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Friday, March 4, 2011

Edition 6.5

Today we've got just one short publication. A short short, from a friend who calls himself Lars Incorporated. Here it is.

Some nights
by Lars Incorporated

some nights I’ll look up towards the sky and see those three stars of Orion the hunter’s belt. I can see the male with his arm pulling back a bow with all his might, aiming with all his concentration on some young wild thing in the forest. I see this image for a second, but I like to replace it with a dancer, arms stretched out towards their limits, on one leg, the other almost parallel to the ground. I can’t see her face, because its craned away from me, the strain of sinews and tendons in her neck telling me more about her than a simple face could. Its on those nights when I’m likely to stay outside for hours, smoking more cigarettes than are good for me and remembering when I almost drove us into that gigantic pile of hay in my father’s old truck. Or when I told you I was looking for something better than all of this. With you gone it almost seems like I can begin to live my life, but then I hear a story here, and see a postcard from you at a friends house, and I rage silently for a little while, and that’s what drives me out here on these nights. Outside with my bottle cradled between my legs, either on top of the barn or just outside, leaning against the cracked paint walls, where I can see the whole field and there aren’t any trees to block my view of the sky. I whisper to myself first, sometimes singing softly and finding new ways to throw my voice against the thickness of cold night air. After about half the bottle, though, I start a conversation. I ask the first mouse I see if he’s heard your thundering footstep around anywhere. He hasn’t, I figure, since he just keeps on towards the safety and warmth of the haystacks inside. I try to test the high wispy clouds, hovering next to the moon as if for warmth, but really out of loneliness, clouds like to stick together on land because every one of them spends a lonely summer at sea. I shout up, so they hear me, and ask if they’d floated in from bigger cities on their way to relax out here, and if they’d seen anything of you, and if you were doing fine. That’s what gets me the most. By the near end of the bottle I know. The clouds look back and start, silently, to float away, first in front of the moon, shining brighter than they ever could on their own. They have, and they’re going back to your glow. It’s too dark out here for them, and they don’t like the smallness of this town. I shout up to them once more, asking them to give you my love, but they just keep slowly floating on, because they know, just as I, you’d never accept those regards.

Lars Incorporated is a collective of authors from the New Mexico and Arizona area, focusing on internalization of geographical alignment struggles, ie, acclimation to the New American Climate.


On a different but similar note. We've found another blog to recommend to you readers (whoever you are). 
It's a small blog where the author posts once in a while a story of 299 words or less. "Anything else is waste," he says. Hopefully you'll like it, hopefully he'll submit to us once or twice or 299 times.

check it out. tell us we're not sharing good writing.

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