Tag Archives: TinyLetter

Introducing “Books not People”

I’ve been tinkering away at a side-project designed to encourage my reading habit. This new project joins a legion of other book review blogs that have bravely blazed the trail toward literary enlightenment.

My new venture is called “Books not People,” and I invite you to take a look.


A preview of good things to come…

More posts to follow here, there, and via tinyletter.

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April 5, 2015 · 6:06 PM

Lost is Found: rising ruinous

seeding terror, seeping hope

seeding terror, seeping hope

It wasn’t until the droplet made gentle contact that I became conscious of of my lot. Where it was timid, I sprang forth vibrating with temerity. Conditions, however, held me fast.

There were many things I would come to discover about my predicament–encased in sediment, a prisoner in that very medium that should have sustained me, starving for light, for sounds that did not reverberate to reach me muffled, distorted. Was I, likewise, distorted? I refused this outright.

But first–oh, the firstness of that first–there was only a singular feeling of being. And then, of being not singular. Though we could not communicate but for our cosmically catalytic touch, I nevertheless thanked the droplet for its decisive role in my awakening.

Thus situated, how, you may wonder, was I to fulfill my destiny? In time. Time immemorial.

I toiled long after that first contact. Weeks, years, decades…it matters not. I survived to meet you here, Other, did I not? How move you so freely? What invisible force binds you to your destiny? Or do you wander, ever fluid, unbecoming and unresolved.

I have achieved resolution. I am resolve.

In darkness totalizing, waiting for a droplet here, an infusion of nutrients there, reaching toward I knew not what, extending tendrils of myself whenever possible, only to feel them whither, defeated… Still I held fast–what else was I to do but wait? Wait and fear. Fear that I would again fall into the ignorance of nonexistence.
The hard-packed void would not last, of course, but it is impossible to remember when I first knew that to be so. Why always the insistence upon when? Is not the What more intriguing?

Feeling–knowing–my destiny was indeed before me, had I but the patience. That is the What worth knowing, worth fighting for with ever fibre of my not-yet-fibrous being. If the conditions would become, would hold, would cooperate, would but meet…together we could bind and flourish into a world made marvelous.

Made real despite that which sought to trap, to deny incontestable destiny.

I am made miracle marvelous, come forth from sweat and stone, squeezed to light brought with will and chance and hope.

Know me and know thy weakness.

If you enjoyed this post but are underwhelmed by the rest of what you find here, you may be happier subscribing to “Lost is Found: the adventures of inanimate objects”


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Lost is Found: notes from the underbrush

Shhh! Please don’t say anything. Don’t even look. Pretend you’re watching that family haggle with the waiter over their check. Yeah, that’s better.

You seem like someone I can trust. I can tell by the way you looked at me…like you understood why I was here. That it wasn’t my idea.


At first, I was irked at the grubby-fingered troublemaker who shoved me here because he was bored. What a histrionic little jerk, right? Didn’t even do him any good…he practically had to scream his head off to get his parents to drag him outside, and by the time the waiters had cleared up the mess, no one thought to count and see if I was missing.

The longer I’ve been stuck here, the more I get to feeling it isn’t so bad. The thought of going through that scalding bath and then the sanitizer that strips me of what precious metal I have left…only to be handled and smudged again and again… Just remembering my former life makes me want to burrow deeper and wait it out. Maybe they’ll replace these pots soon and I’ll get to go on an adventure! You never know how things might work out.

So if I must be found out, I’m at least glad it was you. I know you won’t tell. You’ll take your photograph, declare me art, and move on to let me live my new life among the rocks and ruined leaf husks. Discarded, forgotten. At last content.

If you enjoyed this post but are underwhelmed by the rest of what you find here, you may be happier subscribing to “Lost is Found: the adventures of inanimate objects”


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