Tell Me a Story

Maybe it’s that story. You know. The one that never happened. Or maybe it’s a combination of several that never happened. That works too. The best stories that never happened. All rolled into one pretty little parcel. In a sort of ‘this is how it was supposed to happen’ kind of way. Would that I knew how it was supposed to happen.

So we’ll spin it. Over coffee. At a show. The little things. The Take Away Concerts of life. Moments that, no, not moments, vignettes that create a complete picture. ‘This is how it was.’ All of it is a painting. Why should that be any different? Only a slightly less abstracted painting. Impressionist, rather than outright abstract. There’s a good way to look at it. The story is Impressionist, the modern vignettes are Dali-esque, and what else? Who knows? All of it abstracted somehow. I don’t have the comparison. Think someone with bright colours, an eye for detail, but turning the picture into what they want it to be, not necessarily what it was. An artist’s eye.

And here, our lives! Presented in glorious Technicolor. Just the way we would have wanted to see them.

The Only Non-Superfluous Speech

Daily Prompt: Seven Wonders

How to reduce language to seven words? Focus on the important ones. Coffee, espresso, latte, cappuccino, macchiato, americano, mocha.

See, with language, the key is understanding and the nuance of meaning. The ability to differentiate subtle variations in desires. A vehicle for expression.

Strip language back to those seven words, and everything else fades away. All concerns, all debates, all conflict. The only drama of the day is that demanding decision of which word to use in the morning. Which word to fully capture one’s intentions and encourage the embracing of a new day. All thought could be bent towards the resolution of that simple daily conundrum. A singular focus, embraced by all speakers of this sept-mot language.

And besides. It’s always been the only way humanity has ever understood one another. Over a cup of coffee.

Tomorrow Today

We went to Delphi. Climbed up to the Oracle to have her divine our futures. ‘This is it!’ she cried. ‘This is where the magic happened!’  Didn’t see that one coming! Then we hiked through the ruins, posed beside the fallen statues, took off our shoes and ran on the burning sands of the stadium. ‘My hair’s blowin’ in the wind,’ flowing streaming out behind, flickering, a flame in the sun, streaking along the floor of the arena. Then we walked the streets and steep staircases of the village, clinging there to the slopes. Stayed up all night, drinking red wine and ouzo. Stayed up all night, just to watch the sun rise. To watch the rosy fingers of dawn, creeping between the mountains. And as the mist spilled into the valley below us she fell asleep on my shoulder. Or did I fall asleep on hers? We woke and went south. Traded mountains and oracles for islands and sea.

Or maybe that never happened. Let’s trade on the things I’ve actually done. Not just re-imagined versions of what really happened. That’s one of our perks though isn’t it? The ability to re-imagine the past? To colour it, tint it, however we wish. That’s what we love about a storyteller. The ability to embellish. To tell it in such a way that even our boring lives sound exciting. Can you believe I did that? That was me! Or maybe it wasn’t. But I remember it just like that! Like it was yesterday. Yesterday or a lifetime ago. Same difference. Yesterday was the lifetime of a mayfly ago. A day in the life. A life in the day. The bright spark of existence. No time for regrets! One and done. Bam! No waking up tomorrow. Tomorrow? What’s that? You wanna talk Whorfianism? Try explaining the concept of tomorrow to a mayfly! You think they can conceive of that?!

Better luck next life.

Person of Indeterminate Gender I Saw Dumpster Diving This Afternoon Day

Daily Post: Honorific

Today is to be officially named ‘Person of Indeterminate Gender I Saw Dumpster Diving This Afternoon Day.’

And not just because glitter seemed to float in a cloud around them. Nor for the sparkly mini skirt worn over hairy legs. Nor for the cheap plastic trinkets they were bejeweled with. No. Today is their day because they are seizing it. They saw something they wanted, and they went for it, damn the consequences. They’re comfortable in their own skin. They don’t worry about societal judgement, condemning them for scavenging. What do we have to say that they haven’t heard before? Who are we to decide the acceptable standards of modern living. To each their own.

Stand up and be counted. This day is for you.

Waiting is the Hardest Part

I’ve found myself obsessively checking the comments section on a Dallas Stars blog today. Not my usual behavior. But the reason is that the blog is my own, and it’s part of a tryout for a position with the staff. I’m one of three finalists, but my sample was the first to go up. The next will be Friday, and the final one next Monday. 

So now I’m on tenterhooks, checking out the reaction to my post, but having to wait for the follow up ones over the next few days! And they’ll have the benefit of having seen mine. Agony. I want to know now! Did I get it? Did I get the position? 

Wait and see. 

That’s always the trouble. So many things we do in life, we then have to sit back and wait for the response. It’s exciting, sure. I can daydream about actually getting the position, something that would no longer be possible were I to be told I had failed. But it doesn’t get rid of this ancy feeling, like I’m on the edge of some big change in my life, something that could affect everything that is to come… or alternately it’ll come to nothing. 

Heads you win, tails you lose.