Thursday, January 24, 2008
Graf #4
I have a big scar on my chest from when my first girlfriend stabbed me. It's not the only knife wound she left me with. I have a great tolerance for strong drink from years at sea and a fondness for 'colorful' langauge. My body is covered, inside and out, with lessons and reminders of the destructive nature of pride. Mine was the angstridden existence of the young man and I knew many complex and engaging people. I was once complex. I have since forsaken it as inconvienent. I grew simple instead of growing up. Now I like simple food and drink. A hunk of beef and dark beer. I like simple toys. A Craftsman woodsplitting maul. I keep it in case I ever get a wood stove. I like simple faith. I keep a Bible in every room of my house in case someone needs it, although I don't have even one first aid kit. I like a simple life like my life with my family.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
3 comments:
"I was once complex. I have since forsaken it as inconvienent. I grew simple instead of growing up."
Mmmm, impressive lines. Repetition has an honorable place in good writing, as you demonstrate very nicely here.
Do you know where the real ending of this is? (Hint: not where you stop. Sooner. Where?)
The other material seemed unconnected so I cut there.
Exactly, though I'd even cut the last sentence here--or I'd cut the last sentence to: 'I like a simple life.'
The Bible in place of first aid kit is a fine line to end on.
Post a Comment