the setting sun we see is a flickering flame
darker each day it dances and wittles away
a beautiful glow that grows so frightfully faint
through a canvas of carbon clouds in poisonous paint
the setting sun we see is a flickering flame
blown out by the breath of death today
shining a little less than yesterday
a monument to this mess that man has made
The Setting Sun We See
Poems, posted on December 19, 2009 at 10h05
Finishing Touches
My Regular Mind, posted on December 16, 2009 at 12h27
Almost there. I suspect I should be ready to go live this weekend. Boy am I eager to get this going. There are still a couple things I’m not sure about, things like whether or not to have comments. I want to encourage discussion but I definitely want to weed out the disingenuous remarks. People have a tendency to get quite hostile on some subjects. Especially the ones that I must write about. Continued…
Understanding Quality
My Regular Mind, posted on December 10, 2009 at 08h36
tags used: dreaming
In my sleep, I saw us walking into a book store. She went around, looking at this and that, while I went to the counter and asked for a particular title. It wasn’t in stock. For whatever reason, I knew it definitely was, and went behind the counter, picked up my uniform and nametag, and searched through the system. Sure enough, there it was. But once I’d found it, I couldn’t leave. My shift wasn’t over. So she waited for me, wandering the store until my frantic workday was over. Continued…
Writing Things Down
Crime of Life, posted on December 6, 2009 at 09h20
I learned a few things from my dad while working with him during the summer. He had a successful welding shop, so for a month when school was out I played with cutting torches, welders, and cut-off saws. Not a bad skill to learn.
I must have been having a particularly lousy day, and my dad must have noticed because I’d made a few mistakes that day. So when he asked me to cut some angle-iron at a few different lengths, he told me twice. The second time, he really stressed it.
As if I couldn’t remember a few numbers.
Annoyed, I said something about not being an idiot, went to the back and cut the metal to the wrong size. Now I like to write instructions down.
Shaken English
Crime of Life, posted on December 2, 2009 at 09h19
tags used: relationships
Somehow I’d become friends with the German exchange student; friends enough that we were talking on the phone and somehow hours had gone by. She no longer enjoyed talking to her boyfriend, she said.
There were times between us, often during our Wednesday spare, when things were tense. I knew she liked me. She told me so.
I asked her why she was with her boyfriend if she no longer cared for him.
Her English was unusually shaky when she said that I didn’t understand.
And so was mine, when I told her she was probably right.
