inreaction

ex- out + sprre to breathe

in the beginning god said and there was.

then god did and there was a man
man of dust from the ground
and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life
a truly creative inspiration.

today men speak and there is not.
it appears god inspires  no longer,
breathes no more.

expire; oxford english dictionary:
To pass out in, or like, breath
To breathe one’s last breath, die.
To come to an end
To become void through lapse of time (rare)
To be consumed, exhausted, or spent.

–
A young man sits with Milton.
Footnotes astound, overpowering verse
penned in visions of a blindsighted belief.
Belief in the magic is no more, creation has
breathed it’s last breath, died;
Come to an end.
Miltonic is no more, no patience for allusion;
No voracity of reading, no schema to draw from or on.
Man’s history has been told in three chapters,
of Original verse. Genesis it seems, has ceased.

i can’t get over how neatly packed and tightly woven this is.

There is no monopoly on common sense
On either side of the political fence
We share the same biology
Regardless of ideology
Believe me when I say to you
I hope the Russians love their children too

There is no historical precedent to put
the Words in the mouth of the president
There’s no such thing as a winnable war
It’s a lie we don’t believe anymore
Mister Reagan says ‘We will protect you’
I don’t subscribe to this point of view
Believe me when I say to you
I hope the Russians love their children too

Sting – Russians

i stumbled upon a site with one hundred and one writing tips,
one more than one hundred rules for writing right,
for writers to script words that would move candidate’s lips,
take serious matters and turn them into air–while strippers turn governors’ pocketbooks tight.

i watch the world unfold in debate after debate,
watching friends divided across aisles;
seeing americans turning to hate
as though it will put an end to these trials.

i remember the days when rhymes flowed from these fingers,
like hatred from the foaming lips of ignorant right-wingers;
i remember when these words were as natural as the good earth’s minerals,
like the unfamiliar boastings of these self-righteous liberals.

i remember when we looked not to the beaming screen,
for our sense of political understanding;
we knew that understanding is not political–it is white with pride, with envy it is green,
we were too fragile for this party-line handling.

these words speak not of national issues,
nor of headlines flashed on your tv;
these issues are the tears you wipe with tissues,
these words are the headlines that stay within me.

of coffee and condoms is 18 pages. i’m deciding whether or not to end it as it is or lengthen it, maybe to a novella of some sort. i’m trying to then decide what to actually do with it. looking at options for submission.

the story is all in posts before this, but it starts here.

any suggestions would be quite helpful. i’m currently editing it and, in some cases, making subtle plot changes. when it’s done, it might be reposted here in its, or it may be seen on the shelves of your local bookstore.

i’m starting to realize how difficult it is to write a story–it’s a slightly emotionally involved process that is filled with spurts of inactivity and mad blitzes. i wrote the entire second half in one sitting, taking more than a week between some of the other parts.

given a few days, more random in reactions will be posted and returned to.

thanks to those who accompanied me on this exhausting but amazing journey.

thank you for sticking by the troubled and seemingly random transition from one page to another.

i know it’s been a few days since i’ve written, but it feels all so forced of late. time will tell.