Hundred Thousand Wing Flips
There were small knotholes in some of the old boards, the holes oblong shape, and slivers of sunlight would stream through onto the barn’s dirt floor. I was staring trance-like at one of those lit up areas right when I had my first ever true sexual experience, with a girl named Cindy Mawaka. She was 13 and I was 12. It’s funny, years later, what you remember – light on the floor, holes in the boards.
Which is all well/nice and though the clock ain’t on my heart surely is, timer, like Laura Nyro once sang, and directions fall out and I’m bound to follow, and one of the decisions I’ve made lately is to cut back on words used per paragraph, at least, and here’s hoping sentences as well. As example – When the student is ready the teacher will appear becomes Student ready, Teacher appear. I mean, come on, dig that and possible there is a Japanese Roshi quality to that kind of writing – I wouldn’t know never having traveled farther west than Santa Monica or east (if’n I was trying to sneak around the long way) than Provincetown, though I do read Zen books rarely and how I become influenced to the point of plagiarism is well beyond me. Suit up and show up, Brah, I hear tell. (by the way, following my own directives – Suit up show up). Oh, what a sneaky little devil, remove the “and” and the language gleams with simplicity. So, I do have a writing goal beyond simply writing and it is to write more simply, like I explained, and a practice session will look like me turning on the smart phone timer to, say, 15:27 and typing in a rave-on spill-my-guts free-for-all and when the timer does it’s end-of-watch thing I take a couple of minutes to get past the rush of welcomed words and then go back with my emotional (and prose 101) hatchet and own and operate “Bendy’s Removal Service”, it’s salad time, Baby, slice and dice. An exciting proposition for 72-year old me, wrinkles and twinkles and all, and I honest to God believe I will grow in personal maturity and plus write way cooler stuff. And who knows how many people ever bother to read anything at all anymore anyway, so less better. (Snuck one in there.)
Now, what about going back to the fun R-rated opening story and try this word-thinning puppy out.
Small knotholes in boards, oblonged, sunlight streamed on dirt floor. Trance-like staring, first sex, Cindy Mawaka, she 13 me 12. Funny what’s remembered – light, holes.
Oh hell yeah!!
A hummingbird buzzed me today, just over my head, all friendly like, a hundred thousand flips of the wings, and me out staring at a wall of shrubs, still, not perhaps in meditation, but not far from. So there you have it, the super quick kid and the golden oldie out in the yard, possibly fast friends moving on.
(Hundred thousand wing flips.)