The Future Doesn't Scare Me At All

Span the year and fit it in your pocket for easy digestion and this may be the only way currently to depict the efforts we push against ourselves. We play along every time because to consider the difference would be to create. We can't measure progress on creation.

So if the only thing we know is to look beyond the mornings and sunrises when half the world is quiet and alone, than when can we be sure of possibilities and where yours can be?
Is it the big questions? Illustrating the one common phenominon of our kind and the ability to perceive the impossible on an impossible scale? Why is it so much easier to see the future with your eyes closed?

Sometimes I like to put in my headphones and turn my music up loud to watch the world go by in sudo-silence. As if every action I'd expect to have a noise suddenly illustrated itself in a silent world. A ballet of motion appears. That perspective is more than just angles and the third dimension. There's plenty more ways of looking at the world.

Maybe that's what this next year is for.
This is how I see.

-Taylor J. Pridgen


The Cold

A 12 hour binge indoors, I danced with lines on paper and procrastinated the best of times, only to end where buses begin in the cold heat of night where midnight hours left me stranded alone with my breath. I silently watched it glide over my head, twirling and playing with the air, feeding the trees and sparking catalysts of curiosities about the smoke from buildings overhead and how it could glide without wings.

Will I ever be that? Gentle and free it rides the currents it so creates, shifting and shaping its experience in the world is has undoubtedly created an unspoken agreement with. Fearless, it jets forward without worry in its direction because it knows that as soon as it fades into invisibility that it has served a purpose.

It's only fitting that the mountains greet me home. Illuminated by the sudo-effect of light off the snow. Only ironically casted by the moon that always seems to be following my en devours no matter where they happen to fall within the countless number of people awake and wandering.

-Taylor J. Pridgen


The Potential

I had a dream which included a good friend of mine. And without this friend I don't think my life would quite be the same. Because of her, a lot of good things have happened to me. She was my very first friend in college and is constantly causing me to reconsider things. And today she was sad.

It's incredible the opportunity that the world presents us with.
Here we all are, sitting on this gigantic, sphere in a unfathomable amount of space and we still consider ourselves so alone. I like the think that the world spins slowly enough to connect everything within its tucked safety. Our own blanket of clouds.

Within it is everything you could ever want or need. And sometimes it's hard to find the exact right ways to go about things. It's hard to discover the one thing in life that will make you truly happy. Because generally it's never just one thing and that is the true beauty of the world so why can't the realization of something satisfy its need. Is thinking of a glass of water curing thirst?

And it's troubling to believe that we're stuck in the spin of the world. We need to go to school, jobs and everything is so organized that anything off the train tracks becomes disconnected from the world but I am the one here to say that the world isn't made up of train tracks. What is the one thing that connects everything else? Not language, not emotion (rocks can't think), nor is it simply the Earth everything sits on.

Perhaps its the opportunities we share everyday between uncountable numbers of abilites.
The possibilities held within a single day and the potential to break the normalities of life and burst free from the atmosphere, and before jettisoning yourself to better things (whatever things may be) we still have that ability to turn around. Look at everything we have, everything we have done and everything we are and smile because everything is possible.

-Taylor J. Pridgen


My Extra Hour

We run our lives by the clock. Wake, shower, eat, work, eat, sleep. And in this chaos of regimented schedules, we try to find time for joy. For happiness. For love.

What can you do in an hour?

Can you fall in love? Explore a city? Read a short story? Meet a stranger? Make love?

Our days are split into twenty-fourths. Our days tick and tock and tick and then are gone. Lucky for us, the clocks froze on November 1st. We were free to do whatever we wanted for one untamed hour. Free.

Most of us spent it sleeping, dreaming. Our twilight hour passed unnoticed by many, and only the clock's error showed us what we missed.

Time is invisble, intangible, noticeable only by the sun's travel and the clock's tick. Today, it was gone. Someone opened the door in our cage and let us free, even if only for sixty minutes. Minutes for sketching and scheming, kissing and writing, reading and exploring. The door that was open led to the world, free of obstructions. It closed again, though, and time was king once more. Yet that taste, the taste of timelessness is on the tip of your tongue now. The door calls to you now.

The best part?

You've had the key the entire time.

-Kyle McDaniel


The ReView

We have had this discussion before; you and I. We've gone through the motions, and arguments and witty dialogue thousands of times over. But the magic is in the fresh feeling it carries every time. As if every time we used the same words in the same orders we've forgotten we have already done so. Despite our souls know better. They send us signals, and clues, Deja Vu's, to help us clear up the repetitive monotony that we forget whenever we start over.

We live moment to moment, attempting to soak in that second's meanings. And once we've drained it of its contextual, potential use we move on to the next second and next second. Then, with all of this data we've collect we group things into terms called minutes, and hours, and moments, and periods, eras, years, stories. And once we have finished categorized them into human ideas we leave them be in the giant shelves of our minds where most tend to get lost, fall, break or disappear entirely.

What if we didn't live moment for moment? What if there are periods in our life that if we don't get the right idea, or the right conclusion that we were supposed to gather from that moment, we forget it all and start the entire week over? Essentially we repeat time, time and time again, until we get it right. But we could never remember all times we tried before. We only remember the time we got it right.

It would shed new light on the meaning of fate, and free will. The idea of optimism and pessimism. If we had infinite chances to do things our own way, in order to reach a desired goal? That's free will within a fated system. And if every single event in your life, including the ones that were considered bad or negative, were the correct and appropriate outcomes for that time period? I feel like it'd be much easier to overcome your past and set hold onto your future.

Cause if this be the truth. Who knows how long you might take?

-Taylor J. Pridgen


The Destiny

Alone I stand in the middle of the living room surrounded by cold air lonely and abandoned by the world once awake. I watch myself sleep in silence. Unaware of the lingering hours that slowly pass through me as I am motionless within my self. The darkness overwhelms the setting of sense and creates an unused space. Void of life, movement or use. A closed space. A dead space.
How can we ever see this empty world when it only exists when we are most unaware? A counterfeit opposite made up of reality and habitual memories.

The metaphorical anti-day lingers and loiters. Here dreams are shaped into fantasies and broken down to hopes and desires. The factory for destiny occurs when we absently invite it. We all have desires and dreams to live out and what better place to create them when allowing the mind to process and create. Despite its consistent problem-solving.

Where do we go when we sleep? We know where our bodies are, but where do we go? As if the only true break and rest from life is a rest from reality itself. We find new ways to counter act the impossible. To fulfill every natural human desire to be great, and break the rules, fly and to simple be happy.
Maybe that's why we have dream relationships, dream jobs, dream cars. These are the things that we wish to have to make ourselves a little happier. Our dreams are our only goals. And we have an overwhelming desire to merge our reality and our dreams and live our dreams. We add "Dream" to our desires for a reason.

We all waste that time alone during the silent nights. Time that could otherwise be spent in pursue of whatever we may be reaching for. But without those eventful nights, inspiring happenings, our simply reflective moments, how would we know what to reach for?

In the head of at least one destiny-bound boy in a bed, there's still so much to do.

-Taylor J. Pridgen


The Reason

Departure strikes and sinks in the burrows beneath my skin. A week long fade of everything beautiful ends in nothing more than strange street corners at late hours where not a waking soul ventures. Street lights illuminate nothing here. Out on the streets are so many possibilities to not be alone. This is Death Cab suited.

8 Hours reminds me just how long the maps stretch along the walls and how big the bed beneath them grows. We all have living room. Border lines the space between times I didn't know and couldn't breath. I'm reminded of dreams by late night, waited, phone calls. These are my air.

With wet cheeks I regret the substantial inability to include among those dozens of tiny notes this entire thought process. That you're the part of the world that is bright. And you're the part of the world that sings. That you're the reason that while I'm where I've been before, I'm suddenly lost within my own evaporated thoughts. And, above all else in this world, that you are my love.
Now more than ever.

Taylor J. Pridgen


The Timeline

I live at the threshold between the possible and uknown. The line daring to be crossed and tested and often redrawn within the lifestyles of those stable enough to miss it.

And should today I reach my hand out the crooked door and into the dreaming wake of a world I easily recognize as my own throughout the countless numbers of memories and universes so called dimensions swim in our minds and make fools of our eyes.
I've traveled through space a multiple time and found of things to pass that while I am ghostly aware I am scarce.
The timeline is false.

Within everything that can be accomplished with the span of a day you fix your eyes and tighten your blinders to the secret wonderments only found when exploring the adventure. To those stuck in a rut of original modernism may you remember the nostalgiac feeling of stacking blocks. Because there was more than there that you saw but don't remember.

And that while in any given moment your confidence of your ability to control your life and steer your future exists, it is lying. There is no such thing as autonomy. We are the ancestors of generations prior and prior to generation is the world around you.

If you could stop time at any particular moment. The lists of possibilities to any related action for any thought could in itself be infinite before ridiculous by concerning the logical progression of aftermath of each subsequent event. The butterfly effect creating a imaginary shockwave capable of growing and altering any level of detail in your life without you realizing it. There is a reason for everything.

And accepting that I have now written these words down somewhere intangible I am considering through literature that I might be making a difference in the world in which I have no control. I am both creating and distroying. And by my saintly heinous acts I have opened the crooked door or shaky window. I have now frozen time.


My Class

Stepping off the lightrail, I felt like I should be breaking a long line of tape.

It was my first day of college. And there I was, all prepped out, ready for class. I had all the things I thought were neccesary for college: my laptop, several pens, a 500-pound biology book, a cynical and all-knowing attitude, the works. I felt like I was done, that life was a race that you won by entering college.

So much to learn.

I finally shuffled my way to my biology class, and settled into my seat as the professor, short-haired, grayed, and earringed, began class.

"Today," he said, "is your first day of medical school."

I stifled my laughter very quickly once I realized the room was silent.

I wasn't at the end of a long race; I was at the beginning, all over again. I was on a track that loops in circles. You run, run, and run, ad infinitum. Four years ago, I was a freshman. Now i'm lining up at the start again, without even enough time between races to take a breath.

To be honest, I'm getting a little sick of these starting blocks. I'm worn down with all of the hurdles I've jumped, and now they're getting higher. So is this is? I just keep sprinting towards what I think is the finish line, realizing it was simply the beginning of another race?

Race to college. To med school. To a job. To a promotion. To a family. To getting my kids to college. To retirement. To death?

It was the lightrail home that saved me. iPod buds in each ear, I stared forlornly at the map painted on the ceiling, waiting for the pleasant female voice to announce I was home, when the giant metaphor I was riding hit me.

Life isn't the race. It isn't in the hurdles or the turns or even in the finish line. It's in you. Your will, your passion, your goals that keep you going when you're lost past your ability to move. That's life.

The question isn't who finishes first, who you beat, or even where your finish line is.

The question is, what's worth racing for?

Figure that out, line up at the blocks, and wait for the starting pistol. Run fast. Run hard. Run with love.


-Kyle McDaniel


The Already

So many things can go right and wrong in a lifetime that it's difficult to remember which ones are important. There's always the chance that something unexpected can go awry.
But for short periods at a time, it's as if you've forgotten everything and somehow that makes it all worth while.
People don't live in the past forever. If they know what's good for them they try and stay away from the future. But the truth is, none of us truly know where we are going and how we will get there and exactly what will be waiting for us on the other side.

I have my hopes. My dreams. And the free set of pilot wings everyone gets after their birth. But I only have one real sense of security. And it's funny that that security is a part of the now. Maybe I'm more comfortable knowing that no matter what happens, if I keep the now secure, than whenever that impending future comes for me, that I'll be following the same philosophy.
And judging by how much has changed since I've started keeping track. Is that truly impossible?

You'd think that by finally knowing what has changed, it would make it easier to see and plan for the future. But what I've found is that in a world where the outcome of a process changes by the mere observation of it... I found that nothing is ever really set in stone.

And for a long time that has been my true philosophy. That yeah sure, things might change. And yeah sure, I might not have the same life in a few years that I have now. But the matter of fact is that fate isn't some grand game. We aren't puppets to a will already predetermined. To me, I've made fate out to be a set of rules that life follows. The reason that paper will burn over fire is because of fate. And as long as I can understand how things work, I can write my own future.
It can be whatever I want it to be.

-Taylor J. Pridgen


The Missing

Tonight the moonlight hid behind the mountain tops and cast an illumination of an archipelago of clouds. Ripples in the sky expanded and distorted the things we thought we know, making an obvious statement of dreams. Whales swim here and make homes of the stars. But the current pulls and swirls around specific points of interest merely interested in being interesting. Systems of order proves hierarchy's strength and the lights are messengers to the invisible but alive. They sit silently behind veils plugging wires and connecting the dots left behind in the inevitable rush that we go through just to live our lives. Reflecting the ground below in an eerie vast nothingness. Merely commentating on all the things we miss.

So tell me why the car drives are better with the windows down. And when all it takes to enjoy a moment is by smiling, where is the challenge. With a combination of joy and tears, I find what's worth living for. The perpetual anxieties that plague our existence day after day are strong enough to make us ponder their extremities for lifetimes without any real advancement and that is what's special about them. They co exist with our insecurities and abilities that we use ponder their very reality. The disasters are coming at full speed and nothing can slow them down. But when the only true reason to life is to live. Why would you want to?

-Taylor J. Pridgen


The Soul

Power's out.
Inside the walls foundations creak and darkness invades. When is a house not a home? What is it about the loss of functioning that makes a house a building. Destitute and alone.
And how does the sudden acknowledgment of the always lurking knowledge suddenly shake you to your core and dissect everything you once knew into brand new ideas separating them into categories once nonexistent? Birthing something from the loss of everything.
What does it mean to wrap arms around another and hold them closely? Why do we feel the need to be so close that our lips can touch and should only our hands hold? What are eyes made of? And when they're closed is the power out? What makes a house a home?
The world follows trends. Or patterns?

- Taylor J. Pridgen


The Nuts and Bolts

It feels as if the sun came out at night to simply watch over me. But I know how that is impossible because the moon is forever my lighthouse in life and it's done such a great job lately.

I've never been close to death.
People die and I'd rather not mourn. A startling chemistry inside me builds up to let me know that I'm not sad as I should be. Maybe we should celebrate the life of the death. And we really are only being selfish in mourning those being left behind.

But if a heaven is everything you could ever need to be truly happy. I couldn't imagine anything better than interaction and discovery with everything the world has to offer. Am I living a heaven and what could be better than waiting for the disaster?
If there is no life after death than I'll die anxious, but accomplished.

And in the meantime, I find it funny how saddled I am with everything Big. I've long since ignored all the little things that while important never held sufficient space in my attention.
And still, each star is its own sun, possibly bigger than ours, occupying areas in space unimaginably far away.
Yet, I can hold them in my hands.

-Taylor J. Pridgen


The Dream

There came a point in your life that something big, or dangerous, happened. Something I couldn't let happen.

And so I traveled through time.

Whether or not I solved this potential problem, I met you on the pews of the most gorgeous Church / School I had ever dreamed. Maybe you added to its beauty.

What I had set out to accomplish in the first place might as well have been settled for at that time it was as if I met you for the first time and fell in love with you for the first time all over again.

We caused havoc and explored the Church. Finding ourselves in the middle of the night at the top of an indoor tower where we couldn't help but laugh at the elegant elephant decorations or swoon at the moon.

Your dorms were underground, where only the tail-end of light burst through the bottoms of windows. Surrounded by a library, I found it funny how fitting it was. And that somehow I snuck in to be able to sleep next to you for the first time all over again.

Morning came and I found myself faced with your classmates who, for no apparent reason, all spoke japanese. You knew it too, but as if to prove just how intelligent you truly are, you had already mastered these languages.

In order to be able to pay for my living in this time, I turned to begging with two accomplices. We had a routine down and somehow it worked. We received money.

And I saw you again.
We walked the park by your school and appreciated all of the little things in life.

And something happened. Part of the school collapsed. Tragedy was thick in the air. But I had no clue what happened to you. You didn't die, you just disappeared.

Lo, I returned to begging. Perhaps you weren't gone. Just, in hiding. It was on that day I received a Turkey Penny. Apparently these were quite rare, so my comrades and I celebrated. However, while they weren't looking I slipped the coin into my pocket.

Lucky thing too. For we were immediately robbed of our earnings by an eager man on a motorcycle.

I shrugged and retreated with my penny in pocket to meet a friend of mine I had made on this journey. We walked the path around the park until we got to a house of a child's birthday. The parents informed us that instead of coming in, we should just grasp the top of the wall and hold ourselves on top.

The dad was teaching the boy to drum on a ball. He was very good but the child couldn't quite get the exact rhythm his father had. Even if the child's rhythm in itself was impressive.

Later I met up with my begging buddies and we reminisced about old times. I was part of this time now, no longer a traveler. I took out my Turkey Penny and showed it to them. They all smiled and patted me on the back.

I remember the final moment of the dream, one of my friends told me

"Yeah that could definitely stop a bullet."
And I thought of you...


The Bullet

Stop and start and through the bends I found myself. Again.
In the metaphorical wave of life I found the beat and my heart followed along. Suddenly the world was clear as the ups and downs and curves became the plummets and rises and suspense of elation. If only for a second I knew. Is it coincidence that all good things are skyward.
I wouldn't think so.

Here I am as there you are, growing old in using the same old methods to cope with what was previously uncopable. The year has passed me by within whatever manner of dictation I chose to end it with and has not bothered to look back and I refuse to chase after it.

Cursed forever with the insight to the beginning of a vast ocean deep with infinity. Bubbles glow and burst and I can't help but get the feeling I've seen this before and am systematically phased with the ideal that the old is behind me. And yet here I am as there you are.

Somewhere behind the clouds and blue skies encasing the majestic buildings all composed musically on single stretches of paper lays the world undiscovered, ready for me to rip away the obvious. The world in all its beauty is only comparable to itself and quite possibly the sound of that single bullet from that one gun to spark the start of the race in between light blue linE(ye)s. And I'll sit on my chair forever ready to be done with impatience whose only ability is to teach the blind.

I am greedy and want the world on that paper with labels and numbers all for me to understand and decode and manipulate forever. And somewhere deep inside of myself lays me waiting on that street corner with all the wisdom and understanding of a god just to remind myself that I will never have all of those things.

Maybe the year that passed me by time and time again isn't actually leaving. This time that I spend dictating and organizing my life is nothing more than myself making sense of what I can't. And yet, the instant you accept your surroundings as reality you've lost more potential than life could ever give you. Dear Father Time, Thank you.

-Taylor J. Pridgen


The Movie Theater

Life is a picture reel of moments flying past us faster every day. With photographs and memories the only impossibility to truly capture time. But yet of two wonders the world around us has to offer.

I saw love.

And I've tried to define it a thousand different ways, and a thousand different times. And that's only an iceberg's tip. There's as many ways to show you as there are for you to see. I'm ambiguous for you.

In a moment as innocent as randomly but instinctively turning and gazing at someone who accompanied myself to such a trivial ideal as a movie, I saw her in the light of the screen. But I remember her in a light I never thought of imagining.
Something about that moment, that timing, the simplicity and meaning mixing together brought forth something much bigger than her or I. It was something we have all been trying to pinpoint for centuries and probably longer.

The world is truly gigantic. Land that stretches on for tens of thousands of miles in a multitude of directions. And scattered all along this map are landmarks, locations, valleys, mountains, cliffs, beaches, forests, deserts, plains, trenches, rivers, lakes, parks, stores, homes, hearts. But how vivid are all of the colors? How plentiful the music? How spread are emotions? How varied are all the materials? How curious are the mysteries? How philosophical are the theories? How strange the weather? How deep the soul? How magical that everything works together in motion? The world is packed full of more things than just land and water. And behind everything we do see remains the forces at work that we can not see, or can we really comprehend. Like love.

What is the most beautiful thing you can think of?
For a while I thought it might just be the sun, burning absolutely silently in its ferocious glory in absolute nothingness.

And time and time again I've been proven wrong but the sheer force of a smile. Or the gentle caress of eyes. Or even something as infinite as the meaning of it all.

- Taylor J. Pridgen


The Long Distance Letter

New York Bound,
She dreams of all the little things that make the world so big.

And it is funny how much bigger the world truly is
when she looks at it from farther away.

Farther up the towers of her world:
She sees the cracks in the concrete.
She dreams of starts and stars.
Below should be seen by looking up.

How sad is it that a voice makes me long? Longer I feel than I know.
My home is alive with arms open wide.

My, my... How I miss those arms.

For all the things the world can show;
for all the things that keep us in awe.
For all the beauty when we can't look away.
It is because of you.
And all of that fire just raging to be the sunset of the world.

No matter how big it is.
Come Home Quickly?

- Taylor J. Pridgen


My Love

Her voice, slightly scratchy over the long distance line, spoke volumes. It spoke of hope and life, of love and passion, of disappointment and forgiveness, of chances and risks, of those found and those lost, of the yet to come and the things that past, of kisses and hugs, of fate and destiny.

It spoke, and inside it, I heard everything; laughter, the sporadic beats of rain, the splash of teenagers through puddles, the thrumming tones of a guitar, the sheer transcending chords of a piano, the deep vibration of a bass, the perfect harmony of sound.

Her voice fills me with a passion, a fire, a need. I can feel her words across a distance, like thunder rolling from far away.

Her voice speaks. "I love you," it whispers. Those quiet syllables shake me to my core everytime.

Here's looking at you, kid.

-Kyle T. McDaniel


The 20 Years

Walking through crowds on windy days.

It's hard to remember the histories of each and everyone you pass. The uncountable encounters that each individual has had throughout their entire lifetime of sleepovers, movie nights, dates, breakdowns and birthdays.

In twenty years a young girl can grow into a beautiful woman.
And in two she can fall in love.

In one year she can learn to walk.
In two she can learn to talk.
And all the meanwhile her brain is viewing the world differently than anyone ever will in their life. There's a kind of magic and truth in children that everyone seems to forget as they grow.

But then there are the eyes; windows of doors begging to be picked, and ready to swing open. The eyes know the truth. They see through the world and its infinite clarity to see the snowglobe outer shell that, when shaken, makes the impossible possible all the way down your spine and sometimes into your heart.

What good is childhood without any of the trouble. Without all the near death experiences, without all the silly child fights. That seem so innocent and at the same time so frightening. Within the intention of pretense and the volition of confrontation a spiral is born to forever spin into the nothingness that it continually creates within its means. Sometimes serving no purpose is the best reason to try something new.

Which is why we date.
What cosmic anthology dictates that one person needs another?
What is that eluding feeling that gets us off, every time we think we've found that one person.
Out of billions;
Is it the same feeling when we are proven wrong.
Live life throughout and you'll never, ever be wrong.

It takes courage to try. To fight. To strive for those finite ideals that we are able to write down on paper and share with others in a misunderstood hope that we may be appreciated.
You're reading.

In one day. None of that can matter.
And in one afternoon, you might not need a care.

Because in all of life's searching. Wondering. Pondering. Listing.
There is one thing we are sure of.

And should that thing be found within the warmest of embraces;
Consider this a dedication.

& Always

(-Taylor J. Pridgen)


The Impossible

On top of my world I can see the lights beautifully against the once friendly darkness.
Do you know what stars are?

From the top, down, worlds stretch before me in a stunning array; each with a history in pages of books. Should they be too small for you; perchance you missed out on the big.
Foolproof. For now we doubt. Unsure of our big dreams. Aiming at something bound to fall into pieces. The ingenuity of fools spies how pieces come together. Are there such things as accidents or the importance of questions?

Of my pushing, and pushing, to get to where I am going, I find a million people take the spot I leave. Yet the mass of population that stands within this invisible square makes it hard to see my direction. Perhaps the people themselves can be landmarks against the time and paths that we created.
Lines lie.

But, here, now, stretched before me is a universe of potential and possibility. Nothing is impossible. Improbable, unlikely, but never impossible.
Diem Infinitum.

Or are we all fooling ourselves, give us each a lantern in a cave, or an illuminated clock tower. Do we trick ourselves into believing that the world is a mystery in the order to keep it inspiring?
In the eyes, and thoughts, of one boy on a hilltop, a city stretches for miles. A population lives on for years. A small amount of life abundant within a world our own.

Somethings may always be true.
In terms of The World, Big Dreams, and A Name;
Too Big A Story.

(-Taylor J. Pridgen)


The Whisper

There's a whisper tonight.
Floating in and weaving out the cracks and crevices of the soft melodies of violins.
Passed by bonds and security so tight Fort Knox would crumble below an awesome weight; powerful beyond most means of human interaction.
They hold hands in their words.

The music plays as the world regrets. Who could say and who could lie.
A full orchestra of melody. A symphony of words at our disposal and not everyone can hear.
Violins to one, cello to another, drums to them, and piano to few.
An aid to the deaf is manifested by means much too clever to find.
Or hear.

Here, an attempt at listening is made but never discovered through the mild effort pushed forth by those who have such better things to do than listen for that one little thing that, by potential's sake, could change so much in the life of a song, the beating of hearts and the whisper of words.

-Taylor J. Pridgen


My Winter's Journey

Winter walked into the town, dressed only in shades of white and gray. The snow crackled, protesting beneath his feet. The houses were huddled close together against the cold, a fresh coat of snow neatly brushed on them. He crunched onward, admiring his handiwork. A few kids threw snowballs, laughing and screaming as they gamboled through the square. He almost stopped them; after all, it was his work they were playing with. He ended up simply stifling a cough.

Winter sighed. He used to be able to whip up an ice age with a thought; now covering a village left him winded. Winter tried to shrug these thoughts off his back, and continued onward. The children marched across his path, unaware of his presence. One of them stopped, frozen in her tracks, a girl with hair like strands of midnight. She looked straight into Winter’s frozen eyes, and he into her blazing sockets; so much life, so much innocence. She hesitated once, then followed her friends into the afternoon. He watched her go, and sighed, the weariness showing in his stare.

He glanced skyward. Even with the cloudy censorship of the sun, he still knew he was late. He knew he had more canvases to fill, more landscapes to paint. A gust of wind kicked some snow into the air, and by the time it settled, he was gone.

-Kyle T. McDaniel


My Anti-Resolution

Change is a continual goal of the human race. We strive for hidden starts, unclosed doors, and hope stemming from the present. We thrive in the opportunity to change.
Don't you get it?

Life is the thing that changes around us. It flows and twists, giving us suprises and disappointment, setups and letdowns.

December 31st is going to find me the same person I was before; we don't become better people just because we asked to. We're going to be the same, in new cirumstances.

Life gives us time; the only choice we have in the matter is what we do with it.

Don't spend that time regretting what you've done, or always trying to trump your former achievements. Why not just resolve to be happy? To be satisfied? To love life?

That sounds like a damn good resolution to me.

-Kyle T. McDaniel