v personal literary writing literature poetry short stories essays


  TWITTER   |   About   |   Poetry   |   Short Stories   | Mud Hut Dialogs   |   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 farther. 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.


Out here all is possible. It is not chaos it is a puzzle of ingenious order. Now, the Earth was almost simple in its organization and that is why I came back to it so often. It was an old comfort. A light in a cabin that you are returning to after a long hunt in the icy woods. The definition held the key in understanding how to be liberated from it. It was not meant to be suffered although it was perfectly human to suffer it. It was a puzzle. It led away from the desire to possess it with the brain but to go on to greater puzzles and finding indescribable keys. Old Earth and its systems! I heard myself laughing. Old Earth and its predictability! And how I had stood under it and the goodness, the rightness of it swept over me and fingered my mind and made me move. Then it is in you, a billion years' worth never fixed but in you with a powerful urge to feel all up and down its contours. Nineteen thousand colors crossed with one thousand varieties of wind. And whispers, yes I remember those whispers about the odd shapes deep in the valley I would find on a long night when the glow of the moon was like an excited eye.

Well, we mature into a marvelous unstructured state and meet the challenge.

* * * * * * * *

I did not forget the words on Earth, they were all around me. God made them, I made them, they made them. And flying through them massaging me as I went they reminded me of all I took with me, all I treasured, a core, a fuel. Old word, first leverage toward the bleak ocean!

Dissipating images into the field of some playful nothingness; a trail of laughter. Up/down; in/out.

Return to the More Serializations

Go to the Space from the Beginning