Comments Posted By Swing Through

Displaying 1 To 20 Of 20 Comments


Timing. Measurement. Management. Here’s a 2 by 4. Here’s an 8 x10. Here’s a set of words to drop in from beginning to end. It may or may not work depending on context. Depending on southern twang versus received pronunciation. Depending on quickness and comprehensiveness to the subject at hand. In that case, take 2 by 4 and smash 8×10 and start over again until you create a picture worth 1000 more words of your verse.

» Posted By Swing Through On 01.29.2015 @ 2:22 am


Whatever happened to Helen, anyway?

» Posted By Swing Through On 01.27.2015 @ 4:05 pm


There I was. In front of a room. In front of the people that filled it. And I was thinking too much. I have nothing new to say. I have nothing you don’t know already. I don’t understand the purpose of tongue twisting it into new words to repeat as if another phrase makes it more interesting. They make sure to call it a press conference when it’s not governmental because somehow that makes it more legitimate. A bunch of people are hired to do it. People twist their heads as they drive by like they do with any commotion to find out what’s going on. Which often slows them down. And ends up to be a waste of time. For something they probably already know about it. I want to announce that I have nothing new to say. The very opposite of the purpose. Maybe it works when something new is expected,

» Posted By Swing Through On 01.26.2015 @ 11:17 pm



» Posted By Swing Through On 01.25.2015 @ 12:15 am


For a limited time only… Act now … While supplies last …

There are offerings made like something special or something sacrificial while really its just leftovers or more of the same. Like money from a rich man, jewels from a safe, especially minted anything that’s a sure collector’s item. I found a beautiful shell. I found a mysterious rock. I have some grains of sand from a day long ago. I don’t say much. I gave a shell. I gave a rock. They’re nothing, but they’re things I loved.

» Posted By Swing Through On 01.22.2015 @ 12:55 am


Spiking. Heightening. It’s the wave of today as far as I can tell, but I live on the outskirts of nowhere to be honest, They’re watching tv in an inset while a movie streams in the background and someone online somewhere is waiting for one to finish a word game turn while drinking tea that has ginger in it and there’s jasmine on the leaves and the potato chips have cheese dust on it or in it and did you know you can get jalapeño or sriracha already ON them? And it’s all happening at the same time while a ticker runs on the bottom of the screen to tell you how much you’ve lost or made. The age of resensitizing will not happen this way, I don’t think, But really, who am I to say. Sometimes, you spike my clouds with sunshine.

» Posted By Swing Through On 01.21.2015 @ 12:45 am


After the thirteenth Friday in a row that wasn’t a 13th of some month, he swore I was cursed. He had kept a log of each day with graphs and dictation and somehow he had assessed that Fridays were dooming me. He took off the entire month of February and said he found the remedy. Every hour matched with its minute he went outside and howled at the moon or for the moon, depending on the time of day. And with the exception of Sundays, the only thing he ate was garlic. Roasted, raw, fried, juiced. He said if I didn’t take it seriously, at least maybe some of his aura could protect me somehow. It was the fourteenth Friday that he started, and I really sat and thought about it. By the seventeenth Friday, as I watched him feverishly tilt his head for sky, there was really no denying that he must have been right.

» Posted By Swing Through On 01.20.2015 @ 12:28 am


Inside out indulgence.

» Posted By Swing Through On 01.17.2015 @ 12:40 am


Try. And, if you do, make sure whatever opportunity is there, is worthy of you.

» Posted By Swing Through On 01.15.2015 @ 12:42 am


Some fly, some soar. There’s a difference.
The sweetest soar I ever witnessed was a powerful, direct, planned, unregretted distance. It was much more than a walk away, and not cheap like a swagger. Both feet on the ground.

» Posted By Swing Through On 01.09.2015 @ 9:41 pm


Dharma for butterflies.

Running in and out of stars, only to trip on some celestial collision, he grew a little stronger every time. I’m doing this all wrong, looking out instead of in and entered a vortex in his own mind. It’s strong enough now, it can be attacked or preyed, but I’m not coming out til I’m done. Nobody will ever know what really happened in there, but when he emerged, he was streaming colored light.

» Posted By Swing Through On 01.08.2015 @ 1:08 am


In Quatro, I find it more personal. This is the work of much of my life. Imagine if we could publish just any old time, no saving, no squandering, no care. Try to use just one type. And that boy they sent over three months ago, I hear he does it right. This is the work of much of my life. Imagine if we could publish just any old time, just say any little thing, down a tree, push out words with little thought and little meaning; thin entertainment. What a mess to find something worth reading. Letter pressing. Take your time. I know I’m young, but this is the work of much of my life.

» Posted By Swing Through On 01.06.2015 @ 10:59 pm


They’re a wreck, I admit (as if I’m the cause.) She chose to walk on water, instead. Without sulfurous smoke and ash, without the burnt edged carbon fragments of something to stamp into the earth again, maybe it’s easier to forget. Because, it’s the feeling you can’t shake that does it, combined with the lack of motivation or method to make reparations. It’s like I said about slated beginnings (except when someone uses your chalkboard as their own.)

» Posted By Swing through On 01.03.2015 @ 3:49 pm


There is no reset button in life. And, you can reset a game, but not the playing of it. Not many want a reset anyway, more of a selective start over again. The slate may be a bruise, but there are always darker hues. There’s always black paint and white charcoal, too. Clean is nice, clean is fresh, seasoned is spice and zest. The question is, what can you do with the room on the slate you have left. Justify it, own it, right it, stand behind it, without hiding or denying the rest.

» Posted By Swing through On 01.02.2015 @ 12:29 am


I don’t want mercy, I want to live a life where I don’t need it. And, I don’t want want to be merciful, I’m not interested in that kind of responsibility. You’ll never know if you’ve been given it, that’s what true mercy really is.

» Posted By Swing through On 01.01.2015 @ 12:13 am


Clinking glasses on a warm winded night where everything panned like slow motion time. My eye fixed on the one solid thing I could fasten it to, like a relic of this single moment, it gave life to the glass, a heart beating inside.

» Posted By Swing through On 12.30.2014 @ 12:51 am


Miss is superficial. Pine hit me like I fell 7 stories and landed with a thud nobody heard.

» Posted By Swing through On 12.29.2014 @ 12:49 am


Let’s talk. Let’s chat. Let’s pretend this is a date, while I ask you a series of questions. Where’s the smooth in that?

» Posted By Swing through On 12.27.2014 @ 2:14 am


Manicured to bloom robustly.

» Posted By Swing through On 12.24.2014 @ 11:57 pm


Stunt. Stunted. I am cut off. Halted. Stopped. The cancer won’t grow, but it won’t die out. Maybe it’s a heros act. It takes a stuntman to make it happen.

» Posted By Swing through On 12.22.2014 @ 11:54 pm

«« Back To Stats Page