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| Clive was betwixt and confused. He was merry of heart, he loved his paltry life, he looked forward to whatever, and more. Just that everything he touched at the moment crumbled. Became sand through an inane hour-glass. He never knew if he was coming or going, Arthur or Martha, Amos or Andy. He would be pleased if the spinning stopped, real soon now. It wasn’t that he was sexually ambivalent. He’d played the game every which way, including up. Genderly he was – parallel would describe it. Thwack! No such bloody creature, he chastises. Oh, but yes there is, comes the answer. He realises that is the first sign of ... of what? Can’t be progress, must be madness. He squished the fag-end into the splintered plank. He needed the stub of a Faber-Castel and the back of an envelope. Sex matters. Gender doesn’t. Nor does age. The answer isn’t 42. |
A member of the Weekend Writer's Retreat
9 comments:
I've stumbled across your blog quite accidentally but am pleased with what I found. Neat concept and well written. If you can write for 251 more days, I can read them (with any luck).
Julie this is a powerful piece. The ending is very very good.
Deep and meaningful navel gazing.
mmm ... taa ... thank you, even.
All this shilly-shallying around is helping, strange as that may seem. Another friend, who is a published and accoladed author, told me just to write, write, write.
And she is ... right ...
'The answer isn’t 42.'
Love that! Also:
'Thwack!'
Your poem really goes in different directions, just like Clive's ruminations. Really enjoyed this.
The connection between the photo and the text was quite believable and lively and inventive. Well done!
I used to know a lot of people like this. Then I did the family thing,and a fresh breeze blew my life a completely different direction.
This is interesting and begs a few re-reads. It has an "aimlessly musing" quality that feels very authentic. No conclusion is reached, but that's okay. Pretty cool.
Found you from WWR! Loved this piece! Great ending, too. Thanks for sharing.
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