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// Monday, June 16, 2014

Things You Never Want to Hear Over a Pilot's Intercom

Things You Never Want to Hear Over a Pilot's Intercom
  1. Whoa, I've never seen that light come on before.
  2. I'll have mine shaken, not stirred.
  3. The twitches come and go, much like the voices in my head.
  4. Man, I'm having the unluckiest day EVER.
  5. Fly over it? Forget that. We're going through it!

Copyright 2014 Christopher V. DeRobertis. All rights reserved.

This text composition is a work of fiction. Names, places, institutions, events, incidents, characters, persons, locations, and/or organizations either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. Full Creative Writing Disclaimer.

// Sunday, June 15, 2014

Today's Tendril...

We are all fragile —
     like an egg in an earthquake,
          or a light bulb in a tornado,
               or a newspaper in a tsunami.

Copyright 2014 Christopher V. DeRobertis. All rights reserved.

// Tuesday, June 10, 2014

Today's Tendril...

"Swallow me whole" — to be consumed by something that is greater than you.

"Swallow me hole" — to fall into something deep and dark, because you weren't paying attention, or because you've become "blind" to the dangers that await.

Copyright 2014 Christopher V. DeRobertis. All rights reserved.

// Tuesday, June 03, 2014

Today's Tendril...

The artist and artistic alike ask, "Why? Why do I have this need to create?"

The answers come quickly:
  • Because it is the soul-stuff
  • Because the "answer" is in the feeling and in the journey, not in the reason and the destination
  • Because the ever present now can melt rainbows and herd storm clouds; move mountains (in the mind); grow roses in a graveyard
  • Because it is the God-light, the ghost-light, and the warmth of dream fires

Copyright 2014 Christopher V. DeRobertis. All rights reserved.

// Sunday, June 01, 2014

A Prayer, of Sorts

O Lord, lead me to the center of a fallow field,
      at the height of summer,
      and let the corn rise around me
           in the blink of an eye.

And when the first snow begins to fall,
      bury my bones beneath a blanket of white,
      leaving only the husks of the last season
           to mark the miracle
                of what had been.

Copyright 2014 Christopher V. DeRobertis. All rights reserved.

This text composition is a work of fiction. Names, places, institutions, events, incidents, characters, persons, locations, and/or organizations either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Full Creative Writing Disclaimer.