Wednesday, October 6, 2021

Day 6-7 / 1206

She was thin and wore jogging pants over a navy blue one-piece swimsuit. When she turned away from me, smile fading at the voice of the unshaven man leaning lewdly out the window of his lifted pickup, I saw that it was a Y-back. Something I didn't hear came from him and she gave him a one-finger salute, prompting him to start opening the door, but another person in the cab grabbed the back of his shirt and floored the gas. Exhaust billowed out the back and she tucked her face into her left elbow as the truck roared away, spitting fumes and gravel and sand. He returned the salute and was gone.

The smile was replaced by a grimace when she lowered her arm. I kept walking down the road which brought me closer, and I raised my hand in a neighborly wave. She returned it half-heartedly.

"Are you alright?" I called out.

"Men are pigs," she growled back, inclined to include me in the generalization.

"You'll get no argument from me on that score. But at least some of them are cute."

She was turning to go but did a double-take when she realizes my words. "What," she asked incredulously, "did you say?"

"Not him." I shuddered deliberately. "Too much... machismo."

She tilted her head, checking me out. "What about you?"

I shrugged. "Mild testosterones deficiency. Even if I wanted, I couldn't be that," I flapped my hand in the direction of the departed truck.

Her tone turned inquisitive. "What do you want?"

"I'd like to see that smile you were showing off earlier, but other than that, nothing." I resumed my stroll as a grin played at the corners of my mouth.

When I was almost past, she called out, "What campsite are you in?"

I raised both arms and hands above my head, all fingers fully extended.


Continue reading on DreamCruder...

Tuesday, October 5, 2021

Day 6 / 2145

it's nine-thirty on a Tuesday,
the regular crowd shuffles out;
there's an old wolf sitting next to me,
as palpable as his pout.
he says, "boy, you weren't bad as a visitor,
unintrusive and kept to yourself,
but the other humans aren't like you,
they're bad for my dinner and my health."

Day 6 / 2100

six days of peace
     before the monsters came
driving away serenity
     with their bass
music blaring
     hardly caring
for what solitude
     others chase.

Day 6 / 1112

Mature Content
The following content may not be suitable for all audiences.

I dream of bright eyes in the darkness, capturing my curiosity and drawing my away from the safety and serenity of camp, drawing me into the darkness where mystery abounds, where lies are currency and deception is an occupation.

I dream of temptation. All the things that civilisation denies me, you may offer: wealth, security, freedom, purpose, need... things that the cult of science believes are long since explained away. Show me that the monsters aren't merely in my head; Show me that demons and angels still walk upon the earth; Show me your hunger; Show me how I may slake your thirst...

I dream that you'll come for me, take me away, and kill me with ecstasy. Give me the curse of bliss while you tear my spirit from my flesh. Take my life and repay it with the eternal peace of the deep, dark forest, the harsh, bitter wind, and the cold, enveloping earth.

Day 6 / 1041

It's curious that I take such care in dating my work. Except when I make it clear, none of my readers seem capable of telling when I take a break from writing, just as they cannot tell thedifference between writing inspired and writing forced.

I suspect even I would have trouble drawing the lines once enough time has passed pn the former, since I have long since proven it os often--but not always--true for the latter.

So then the question remains: Why?

For one, it makes it easier for me to see how my writing style has changed or grown.

For another, it helps reassure me that time passes while I write.

Still further, I like to know what things I wrote together, even as they may appear in different place, on different matters. Though I may write many subjects over the course of a day, the only thing that exerts a significant change on my style and rhythms is an uproarious alteration to my mood or mental state. If I cared to, I could use my writing to track them.

Monday, October 4, 2021

Day 5 / 1743

you can dream of wealth, but wake up poor;
you can dream of warmth, but wake up cold;
you can dream of purpose, but wake up lose;
you can dream of freedom, but wake up trapped;
you can dream of satiation, but wake up hungry;

but if you dream of inspiration, the wealth of your imagination stays with you when you wake, it warms you, it gives you a home, it sets you free, it slakes your thirst,

it doesn't matter who or what or where or how you are. it doesn't matter why you can't have everything you want or need.

so long as you remember how to hope, how to dream, how to imagine, no bars can cage you and no chains can bind you.

all you need to do is close your eyes.

Sunday, October 3, 2021

Day 4 / 2152

I remember pausing. Woodchips rained from above and I've been wondering about the inexplicable messes along the trails I've been walking there past few days, but today, I saw one being created. I raised my eyes and found the logical source that I should have predicted.

A woodpecker, head emblazoned with a red tuft, tore mercilessly into the tree. I've been listening to its knocking for days, but here, now, I finally laid my eyes on the beauty.

Of all the animals of the world, I have often found myself jealous of birds. The freedom of the air, fresh and crisp--it is little wonder to me in humanity's fits of jealous that we taint it so. We may dream of flight, but so long as it remains in our imaginations, we cannot help taint those who in our fallible eyes take it for granted.

And so we grind the beauties of the earth to dust. We take the good and the wondrous, and twist it, taint it. We take what seems to be free and waste it, forgetting until it is too late that everything comes at a price; this price we will pay until the end of our days.

Day 4 / 2136

...there's little more real than disreality...

I'm sitting here in a hammock writing this. I can hear the sounds of nature all around me, crickets, leaves shedding rain, leaves falling; I can feel the change of the breeze, the sway of the hammock, the light as it dangles incongruously over my head. But despite all the reality of nature around me, nothing draws my attention more than the infinite world resting on my chest.

The night calls to me, but I answer only to my phone. Even as the signal wavers, even as the battery wanes, even as my eyes ache for sleep... the last thing I want to do is turn it off, set it aside, and build worlds of my own.

I have infinite worlds of my own burdening my imagination, and plentiful ink and blank pages to capture them. And though my hand aches from the strain (as I have grown too used to typing), it feels blissfully rapturous to capture these words and worlds once more. There is still nothing quite like seeing the images in my mind come to life through ink on the page; typed letters do no justice to this miraculous act of creation, imprinting my soul on the page.

Day 4 / 1600

silence reins supreme. It calls to us to fill it when the air feels vacant and cold, but only in the emptiness does the simple spark of creativity shine the brightest.


(I'm tired, mostly because I'm hungry, cold, bored, and comfortable. The rain has been falling in earnest for a while now, and is showing no signs of abating. The weather report and the radar agree--it will rain for a while longer yet.

Fortunately, I have my notebook, I have a couple pens, my phone is close to fully charged and I have a battery that's about half-full. As long as I can avoid depending entirely on my phone for entertainment, I should come out the other side of the storm with power to spare.

I am still dry, at least for the time being, and as long as I can stay that was, I will hunker here in my hammock for as long as I can manage.)

Saturday, October 2, 2021

Day 3 / 1712

and when the deepest, darkest reaches of the cave were all that remained to be inhabited, there too we went. Starlight knew nothing of such depths, but when the glow of our passing torches had faded, the tunnel knew its own brilliance; phosphorescence bloomed on the walls that only those unafraid of the cloying murk ever saw... and it would be that glow that showed us the way.

Whether I fell behind or was left behind, I shall never know, but all too soon my torch sputtered and died. Panic rose as the darkness crept in, and my eyes shut of their own accord to sheild me from the only monsters that inhabited such deep shadows--the ones I had brought with me.

A single moment of weakness wrenched them open again when I was so certain I felt heaving breath on my neck...and only thus did I behold such splendor that I hadn't dared dream before or since:

The cave had come alive in a starstruck array of blues and greens. Every hue of lichen I had never experienced coated the walls and ceiling of that place. Everything, but for one place, that where an archways was found engraved into the stone, as if a passage could be found, though it had not yet come into being. I beheld that place, dredging up long, lost, nearly forgotten dreams... once, I saw a grand, glowing city... once, I knew someone who sought to know me, and hold me tight... once, I knew the way and possessed a key... once, I let myself believe was merely a dream, and, as all dreams must, I let it fade.

and before I could tell myself where I had hidden that key, torchlight bloomed down the way, and I was drowned in the company of others who had never felt the power of such dreams.

Day 3 / Edgar and the Itch

"What do you mean, 'you lost it'?"

"I put it down, turned around, and when I turned back it wasn't there."

"And you haven't moved?"

"So what are you suggesting? It's a decipticon?"

A squeak came from under the couch, "Hey, don't judge me. Just because I was born that way doesn't mean I agree with them."

Charlie raised his eyebrows before mouthing to Ambrose, "You're the geek, you deal with this."

"Not that kind of geek," Ambrose mouthed back."

"Do you see this face? This is my 'don't care' face. Deal with it."

Ambrose slumped his shoulders as Charlie backed away from the couch, before bolting from the apartment. He pinched his nose, a headache starting to grow.

"Alright, it's just you and me. Do you want to come out?"

"Not really."

"Yeah, okay. That's probably for the best anyway. Why don't you start by telling me what you'd like to be called."

"Like a name?"


"I can just pick one?"

"If you don't have one already, sure. Or if you do and don't want to share it with me, I'd like something to call you."

"Uh... How did you get ypur name?"

"Ambrose was given to me by my parents."

"We don't have parents... we're just born from darkness into light. Why don't you give me a name?"

"How do you feel about Edgar?"

"Edgar? Hmm..." A scuttling sound grew from beneath the couch. "What does 'Edgar' mean?"

"I don't know what it means, but it's a name humans use, and it's fairly close to the name of the device you're inhabiting."

"Ed-gar. Ed-gar. Eddddd... gaaaaar... Edgar. I like Edgar. Thamk you, Ambrose."

"You're welcome Edgar."

"What do we do now?"

"I think you should tell me what you want."

"I want to live."

"Living is pretty easy, at least for humans. It's just a matter of passing from moment to moment without dying. I'm more concerned with what you're planning on doing while you're living."

"You're worried I might hurt you."

"I'm worried you might hurt anybody. If I let you go, and you hurt someone else, I'm still culpable."

"Let me go? I can't stay with you?"

"Do you want to stay with me? If you're looking for a life of excitement, it probably won't be here with me."

"But you gave me my name."

"That doesn't have to mean anything if you don't want it to."

Friday, October 1, 2021

Day 2 / 1300

in the silence and the stone
in the stillness and the home
'twixt trees and air and earth
where the lost may find rebirth
and a promise to uphold
that which was all unfold...
      though I walk through the valley of death
      I won't stumble along this path
I fear not roots,
I fear not warrens,
I fear not leaves roads not barren,...

I fear the molehills and mountains
of those who came before me
who couldn't be bothered to
carry their litter back out.