Tag: love
Blog Posts / Random / Writing

Time

- by Typewriter Fox

Time is such a weird thing. And 18 months is the current manifestation of that peculiarity. It simultaneously seems like both a lifetime, and the blink of brown eyes crying in an Indiana kitchen. 547 some days. A whisper over 13,000 hours.   But even that isn’t a guarantee. Because I learned a long time ago to never trust the white-coated math. In a way, I guess it makes sense. Because even our arrival times are imprecise. So why should our departure dates be any different? Born into broken water, we leave amongst the tears of others. Adhering to some imprecise system. One based on patterns I’m not sure my pickled monkey brain will ever comprehend. Because I can barely be trusted unsupervised with a tube of …

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Blog Posts / Random / Writing

Probing Uranus

- by Typewriter Fox

I am not sure I will ever understand why things tend to get weird around this time of year.  Maybe it’s the turn in weather away from the arctic nothingness. That seasonal pivot towards the mushy in-between time. Maybe it’s the fact that the days are getting noticeably longer. Or perhaps it’s the lingering threat of springing into some as yet unknown direction. But something is triggering all this seasonal uncertainty. There are too many variables left lurking. Too many unanswered questions; too many chances to take another wrong turn. Too many tests still left to take. And too fucking many important things yet to be said.  So I have to be careful. It had been a typical mittened Monday night spent kicking uncooperative 517 metal …

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Blog Posts / Random / Writing

Soldier Mode

- by Typewriter Fox

Through a hundred-proof crack of fatigue, I slipped. Revealed a rare glimpse of my bruised humanity. Briefly opened the split curtains of emotional camouflage. Raged openly in a measured overnight temper tantrum.  I threw up honest words. All the way across an ocean. The words not often accessible to those of my gender. Or station. But I wrote them all the same. Then I collapsed, exhausted and exposed, into another night of 517 nothingness.  Alone. But weakness isn’t allowed. Not for those whose destiny it is to provide, anyway. The ones responsible for protecting the weak. The silent guardians of righteous intentions. The stoic peacekeepers of emotional equilibrium. The ones tasked with the difficulty of building a new world from nothing. Only to be rewarded with …

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Blog Posts / Random / Writing

Fireball

- by Typewriter Fox

Pushing hard east on Michigan Avenue. Fireballing through traffic lights. The burn in the gut helping to burn down everything else. Because it is the kind of night to not really give a fuck. Just like every other night in these godforsaken flyover fields. The compulsion is always to put things with things. Even when there isn’t a handle to hold. Or a viable exit strategy. If I’ve learned anything over the years, it is that there is always something else left to lose. So it’s always a scramble to maintain some semblance of a grip. But everything eventually slips away anyway. Behind spinning tires lingers the stink of tin monsters. Those temperamental, dual-engined beasts. The ones nightly vomiting out “need it right the fuck now” …

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Blog Posts / Random / Writing

Deer Prints

- by Typewriter Fox

It has been nearly impossible developing original language. Finding fresh explanations. Breaking new words to better fit old desires. Capturing the code of communication between us.  Words can just be tricky that way. But I still had to try. Language remains the only bridge between where we were and where she is destined to go. Because we were in very different places. Even though we were walking there together.  We started at the park. The one where we used to meet. Years ago. In the before times. Back when life wasn’t this fucking complicated. She confessed to wanting to find her spot. And expressed her gratitude that her favorite fox, the one sporting an alarming amount of grey in his fur, was there to help her. …

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Blog Posts / Random / Writing

My Immortal

- by Typewriter Fox

“Please, Fox. Don’t let me fall.” Her voice nearly broke in six words. She sounded small. Somehow younger. It was almost like I blinked. And in that fractured splitting of a second, the fearless powerhouse of a woman with whom I was so familiar had morphed into a defenseless little girl. The worst possible magic trick imaginable. And I didn’t know what the fuck I was I supposed to do with that request. It triggered a familiar “soldier mode.” That almost clinical shutting down of emotion. Because at that moment, she needed me to be brave. And I refused to disappoint her. The entirety of her tribe wants her to fight. To accept the invasive treatments not guaranteeing anything beyond maybe a little more time. And …

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Blog Posts / Random / Writing

Winter Solstice

- by Typewriter Fox

It was a beautiful and terrible day. Maybe it was the tired snow still blanketing a 517 indifference. Maybe it was the lingering resentments leftover from the before times. But there was an intrusive sense that something in the long loneliness of this winter had shifted. And I didn’t know which direction to expect next. After a period of dormancy, we connected again. Schedules aligned unexpectedly, demanding impulsive investment. Her state or mine, the details didn’t matter. We had to capture the moment. So I took the hit and made the run south along the frozen expanse of familiar roads. We walked. Hand in hand across the barrenness of an open field. Wind kissed exposed skin, turning it red amongst a background of more durable greys. …

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Blog Posts / Pandemic / Random / Writing

Day 78: A Hug That Changed The World

- by Typewriter Fox

After a long weekend of participating in the protests still surging strong here in the City of Wayne, I knew that yesterday it was time to be a somewhat responsible adult and to try and tackle some of my day job responsibilities.  I promised myself that if I accomplished that, then I would after treat myself and head to the north part of the city to hit that new pub that had recently opened.  That would allow me the opportunity to tackle either some long-ignored editing chores, or if I was perhaps lucky enough, to maybe bang out a few new words.  Because yes, I compulsively take my typer with me everywhere I go. But more than anything, I wanted to enjoy a few pints properly …

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