Sat 6 May 2006
Each soft drop would become energy. Would nourish her soul and feed her fierce hunger.  Would become a piece of her.
Fri 5 May 2006
After I was released, I spent almost two weeks just waiting for something to happen. Just hanging out without any visitors, without anything to do other than just mull over my situation. I was moving, but it wasn’t anything I was doing, really–I was just flowing along down the road. It actually felt like I was being carried by the tide, it took no effort on my part at all. Every once in a while I’d think something was going to happen, but nothing did.
Then suddenly, I was free, out in the air. Just like that, it was all over. Like it never really happened.
Too late, I realized that there was nothing I could have done about it anyway.  It’s just all part of the way things work. It’s completely senseless, I know—I mean, who would plan something like this? It’s a totally ridiculous way for things to work. But I suppose it’s been happening to others just like me for as long as anyone can remember, in fact far longer. I guess it’s better than how it used to be, but can you believe some people think it was designed to be like this? Please.
Thu 4 May 2006
| Journal Entry Date: May 4, 2006. |
| I’m not an elegant writer. It’s an uneasy peace. Within the context of the 200words project I have something to chew on, something to play with. Outside of it, though, I’m in a hostile environment. I become hostile, meticulously forming my case to expose someone’s flaw in reasoning or their short-sightedness in asking for more than can be accomplished within the constraints. I’m more of a rhetorical strategist than a writer. |
| But within the project I’m protected from hostile elements. Loose associations between the participants form a semi-permeable shell. Our similar interests are the bonding agent which ensures the integrity of the unit. Active dialog and complimentary feedback provide the creative sustenance. |
| Ideas are the genes. We contribute our individual material to the whole, and we incorporate material from the whole into ourselves. We mash to develop and evolve. |
| Inside 200words it’s comfortable and safe, though not completely isolated. We’re close to other projects, each at varying stages of development offering the same type of creative incubation. Their founders and participants contribute intellectual genes to each context. Collectively these projects form a matrix, a mesh, a nest of creative facets that identifies the neo-tribe. |
Thu 4 May 2006
SWF seeks egg. One fertilized egg. A gamete, a zygote, a baby. I enjoy
gardening, quiet nights at home. Seeking viable, healthy egg. I will be a
booster mom at soccer. My favorite movie, Terms of Endearment. My favorite
book, Poisonwood Bible. The egg will go to montessori. The egg will not
have corn syrup. The egg is a reflective surface mirroring my class,
sensibilities, and ethic. Seeking egg for small furniture, terrycloth bibs,
finger paints. Seeking egg for the stroller with canvas and three big
wheels. My credit is excellent. Seeking egg for organic baby foods.
Seeking egg for loving home. Ideal egg will come from someone tall with no
family history of hypertension, cancer. Will study caring for the egg.
What to expect I am expecting your egg. My favorite food, ice cream,
favorite color, green. I have a masters degree. My greatest aspiration is
climbing Mount Kilaminjaro, losing ten pounds, and your egg. Will pay
expenses for providing the egg, subject to criminal background check. No
fats, fems, butches.
Wed 3 May 2006
He asked her for it by name which was not unusual:
Robin’s, Easter, Dinosaur, Space, Over-easy… what kind was it?
She had trouble
Handing it over in the sense that she didn’t want to
Hand it over.
Nope.
With an exquisite covering, weak and smooth, of strong shape
This thing defied all attempts to dislike it, and, well,
She liked it quite a bit which further explained
Her reluctance to share it even though at the office she was often referred to
With words such as “generous,” “team player,” and the like. Which
Didn’t matter because she wasn’t giving this thing up, she didn’t think, for a moment. Not a one.
For one, because there was electrical energy inside it. Because there was subliminal
Information emanating from its porous surface. Because she was learning things through
Osmosis. Holy Christ there were secret sounds she wanted
To keep secret. Between her and it. Dark undersounds and feathery
Oversounds.
Yes.
[Meanwhile, across the alluvial plain History continued to unfold since
That is what it is most accustomed to doing.]
The orb stayed delicately sandwiched between her
Palms or was it simply laid
Down gently in the grass, quiet, like
A good egg.