After Dark

 The thing about the dark isn’t the unknown or the strange noises.

It’s not about your imagination running wild or your heightened sense of danger.

No – wait, yes, it is.  It’s all those things.

 

Forget what I just said.

We are the intruders

 There is an entirely different reality taking place within my peripheral vision. The majority of the things I think I see get dismissed as imagined, and yet I know what I saw.  There are people walking by, there are spirits traveling without ever touching the ground.  If I didn’t ignore all of this activity I would be forever saying excuse me, pardon me, hey watch it.  I believe there is more to this place than gets explained by science.  Our realm of understanding has obvious limits.  We are not privy to everything taking place in all rooms at the same time, and I doubt it is a code we can break, although technology has come close.  The invention of the camera has, on some occasions, given shape to things unseen prior to viewing the photograph.  Sound recordings have stepped into that other world, if only briefly. It is us intruding on them.  Perhaps during those times, we are the ones passing at the edge of their reality.

City Walk

 My mind comes along on walks with me.  It doesn’t seem to matter where, it could be a stroll through town or a hike out in the country – no matter where, there it is thinking its thoughts, rambling on and on about something.

I really should have it on a leash.  It has been known to snag an idea and just run with it.  Eventually it will find its way back, but who knows what it has picked up along the way, and suddenly I find myself back at the car and can’t remember anything I’ve seen.

One of these times I’m going to leave it at home and just go by myself.

We Never Close

 Although not shunned from the herd I have removed myself from Facebook and all social media avenues.  For me life takes place elsewhere. 

This blog is the only door I have left open.  I have placed mental synapses along the shelves in every room and visitors are free to walk about, even after hours.  The door is never locked.

Some day I'm hoping to add soft background music with little virtual dishes of snacks here and there for your enjoyment.

Hindered, however, by my own technological ineptitude I must wait for assistance before accomplishing that.

You'll find no ropes or stanchions, no security guards or surveillance cameras. 

Enjoy your stay.  Wander as far back in time as you like.

I'll wait here.

The Cover Story

 A book has to grab me by the first or second sentence or I bail.   If it sounds too far-fetched, goofy or stupid I’m outta there.   Lists are another thing that will chase me off.  I don’t mind if the main character walks into an antique shop, but the minute they start describing everything they see, I’m gone.  They are just trying to fill pages.  To me, that’s not writing.

 

Even though I’m not supposed to judge a book by its cover, it is the cover that causes me to pick it up to begin with.  I expect the reason that adage has survived so long is that 99% of the time, after inspecting the first page, I set the book down and move on.

 

I don’t recommend this process, as I am sure I have missed out on some good stories by bailing too soon.  On a more positive note, I have enjoyed some sentences to the point of writing them down, just so I could read them again at some later date to enjoy them all over again.

 

Examples:

 

“In the chilly hours and minutes of uncertainty…”     

(Bob Dylan)

 

“His shoes wore the fragrance of well-traveled leather…” (Allison Hoover Bartlett)

 

Dark whispers skulk through rooms like silent shadows moving along baseboards, avoiding the light of day.   Dangerous allegations that, properly illuminated, would never raise an eyebrow in darkness tend to find the fertile soil of shallow minds.                

(Z. Corwin)

 

 *******

Listed under the Not Impressed category:

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.

Make up your mind people.

A tale of two cities.

Pick one moron,  then write a second book.  What's the matter with you?

The Old Man and the Sea.

Spoiler alert!

Facial Recognition

 

That is one of the apps on my smart phone.  According to it, I’m nowhere to be found.  I don’t know if I’ve said something to upset it, but when it looks at me, it just blinks inquisitively, like it is trying to place me but just can’t.

Did we go to school together?  Were you in one of my classes?

“No, you stupid phone.  It’s me.  You know, the guy who pays the bill every month.”

Still, there is nothing, no reaction.

Then again, maybe I don't really exists.  Maybe I am a figment.  It's possible.  Maybe I'm your figment.

Think about it; you don't recognize my face, you've never heard my voice...  How do you know?  

I am simply a blog in the universe named Zobostic Corwin.
Like Orion or Cassiopeia, I hang around for you to occasionally see.  

Instead of being comprised of dust and gasses, my makeup is of vowels, adjectives, and consonants, with an occasional comma streaking across the dark paragraph.

It comes with Age

 There was a time

I had a full door of knocks.

In my youth

some went unanswered.

Oft times

my phone would boil over with rings.

The wind has since

carried old age into my house.

Suddenly,

it seems so quiet.