This is an impromptu creation inspired by a post on a WordPress blog I enjoy (a tip of my tin hat to Joe, with thanks) (http://www.writewithwarnimont.com/limit-distractions-a-writers-guide-to-minimize-multitasking) regarding ways to avoid distractions when writing. I see it in a variant aspect.
Otherwise. Then, shifting gleans upon the fence, moonlight is nowhere to be seen and the time I have spent, like changing the clocks for dinner, is well to be, or not to be, depending on the flow, y’know? Charge it to the light brigand, high jacking fixtures right out of the sky, leading us astride, riding into the sense hut of tropical island clouds across the darkly sharpened edge of sun lost horizon. Deep, see green, under your curving visual awareness toward infinity, holding the pink-edged clouds at distant reach as they diminish to violet, purple, gray and then gone into the black of the sparkled, nighttime sky. Time to wake up.
Learn. Pay attention its weight in hold, acquire a set space done in assets paced unintentionally, but firm. Carry that load until it aches. Pain is free for the masses, but take no more than your fair share or we’ll hurt you; sign here. Writers cramp another way to avoid the commonplace and hold your breath in a jar, then leave it to prop the door open, letting the window catch the wind to feed you in the meantime. Many other situations do not require water-wings, but we know better than to presuppose the next step isn’t off the plank of our mid-ship shape schooner of liquid adventure, and into the drink. I’ll take it from there. Cheers.
Focus on distractions, unless something else catches your eye and swerves your inattentions out here with me, energetically remaining inert. After a lengthy interned (successfully competed) mission, I am finding myself (before I even got lost) surrounded by visual, aural and (as soon as my chips shoulder free) oral multiplicity within this knew (in advance, but it is still a surprise) establishment from within where I will mark my observational efforts in parlay to your future now. Tap the brew of entertainment on a Friday night sing to the cosmos, as we know them here at home. Song.
More cheer is imbibed and the music picks up pace one step at a time, like a home sliding double play called out on the carpet. Rugged terrain, that. What you believe is up to you according to your perceptions of memory and situation, within the ambience of your personality and, believe it or knot, the looping ropes of fate. Insight outlook: look out, sight in and watch for the lumpy bits. Music, anyone?
Talented yield fingerplucks the heart strings of my mood as it listens to the waves rustling the shoreline sand traps (swinging as if they mean it) like blowing leaves in a colorful painting heard to look sharp against the tropical night sky. There was a hole in one, so we opted for the other, quite missing anything to aim at that warm, old fashioned rhythm heir. With spontaneous dance, young minds bring heart to their close observations of the action, theirs a different view than our own (mine=yours) of the extenuationed circumstances, and experiencing an alternative, over-all perspective. This is partly the result of facing a first time life-experience, partly due to the effervescent energy that froths within them, but mostly because they are so short. I have always looked up to musicians in childish awe, so we must be related in the story line I’m feeding, but I don’t recognize you. Band together and make your own music down on the words you read along here with me, both of us wondering what next said will be, and how to mean it. About average, I’d say. Par: don my field of dreams.
Are you over there yet? I’ve been here waiting for you, biting my time reading myself and making comments as I go. A notion breezes by, as pretty as a smile, and I am rewarded with another round to cycle the wag on strain of this written trail handled missive, hitting you square in the seat of your panacea considerations. I consider, then, that perhaps, if I ask you nicely, you might read this particular sentence, please and thankful. If not, then I won’t mind, but you will never know what your missing finds lost and unknown… it can’t see you anywhere. There?
Wait. Time is not a quick thing to come by, but it can hold its own in a tight squeeze. Barely able to breathe between the lines, I write the left over sighed right on schedule, opposite the other, outside those pesky lines and into the music climbing down the walls of my margins. The live energy is breaking down their fast following evening, repairing themselves to bar up and bare forth to whet their proversatile whistle, tilling the fields of wistful dream. They’ll be back front at the turn. Hear these silent words.
My search for true distraction is off track betting on a sure thing losing trace of the direction I seek to avoid, right over there in front of you. The altar native preys up on the cross referenced deal lemma tagging along like a hop, skip and jump start sack race. You go first. Then, while we pause for you to prepare, the sun passes gas flare ions to rain bow tie, neck and neck at the finish line up down the way, and you come in at last, last. It’s in the bag (with your feet) and looking good. I keep my eye on the light at the end of the funnel channeling me toward oblivion, like the Tin Man doffing his hat to rust ahead of his thoughtless heart. Ashes to ashes and dust to the vacuum cleaner of Life: Time. Are you ready for a mirror? I reflect on this last question and see that my glass is looking full of wonder, and potent shell miss defying aim from singing silver bells and cackled shills will cluck me up. You’re egging me on: yawn gone.
Am I to know Public Confirmation or is this a private party for your ayes own lea to sea and sail? Belabor that, Matey, and shimmy your timbres to overt note a wry, yet ease among the hollowed crowns. Head for the hills, the plane truth (geometry 101) is bucking the trend, and for more or lease the same as it gives. Have you had yours? What gestures are you offering that you encourage return of the same? Give and go, go and give. Back atcha.
Is your hand writing the same as mine is reading? That would be a wrought write writ, right? (Rot.) The end is near (so don’t fall asleep now), thus you might want to back off a bit, just in case the thundered dance rolls too close to the edge of intention and cohesion, falling in to set a sit down strike up the band can’t lip sink from the guttural aisles that swallow our efforts. ( Be a good sport and enjoy the momentumary lane change.) Pinned. Perhaps I could shift and drive a different direction to ward off losing distraction traction, or sit and just let it all fall apart on your own. Don’t worry, be snappy, I’ve got you covered on the downbeat. Reach for the sky in confidence that I’ll rob you of your precious time and give you change in return. Go forth and tee up to strike.
Pot luck, but only if you can bring the desert and leave the driving to the wind. Rocks blow soft and light against the pour saline crystal of my window voice to you. Pardon me… (I’ve got a gravelly throat) while I drift. Help is a quick call away, but the line is bumpy and the operator doesn’t have anyone else to dance with. A quick look yields the floor to the crowding memories of dearly departed years of daze gone to the only recall you know. Remember? Share and shear (all I can image), for tomorrow we may die cast the same stones of opportunity upon the waters of augury to drill press our face to the view in time to see, as luck would have it, fate looking the other way. The results vary. If there were a different inevitability , we’d take it and make it our own. No tag backs.
Someone else’s dream has come to shine on the abjects of my search (have you been looking?), taking them far away from my story and leaving me a loan of this emptied space. If you were here with me, I would set and write about it, but you’re late and I’ve got to fend my owned weigh into the heavy night. Have we reached an accord, is the goal what we found, is there elsewhere to go from where we are bound when we get there? I wouldn’t know, I haven’t been here yet and you are just now catching up. The lack of compatriots thickens down to clear and disappear, as even the band has carried off the wrest of relaxation. I am down to one in this crowded narrative, yet reservations abound and keep my apprehension company, letting lay the land I need to lead (my lined lien) fallow and shorn. That is what comes from looking the other way when you seek distraction, and find it has led you in a rise to the finish, starting under standing rules and recollections. Maybe later, for we have time doubt.