TWITTER   |   About   |   Poetry   |   Short Stories   |   Prose Poetry   | |   Essays/Opinions   |   Reviews  
and the rest is history sort of......DAVID EIDE.COM








Reflections at night when the dark is good and we see further. A short meditation.
"A silent conjunction between what one thinks and what has been thought."


Brief Tales on a Whim.
There is nothing more pitiful than the storyteller without his stories.


Meditations on the 60th Anniversary of Hiroshima What would the end of the world entail? Do we boast that we can imagine such a thing?


3 short stories. $3


In the apprenticeship period hopes are high.
"But then, who will save us from our own crimes?"



The manuscripts are under $8.

The Mud Hut Dialogs


Visit Sunoasis Writers Network

To go directly to the Network, try it out, sign-up ENTER HERE.

If you want to read a summary of what the Network is about and how it can be used by you and your friends, ENTER HERE.


At the base bottom of secular or religious intolerance, especially from those who say, “we know,” is a gigantic lie which discredits most of their outlook.

Who truly knows understands how complex and contradictory life and history are. What one looks for is the experience of the whole, first, and then happy curiosity that keeps opening windows and doors from every imaginable angle. Isn’t there a pride in freedom that demands this?

“Define your little piece of territory but let me pass to the whole.”

Freedom permits us to discover on our own what is and what is not.

When a person believes they are perfect or that they have no need of humble wisdom or that they can think their way out of any situation and they fear nothing, they are one foot away from an abyss that happily swallows them.

It is the shadow that says, “no shadow exists, it’s all made up by psychiatrists.”

It is other shadows who come leaping around the fallen one to keep him pinned down. They howl most vociferously when the sun begins to emerge from the shadow.

But then it seems to happen on an ancient island a thousand dreams ago. And the dim figures no longer disturb the shadow so it flits around like a cape in the light.

“Oh unhappy nightmare, vanish into the eye of God.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Life in all its barren rage; we see it. It chills us from the fruits of a good life, a healthy life.

It's when the hooks and chains of others has hauled you from the center of the treasure; its heart.

How deeply-dumb, how deeply-down it all goes.

We climb nonetheless; yes, we climb and the air gives us that beautiful forgetfulness necessary in any splendid life.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

And so yes it was less complicated but the focus made the wide pictures sing, dreadful as everything was. And you loved it all but then it passed quickly and before long you were thinkin’ one hour at a time and staring out into traffic or farmland. I loved it all. But it is sad not to have power and to see the world mangled by human stupidity. We did the best we could with what we had.

Intrigues in the beginning set everything off!

There are structures not-us but closer than our own heart beat.

“Yes, you saw the right opportunities and went for them. You were punished but in the end it works out. Put it all in.”

“You had to be one among ‘em and then all among all without telling a soul.”

Trying to track everything flying away from the dead center. Laughter!

Go to the Writing Life Archive.