Jingle

This is what I see as I screech this joyride. I take a photo because I prefer Icelandic volcanic fissures to insurrectionist presidents or atmospheric rivers with their attendant storm water floods.

I’ve copy and pasted manifold eons there and here to improve the deadbeat dad memories that flood back at inopportune moments.

Once I migrate the last 14 moonlights I remember, the visitations will commence—mostly in Spanish. I’ll hit the “return” key multiple times and achieve cursory appreciation from vignette to mutation. Then hit “archive.” 

That’s it!

Jingle for sedatives at your own risk.

Fill every winter solstice with short affirmations about the shortest day of the year. 

Mark the shortest day with long monologues full of lengthy obloquies and interminable microfictions. 

In this way mark the beginning of the end, the end of the beginning, and the middle of the muddle.

(This meaningless and meandering short point of meretriciousness … meh!)

What I’m Reading:

I try not to dispense imperatives. All my advice contradicts itself.

— Elizabeth McCracken / A Long Game: Notes on Writing Fiction