May 11, 2026
Captive’s Log
May 11, 2026
Captive’s Log
Daily. The daily act of writing. Showing up I find the unraveled thread yesterday left that I tug at like I’m climbing out of a hole, a well, something that delivers water and catches the tears and the snippets of conversation of the Samaritan woman and…
What was that sound? You heard it, too? The crackling of fire and sweet smell you can taste. It’s talking. The fire. The incense. The taste. Of
what’s to come.
I don’t want to leave it there. That’s unfair and hubristic. Not that that’s stopped me before. But I’m older now. Midway through the walk of life which I share with Dante, Virgil and Tolkien who walked this way before me. EPIC!
That explains the footsteps leading to this door, this door opening to this study, this study housing a desk, and on that desk a sheet of paper and a pen and
See how it moves? The Story. See the spirit wielding it like Puss in Boots deciphering the hour? See me
begin? In it?
What’s half? What’s that? Flicked, flickering Half halved again? Halved and halved nots, a lifetime, a century: it tests the metal of the precious petal counting down the counting game, half past the half mast, cocked and ready, the Hour
against my head, held, its last lash of the last light counting down the final count its screaming kettle at the top of the final inning, equal parts forgiveness and sinning. Helper halving the living. Two quarters in a cup. Heads or tails?
Toss it
Up.