Spiders

Just a little Halloween inspired prose for October.

SPIDERS

Do I live among the spiders,

or do the spiders live with me?

I am not entirely sure,

Will you help make it clearer to me?

Humble in living, crude in thought,
I make the most of what I haven’t been taught.
I am the man in my castle, king of my hill,
but the spiders sit above me, hiding their will.
Night comes again and I slink into bed,
reminiscing and planning for a few days ahead.
From their webs they come down, crawling in droves,
but my eyes cannot see, for I am dreaming of groves.
They descend and tickle my skin with their legs,
my body jumps, shaking the bed from its pegs.
Jolted I wake, feeling and reaching to fight,
but the spiders have scurried off, giggling in the night.
It’s only the bites they leave, oozing and blue,
that makes me realize what I am to do.
Tis your webs of deceit, and your sharp little teeth,
that wrap around my soul and puncture my meat.
I shall wait silent in the night, looking for thine,
evil fucking spiders, your sins are now mine.
Do I live among the spiders,
or do the spiders live with me?
I’m still not entirely sure,
but killing you was curing to me.

A Demolition of Family History

This week some of my family’s history was destroyed.

The Pillsbury mansion on Lake Minnetonka was somewhere I always wished to have visited to see some of my family’s history.

It was my 3rd Great Uncle that built the place, and it was truly beautiful. I had hoped that there would be a greater effort made to keep the piece of history and save this century-old home.

So rare it is to have pieces of our history last into each new generation that jumps through the centuries. Less becomes tangible and more sits on hard drives. As our generation gets older and it is time for us to pass on to our children the trinkets and memories of our past, what will they be? A jump drive full of websites and Instagram accounts? Screenshots of Top 20 lists and favorite memes? Even then, the small act of handing something over to our children will need not be, as they can just pull it up with the click of a button. As boxes of antique silverware and spoon collections disappear into the ages of yore, what will we have to pass on to ours?

Is there something tangible you collect or have now that can be sent along the lines of your ancestry to link us to the future? What trinkets of your life will be passed on to future generations?

Continue reading A Demolition of Family History

Notes from the Tree #1

NotesFromTheTree_01

“Excerpts from the D’zalara, found scrolls from the Lozon Mine, Lelara.”

“The Tree knows the nature of what things are,

and not of what man wants them to be.

For not all things seen are shown.” – King Ghishet

“Notes from the Tree” are a collection of found excerpts from the scrolls of D’zalara, from my upcoming science fiction novel “Two Planets.”

Mr. GOODBYE

What does it mean to be liked? To be followed? 

It seems a racket now, doesn’t it?

Someone likes your work, they give you a follow. You check their page, enjoy their work, and give them a follow back. Then the next day, they’re gone. It’s all the numbers game. Make sure you have more followers than people you follow. Add an army’s worth of people a day in hopes they will add you back, then unfollow them all, and hope some of them stick around just to add up your numbers. Is anyone even reading each other’s work? Care about the art?

The pages seem to be the same recycled 7 word meme-shares: love, rain, strong, better, heart, ocean, pain.

The generation of instant gratification has erased the ideal of patience, of waiting for something good to come along, and in taking the time to enjoy something longer and more fulfilling. If it can’t be read in big bold short words while scrolling by, it can’t be worth all that time, can it? If it can’t be swiped left or right, double-tapped, and passed on, did you really write it?

Luckily, the soldiers of he word are strong, the soldiers like you. The people who trudge on through the slop of buzz words and “Hang in there, baby” cat posters and gifs of dogs falling in to mounds of snow. You write because words are warriors. They cut through the blackthorns of mediocrity and sail across the seas.

Has this affected how you write in this new social world?

The emergence of instant gratification meme poetry and daily motivations, what are your thoughts?


 

You are transparent in your need,

taking time to show your feed.

You follow and like and show your cards,

y’all don’t need fans, you need to be starred.

The words you string are not your own.

The ideas, the memories, the long-lost loves,

are his, and hers, and they’s, to loan.

Like the journey of The Fool,

they are ancient too,

why slap your name on it,

telling me it’s something new?

When you’re in it for the numbers,

the digits climb and raise you high,

to the mantle of poor ole forgettable Mr. Goodbye.