My Friend that made More

I’ve become acquaintances with a spider outside my house-one that’s made a home. A spider I’ve gotten to know on the nights I feel most alone. Striped with signs of poison-most would only recognize its danger. And yet even that sort of knowledge fails to convince me that we’re strangers. I’ve kneeled too many times-motioning the censored lights to obey my will. One night I even witnessed my eight legged friend mummify his kill. I watched the prey as it spun-an intricate web of life and death. The venomous nature of my acquaintance should have subtracted me of my breath. But kneeling there inspecting the web-I thought of my life today and how it was before, How could I possibly feel anything but respect for a spider that just arrived and has already made something more?

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On Writing

Handing a person a pen and paper eliminates the mundane boundaries of everyday conversation. There is no longer the need for routine dialogue. No one cares-or pretends to care about the weather. Even the bar regulars, when given the chance won’t pretend that the craft beer is what brought them there. All it takes is a blank piece of paper and a bit of silencing the world to influence writing. Regardless of what one has learned, writing is not a sport solely for the creative. It is, and has been for centuries, a pracitce for those that feel more and are heard less. That fact alone proves pen and paper the most suitable of tools to define humanity.

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Thanking the Fog

Tonight I drove home on a familiar road that I rarely travel. The fog was so thick I found myself squinting to make out those yellow lines that dance permanently across the pavement despite a weatherman’s forecast. While tiring my vision, an endless canvas of gray interrupted my attempt to focus on anything that wasn’t a couple feet ahead of me. Now this may be inaccurate, but I’m assuming most people drove home tonight cursing that fog. The reason I assume this may be true is because they were forced to be cautious of their instincts despite the familiarity of direction. Driving home tonight, amongst other things, I thanked the fog for understanding.

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