Comments Posted By Florence Farfaletti
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It was one of those spring afternoons when the desert smelled like cotton. Clean and linted, with the sun like warm laundry in the afternoon.
» Posted By Florence Farfaletti On 03.19.2019 @ 6:54 pm
He began to realize where her sentence was leading halfway through and didn’t want to hear the end. His vision tunneled, bright lights spinning.
Hit pause here. A few deep breaths should do the trick. Just a quick fix, he thought. Suspend me in the golden unknown before things fall apart.
» Posted By Florence Farfaletti On 02.25.2019 @ 3:26 pm
She searched the mirror for imprints of others, half-remembered. Whose ghastly subterfuge gifted me this shock of a mane? Whose beguiling imbued me with this look of unrelenting candor? Are there any visible traces of the lines of madness in my blood? She examined herself intently, looking for signs of it beneath the surface, wondering if those imagined ghost-relics could wind their way into her progeny.
And how unfair: her most meaningful predecessors left no trace. Or so she thought until she grimaced at the thought, and her face was wrung crooked like his; then her eyebrows popped liked hers, and her eyes glimmered like his once more in response.
» Posted By Florence Farfaletti On 01.15.2018 @ 1:11 am
“Are you worried about something?”
I stood in the doorway scrutinizing his expression, reluctant to intrude but posting myself as willing if he wanted to invite me, somehow unable to read him despite how hard we both seemed to be trying. We left so much deliberately unsaid between us that a mutual understanding and the precise contents of gaps within it remained ungraspable – though it was there, hanging between us.
“I just.” He was wary, somehow; not nervous, no more vulnerable than I had seen him before, but self-conscious and cautious of how I would perceive whatever he wanted to say. “I don’t want to do anything to disappoint you.”
“Oh.” It slips out of my mouth italicized, very sure. But he doesn’t look reassured, so I stumble forward, attempting to articulate my bedrock faith. “That’s…several shades of impossible.”
» Posted By Florence Farfaletti On 12.12.2017 @ 12:00 am
(A Michael Flynn saga, in four parts)
» Posted By Florence Farfaletti On 12.08.2017 @ 1:47 am
After so long – /so/ long – it’s difficult to remember exactly how to convey to someone that they’re welcome. You don’t have to fear me, I want to say. I can make space for you, I fail to convey. Please stay near me: the adjacent impossible.
» Posted By Florence Farfaletti On 12.02.2017 @ 5:35 pm
Funny, isn’t it, how guidance evaporates the closer one arrives to true north. The moment the map is pulled out from under you marks the precipice of truly uncharted territory.
» Posted By Florence Farfaletti On 12.19.2016 @ 7:01 am
There’s being tied in knots, and then there’s feeling irrevocably Gordian. Sometimes I get so churned about it that I want to screw the path function and cut myself loose in some sort of Alexandrian autopsy, but that would be cheating. Struggling, likewise, only tightens the rope. Nothing to do meanwhile but wait for the oh-of-course to undo me: familiar as a garter, sly as a cat’s cradle.
» Posted By Florence Farfaletti On 05.10.2016 @ 5:42 pm
She’d known about the Wow! signal but had never thought through the emotional implications. To feel “of course” so strongly – enough to suspend her brain and uncloak her heart, to latch onto the faint promise of possibility – only to linger as the signal went dark was something she did not like very much at all.
» Posted By Florence Farfaletti On 05.01.2016 @ 9:20 am
She could find the leverage points – dedicate her life to nudging them in the right direction – but the emergence of this odd millennial death cult consumed her with dread. Cycles of revenge, and destruction, and disenfranchisement turned over upon themselves, pressure points bubbling to the surface every few years like beads in some sort of demented rosary.
» Posted By Florence Farfaletti On 03.22.2016 @ 12:49 am
Logically, she knew she should remain calm. It was mostly new mediums making everything seem haywire; the fundamentals of the system were strong, and the better angels of our nature would prevail. But human nature became so slippery when corrupted by fear, and she wasn’t sure she had much faith in angels, anyway.
» Posted By Florence Farfaletti On 03.19.2016 @ 9:01 pm
Ribald laughter and easy saunters belie the impregnability of their position, which is precarious to say the least. Mulligan sneaks off into the alley for a smoke and, wouldn’t you know in – boom – races back out once again to position.
» Posted By Florence Farfaletti On 03.17.2016 @ 12:53 am
She struggled to hone the purity of her intentions. You want to talk to him for /this/ reason. No more than that. Kill the hormonal response loop. But then he’d make her laugh, and say something clever, and “kill” would turn to “dampen”, and, well, since we’re playing fast and loose with purity of meaning it’s easy to see where that leads.
» Posted By Florence Farfaletti On 03.11.2016 @ 8:53 pm
They stumbled over the ridgeline one by one, silhouetted against the gloaming. From the bottom they appeared homogeneous stacks of muscle and rucks, antennae springing skyward from each spine.
» Posted By Florence Farfaletti On 02.18.2016 @ 2:23 am
You know the situation is untenable by the singular and sudden tang of bile flooding your mouth, by the rapid escalation in altitude of your heart toward your larynx, and by the chilled mental whoosh of sudden clarity. Adrenaline is nature’s drug of choice when the floor drops out from underneath, transforming falls into dives on the way down.
» Posted By Florence Farfaletti On 01.24.2016 @ 11:11 pm
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It takes a minute to get in tune: overshooting, then calibrating, then wrapping the misfire into the ruse with a sly smile. Her camouflage is subtle, full of lilts and tilts of the chin, glances to the right people at the right time.
» Posted By Florence Farfaletti On 01.19.2016 @ 11:51 am