Be.

We sampled the future
in echoes of the past,
made is were
before are even was.

Reasonable.

He did a wonderful impersonation of a reasonable man.

Actinic word sequence.

Think.

I often think therefore I frequently am.

Foible.

Do the flaws and failures of those in whom I place trust (they having asked for it) more clearly exhibit their or my own foibles? We want those who purport to be authorities, advisors, friends, to not be hopeless underneath it all; and especially not to leech hypocrisy through a regretfully thin veneer.

Julie.

Alistair, who once won advertising awards and is now constantly anxious, ducks around the corner to smoke a large bowl of crack. Sweating, he returns to his spot on Queen Street and delivers his speech for the 100th time that day. He eyeballs people going about their business. “Our time is up. Do you know who I used to be?” He spits menacingly at all who would avoid his gaze. He used to be the small boy who’d fall asleep with his head on his sister’s lap, he remembers. But Julie was taken away somewhere because dad molested her and Alistair hasn’t seen either of them since.

Drown.

As he lost the ability to concentrate at length, his brain attempted to imbibe information while his spirit drowned in it.

Behaved.

He was unsure if he suffered from Whorfianism (he'd never heard it said); nevertheless he behaved as if he thought he did.

Sentence.

Ventured.

'Nothing ventured, nothing gained', some people liked to say. However, he was at a stage in life where the things he wouldn't get around to doing outnumbered the things he intended to do. He ought to feel unfulfilled. Instead, he feels himself pleasantly unburdened. Nothing ventured, nothing strained.

Ability.

Her ability to self-sabotge was limited only by her lack of confidence that she would do it properly.

Decree.

I don't have delusions of grandeur, she decreed, I have the blueprint for grandeur.

Wrong.

I find you witty, kind, attractive and intelligent, but on all matters regarding what constitutes exemplary writing, wrong, she said to her soon to be ex-publisher.

Asemic continuum.

Prepare.

Walking past a history of mirrors reflecting more than we can see, I check myself (before you wreck my Self); nothing's in place. I look harder and see my hair is ok, my skin is ok, my eyes are not ok so I look down and see my centre is ok and move on. I prepare as best I can for something for which I can never be truly prepared.

Puppets.

Consider the development of philosophical thinking, particularly in humans, and illustrate its significance through the use of shadow puppets. Compare this to other kinds of thinking in other species, contrasting the advancement of dugongs with that of giraffes.

Why.

Why? The cursor winked back at Reece.
Reset. Respect. Rescind. Rhesus.
Why buy the cow when you can get the milk for free?
Why did the chicken cross the road? 
Why try different writing styles to find a voice?


Jacques Derrida: Any number of contending discourses may be discovered within the act of the chicken crossing the road, and each interpretation is equally valid as the authorial intent can never be discerned, because structuralism is DEAD, DAMMIT, DEAD!


Ernest Hemingway: To die. In the rain.


Why? The cursor continued to wink at Reece.
Why would I?
Why what where...?
Why had he questioned her?
Why the long face?
Why all the fuss?
Why me?
Why not?


He'd always had an issue with the biology of the birth. Out of his mother's (his mother's!) vagina. And what sort of conception was it? Dad never offered him this information as a tease, and he didn't ask. Reece would wait until his own son turned 21 and then drop it on him in the speech. "You were concieved during a root of epic proportions. I was off my tree and your mother barely hanging from the branches of hers. It was the morning after a night of clubbing... my sperm must've been tied in knots. No idea how they swam the canal. Ha! Classic!" And then his boy would scull his yard glass. If he had a daughter he'd obviously change it up a little. Oh dear, a daughter. Complex and delicate creatures (females!) the likes of whom he'd barley learned to interact with even at his advanced age.

Actinic word sequence.

Verity.

She had tried to discuss this with her husband, but he waved the conversation aside in his wet non-confrontational way. He was disbelieving that there could be any problems in the Maven household, and flippantly passed a remark ‘at least we know Verity’s not on drugs or hanging with the wrong crowd... she doesn’t seem to have any friends these days!’ And he nervously laughed, realising that not only had he betrayed his daughter, he had neither the integrity nor inner strength to fix it. Underneath the family ideal lay something awkward from which he shied. As far as he was concerned it was a mother-daughter thing... Now if they’d had a boy... then.... he pictured himself passing a rugby ball between father and son and sorting out all the kid’s issues on a Saturday afternoon. Teenage girls were intricate and delicate and... he shuddered.

The timer buzzed on the stove and the thought disappeared with the steam rising from the saucepan of peas on the boil.

Poem.

From the collection '8 poems about me and you.'

9

Back then, if you wanted to, you were going to...

and... or become...

You could easily have... 

or... if you'd preferred.

Not so long ago, you could... or.... or... and... 

if you so desired.

You were even...

if you'd chosen to.

You were to be... or... or... and...

If.

Less than a lifetime ago,

you could do anything you wanted it seemed, 

except retain the ability to see infinite potential in yourself.