematic one), and would, I think, make for the bare bones of a wonderful rolling home. Essentially, I feel that it could become an uglier – albeit a far more personable and mobile – tiny home than the one I presently have in storage. I don’t have the money to buy it. In fact, the situation is far more grim than that (though only on paper – out here in the real world it’s the end of summer, which means food and…
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This Might Sound Preachy, But I Wrote It For Me.
“With the way you’re talking, people will think that you don’t care about anything at all.” Mom had been looking down towards the kitchen tablecloth, or at times off to the right, distantly scanning the kitchen floor as I spoke. But now, as I glanced up, she was looking me square in the eyes. “It’s not really like that, Mom.” I was lying. We had been sitting at the table, having a light discussion, which had turned towards more vulgar topics – D.C. politics. Specifically, Kamala Harris’ running mate. And neither of us really had any sort of resistance to what the other had been saying. Harris is a fool…
