A stopwatch would be needed, not just a calendar
To view the space between our first kiss and this moment
Time is both long and short between then and now
And any point along the strap is a good one for me
Yes, it has not been without difficulty
No life is lived in a vacuum
But, like tanning leather
Sometimes the scrapes add character and flavor
Your gift for me has seven silver beads
One for each day of the week filled with glittering life
Between us
Days that I have cherished and kept close
Mine for you was a bound journal
Within, your precious thoughts will be kept
Not only of me, but of life itself
Because we are braided together
Sometimes,
I told her
You have to drive the highways
with the windows down
moving at seventy miles per hour
Feel the air, smell the road
I felt like a hypocrite this morning
Driving the highways
Window rolled up against the rain
I cried, feeling my age
So, I rolled the windows down
And smelled the rain
It is a wide, open plain
With bits of life and pieces of soul scattered
Like rocks in the sand of the desert
The smell of the dry heat
Stings my nose
But warms my heart
It makes me breathe, slow, and deep
As one moves, glides across the face of the deep
All things are possible, an infinity of dots and dashes
From scratches to clay, from black ink to bits of light
The signal never fades
It grows, it moves, it changes
But it is human, at its core
It is us, all of us
Spread in defiance of the black deep
Light in the infinite darkness
Growing steadily
For even the darkest night is not complete
When one light shines
All voices screaming their nonsense
But truth exists in the mess
A car, lonely, in the jam
It carries the hope of the world
Seeds leaking from the doors
Sometimes growing, sometimes lost
Crossing the world
A digital Johnny
Apple trees in its wake
Knowledge is neither good nor evil
Only what is done with the knowledge
Blinders detract from the whole
As truth is subtle and sublime
It can be disguised as coal
Among apparent diamonds it can be lost
But, which can keep one warm on a winter’s night?
The lines point the way
Will you lift your hammer to strike the blow?
Form from hot iron the mind of the world?
Shed the barriers of the skin, of the bone, of the flag
Join with the rest of us, in blood
Not spilled, but boiling with discovery
Onward, upward, outward
So, the book is plugging along at a good pace. I have, however, noticed something.
Unlike my previous writing, I find killing much easier. I think I blame/credit Scott Sigler with making death so much less objectionable to me than it once was. So far, there have been more than two hundred deaths in my book, two in detail, and I do not feel that bothered by it. I mean, the two detailed deaths (not gruesome – I haven’t gotten to that point yet) were characters, true, but they were created just to be destroyed. I do not feel guilty about it.
So, Scott, in homage to the effects you have had on my writing style, a taste of hell:
Some of you might know what that means. For those who don’t, it means I will vanish for a month.The only people likely to see me are other NaNo writers, family, my wife, and those at work.
I am actually writing science fiction this time. I will post daily updates to Twitter, and, therefore, Facebook, so be of good cheer.
Now, to do some plotting and character development…
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