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July 27, 2005
Volume 4, Issue 27
The theme for the day is the word wind.
The Eschatologist: Dreams of a Lost World
The art deco spire of Empire State loomed in the distance, floating closer. The cloud deck was low and frustrating, but halogens on the mooring arm cut through the mist, paving a way to the tower. A quiet night air enhanced the chill.
The zeppelin slowed ponderously, and mooring lines were thrown onto the Number 1 ramp.
A sudden wind, unforeseen, split the fog into shards and caught the lazy zeppelin, slamming it against the building, halogens tearing through the canvas.
There are few sights described as terrifyingly beautiful. Watching helplessly as a flaming airship crashes is one of them.
Laurence - I've got the world on my wrist, swinging on a rainbow
It's simple, Doc. If I don't wind my watch, the world stops.
My mother told me that. And since I was five, I've kept this watch wound up.
I've gone through so many wristbands, but the watch itself just keeps on ticking.
Never overwound, mind you. That makes time go by too fast. It's hard enough keeping up as it is.
Once, some guy stole my watch on the subway, but I got it back before the world stopped.
I planned on giving it to my daughter, but Sarah took her. No forwarding address.
So, now will you clone me?
Michele: Bad Luck Wind Blowing At My Back
Aunt Marsha said, “Your doors shouldn’t be lined up. A Good Luck wind will come in the front door and go right out the back.”
We decided to outsmart the wind. On Sunday, it howled through the front door and Aunt Marsha said “It feels like Good!” Meryl ran down the hall, slammed the back door shut, capturing Good Luck in the house.
We waited for the luck to start.
The stove exploded. We waited.
The ceiling caved in. We waited.
The bathroom flooded. We waited.
Aunt Marsha said,”Sometimes it’s hard to tell the difference.”
So I killed her.
Ted: Sailing Against the Tide
The wind was off the port quarter, making the little Cape Dory lively. She was a yar little boat, cozy but fully rigged. The auto-winding sails made her a joy to pilot on even the slightest breeze. When a strong western wind would blow in, I would wind out the spinnaker and zip along at almost 20 knots. This could have been my retirement at age 26, broken backed, but on the water. I could sail solo forever and fuck the Navy, I'd show them I still could.
Fate turned the tides on me, but I could fight the wind.
Andy: Dreamgirl
In the dream, I am riding the wind, or I am the wind. It’s hard to tell, as is so much in dreams, but it feels real.
I descend from the sky; drift over thick forest; cross the junction of Highway 93 and White Church Road.
I move over the grasses and shrubs, and spill into the clearing. The leaves on the ground swirl and tumble at my touch. The loose soil gives and slips away. The exposed bones begin to bleach in the sun, white icons of my crime.
I know they will find her now.
It feels real.