-Writings-

-The Man In The River-

by boaay (blake) 2023

  The man in the river just stared in you, not at you. he wasn't even looking towards you after all. his head was cocked to the side looking downwards at the river soil as he often does. despite that you have just arrived to the river, it felt like you have already overstayed your welcome. but the man in the river did not want you to leave. he has a bone to pick with you after all. of corse he did not tell you this with words, nor with hand gestures. the man in the river cant do that, hes dead after all. no, he told you with a gust of cold wind. a sudden burst of harsh icy wind summoned up against your back. hes kind of pissed at you and your silly hat. perhaps its because you secretly wanted to seal one of his many sharp pretty fishy lures that were embedded in his tree branch, but he wouldnt have known that, right? all you know is that its better to listen to him.

  you stay and plant your feet at the river bank edge. waiting patiently for the man in the river as little itzy bitzy dot bugs hop around your silly soiled shoes. the man in the river clearly has smelt the copper coins that rested in your pocket. he wont let you leave the river unless you part with them. how else will the man in the river pay for his tree branch. its the only thing that keeps him propped up and from being swepped away by the roaring river. but you dont like the man in the river. hes smelly and stinky, he has way too much river moss growing and dangling from his arms and face. his skin is way to pale and bloated to be accepted to any formal ball.

  why does the man in the river get to call all the shots. how is he even going to take your only two copper coins from you. both of his skeletal hands are long gone. pecked and consumed by passing crows decades ago. leaving nothing but bone stubs. the man in the river sits there for a bit. his teal tattered clothes strands swaying in the cold wind, but he ultimately doesnt rebuttal to your comments. but the copper coins wants to be with the man in the river. it may be your money but the coins desire always wins in the end. you reach in you pocket and toss out the last two copper coins at the man in the river. one lands in his agaped mouth while the other land in hes left eye socket. what a nice shot. not a single coin fell in the river. you shouldn't be surprised. you where known for your coin tossing skills after all.

  the man in the river seemed pleased. with that a loud crack and snap was heard under the water. the man in the rivers branch started to lean as the branch detached from the bottom of the river bed. the man in the river, attached to the branch, gets swept away by the river. floating down the water before disappearing around a bend and behind the tullies. the wind seems to follow the man in the river as for wind slows and leaves. then the air warms back to its expected summer heat. the sounds of bugs buzz and birds moo appear once again. the man in the river has greatfully given you the allowance to wade across his river. what a kind young gent that man in the river he is. you take his offering and wade tru the rushing water. the water is much slower then it looks and its turns out to be peach easy walk across to the other bank. you continue your forward pace pushing past the tullies and into the rest of the forrest. you start to think about your whole lack of money. i mean how else are you going to pay for the bird feed now?

-Friend Socks-

by boaay (blake) 2024

  The sparkle hanging in the air, floated and flared back and forth. drifting for and against the summer wind. It seemed it wanted an exorbitant amount of attention. however, once the dastardly knife was finally and joyfully trusted into the poor old goats belly the sparkle stopped its rhythmic swinging, and seemed to stare at its friend and start to jitter. then as the blood ran off the hilt of the blade, the sparkle lost its frantic dance, paused, and abruptly fell down like a stone, and as it neared the soil, its shine withered as the sparkle faded away, and would never appear from there on forth.

-Red Dwelling-

by boaay (blake) 2024

  the blurry impression of an impossibly eye-bleedingly bright red dwelling centers itself comfortably upon your vision in the far near distance. it sits along side a bedding of hot green grass lined with parallel white fencing that lead you directly in two directions. forwards and behind. of course, which direction is forewords requires remembering where you came from, which has been made impossible after spinning and spinning in place from a panic. not even the surroundings lend any sort of hint of directionality. left and right, of course, are just empty infinite fields of the same rolling grass. the grass, looking fresh and dapper, not a single patchy spot in sight nor ever been in sight, in fact you have never seen disheveled patch grass anywhere and especially not here.

  not even that house seems to be helpful, as always, it fallows you like how the moon fallows and now matter where you go its always that same distance, just along the horizon. fed up and tired of your emotions, you reach out and start to glide your hand along the white fence and fallow it in one of its directions, not knowing if you are heading to back where you just came from or wondering out farther then ever before. that is if you came from any where at all, remembering isn't your strong suite and probly never will be so lets just hope that this fence will be a kind guide today and not lead you to a path of lost control like how you lose control every time.

  you walk slowly with your head staring at your hand as it slides along the top of the oddly smooth wooden fence beam, and watch as your hand leaps over every post of the fence every 4 feet rhythmically, and with the pitter patter of your scuffed shoes striking the dry dust dirt it forms a type of beat that almost makes a song. this fence is so smooth and soothing...

  but why is this fence so smooth anyhow, hasn't this stinken fence been outside for years? decades? perhaps even forever as far as you know? but this endless perfectly repeating fence doesn't seem weathered in the slightest, and if this was any other fence, a gaggle of splinters would have lovely already have embed themselves in your squishy palm from just the first beam. i mean does this place even get any weather? the temp is perfectly unnoticeable and the wind is so slow that you dont feel it. anyhow, you dont even notice that the dirt is getting wetter and the shy sky is darker and darker till its dusk. you dont even remember seeing a sun out when it the sky was blue but regardless if it was there before its for sure gone now. even still that perfectly placed temp doesn't change, still not to hot nor to cold despite it being dark. this land is haunting but it doesn't tell how and why its haunting.