Category: Daily

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Day 118: A Phantom of an Erased Life

In speaking to a friend last night about 1000 Days I discovered something about what I am doing here.  Unfortunately in the light of morning I no longer recall that epiphany.  My inclination is to determine that such forgettable conversations hold no true value.  However, I can’t escape the feeling that some time traveler tampered with my flow in the stream, my recollection of the epiphany merely a phantom of that erased life-thread.

I’d hoped that writing about it would assist in removing the flimsy veil I know stand between us.  It has not.

Word count: 96

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Day 117: Conner’s Son’s Father

http://www.flickr.com/photos/14410084@N02/2122918476

Conner’s Son thought his father was foolish for leading them to this dilapidated oasis on the open prairie.  Surely the beast that tracked them would turn it’s attention here–even if he didn’t think they were that stupid.  A flock of crows startled at their unstealthy approach, rose like a flare, then dove back to their perches and cawed loudly.  Nothing Conner’s son could imagine would announce their location more plainly.  He hoped that in his death book they wrote, "Not the crows nor the beast that killed Conner’s Son but Conner’s Son’s Father."

Conner’s Son’s Father, Conner, smiled at the crows.  "There’s been just enough rain that this should work.  Follow the trail along the stream like you are hiding.  Make sure you cross through the water several times.  Come back when you hear my call.  Come back through the stream only.  Not on the path."

Conner’s Son nodded.

As soon as Conner’s Son was away Conner began meticulously uncovering the entrance to a cave.  Stone by stone he exposed the slim hole.  Each stone within arms reach of the entrance and neatly laid to avoid disturbing the secret over much.

"Son!  Come back quickly."

Conner made a hasty and obvious trail opposite his son’s that ended in an expanse of rock and hard scrabble earth to obscure his path.  He removed his boots and turned back to the hidden escape walking swiftly but with as much craft as he could to conceal his trail.

The beast would arrive soon.  Conner’s Son had not returned.

Word count: 259

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Day 116: Navel Gazing Cycles to a Peak

Let’s just call this what it is.  It’s low spot.  If you’ve joined us right in the middle then I’ll politely request you subscribe and give 1000 Days till after the first of the year to get yanked out of your feed reader for bad behavior.  If you’ve been here all along then you know it’s been better so it will likely get better again.

Maybe this season is a little too much for me to expect to really be at my writing best and I should give over to the occasional bout of lame.

You’ve heard me say it in posts before.  It’s the time.  I don’t make it.  Worse I donate it to less worthy causes like work and making breakfast for the kids.  Or warm-up surfing.

I’m also developing an itchy little Halo3 part of my brain that needs attention.  I’ve never let it scratch writing time, but I give it other times that push out writing time.  The demons of consumption compel me more effectively than the angels of creation.

On the subject of itches there’s a whole masturbatory quality to these 1000 days that I am not always able to look past.  If only a quarter of the previous hundred entries are goodish then maybe only a handful of those are worth cultivating.  When the hell am I going to have the time for that if I barely have the time for this?  So the effort in terms of ideas or seeds to be grown is throw away.  Thus far I can only quantify that I’ve written every day.  Everything else is speculation.  Speculation on subjective material anyhow.

In less than a fortnight everyone starts talking resolutions.  I suspect I ought to target 1000 Days for at least one.

Word count: 291