Official Worst

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It doesn’t work like that! You are being lame right now.  You have to find it within your very terrible soul this Saturday evening just five hundred word with which to save the world.  Or at least your unimaginative corner.  Because you don’t want to, you’re being made to, this is learning to take the bit.  This is horse training.  That is not the metaphor I want to impress you with, but that is the one to hand.

You need to eat more apples.  Again with the horses, but it’s true! You perked right up now, didn’t you, after a day of small time gains and probably, in the end, extensive losses.  Today, food and you did not agree and now we’re verging the morning of a new day and you’re hungry.  That’s not something we can just leap up and rectify.  Instead, have an apple and don’t make any sudden movements.  This one will be less mealy and less buttery which are both things that an apple should not be.

Someone rang the doorbell and knocked with intent after a great rain storm.  We, however, do not trust in rings and knocks, and let the silence speak for us until it went away.  It wouldn’t have been you or anyone of great import, because you know that is not the way to find us.  And we already know that if someone smashed my car to bits and the police needed to wake me in a state of undress and utter commotion, that is a different sort of knock entirely.  We know the difference now, much to our terminal dismay.

If you blather on for a while, you will find some of those words exist in your head. You are a writer and holy cats, sometimes the words are bright and bold and tacky against your skin.  They pick up on the words you have inked upon your palms and arms and roll over you, grafting onto themselves something of your essential character.  They are magnificent even in their stupidity because they did the thing we’re all desperate to do which is to share truth.  Right now, I don’t think I could swing a barn and hit one single side of truth.  I have a sore neck and an itchy trigger finger and a disconcerting sense of quagmire.  It is me and mine, though, and better than it might have been with some laundry done and some creatures put to bed.   It’s nothing new and that is the comfort long clung to.  It is a pain that we are ever so used to.

We are hopeful for a bit more agency tomorrow, a bit more grace, a bit of doneness with the current state of affairs.  You wonder sometimes how terrible things can happen over and over again and yet, no part of the body politic can be gathered up to change the way things are.  That the soul of the king would rather the terrible thing happen than change the dressing on his limb.

This was the worst post ever.



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