Duffy's Cut, Part 1

(A fictionalized history series exploring what may have happened to the 57 Irish railroad workers believed to be buried in 1832 in a mass grave 30 miles west of Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. Past series have explored Polio, the Tunguska Event, the First Use of the Electric Chair, and the X-Ray Martyrs.)

John knotted his pack and stood in the dim light of the ship’s lower deck.

Muffled voices filtered through the hull planks. The sound of crowds was unpleasant, almost diseased, compared with the weeks of clean wind and slapping water during the voyage.

The moored ship had emptied already. His fellow passengers were gone. Eager and flushed in the face. He was not so eager. Was that strange? He thought about his feet and how this ship was the last tangible link to his home in Ireland.

Someone thudded onto deck over him.

Clomping shoes, too undignified to be an officer.

He lifted his pack as the sound rumbled down the stairs.

“Come on! We have work already! I don’t believe it!”

It was the nervous kid.

“You’ve got to hurry! The foreman is not very patient. He’s been waiting for our ship to offer the work to the lot of us, and he’s not happy we’re five days late!”

“Maybe he should hire the wind next time,” John said. “That way we might keep our schedule.”

“I’m serious! Let’s go! Let’s go!”

It must be a good omen, yes? Each one of them worried about how to get their foothold in America. Hunger doesn’t wait long to start gnawing. A man needs a wage, and a roof, and loaf of bread before long. He should be happy, not feeling his spirits sink.

The kid chattered as they climbed back up to sun and salty air. “He’s a railroad man, this Mr. Duffy. I’ll introduce you. He likes me already. He’s got railroad work. Hard work, but good wages. They’re filling a cut to the west of Philadelphia. Earth works. He’s behind schedule.”

“Behind schedule…. Got it.”

“Hurry up!”

“Listen man. Stop. Breathe. If you don’t calm yourself, you’re going to be ill.”

A man in a top hat and a dark overcoat bellowed from the docks below.

Mr. Duffy, no doubt. Empty wagons were clopping toward the small crowd of his Irish shipmates.

He drew in a big breath of air and smelled it. Strangely sweet and thick. Not heavy with moisture as he was used to.

He descended the gangplank, and the ship pulled on the huge ropes. Restless waves thumped her slow and hard against the New World shore.


On to Part 2.


(Photo taken at the Philadelphia Art Museum)

Artistry

the brush down her cheek
after they kissed
blended her impressions
with his Monet fingers

fragments snapped
fractures through her brain
when he divided her dress
with Picasso palms

her surreal liquidities
melted
where his Dali lips
dared to taste

and he cut
a Van Gogh heart
that her astonished voice
would not reclaim


(Photo from the Philadelphia Museum of Art)

Songbird

For you, there’ll be no more crying
For you, the sun will be shining
Because I feel that when I’m with you
It’s alright, I know it’s right
And the songbirds keep singing
Like they know the score
And I love you, I love you, I love you
Like never before

     --Haley Westenra, Songbird, (orig. Fleetwood Mac)

When he walked, people didn’t see the shadows.

They didn’t see the years, the volumes of thought, the observations, or the conundrums. They didn’t see the burns or disappointments or four tidy walls. Who knows what they saw.

But he powered his legs with the years, volumes, observations, conundrums, burns, disappointments, and four tidy walls.

* * *

She liked when he was around and liked it less when he wasn’t. Of course, she also liked to keep her emotions nicely at heel.

Once, she caught herself not listening when he was talking to her. She was imagining…something. And she quickly tucked that scary something back inside the cabinetry inside her head.

* * *

She liked the way he walked, regardless of what the others saw.

He was schooled in the construction of cabinetry.

That night, maybe they both sensed the barriers would be detonated.

Landscapes

one candle lit
in an old façade of stone
on the tide of forests and night

one stare
across a shifting room
knowing what it seems to mean

one question
tacked to the wall
of portraits much better forgotten

one spring night
serenaded by a budding year
knowing I should wear warmer coats

Coming

(Article Transcription)

From THE NORTH AMERICAN CHRONICLE

Monday, May 7, 2042


Scientists have observed the third occurrence
of an unexplained phenomenon first measured
by amateur astronomers two months ago but
seen with the naked eye by many casual observers.
Although neural images hit the optic nets almost
as soon as the event was recorded, not much stir
has been generated in the wake of the celebrity
revo-pregnancy scandals. Dr. Moravian of Indo-
European College said, "What is most difficult
for the public to understand is precisely what is
puzzling the scientific community. When the
first galaxy suddenly became brighter than Venus
in the night sky, we believed some kind of galactic
destruction was being observed. However, when
the burst of energy ended, the galaxy returned to
its normal appearance.”

Vast Implications for Physics

Scientists and physicists have drawn a disturbing
conclusion from their observations. Dr. Allen,
Professor Emeritus of Physics from Clinton
University explains, “before this event, all scientific
observations and all theories involving speed and
distance have been based on the notion that the speed of
light is the fastest rate of travel possible. However,
we believe that some kind of super-phenomenon,
some kind of previously unknown destructive force,
has caused light to travel a distance in hours that
previously took billions of years to traverse. In
effect, we saw three entire galaxies destroyed,
like a live broadcast, but once the cataclysm ended,
the stream of slower, normal light from billions of
years ago kept coming. We went from seeing the
destruction now to seeing the galaxy the way it
was a billion years ago.

Dr. Allen likened the situation to a magneto-train.
You can get a message from the train station
letting you know that the train is coming, but you
have to wait an hour to get the other message
that the train is coming, namely see it racing
down the tracks.

Scientists have no explanation for what could
destroy an entire galaxy. They have noted that
the first galaxy was over two billion light years
away, the second was one and a half billion,
and the third was only one billion light
years away. Under normal circumstances,
scientists would deny that a destructive force
could have attacked one galaxy, then traversed
over a billion light years in two months to
annihilate two more. However, the discovery of
this “super energy” has thrown out centuries of
scientific thought in one moment. Some scientists
are anxiously awaiting another event, perhaps
closer. Some others are worried. Something,
they say, might be coming.

Game Friday: Milestones

I've been looking forward to a blogging milestone, and because I've been kind of asleep at the wheel lately, I MISSED IT! Just frigging figures, doesn't it??

So, a little belatedly, I'll say that I've hit half a million hits on Clarity! It's pretty mind-boggling, actually. I remember the feeling when I hit 100K. Then, I saw a really popular blog pass 250K, and I thought, man, if only....

No, numbers don't really matter, but when you're trying to be a writer who sells books, having people come and see your writing is kind of relevant. Truth be told, at least half of those visits are contest-related. But that's cool too. It's not easy to make a popular blog contest.

Anyway, I'm inviting all of you to weigh in with your milestones today, big and small. What little (or big) achievements have given you a good feeling lately? Let's rest on a laurels for a moment, shall we?

Jason, the Crazy Teenager (or Lame Photography Tricks)

So, the photography bug first bit me around 17 years old.

Uncharacteristically, I don't remember why it sparked. Probably, it had to do with my personality type's (INTP) propensity for recording nostalgia to immerse in later. But I digress....

What was I doing when all the cool cats were doing awesome teenage sorts of things? Yes, in addition to my snapping shots of evenings and landscapes and houses and cemeteries, I was screwing around with trick photography.



Jason: "Dad, can you do me a favor?"

Dad: "Um, I guess. What is it?"

Jason: "Come into the living room. Over here, by the light switch."

Dad: "So what's with the table and the candle and stuff?"

Jason: "Nothing. Here's the thing. I'm going to open the camera lens in the dark. I need you to hold this thing over HALF of the camera lens. Turn the light on for four seconds, then turn it off."

Dad: "Wait. This has something to do with the camera?"

Jason: "Half lens, light on, light off. You got it?"

Dad: "No."

Jason: "Okay, then when the light is off, I need you move the cover to the OTHER SIDE of the lens. Turn the light on for four seconds, then off again. I'll come back and close the shutter."

Dad: "Why four seconds?"

Jason: "Because four is half of eight."

Dad: "Do you want any popcorn?"

Jason: "You got this?"

Dad: "Sure. Roll 'em!"

Jason: "They say that for movies, Dad. Not photos."

******

No wonder my parents thought I was weird.

Since these were the days of film, and I didn't have a camera that could do multiple exposures, I had to do creative MacGyvers to get these shots in one click of the shutter. Here, I remember that I was going for a personal showdown. The dominant me staring down the more reserved. Some intense, internal struggle. (Wow, things really don't change very much.)

Anyway, Dad came through for this one, no?

Needless to say, I didn't get along with my peers until I got older. MUCH older.

This End Up

“I never expected angels to have an odor to them.”

“It’s lavender. I like lavender.”

“Lavender smells nice. That…doesn’t.”

“My friend, you just died an hour ago. Do you really think your senses have acclimated yet?”

“I guess not.”

“And you can stop wrinkling your nose. That’s not where you smell from anyway.”

“I’m not even going to ask.”

“Fine with me.”

“Pretty up here, though. I just didn’t expect to feel butterflies in my stomach. I never liked roller coasters and that sort of thing, but I figured all that stomach churning would end with my body.”

“Those aren’t butterflies. That’s energy. You’ll feel that all the time, until you get used to it. Kind of nice, warm buzz.”

“Huh. Damn.”

“We don’t say that word up here.”

“Oh, right. Sorry.”

“You’re forgiven.”

“Hey, what are those lights hovering inside people? See them? Kind of like jars or light bulbs or lanterns. Are those their souls?”

“No.”

“Over there! Some of them are leaking. And that person’s is dim green.”

“Yes. I hate to see those.”

“They’re souls, right?”

“No. You’ve seen too many bad movies. The soul is not something so apart from you, so contained. Those are something discrete and very different.”

“What?”

“It’s kind of hard to explain. Especially to someone so fresh.”

“Come on, cut me a break!”

“Well, let me put it this way. Those vessels are kind of a person’s state of mind. The way they feel about themselves, see themselves. And the world.”

“Like their mood?”

“More than that. It’s the temperature of their self identity. The bright ones are happy, content, and confident. The others are fractured. The brilliance is spilling out. They have suffered a harm that has damaged them.”

“Wow. The containers don’t look very strong.”

“Some more than others, but none of them can fend off a good, hard crack.”

“They look so beautiful….”

“Yes, you should see them as beautiful. And tragic. But they heal. Even when they shatter, they heal.”

“There! One just lit again. That’s so cool!”

“You’re laughing.”

“I was thinking of that song by the Traveling Wilburys. ”Handle me with care.”

Bear With Me

When I used to see bloggers say what I’m about to say, I knew it was the beginning of the end.

But I’m still here, and they’re long, long gone, so maybe I’ll prove myself wrong.

I’m clearly not the blogger I used to be. I’m not getting around enough, I’m not responding fast enough, I didn’t run a winter writing contest, I’m not promoting my blog...the list goes on. I used to have two clear identities and goals in my life--lawyer and writer. I had no trouble pursuing both. It was pretty effortless for a time.

Now…not so much. The jump in my career leaves me with so much less energy. Added to that is the feeling that writing just isn’t as valued as it used to be. Publishing novels is bordering on a joke, booksellers are going bankrupt…good times. As a result, I think I've drifted into that artsy camp of writing *just because*. A few people will still do well, but I realize that writing is never going be a big second career for me.

So what now? Knowing myself, I’ll probably endure this rough patch, retool myself, and soldier on. Writing still means something to me. But just in case I can’t keep pace with what I built here at Clarity, then this post might be just what it used to signal in others--the beginning of the you-know-what.

In the meantime, try not to get pissed at me if I’m not the quickest or the most involved or the most out-there. I’m going to try to maintain my three-posts-per-week schedule, but only if I don’t get too repetitive, unoriginal, or downright boring.

Bear with me, my compatriots! I know that if you’re still visiting, then you enjoy coming, and I enjoy knowing you. I just wanted to confess that it’s gotten harder. I don't give up easily, though. Ever. ;)

Here Comes the Rain Again

I want to walk in the open wind
I want to talk like lovers do
Want to dive into your ocean
Is it raining with you?
     --Eurythmics, Here Comes the Rain Again

He walked the skeletal forest and dodged mud puddles on the trail.

The ground laid soft, punished by the long winter. Twilight blue inked the sky, but light still blushed along the horizon.

Robins flashed nervous wings in the trees. The rest of the flock hurried through the wet leaves.

He broke into open fields and checked his watch. Too late now. Even if he turned back, he wouldn’t beat the drippy spring darkness.

Along the edge of the old cemetery, he stopped. These stones were forgotten, far from the road. He stood, not bothering to count the seconds. The day was slipping away.

He didn’t hear, because the ground was soft.

He didn't hear until her words pushed aside the silence.

“So. You still come here too?” she said.

He closed his eyes a moment before turning around.

Beatitudes #6

::Blessèd are the abandoned
     For they shall be free::

Luminescence

"Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Like what?"

"Like that. You know what I mean."

"I don't know. This is just the way I look."

"Do you have to have the most intense eyes I've ever seen?"

"I do?"

"Am I'm blushing right now?"

"Maybe you are."

"Stop! Do you want me to hide my face?"

"What else I'm supposed to do?"

"What are you thinking when you stare at me like that? It must be something bad."

"You want to know what I was thinking?"

"Yes."

"If it was something bad?"

"Stop torturing me!"

"Well, if you really want to know, I was thinking about the deep ocean. Miles down where light never reaches. I was thinking about how organisms drift in the most exquisite darkness. But some of them make their own light. And when one of those passes another, wham. Think of how dazzling that must be."

[...]

"So you really can't blame me for staring, can you?"

Plugged

i keep reading
about the isolation
of social media
the dangers of disconnection
snipping the fleshy ties
but where was this amazing
network i apparently had
before these silvery electron ties
rose up and crushed
the rock and water tyranny
of distance and geography?