words caffeinated


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to steal away

thoughts whispers touch. and scent, even still. a glass of wine to remind me a little, as we were. sitting quietly conversation shy glances. and smiles. it feels almost forever, but not. and the gorgeous sky reminds me, so blue and crisp. it’s as if we owned the stars even, as if we owned the trees and the wind and the rustling whirling close. dreams and truths. as if they existed for us alone, tempting wishing for us to steal away.

to steal away, yes. for a little while.


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Conference Call Doodles

I endlessly doodle when on conference calls, which is way, way too much of my time. And then a few years ago I watched a TED Talk about how doodling actually increases our focus on what is being said. See here https://www.ted.com/talks/sunni_brown?language=en

Here are some of my conference call doodles. Anyone else a doodler?


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Breaking Off Bits of Other People’s Lives

A man scribbles on a notepad on the other side of the courtyard, his long, uncombed hair held back loosely in a colorless ribbon. He’s probably waiting for the train, distractedly looking up from his task now and then to peer down the tracks. It doesn’t appear to be words on his notepad– drawings of some kind. He abruptly puts the notepad down and takes a drink of water from a small bottle, never noticing the people around him.

Our tour guide yesterday was interestingly strange. He enjoyed using the words and phrases, “Indeed,” “partake,” and “If I may.” He wore sandals where his large, wrinkled toes jutted out from them, trudging along as he showed us around the campus grounds. Shiny white teeth glared out of his dark face when he smiled. A sincere, embracing smile as he enjoyed himself walking us around.

My music is too loud, as usual, driving to buy another pack of cigarettes. A boy walks on the sidewalk– not walks, but instead dances– his earphones on and his arms being thrown out in erratic disarray. Uncaring of the others walking the same sidewalk or the cars passing, his mouth moving with the lyrics of a song, dancing… dancing.

A young girl on the subway mouths the words to a book as she reads, ignoring the cramped bundles of bodies surrounding her. I can see she has braces, glinting now and then as she stumbles over a word. Her ears face outwards, giving her a waifish, almost elven look. The subway stops quickly, causing our suitcases to fall over, and she looks up and watches us a while. Breaking off bits of each other’s lives.


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Blank Pages

Sometimes I leave pages in notebooks blank. One, two, three or eight. I think they must need to be that way. To not have words written on them. As if it were somehow just the way it should be.

And then, sometimes, in need of scratch paper to write down the date and time of a hair appointment, or to scribble a phone number, or maybe a grocery shopping list; I find these pages, tear them out.

I wonder, though, what happens to those empty spaces in the notebook that were meant to be there. Those pauses, those separations. I wonder if the words that were once apart by a single blank page then meet. If they say hello.