Refracted Neurons

“I wish he’d quit with the damned shoe already,” Stella complained. “I know,” laughed Maggie, “He’s tried to put it on me three times already.” “Maybe he likes you,” Stella rolled her wheelchair forward a few inches so she could see better. Ash, unaware of their gossip, was trying to flag down another co-ed on her way to class. Stella watched amused, as Ash chased the woman, waving a stiletto heel in the air. “Riiiiight,” Maggie frowned, then sighed, “You really should have come, Stella. I’ve never been to a dance like that before. No one knew who anyone was.” “Yeah, yeah.” Stella usually went to all the dances, but this one had struck a sour note with her. A masquerade ball, with full face masks sounded like fun, unless you were the one person everyone would recognize anyway. Annoyed, she had told Maggie she wasn’t going; even while she was buying a ticket and shopping for a dress. The dress still hung in her closet, its blue sateen shimmering even in the darkness, a

It is too late in the season for that amber disk to do anything other than warm me. Past the days of blossoms, of seed, of attrition, you are a blackthorn spring, a sun, spotted with the nip of winter. It is too late for the stretch of shadows, for the buzz of honey   that fills your mouth when you breathe. Here are the days of blossoms, of seed, of regeneration. of you, of unripe blackberries, and the vines of my soul take root. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ The weather has been unusual for this time of year. It's as cold as the hand of death reaching out of a grave, but the sky is that piercing blue we usually only get in the summer. None of the plants have been fooled by this, and I certainly haven't been fooled. Just a little precipitation and we'll have snow. Seattle, via airplane For the moment at least, it's got me thinking of summer instead of Christmas.

I want to open my arms wide and spin, until the skyscrapers blur into a halo of i beams, steel, and reinforced concrete; and in this dizziness, the wash of voices and acrid wafts of smoke swirl into streamers, each thread more vivid than that look in your eye, when you close your hand around a spark of light. ------------------------------------- I've finally put all my urban themed poems in one place: City Poems for City People If you are not a city person, these poems are still for you. Ultimately, they are about finding beauty in unexpected places, silence amidst noise, and self standing in a crowd.

You know how gossip works, right?  If you don't, go play a game of Telephone and then come back and talk to me.  Or better yet, talk about me to someone else. I had one of those moments last week when someone said to me, "I've heard you're good at finding people." My response was, "Well, that's not entirely correct.  I'm good at finding dead people."  Here's the thing about dead people: they don't move, they don't marry, and they technically don't divorce.  (Don't think about that last one for too long, it will just make watching The Sound of Music awkward.)  There are also protections around the identities of live people that there aren't around the dead. Obligatory image of a graveyard. So I expected to get no where. I first started using search engines in a time before Google . . . a time when dinosaurs were terraforming the earth and human kind was living underground - Sorry, got a little off topic th

He was, by the accounts of others, an impractical young man.  “Well, he is the son of a tailor,” they would whisper, as if that somehow accounted for him walking into a cow, a puddle, or, like today, the large glass window in front of the bakery. “He’s probably dreaming up something to top that lace shirt,” laughed the baker, wiping her hands on her apron.  She rapped on the window to get his attention. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Mobley,” he said as he opened the door, “I’ll clean the smear off.” “How is your mother, Midas?” Mrs. Mobley handed him a cloth. Midas just shook his head and took the cloth.  He didn’t want to cry in front of her.   She followed him outside, “Thais has good doctors.”   The walk to Thais was a two-day trek through a heavily wooded area known only as “the forest.”  He rubbed the window forcefully, “I’m going there now.” “Watch out for robbers,” Mrs. Mobley held out her hand for the cloth, “Travel only by day.”  Her forehead creased, “Will

You know why I love about Florida?  I love the sensation of being wrapped in a wet, warm beach towel every time I go out the door.  I also kind of like how flat it is here.  It takes virtually no effort to walk from place to place.  I mean, yeah, you're dripping with sweat by the time you get there; but you're not frickin' mountain climbing up Madison.  Madison and James seriously need some fixed ropes installed, but that's besides the point. Today I was walking to an outlet mall, because it was only 2.6 miles away.  That's like a hop, skip, and a jump.  Anyway, I was almost there, dying to sit down in the shade and drink something cool, when I stumbled on the most unlikely place. Well, hello there. I saw signs along the way that said "Queen Mary Shrine," but it wasn't until I was standing in front of a huge sign that said "Mary, Queen of the Universe Shrine," that it struck me.  This wasn't some oddly named hotel, this was

It was an office, not unlike any of the other offices around the city. There were windows, visible to the lucky few cubes on the ends of the rows. Then there was Vera's cube, situated next to the row of manager's offices. Today she was lucky, someone had left their door open and precious slant of sunlight escaped, warming her back and washing out half of her computer screen. "I never realized your hair was red," Tracy dumped a large stack of paper on her desk, "The florescent lights make everything look so soupy." "What is that?" she pointed at the stack of paper. Tracy only offered compliments when he wanted a favor. "I need this entered," he smiled, a dimple appearing in his cheek. "You have a secretary," Vera waved a freckled hand to her left, "Ask him." "He's sick," Tracy gave her puppy-dog eyes, batting his long dark eyelashes. Vera sighed and fought back a smile. Tracy was such a s

Y'all know, I don't usually talk about politics on this blog, but that changed when this arrived in the mail: This may be the funniest thing I've read all week. So, let's skip past all the expected rhetoric and cut to some of the weirdest statements in this deceptively boring-looking pamphlet: "My candidacy's an attempt to attract attention to my blog . . ."   Why didn't I think of this?  Running for office is a great way to increase your readers.  I mean, I wouldn't want to win or anything, but neither does this person.  See, they say it straight out: "I have no expectation or desire to win." ". . . the Seattle Monorail can be upgraded with the same technology the Hyperloop One is developing."   Noooooooooooooooooooooooo!  Seriously, nothing makes me more angry than the mention of the monorail.  I'm one of the people who paid ridiculous licensing fees for the expansion of the monorail .  But wait a second . . .

Well, the guinea pig house just sold for $790,000. Yes, you read that right - $790,000. At first I didn't know what my husband was talking about when he told me. He said, "You know, that really nice house with the nice fence." It wasn't until we drove by it, that I realized he was talking about the hippie house with the tree climbing guinea pig. "Do you think it comes with the guinea pig?" I asked. I was a little surprised something in my neighborhood was going for that price. I mean Pinehurst , people. No one even knows where Pinehurst is. Don't get me wrong, I love my 'hood, but that's because of it's weird little faults. I live in the city, yet I don't have a sidewalk. Our street drains are made out of wood. The entire neighborhood is built on a low hill, so the house behind us is an entire story higher than our home. Think of it this way, if you were a parkour ninja, you could jump from their backyard onto our roo

He was poor, that was one thing Lorna knew about him. The sleeves of his shirt were worn at the cuffs, the fabric giving way at the edges. His coat had a tear in it, neatly mended, and his shoes were worn nearly through. In spite of his tattered appearance, he was handsome; sandy hair, hazel eyes, a face both boyish and masculine. His name was Tarn, and when he wasn't being an errand boy, he drew pictures of people on scraps of paper. Everyday Tarn came by the dairy barn where she worked, always arriving during her break. While she rested her hands, he would lean over the stall and talk. He never asked her any questions or even paused for her to add anything, he simply told her about his day in one long narrative until her break ended. “Why do I let him do this?” she asked herself as she milked the cow with the crumpled horn. If she had the energy, if she wasn't so sad all the time, she would tell him that she was busy, that she couldn't talk. It wasn't a lie,

The city is a tipsy lady twisting her fingers through her hair, her bracelet the moon. When she rises, the streets sway in half-time, and I need to stop thinking about you, walking towards me in a crowd, your fingers twirling a pencil, your face, the moon rising and the streets sag around you and I can't stop thinking the city is drunk on your bare wrists, more lovely than the tendons of the moon. If you scroll, the building seems to move . . . ____________________________ Well, summer is officially here, and I'm not just talking about the solstice.  School is ending and I have no idea how regularly I'll manage to blog over the summer. I'll still be working on Egregious and this week is actually a big week for this story.  So if you've been following the story at all, hop on over to egregiousbook.blogspot.com .  I'm not posting a teaser this week, I'll just leave you with the chapter's title: Death is a

Since social games are getting so popular these days, I figured it was probably time to dust off ye olde Anti-Social Bingo and yet again release it into the world.  I think I first crafted this around 15 years ago, so it may be a little . . . . . . I have no idea what to say. It was based on an activity we actually used as a group, and having been really obsessed with xerox machines at the time, I made some cut-and-paste-and-copy modifications to the original.  I think my changes were transformative, but I suppose that's up to debate.  Anyhow, I remade it in Excel and made it so it's actually playable with a standard Bingo set.  It mostly conforms to the standard rules.  You can play two ways, either 1. The player must complete the action before marking the square or 2. The player must complete each action upon Bingo. Let chaos reign. There is a downloadable set of five on  my Google Docs .  Next time you're invited to a board game party, take a set with you al