pondering: Clean

Whenever I thirst for water, there is one little tap I have always trusted. It is no ordinary tap water that flows from this tap, no (never anything so ordinary for an esteemed subject of Suburbia). The flow of common pedestrian water is redirected and filtered through six tanks, each roughly the breadth, width, and weight of a brick. Sand as fine as flour is skimmed away (in enough quantities it colors water a transparent amber) and chemicals I have never known are eradicated like any dodo bird or tasmanian tiger you may have ever seen. Six stages of purification and cleansing produce water (tasting of nothing, if that is possible) that flows through a precisely engineered tap that every morning gets licked and sucked upon by my cat.

I tell my dad this as he pours himself a glass one day, but he only shrugs and drinks it regardless. After a moment of reflection and a brief sigh, I quickly follow.

caprice: Pursuit

He runs and runs and runs. He is pursued, but he is not afraid. He runs simply because he must. He runs fast, and he runs hard. He does not tire, nor does he slow. He has no name, for he was only moments ago born from the terrible heat of fire. It was fire that gave him his strength; fire hardened his flesh and gave him life. He is not human, but his pursuer is. His pursuer is getting tired. His pursuer looks down on our little man, for he is a giant in comparison. Our friend looks back and only giggles derisively. His pursuer looks infuriated. They run and run and run. As of yet, their distance has neither waxed nor waned, but now the distance grows. The man grows tired, but his rage urges him on his chase. Though he is larger and longer legged, the little one is swift of foot and he laughs devlishly as he flees. The pursuant man stops, and he sees his prey turn, still running, and shout back at him: Run, run, run as fast as you can. You can't catch me...

caprice: This is how the blog starts

This is how the blog starts. With a sentence or two. All works of writing have to start like this, with a few sentences and a vague idea. With time, that idea will be refined and more sentences will be added, but for now, this is what is here. We don't claim to be great writers, or even good writers, but we write, and that is enough. Our subjects may seem trivial or occasionally profound, but everything we write is original. We do not write in order to achieve a certain purpose. We write to write. Also, there is no prescribed format or style of writing for articles on this blog. Some articles may be written in simple prose; sometimes we may share a story, true or untrue. Occasionally we may lapse into poetry, or perhaps some perverse, rough form of verse (we do not claim to be poets). Some entries may be revised and edited many times before being posted, some may be raw stream-of-conscious writing. Again, we do not claim to be good writers. We only work to present ideas in our own fashion. This, my friend, is how the blog starts.