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-rw-r--r--nothing-terminal.dbx44
-rw-r--r--sketches/five-hundred.mx17
-rw-r--r--sketches/kansas-city.mx20
-rw-r--r--sketches/night-michael.mx10
-rw-r--r--sketches/northward.mx8
-rw-r--r--sketches/puzzle-pieces.mx18
-rw-r--r--working/flagrant-joy.mx33
7 files changed, 150 insertions, 0 deletions
diff --git a/nothing-terminal.dbx b/nothing-terminal.dbx
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..043e149
--- /dev/null
+++ b/nothing-terminal.dbx
@@ -0,0 +1,44 @@
+<?xml version="1.0" encoding="UTF-8"?>
+<book xmlns="http://docbook.org/ns/docbook"
+ xmlns:rdf="http://www.w3.org/1999/02/22-rdf-syntax-ns#"
+ xmlns:dc="http://purl.org/dc/elements/1.1/"
+ xmlns:cc="http://creativecommons.org/ns#"
+ xmlns:xi="http://www.w3.org/2001/XInclude"
+ xml:id="nothing-terminal"
+ version="5.0">
+ <!-- {{{ Bookinfo -->
+ <title>Nothing Terminal</title>
+ <info>
+ <author><personname><firstname>brian</firstname><othername>m.</othername><surname>carlson</surname></personname></author>
+ <!--{{{ Copyright and License-->
+ <copyright>
+ <year>2011</year>
+ <holder>brian m. carlson</holder>
+ </copyright> <!-- }}} -->
+ </info> <!-- }}} -->
+ <!--
+ Sea of Trees
+ The Motorway
+ -->
+ <!-- {{{ The Motorway -->
+ <part xml:id="motorway">
+ <title>The Motorway</title>
+ <xi:include href="aoif/fire-dream.dbx" parse="xml" />
+ <xi:include href="aoif/water-dream.dbx" parse="xml" />
+ <xi:include href="aoif/water-dream.dbx" parse="xml" />
+ </part><!--}}}-->
+ <!-- {{{ The Ferry -->
+ <part xml:id="ferry">
+ <title>The Ferry</title>
+ <xi:include href="aoif/fire-dream.dbx" parse="xml" />
+ <xi:include href="aoif/water-dream.dbx" parse="xml" />
+ <xi:include href="aoif/water-dream.dbx" parse="xml" />
+ </part><!--}}}-->
+ <!-- {{{ Sea of Trees -->
+ <part xml:id="sea-of-trees">
+ <title>Sea of Trees</title>
+ <xi:include href="aoif/fire-dream.dbx" parse="xml" />
+ <xi:include href="aoif/water-dream.dbx" parse="xml" />
+ <xi:include href="aoif/water-dream.dbx" parse="xml" />
+ </part><!--}}}-->
+</book>
diff --git a/sketches/five-hundred.mx b/sketches/five-hundred.mx
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..805a54e
--- /dev/null
+++ b/sketches/five-hundred.mx
@@ -0,0 +1,17 @@
+.poem
+.tt ""
+.au "brian m. carlson"
+.nf
+Droplets fall from the ceiling
+and I wonder if the people here
+three years ago had pasta pots
+and frying pans situated
+ever-so-delicately in the middle
+of the den.
+
+Like us, maybe they sat, played
+five hundred when the landlord
+forgot to pay the electric bill,
+snuggled in blankets
+in the drafty kitchen,
+the stove cooking nothing at all.
diff --git a/sketches/kansas-city.mx b/sketches/kansas-city.mx
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..4f6618f
--- /dev/null
+++ b/sketches/kansas-city.mx
@@ -0,0 +1,20 @@
+.story
+.tt ""
+.au "brian m. carlson"
+.pp
+I am sitting in my hotel room in Kansas City. I hate rain and two-week-long
+business trips in crappy extended-stay hotels. Apparently I am meant to suffer.
+My piece of salmon is on the counter and I am staring at it, trying to figure
+out whether I should cook it. The grocery store had only onion powder and
+spearmint, and only now do I notice that the onion powder I have bought is, for
+some unexplicable reason, the same orange color as the salmon. I decide that
+onions are white and yellow and reddish-purple, but not orange, and that I'd
+really rather prefer a pizza with green peppers and white or yellow or
+reddish-purple onions to hugging the toilet all night. I put the salmon back in
+the fridge and search the desk for the list of all the local restaurants that
+deliver.
+.pp
+Fifteen minutes later, I discover that apparently in Kansas City, pizza joints
+are not open at 10:47 at night on a Thursday, and if they are, they are located
+in Kansas or Independence and would not deliver even if I gave the driver a
+fifty.
diff --git a/sketches/night-michael.mx b/sketches/night-michael.mx
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..50d9d35
--- /dev/null
+++ b/sketches/night-michael.mx
@@ -0,0 +1,10 @@
+.story
+.tt
+.au "brian m. carlson"
+.pp
+Night was a time when Michael felt he could relax, worry less. The scales on
+his arms itched less then, and it was cooler; he could walk down the street
+wearing a hoodie and nobody would notice. In fact, nobody noticed him in
+general, not because he was unremarkable, but because he was quiet and a bit
+awkward socially. Despite it being the South, a supposedly more friendly part
+of the country, people for the most part kept to themselves.
diff --git a/sketches/northward.mx b/sketches/northward.mx
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..93d2a15
--- /dev/null
+++ b/sketches/northward.mx
@@ -0,0 +1,8 @@
+.story
+.tt ""
+.au "brian m. carlson"
+.pp
+North, we decided, was the best direction. South seemed too hard, too crass, too
+unrefined. The decision was difficult, though, as we struggled to find the
+lakes we had been told were on either side of us, that bounded the scar of land
+we stood on, the wall keeping fellow droplets of water from joining together.
diff --git a/sketches/puzzle-pieces.mx b/sketches/puzzle-pieces.mx
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..76e728f
--- /dev/null
+++ b/sketches/puzzle-pieces.mx
@@ -0,0 +1,18 @@
+.tt "Flood"
+.au "brian m. carlson"
+.nf
+Navy puzzle pieces drop
+on the floor of the cottage. The lights are dim from
+the lamp in the corner, and other than the laughter, all that can be heard is
+the rush of the river below.
+
+The bikes have been locked to the piers below.
+The water is rushing by them,
+the first day it hasn't rained
+in two weeks.
+
+The weir, for sure,
+is overflowing; tomorrow,
+there will be leaves scattered
+throughout the remants of the garden,
+the begonias washed away.
diff --git a/working/flagrant-joy.mx b/working/flagrant-joy.mx
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..3db15c1
--- /dev/null
+++ b/working/flagrant-joy.mx
@@ -0,0 +1,33 @@
+.poem
+.tt "Flagrant Joy"
+.au "brian m. carlson"
+.nf
+I knew you once
+when we would cram
+in cars, go to the park
+swing at midnight
+in the crisp November air.
+
+We were free then; we lived
+in flagrant joy, impromptu
+scavenger hunts, late-night
+juice bars, trips to Ben & Jerry’s.
+
+The night called to us, the moon
+lit our way in jokes, conversations,
+games of Truth or Dare.
+
+ Grown up, you are a slave
+ to the Book; your eyes
+ sad, mirthless.
+
+ Wyoming’s calls are sirens;
+ shipwreck is upon you,
+ should you let your anchor go
+
+ breathe—once again—pull
+ your head up from the salty waters.
+
+I knew you once
+and having met you again
+I miss you.