Spontaneous Reduction

ink and touch

Then I dropped my voice – BOOM – right onto the sidewalk.

A glitter, a spritzing, a spark.  A diffusion and ooze.  It runs out.

Watch it pour along the surface, draining toward sewage.

Voice.  A voice.  My voice.  Sploosh.


All the books I want are priceless.

Those I need – they cost too much.

I am a writer who learns.

I am a learner who writes.

I am a failure that loves.

I am a lover that fails.

It becomes apparent: Yes, I am.  A parent.

The book I am not reading –

Emotions and Understanding

caught in a withdrawal.

That is, boundaried from writing.

Between abstraction, and empathy.

There lies a void, inevitably.

You can’t trust silence.

We rush to fill.

(That distant sound).


I read for conversation.

But Writer says I’m “vague”

(don’t fulfill responsibilities)

Attention.  Integrity.  Inquiry.  Response.


I simply tripped, a clumsiness

[I dropped my voice]

but I am here.

Enmeshed in words but unable.

(metadata lacking)

I’m no librarian.

Vague because I say so.

(my human apparatus little equipped for the overwhelm of data)

Ant in a kingdom

-of words-

of signifiers.

Less than that.

I wrap my brain around it.

Waving goodbye to body.

My voice drops.

Alberto Giacometti sketch of Diego Giacometti



Taking it In

Wandering back over writings from the past year that I have yet to “organize”…I’m running across portions of interest (that I can’t even access to fix typos in now!? having been done on a former computer and transferred/transmuted with missing marks / disintentions, alas) – but something I can do when I’m sick… so I’ll post a few of these and you can weigh in (if you will) with what you think – whether interesting, worth filing away, saving forward and what-not.  Thank you!

press here : Taking It In : press there

Elaborate Organisms (for my wife)

My response to this week’s Friday Fictioneer prompt (thanks Rochelle for the weekly work)

Her Body a Beehive

She lives.  She parents.  She paints.

She has pain.

She walks.  She sees.  She loves.

She speaks and she reaches.  She sleeps.  She weeps.

Occasionally, she laughs.

She thinks.  She feels.  She moves.  She listens.

She eats and drinks.  She works and worries.

She falls.  She goes on.  She fears.  She insists.


You ask me, “how? – all this!”

“Her body is a beehive of batteries – an intricate electrical network flipping switches and adapting to surge, wearing down, sparking up – each neuron, each pulse, each collective oscillation crafting her unique motricity powered with chemicals of emotion, an elaborate and interactive field of energy, an organism.”

She is.

N Filbert 2012