Inch by Inch (acre by acre)

March 30, 2007

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In mourning for a close friend who never stood a chance. Left behind to watch the world die, “right before our eyes,” she is cleared away, her remains left to burn in the sun, hotter now than days before.

There’s nowhere left to go these days. Those monsters follow like evil puppets controlled by some untouchable force. As the ocean crawls closer, civilizations remain preoccupied. Pre-warned.

The little that you see is gone, plowed over and concreted just in time for spring. She is coming, inch by inch. I can’t keep my thoughts together, even in the clarity of morning, I have too much to say, and my feelings and emotions are too strong to dissect, there is too much to convey with only words.

I woke up this morning to booming thunder, the loud, angry kind that sounds as if it could cause damage without the help of lightning, the kind that shakes walls and has the sanest adult resorting back to childhood fears and anxieties. She is coming, inch by inch.

Every other house is for sale in any neighborhood you see, but developers are buying land and putting up houses anyway. They follow the same blueprint in any city visited. Slash, burn, let’s kill it all – little pink houses for you and me. There will be nothing left when it’s all said and done. My voice is my only weapon, I don’t have enough money to save the world, but I can get the word out for what it’s worth, I can let them know they’re killing the earth and plowing over the source for their own breath.

Maybe this year is the year our words will come back to haunt us. Put it off like a household chore, not yet important enough to take any action. Maybe this is the year we’ll see it all come undone like a breached levee not worth fixing. Resources are almost extinguished. Our renewables are too slow for the taking, but we have it under control. It’s okay and under control. My backyard looks like it’s been bombed, and as mud gathers under my shoes and birds fly frantically around dead trees looking for the one they call home, the rain came again in a mist, veiling the stagnant open air. My mini-hike was not a good one, but with my disposable camera tucked under my shirt, I approached the destruction of my once wooded community. Twenty-seven pictures taken from a cheap, throw away camera are my proof that the earth is dying. Will there be enough room on Mars for all of us?

My brain is dead so I think I’ll just stay at work.

I can’t shake this mood. No remedy to be found. The outside air is way too bright for a weekday night. Obstacles standing in light’s path are wiped out in a day’s work, and sounds from a new visible freeway reign free.

The wind is in full swing tonight. Clouds speed past in the sky reminding me more of speedboats on a lake. The porch light flickers every minute or so and surrounding buildings are dark. A flash in the distance lights up the early night and the air cools off just right. No thunder to be heard, she dies down a bit, and wind chimes fall silent again.

May 4, 2007

Which way to the hill country? I’ve taken off time to let the world in and let myself out. Sycamore trees mingle with juniper and all those worries I carry everyday retreat with the dimming sun in my horizon. These moments take me back some years ago when I lived with society’s unknown drifters, walked with vanishing footprints, and slept in the mouth of a volcano. It’s hard to get away these days and too many lost opportunities have invaded my road map. It’s easy to get sucked in when a year becomes a day and cubicles feel more like home than home itself.

*Bad News Follows*

Reluctant to actually say what’s on my mind and falling into some kind of a walking coma.

We’re all waiting for you to die, a last resort, the inevitable end to a story known all too well.

Faded out, time’s premature arrival looms large and weighs heavy in the path of things to come. As jaded as the last man standing, realizing he’s alone. Let’s go back to where we began, all those years ago.

May 29, 2007

Strained by boundaries, life’s tiny grains counted out one by one until the pile grows larger than myself and larger than truth.

June

I feel sick. Laid out and prepped for another year, a new decade of my life is served before me and I wince at the thought of it.

A severe feeling of defeat hangs low prompting me to wave a white flag, but I ain’t no flag waver, and it’s still too early to take that road.

The big 30 came and went with enough family drama to last me another 10 years. I hate birthdays, but besides the drama (which I won’t get into) and besides turning 30, I had a pretty good one. My best friend got us really good tickets to the Astros game, which they won, 9-4.

July

Rain clouds threaten tonight’s festivities.

Author: Lindsay Niemann

Writer | Graphic Artist