Hello all-
a few things to bear in mind regarding my writing and thought process when reading these pieces:
Creatively, I set myself free from a few prior restraints.
I realized last semester while in Paul Bruss’s LITR 360 class that my life is a gigantic postmodern fiasco of the highest (or lowest) order. My family is such a long-term mess that the only way I can really dig into some parts is to write anonymously, or move to the middle of nowhere and cut ties with many of the people I know.
For now, I am choosing a third option; I’m writing and exploring in forms that will help me communicate the deepest parts of the pool I can safely navigate.
As such, I have given myself license to write about dark or grey area subject matter. I was overdue for this, considering my dark past, but I don’t think I was ready until now.
Writing “If it Ain’t Broke, or Even If It Is” was cathartic. I felt as if I was losing my sense of humor in a necessary way when I wrote this piece. I needed to get to a point where my writing was coming from somewhere other than one of two poles- either a) uplifting, motivational disclosure about recovery, or b) light, comedic banter. This bit of micro fiction scratched that itch nicely for me, falling into some other zone, landing softly with a curious tone.
Here, I distanced myself from the tendency to explain everything in full detail. This has been a problem for me with fiction attempts in the past. Only recently have I come to realize that linear plots are an option, not a necessity. All characters don’t have to mature or develop in a sensible manner, and realistic dialogue doesn’t always flow like a Hollywood movie script. I am embracing a style more raw and gritty in an attempt to couple my powers of observation with my imagination to create new avenues of output.
If it Ain’t Broke, or Even if it Is
Well now. I saw a spider web get brushed aside near a doorway at a place where my girl and I stayed a while back. I ran into it once or twice myself before I learned to duck it, but some of the fellas, they came over and had a few and wound up runnin’right into it face first. End up swearing and complaining…it was good for a laugh. Yeah well. I’d say it was about a perfect example of something that’s a lot funnier when it doesn’t happen to you.
Anyway, sometimes the next day or the day after I’d sit out on the porch smoking and notice that spider back up there rebuilding again. I figured he must’ve caught so many flies there that it was worth all the extra work. You gotta understand that this web never lasted more than a few days without getting torn all to shreds one way or another. If Stacey saw it, she went at it with a broom. But mostly it was just the door opening and closing, the wind, and tall drunk guys fucking it up. Can’t forget about them.
Well after a while I noticed one day that it wasn’t there any more- the web anyway. I got curious so I set down my beer and walked over and stood up on my tippy toes and looked into the corner there where the storm door meets the house and all I could see was a little dark tunnel made of web where the spider used to sleep. Shit, I thought maybe he was still in there, taking a vacation. Maybe he caught such a big fly that he was ahead of the game and didn’t need to work for a while. Or maybe he met his match with a mantis or clever bird. But I don’t think that’s what happened. I think something else happened.
What? Well that I do not know. I never ran into another web near that door and I don’t recall ever seeing a spider of the same type anywhere on that side of porch- fat, with a round black body and short legs. He didn’t look too mean to me, just determined, at least for the few months he was around anyway. But yeah, I don’t think he died. Don’t think he moved to another part of my house either. I think maybe he did something else. Maybe he had another solution, something that you or I wouldn’t understand unless we were there in his shoes. Hell, maybe he changed his ways.
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“Happiness Flowers, Silences Grow”, and “Experienced Seeks More” are work in a similar vein; I’m attempting to pry into the subject of alcoholism, recovery, and regret in ways that aren’t simple or conventional. “Happiness Flowers” is a prose/poem hybrid split into two sections/mindsets: before and after. “Experienced” is a single-shot ride from beginning to end, but the rhythm of the content is odd, intentionally unbalanced, searching in an offbeat manner for new ground, looking for change in the past, acknowledging the futility of this at the same time.
Happiness Flowers, Silences Grow
With a ceremoniously long pull, an attitude adjusted
justified by long days, placed in part- near harm
to di-spell the very problem with itself.
Vanquish misery, half of a rebound, priced for
fast living.
Always another new brand game of taste.
Retail chased from reward to rewind
lovely, lively, timely, prideful denial mostly
*was* a high time
ride wretched rocks rightfully off.
sleep end, day to night, on pillow alights a dreamless sign.
Colored label compliments a subtle gleam of bottle neck
so tasteful bonds with fateful, excepting the
ulcerative regret to follow with constant enthusiasm,
a celebratory need.
Tea time.
Another finding. years later. Same face different eyes.
A starker, pressing thorny vine, the slight regard of winter’s bride.
The aging frost of wellness left behind, no taste set unfamiliar
to the tight-fisted memory, mind.
A man might make a daylight sneeze, as new found
freedom settles, startling the hopeless relieved.
With in-bind the length of lies, the skein of
clasping, invisible ties broken
not lost, nor left behind, only a form of being
settled nightly ‘cross an unbound rest
while you were steeping, a breath at last.
A mindful ray of a river’s past to meander,
to remain, to stay alive for interminable
amounts of silver, softer lines.
Experienced Seeking More
Experienced liar seeks truth.
Experienced afternoon indoor shadow seeks soft outside light.
Experienced fire-starter seeks rain squall.
Experienced lazer gun in search of sci-fi battle. Emphasis on ducking and dodging.
Experienced rubber band flinger seeks location help behind couch, no shoot-backs.
Experienced quitter seeks long term solution, emphasis on hope, neatness, and ability to pay bills on time.
Experienced rage seeks peace.
Experienced echo seeks series of corners.
Experienced planet seeks new master race. Renewable energy fans and peace-niks move to the front of the line!
Experienced soloist seeks perfect moment.
Experienced moment seeks appreciative soloist, sympathetic players wanted.
Experienced debtor seeks credit relief. Also searching for general relief from stress, peer pressure, and otherness.
Experienced other seeks place in space.
Experienced friend seeks jumper cable for foundering relationship. Emphasis on ability to take back most of 2007. Time machine operators or wizards would be a perfect fit. Mystics and faith healers please apply elsewhere.
Experienced bleh seeks blah for help fixing grey afternoons and solving early a.m. alarm clock wars. Sheet de-tanglers, coffee makers and storytellers to make mornings memorable appreciated. Jerks need not apply.
Experienced positivity looking for sticky tape, old love letters, and belly laughs to help keep mental and emotional house afloat. If your paint is peeled just right, if you know a place where tall trees sway in the wind, if you meant to be kinder, if that was the wrong number- off by one digit, if you were open to suggestions until the point where your hands started hurting and the headaches began, if you want 1-2 roommates to help split the music, if you get the idea, if you’re ready, I’m in.
Experienced out, looking in. I used to do this thing in the 90’s. Might have lost the ability but still have reliable transportation and tools. Seeking a boss or lover that won’t break me down.
Experienced stoner seeks escape from alcoholic past. Colorado, California, Oregon and pipe dreamers, please move to the head of the line. Pleasant fictions are ok. Cats: purr. Dogs: woof.
Experienced nap wanted for R.EM. and general relaxation.
My Postmodern Swell by L. Hyland 