31 October 2007
Written by
Iris Watts Hirideyo (
)
Published on October 31st, 2007 @ 08:55:12 am, using 86 words, 31 views
Sometimes this kind of story turns out to be something more, some glimpse of life that expands like those Japanese paper balls you drop in water and they bloom into flowers and the flower is so marvelous you can’t believe there was a time all you saw in front of you was a paper ball and a glass of water.
(Adaptation)
LIII
Written by
Iris Watts Hirideyo (
)
Published on October 31st, 2007 @ 06:27:54 am, using 182 words, 54 views
I never deliberately learned to read, but somehow I had been wallowing illicitly in the daily papers. In the long hours of church - was it then I learned? I could not remember not being able to read hymns. Now that I was compelled to think about it, reading was something that just came to be, as learning to fasten the seat of my union suit without looking around, or achieving two bows from a snarl of shoelaces. I could not remember when the lines above Atticus’s moving finger separated into words, but I had stared at them all the evenings in my memory, listening to the news of the day, Bills to Be Enacted into Laws, the diaries of Lorenzo Dow - anything Atticus happened to be reading when I crawled into his lap every night. Until I feared I would lose it, I never loved to read. One does not love breathing.
28 October 2007
Written by
Iris Watts Hirideyo (
)
Published on October 28th, 2007 @ 07:12:03 pm, using 221 words, 42 views
Anger and resentment can stop you in your tracks. That’s what I know now. It needs nothing to burn but the air and the life that it swallows and smothers. It’s real though. The fury. Even when it isn’t, it can change you. Turn you. Mold you and shape you into something you’re not. The only upside to anger then is the person you become. Hopefully someone that wakes up one day and realizes they’re not afraid of its journey. Someone that knows that the truth is, at best, a partially told story; that anger like growth comes in spurts and fits, and in its wake, leaves a new chance at acceptance. And the promise of calm. Then again, what do I know? I’m only a child.
People don’t know how to love. They bite rather than kiss. They slap rather than stroke. Maybe it’s because they realize how easy it is for love to go bad. It becomes suddenly impossible, unworkable. An exercise in futility, so they avoid it and seek solace in angst and fear and agression which are always there and readily available. Or maybe sometimes they just don’t have all the facts.
09 October 2007
Written by
Iris Watts Hirideyo (
)
Published on October 9th, 2007 @ 08:02:24 pm, using 55 words, 173 views
Click here to read part I of my post about Jeff Buckley
…for Fabio - whom I ought to leave the singing to.
Currently shattering window panes with a rendition of…
Jeff Buckley - Hallelujah/Grace
03 October 2007
Written by
Iris Watts Hirideyo (
)
Published on October 3rd, 2007 @ 09:51:13 am, using 154 words, 71 views
When nursing a case of writer’s block, let others do the writing (well, singing…) for you
;)
Sometimes, I feel the fear of uncertainty stinging clear.
And I can’t help but ask myself how much I let the fear
take the wheel and steer.
It’s driven me before,
and it seems to have a vague,
haunting mass appeal.
But lately I’m beginning to find that I
should be the one behind the wheel.
(…)
So if I decide to waiver my chance to be one of the hive
will I choose water over wine
and hold my own and drive?
It’s driven me before
it seems to be the way
that everyone else gets around.
But lately I’m beginning to find that
when I drive myself my light is found.
This post is the creative work of Iris Watts Hirideyo and is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 License.
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