Flagragation - pressure increase in an engine's cylinder when the piston rises to compress the mixture as it begins to combust. Or, as I like to define it, the run-off of a creative mind given freedom to torture the soul it lives in.
Thursday, July 31, 2014
7/30/14
I have a paper due today, so I edited and re-edited it in my mind all night long. That's enough of a nightmare, thank you.
Wednesday, July 30, 2014
7/29/14
Last night's crop:
One moment I was sipping coffee, the next I was lying on the ground in pain. A bomb has exploded. My leg is mangled. I manage to put a tourniquet around the leg to stop the bleeding, but I only had one shirt. A stranger came to help me. I asked for his shirt so I could apply another tourniquet lower on my leg, just above the knee. Why, he asked? "So if I lose the leg I don't lose the knee, it will be easier for a prosthetic then."
A woman had a seizure, a really bad one. She began screaming, but the sound was unlike anything I ever heard. Taken to the hospital, the sound was recorded. They found the noise was the combination of many languages being spoken at once. They separate the different languages on a computer until they can decipher a few of the messages. They are all saying the same thing - "The gate to Hell is open."
One moment I was sipping coffee, the next I was lying on the ground in pain. A bomb has exploded. My leg is mangled. I manage to put a tourniquet around the leg to stop the bleeding, but I only had one shirt. A stranger came to help me. I asked for his shirt so I could apply another tourniquet lower on my leg, just above the knee. Why, he asked? "So if I lose the leg I don't lose the knee, it will be easier for a prosthetic then."
A woman had a seizure, a really bad one. She began screaming, but the sound was unlike anything I ever heard. Taken to the hospital, the sound was recorded. They found the noise was the combination of many languages being spoken at once. They separate the different languages on a computer until they can decipher a few of the messages. They are all saying the same thing - "The gate to Hell is open."
Tuesday, July 29, 2014
They Always Come at Night
I have a creative mind. I like it most of the time.
When I go to bed at night the leash I keep on my dark thoughts slips off and my mind bombards me with torturous thoughts and images. I'm hoping that by releasing them here I can save myself the demented replays later.
Last Night's Crop:
My husband and I are on the beach. We are in our sixties. He gives me a hug and in releasing him, I feel a lump. I know what this means. Do I tell him the cancer is back, or do I ignore it and hope against hope it is something else?
We are on the train to Chicago. I have the window seat, he has the isle. We are talking, laughing, minding our own business. A man approaches, and before he passes us he stabs a knife into my husband's chest. It's a kill shot, his vacant eyes stare at me as I scream.
My sister is 8 months pregnant. I am picking her up from the airport. A pick-up truck full of rednecks does not stop. They run my sister over, the back tire going over her swollen belly. The baby is expelled, trapped in the leg of her pants. I can't see it, but I can see the blood. I can do nothing to save it.
When I go to bed at night the leash I keep on my dark thoughts slips off and my mind bombards me with torturous thoughts and images. I'm hoping that by releasing them here I can save myself the demented replays later.
Last Night's Crop:
My husband and I are on the beach. We are in our sixties. He gives me a hug and in releasing him, I feel a lump. I know what this means. Do I tell him the cancer is back, or do I ignore it and hope against hope it is something else?
We are on the train to Chicago. I have the window seat, he has the isle. We are talking, laughing, minding our own business. A man approaches, and before he passes us he stabs a knife into my husband's chest. It's a kill shot, his vacant eyes stare at me as I scream.
My sister is 8 months pregnant. I am picking her up from the airport. A pick-up truck full of rednecks does not stop. They run my sister over, the back tire going over her swollen belly. The baby is expelled, trapped in the leg of her pants. I can't see it, but I can see the blood. I can do nothing to save it.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)