Remembering All Lost to Terrorism

For All of Us Who Are Different – Who Do Not Fit [ I know I keep changing – Couldn’t possibly comply] – Please Stop Trying to Destroy Us – We No Longer Will Be Invisible and Quiet Ever Again – Stop Trying to Make Us Live by Rules that Shouldn’t Exist [it’s an extensive list] – We Are Different – Brilliant! – Viva la Différence! – kiley

Created with Microsoft Fresh Paint

flowing scarlet © kiley 16

SLITHERING
by kiley

We look for reasons
Where there are none

We categorize people
When it makes no difference

Not one thing makes someone kill
They are not mentally ill

Violence is a whole different thing
It isn’t one chime with one single ring

A soul makes a deal with rules
Others forced to join him on his kill

Innocents must die as a sacrifice
To drown out the demons in his heart

Hatred overpowers what’s living inside him
It satisfies – it justifies

His consciousness is abandoned
Voices from the dark occupy him now

‘Kill the infidels – kill the faggots
Kill the aliens corrupting the world’

Feeding his kingdom with blood sacrifice
Cleansing his world with destruction and hate

The killer obsessed – filled with hatred building
His eyes only see a cry for the slaughter

When he’s done with what he’s done
It’s time to exit – by bullets or explosions

Stealing answers – secreting away the motives
Leaving behind bloody red pieces – a bizarre puzzle

We need revelation’s purpose
Hoping for visions – the clarity of secrets

Writing stories – organizing pieces
It’s what we think should be done

Gradually closing off the nightmares
Ignoring awareness – that others will come

Different locations – unknown and random
One crushing blow follows another

Inside Time – the future waits
The unpredictable guaranteed it will happen again

Invisible the next creepy crawling creature
Slithering from out of any shadow

© kiley 16
Lesbian in Solidarity

Posting on ‘Off the Rails – Track 451’ simultaneously

Annie Dillard on Writing – Part 1

Annie Dillard on Writing
1 of 7 parts

PART ONE

the writing life by annie dillard - book cover“At its best, the sensation of writing is that of any unmerited grace. It is handed to you, but only if you look for it. You search, you break your heart, your back, your brain, and then — and only then — it is handed to you.”

What does it really mean to write? Why do writers labor at it, and why are readers so mesmerized by it?

When you write, you lay out a line of words. The line of words is a miner’s pick, a woodcarver’s gouge, a surgeon’s probe. You wield it, and it digs a path you follow. Soon you find yourself deep in new territory. Is it a dead end, or have you located the real subject? You will know tomorrow, or this time next year. You make the path boldly and follow it fearfully. You go where the path leads. At the end of the path, you find a box canyon. You hammer out reports, dispatch bulletins. The writing has changed, in your hands, and in a twinkling, from an expression of your notions to an epistemological tool. The new place interests you because it is not clear. You attend. In your humility, you lay down the words carefully, watching all the angles. Now the earlier writing looks soft and careless. Process is nothing; erase your tracks. The path is not the work. I hope your tracks have grown over; I hope birds ate the crumbs; I hope you will toss it all and not look back.

It is the beginning of a work that the writer throws away.