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Words For The Meanwhile

a commonplace blog

Untitled Fragments

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Why can’t you write something that makes people happy?
Where’s the carrot? You’re all stick.
Where’s the hope? You’re all bad news.

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We feel before we think.
We see better than we hear smell taste.
And seeing is believing.
And hindsight is 20/20.

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Ruffle feathers.
Stir the pot.
Poke the bear.
Kick the hornet’s nest.
Drop a bomb.

Go for broke
unless you already are, then
shoot the fucking moon.

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everyone agrees
for the sake of disagreement
reality is fiction

the truth being whatever
you think
you have chosen
to believe, in the moment
for the sake of convenience

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What have you risked,
other than the occasional dissenting opinion,
what have you ever given?

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sprinting tripping falling
forward all the while
aging backward
from toddlers toting AR-15s
to infants with thermonuclear reactions

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If there’s no hope of redemption, why bother
paying any attention to the hellfire preacher, his crooked finger pointed straight at you?

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If there’s no Good News,
no savior, no timely miracles thus forthcoming, then…

Jack is safely damned if he does or does not
what he damn well pleases.

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I am unrealistic
because I tend to think
why the hell not?

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Jack does not possess sprezzatura.
He makes easy look effortful.

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by Jack Freeborne

Jack had this problem. He could not write, not nearly fast enough. The present always caught up to the future he was writing, which somehow came to be this fiction he was living.