It was the anniversary of Moby Dick’s publication. 15 November 1851. The song was released on 15 November ’18. This has to mean something, but I don’t care what. There’s a clarity that transcends absolutes, and defining something too rigidly is
Trigger warning: this one is dark
Content warning: bad poetry
Fifteen years ago, I wrote a poem. This was fifteen years before I had a name for how I was different. But, I always knew.
It’s the parochial archetype.
Crisp white linens absorb the gentle breeze and filtered sunshine as they flutter lazily from a clothesline, the starkness a deep contrast against the idyllic backdrop of a lush green forest.
A brief overview:
My play is set in a world where some Aspies are born with the ability to move time, to bend it to their will. The past and future are no barriers for them.