transience

Attempt at Entrepreneurship

My friend Katy and I have been wanting to start a literary blog for a couple years now, and are finally both in Modesto, with the time and drive to get it going.

Introducing Inklings Journal.

I will still blog here at megankhansen, but Inklings will sometimes feature my writing, as well as Katy's and many others'.

You can click to "follow" to keep up with the latest weekly posts, starting next Tuesday.

Hope you like it!

Take Heart 2

I'll leave you for a little while, just to let you know that I was here. Really real, just as you thought, but not as you thought. And by leaving, I'll be staying, and then staying forever, I'll be away for a little while, but only to come back again and stay, not to go, as there is truly no place to go, though it appears as being gone, having left, changed and so on. Your watch is watchful but will not tell you what time it is or will be or has been and in a little time unwatched, watch for me and I'll have been gone but never away and where you are, and were, and is, and am, and will be, will be watched and unwatched all at once and I'll be there.

Take heart

She was always telling people to "take heart" and never thought to wonder what it meant until the day she slipped off into a willowy wood and found herself floating among purple flowers and saw a glistening lily pad drift by holding a dragonfly that was lying motionless with it's blue body bent up like a pile of pick-up sticks. Silently she gasped for air and went under and stayed.

I followed you until

I followed you until my sandals turned to paper and my feet to flesh, and sleeping always at dark, as I do, I watched all day. But you sleep curiously all day long, never thinking about the solitude and the beauty of the net of fireflies in the comforting new moon.

Sitting / Standing

Sitting above a giant's bucket overflowing with clouds thinking these will be the best, quietest years, tasting yellows and greens and spilling thoughts out loud.

Couldn't hold a hand, to see the sign. Standing up straight underneath that bright grey light--just standing there delicately balanced, calculating breaths. That would be the function of all things--being whole, blameless.

break

I don't have time for the whining blog I have floating around in my head--and I'd rather not record it anyway. But here is a poem by e e cummings which may or may not make any sense but is nice nonetheless:

you shall above all things be glad and young.
For if you're young, whatever life you wear

it will become you;and if you are glad
whatever's living will yourself become.
Girlboys may nothing more than boygirls need:
i can entirely her only love.

whose any mystery makes every man's
flesh put space on;and his mind take off time

that you should ever think, may god forbid
and (in his mercy) your true lover spare:
for that way knowledge lies,the foetal grave
called progress,and negation's dead undoom.

I'd rather learn from one bird how to sing
than teach ten thousand stars how not to dance.