Saturday November 22, 2014
From a first draft of a screen play
Clementines are out again, see that! Those big ones that fill your hand right up like a baseball! And those tiny ones that you just so easily putt with a golf club! Clementines are out again kid, and you know what that means? SNOW. The snow’s coming soon. When I get a crate of those clementines at the IGA, I save it and I use it as kindling. Best kindling you can find. Better than brush, or whatever they teach you to use at Cubs. I prefer my clementines right out of the fridge. Cold. Better than a beer in a chilled glass! Better than a popsicle!
Wednesday May 14, 2014
A centennial college poster
A: I’m at the police station –
A: Yeah. They picked me up. I was waiting for Lizzie outside the Laser Tag place and –
B: Is this a joke?
B: Oh my God…
A: It’s going to be okay.
B: How is this –
A: They need to keep me here overnight.
B: I’m coming down.
B: Where’s Lizzie?
A: I called Madeleine.
A: She doesn’t know what happened. She thought I got called into work.
B: This is all going to be really helpful in the custody batt –
A: Please. Just don’t right now. I need you to stay calm. And call Judd Ashton.
B: Where’s his number?
A: In my blue address book. In the junk drawer.
B: Why is it – ?
B: Okay. Okay. Hang on.
Wednesday February 5, 2014
Learning To Love You More
Harrell Fletcher & Miranda July
sometimes you wanna sing, have a song in your head
and all the rest seems unimportant
or just too plain to care about right then
so you do
you sing it out and you let the emotions from
well, your past
bubble up and from words that rhyme with each other
Shania Twain kind of words
words you never thought you’d hear your boyfriend defend
words you always told yourself you would never own
you do now
cause Shania knew what she was doing
and on some deep level, everybody knows that
you sing to the one who stole your heart
the one with eyes so blue you can only come up with lyrics about the sky
the one who loved you in secret but hurt you hard in front of the whole world
you may even sing about the wind or something
the breeze, the trivial, the dew?
probably the dew.
let’s be honest: the dew.
and you struggle to come up with a chorus
or a verse
or whichever didn’t come first
and you picture singing that to someone, anyone
one day in the future
when you get one
or your kid-
when you are capable of one
and you hope it causes those lovey dovey tremors
those small ever so subtle shakes that keep
you singing those songs when you find them
Sunday, November 17, 2013
The Art of Listening
It was a thought that dawned on me today as I was picking up my kid from pre-school. I didn’t acknowledge it until I got home and had him safely playing Lego in the living room. By then it was bigger. It had grown. This thought, where once only a small meaning was housed, now had so much more importance. I can’t explain it really. Unless I say “it grew” which, I suppose, is very accurate. It matured and formed its own offshoots of itself without me being conscious of it. Then by the time I was ready to entertain it, it was ripe for the pickin’ and I had no problem taking a bite.
This thought was full and pregnant with possibility. It was welcoming me to answer its knock and yet when I listened at the door, I didn’t hear a thing.