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the Chandler's Around the WayThe hose slipped out again. Chan cursed, and shoved it back into the incision he'd made, adjusted his mask, and bent over the pump. He yanked the cord, and the pump started to life with a cough of biodiesel. It bounced on the sand as it grumbled away. Chan kept one hand on it and held the hose in place with the other.
If fucking Fathers would spend the bone on a new one, I wouldn't be all night at this, Chan grumbled. He ached for a smoke, but didn't have the hands to spare. Plenty of hands here, he thought as he glanced at the riverbank. Some of them even had a pulse.
"Hey," he said to whoever was closest.
It was a sunbather. A walker who drew enough bone to slot time on the beach without having to fight for it. She had each arm draped around a man, both of them tattooed in the same place with the same sigil. Chan was jealous. Someday he'd have his own numbers, but they'd be women. All of them. He was old-fashioned like that.
The walker answered without raising her sungl
Flights of Fancy     Nature is best seen through a window. Cars are nice, but televisions give a better view. The important thing is to keep a window, any window, between you and wilderness. This is my strictest maxim, a rule of comfort I put aside only once, years ago. I spend most of my life expressing shock when friends say they're going on a hike or planning to camp out.

     It took two hours for Leon to convince me to accompany him on a short ride to the hills. I thought it would be safe. Leon was a good friend. Though he knew that particular day was my day to hit the mall and hang out with the gi
if only, if only.i.
we drove nowhere
and we spoke a language
that nobody understood
underneath a foreign sky
blanketed in the scent of pine.

ii.
you told me
my eyes were like envelopes—
because they were always
opening
closing
fluttering to the sound
of breaking seals
and ink stained fingertips.

iii.
i told you
we should run away
to a new land
with new faces
because
i was enamored
with people i had never encountered
and places i had never gone.

iv.
you laughed at me
and said that
if i didn't spend
so much time with my head
buried in world maps
i would realize
that i was living on one.

v.
i remember
it rained that day
and the tea went cold
but the
grassy field with rustgrassy field with rust
--------------------------

I'd heard about the old car, three miles out of town and all alone. I just had to see it. It was time. School was over for the summer, my friends were at camp, and I was bored. I set out Thursday morning for a hike, following directions that Uncle Will had given me. As the heat was still growing with the climb of the sun, I found the field and wandered around looking, and looking some more, trying not to be distracted by bees buzzing in the flowers, and butterflies and baby mice. Then it was there,  just a bit upslope from the bottom of a natural swale, and just below the sky at th
ISLNDSyou like the way
the i slants,
an error's
guidance
in a sea
of hyphens.

sans-serif
in cropped crests
made to full-
stop breasts
beating;
an obsess-
ion breathing
in lost chests.

now a motive
is seething
with options;
play thief
and proceed greedily,
often.

dive deep
and drink
the leap's froth;
breath is only
as sweet as the
speech that breeds thought.
free agentwell she
told me
that she'd vanish
into the forest
for four years
to be-
come some secret dream
a si-
lent specter who'd
someday
reappear

to collect
all conscious thought
wanted or not
in the solitude
that shadows
brought

but still
burned bright
this tiny light
who taught my
dark
about her
night

and so I
made her name
the only
whispered word
our time would hear
and I dis-
played
only privately
the images
between my ears

yet the moon
often makes possible
one who
breathes
for two

or

orphans
proper principle
the way
that
lovers sometimes do

and we do
and we do
(we doot-doot-do)

oh! and dreams
can
PressureSomething broke.

A hard CRACK while sitting in
a soft chair. No pain registered.
The absence of it
is like watching explosions in space.

You follow the curve of your skull. You remember
how skulls are formed like tectonic plates.
Your head wants to be a planet,
volcanic, living, in change.

You continue to your left shoulder,
the one with all the problems.
But today, it has nothing to say.

Your rib cage moves
like oceanic waves, expecting a storm
that hasn't come.

You stand up,
homo erectus,
you consider your legs,
homo sapiens,
nothing feels wrong,
homo stabilis.

But you can break
more than your body.
SuperimposeHe doesn't look like a gymnast. He's all button down shirts and frazzled grey hair framing wire spectacles, a picture perfect professorial archetype down to the very tips of his frayed shoelaces. But he was a gymnast once, or so he tells us, and I believe him because he smiles like he knows something while he's chatting before class.

It's strange to see that image superimposed over the current one – the distinguished professor in pressed khaki slacks and a jacket, worn brown loafers exuding a faintly courteous manner (you can always tell them by their shoes), and a ring on the fourth finger of his left hand – versus the athletic ki
if she were any more tomato she'd be blueberryxvii.
i want to write about how this world of
absolute truth, knowledge, and solid food—

that which we hold high between two fingers is always
full of watery applesauce and little white half-truths.

and about how utterly strange
it is that all the simple things that people
write about on pages are, in reality,

very few and far between.

xvi.
and i want to write about how there is
peace and war and
poverty and treasure and
cruelty and sometimes,

sometimes,

small and
important
moments
of grace.

xv.
i want to write a poem about why the hell i'm wasting
my time writing poems when i could maybe
actually be doing something produ
for unseeing eyesladen with sky
we stumbled
and painted mockingbirds
on loveless branches
folding in our slender limbs
and ducking under our own
voices, fidgety and frail
against the wall of night.

between the dipping blades
and drawn shoulders
we learned to craft our words
steady-soft,
a drumming rain
that carved canyons
in open hearts and
drew the sunshine to
our supping lips.

keen-eyed, we watched
remembering the weight
of unseeing eyes
and scalding remarks
and we learned to slip
the noose-knots and slide
through the soul-cracks
and somehow
build kingdoms under
upturned noses.

with lyrical uncertainty
and tender determinat
MaggieCh. 1

In the morning, the postman comes around seven. Maggie would give her usual warning gruff from her spot on the rug, her head raised, her ears perked. When the mail car sputtered away, Maggie would bring herself to rise slowly and pad to the window where she'd probe the glass curiously with her nose. Seeing nothing, she would return to her well-worn spot and drop like a sack of mail.

Every day, a little death
Every death, a little day

Ch. 2

There came a time where I realized I couldn't see the curiosity in Maggie's eyes. Sure, she'd sniff around the yard excitedly, or wag her tail when we went to the park, but the way she looked at
Across the Sea and Around the KotatsuSpring

Taco Rice

Mom starts with rice. Japanese rice, one, two, three Japanese cup-fulls of rice grains into the cooker, because Sis eats a lot of this stuff. It's one of her favorite dishes, taco rice, and Mom's always happy to make it for her because it's the only way Sis will eat her tomatoes. But back to the rice. "You want to rinse at least three or four times, until the water's kind of clear," Mom says as she cups her hand under the cooker pot, letting the cloudy water wash over her hand.

Rice cooking's easy though – just fill enough water to the point the rice's covered, punch in a time (or set it to "Quick Cook," which with our cre
A Pocket Full of SkyWhen I was young, my father would take me to the highest tower of Notre Dame precisely once a year. It would be cold. Freezing. But we'd stand there, and take deep breaths of air, and peer down, towards the tiny ants of people below. Down, towards the sprawling city beneath us. It was always winter, when we'd go. Always cold. Freezing, freezing. But however cold it was, and however dull and bleary the weather, my father would ask one thing, and one thing only: that we adhered to tradition.

"Lucie," he would say, with the fond smile and kind eyes I always remember. "Lucie, my peach. Whatever you become, and wherever your heart and mind leads
a picture of a plane.The day her daddy got sent away, the whole neighborhood fluttered with closing curtains and eyes watching through cracked doors. His wife called it a mistake, the cousins called it rape and said he was a pedophile.

And she just kept dipping her fingers into paint and dreaming about kites and the eyelashes on dolls, because she didn't know what any of those words meant.

A year later, he came back, and she washed the sidewalk so he couldn't see that she was drawing their secret in light blue and petal pink chalk.

-

"Those are nice pictures, baby," her daddy would tell her, but she hated it, because he always sounded sick, and he would rub h
WanderlustI've been sleeping with my jeans on
and seatbelt unbuckled,
So I can leave early
before my regret wakes.

In the check-in, on the road,
I distract myself
Walk, go, leave
go further, leave again
I like my life
Oversimplified.

I never meant to break your
working-class heart
(steady and warm)
But truer ways of joy I found
on the road,
in long railways and stranger tongues
And I'm sorry that we never
Quite catch up with each other.

I never loved goodbyes,
but I love leaving all behind
In the movement I found tranquility,
easing for this burn.

Don't think I'll be able
To ever forget you, no

You're like Venus in th
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Greetings, dA. I was given some unfortunate news, as you may infer. I am okay, and my family is okay, and you needn't worry too terribly much. I am at peace. I am unconquerable.

Let us simply say that I have chosen to live until the Lord calls me home.

A little William Ernest Henley now:

Invictus

Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds, and shall find, me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll.
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.

----------|

Thank you to everyone who has stopped by to read and comment on this piece. Its author, William Ashley Brown, III (better known as Pip to most of us, and yet many other internet pseudonyms through the years), lost his battle with cancer in January 2010.

Rest-assured those last few months of his life were some of the happiest. Bill died with dignity, on his own terms, completely at peace with the world. His ashes were spread on Irish soil, as per his wishes, and we threw quite the lively wake as per his plans.

Bill is survived by his partner and husband, Brody, and all his loving friends and relations.

-Nic
6 Nov 2012
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Daily Deviation

Given 2012-11-05
"For all its brevity and lack of drama, Invictus by `GeneratingHype is one of the barest bits of humanity in dA Lit." Suggester's words; I couldn't agree more.
Thank you for being respectful in your comments on this piece. ( Suggested by `LiliWrites and Featured by ^neurotype )
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:iconjamminjo:
`JamminJo Nov 11, 2012   Photographer
:pray:
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:iconkindergartenteacher:
~KindergartenTeacher Nov 5, 2012
They say a long life may not be good enough, but a good life is long enough. RIP to the subject of this piece and I am sorry for your loss.
Reply
:iconthenpotn:
~TheNPOTN Nov 5, 2012  Hobbyist General Artist
This is beautiful. I wish you happiness. Beyond words, I wish you happiness.
Reply
:iconthegraveyardkey:
~TheGraveyardKey Nov 5, 2012  Hobbyist General Artist
I admire your bravery, and I wish you happiness in your days, however many that may be.
Reply
:iconswansisters:
*swansisters Nov 5, 2012  Hobbyist Writer
I am so sorry but the piece is wonderful, definitely deserving and I hope you have many days.
Reply
:iconsadisticicecream:
*SadisticIceCream Nov 5, 2012   Writer
I read this every few months. It was a bit of a shock to see it in the DDs today, but it is most deserving. I've come a long way since I first read this, when I was 18, but it still jars me to the soul. Thank you for giving us the gift of your beautiful words. Rest in peace. :heart:
Reply
:iconitti:
`Itti Nov 5, 2012  Hobbyist General Artist
The title is apt; there is more than one way to be conquered. I think for many of us you remained invictus til the end.
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:iconblacksand459:
Mood: Sadness *Blacksand459 Nov 5, 2012  Hobbyist General Artist
I will pray for you and your family. I honestly don't know what to say, other than this is a phenomenal piece of writing. So candid, so heartbreaking. Thank you for sharing this with us.
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:iconmadisonnjanee:
~MadisonnJanee Nov 5, 2012
Really beautiful.
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