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EmmaSloane

Emma
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Literature

The formless station

With one single step out of the train there is no direction anymore there never was any- no structure, there was no architecture successfully threading the instances of the biography, successfully leading this afternoon successfully leading this career this life towards -sigh- anything There is no direction inside this station and the dawning is cold like the air escaping the closing doors and the somersaulting commuters ditching the fee Smart ones: them and the smug academic flaunting his million publications flaunting his indexed life such a professorial life straight out of graduation in one flawless impulse of his train where all the maps are clear and twelve years after he can boast his scholarly chin bearded in foreign climates and cozy colleges cozily sailing away his success Such is his station, their station, all their stations, in this forsaken life! All the millions, all the toils all the calls were correctly placed and correctly given and it was a smooth transit no

All

1359 deviations
Literature

The formless station

With one single step out of the train there is no direction anymore there never was any- no structure, there was no architecture successfully threading the instances of the biography, successfully leading this afternoon successfully leading this career this life towards -sigh- anything There is no direction inside this station and the dawning is cold like the air escaping the closing doors and the somersaulting commuters ditching the fee Smart ones: them and the smug academic flaunting his million publications flaunting his indexed life such a professorial life straight out of graduation in one flawless impulse of his train where all the maps are clear and twelve years after he can boast his scholarly chin bearded in foreign climates and cozy colleges cozily sailing away his success Such is his station, their station, all their stations, in this forsaken life! All the millions, all the toils all the calls were correctly placed and correctly given and it was a smooth transit no

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drenched runways

drenched runways ---------------- I'm looking out over the wet tarmac of the private airport; the runways are empty of planes. The windsock, soaked with rain, hangs limply straight down, even though some wind yet blows. It will tell no one how to correct their steering during take-offs and landings. Visibility is near zero. I cancel my flight plans for today and for who knows how many other days. The sky may never be quite so clear again as it once was. Someday, probably, I will fly again, but not yet, not yet. Dark clouds will always remind me. Of sunny days. Lancelot Price 2015 March 23

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