First experiment in the future tense

Jonas will look at Janet with those eyes like marbles and she will feel penetrated, somehow.

true segue

As of yesterday I am halfway to thirty. Perhaps I should hurry if I want to do something in this world.

postsecret

Each year a cake was placed in front of me, the candle amount growing steadily. Each year I blew them out and wished that you would love me.

poem

Frolick among the grassy knolls?
Perhaps a foot of river would entice thee.
And then again, it is equally possible
that the children would see it and flee,
frightened as small eager birdlings,
away from you and me.

Fonda

They sit naked in the summer grass, passing a joint, feeling relaxed. Life is good.

"Any epiphanies?" he asks her. He looks at her with love.

She turns to him, eyes unreadable. "I know," she says, "what it's like to be dead."

He laughs a little, nervously. He's sure she's telling the truth, or at least that she thinks it's the truth. He wonders if the drugs they have been taking for the past few weeks have affected her badly. "Trippy."

"No, really. If you ask me, I can't describe it, though. Not in English. I don't think human languages have words to describe deadness." Her eyes are black and burning, almost feverish.

He's starting to feel dizzy. "Where'd you get that, hon? Are you okay?"

"It's weird."

He extinguishes the joint and moves closer to her, caresses her shoulders. They're silent for a little while. He hopes she has forgotten it.

Then, "You don't understand what I told you."

"Well," he says and stops to think. "When I was a kid, though. Everything was so good. Nowadays when I remember it... I feel sort of dead."

"That's not what being dead is really like," she insists.

He starts to feel uncomfortable. She makes him feel so naive. It surfaces in his mind that death is a vast world, much larger than life. Presumably she has been there, and he knows that he hasn't.

He sits up. "I'm ready to go."

She looks at him impassively. "Think about it," she says. "I'm staying here."

He pulls on his clothes, gives her a glance. Her eyes are shut, her body still. He has to fight off a sense of panic, despite the obvious movement of her chest. "Goodbye," he whispers. "I'll see you tomorrow."

She doesn't reply, but he knows she's heard him.

He never really thinks of her the same way after that.

The rocker, part II

My girlfriend calls and asks how I'm doing. She is concerned about me. She doesn't think I should let rock hurt me. She doesn't realize that it is worth much more than I am. I channel rock, I don't create it. I don't have any other purpose in this life. I love her, of course, but I'm not good enough for her. She deserves a man who isn't taken, isn't married to the music.

a thought after reading 'prey'

If we saw God, we would probably want to kill it.