Because of the hole in her heart she had to be wary of items falling in. It simply wouldn't do to use a bent coat hanger to poke around in there, amidst arteries and aortas and other vital parts. Best to be careful from the beginning, posting caution signs around the cardiac sinkhole.
*****
To be sure, it was an attack of The Positive People. At first she didn't know what hit her but then slowly, as she recovered, it dawned on her. They were unfailingly - some might say militantly-chipper and aggressively optimistic. Her wounds were internal, a sense of failure because she had allowed-and The Positive People knew it-feelings that were less than positive.
*****
Wondering when the "write local" movement will take hold and what it will mean for my writing. Should I start foraging for wild words? I know there are some feral words nearby but they might be hard to catch unless I set a trap and what would I use for bait to entice them? Perhaps I should attempt to raise my own phrases - cage-free, of course.
A.H.
Sunday, July 23, 2017
Sunday, July 9, 2017
Word Worms
Word Worms
Soon the words will build up and I will have to let them out because it really wouldn't do to run around with words attempting to poke out of my body, like word worms crawling out after feasting on my innermost thoughts and feelings and then-gorged and dying-commit literary hair kari on a white shroud of paper, their desiccated bodies one final expression of angst, a calligraphy of pain.
Word Worm1
She must have thought that, within 2 minutes of meeting her, I needed to know about her knee surgery, her failed store and kitchen remodel. So much information spilled out I almost tripped over it. Her running commentary interfered with my ability to peruse her garage sale and I fled to my car, slamming the door to prevent unwanted data from infecting me.
A.H.
Soon the words will build up and I will have to let them out because it really wouldn't do to run around with words attempting to poke out of my body, like word worms crawling out after feasting on my innermost thoughts and feelings and then-gorged and dying-commit literary hair kari on a white shroud of paper, their desiccated bodies one final expression of angst, a calligraphy of pain.
Word Worm1
She must have thought that, within 2 minutes of meeting her, I needed to know about her knee surgery, her failed store and kitchen remodel. So much information spilled out I almost tripped over it. Her running commentary interfered with my ability to peruse her garage sale and I fled to my car, slamming the door to prevent unwanted data from infecting me.
A.H.
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