About the Author
Alister Flik grew up in a fundamentalist Christian home in the Midwest with a healthy variety of crazy available to her, and her middle child syndrome hardly affects her at all anymore. At 18, she moved to the West Coast, got a tattoo, and now lives happily as a quirky theist amidst the Portland heathens she so dearly loves. Her idols are Joan of Arc (crazy or not), Flannery O'Connor, and Daria. Her favorite superhero is the perfect superhuman combination of Joan of Arc, Flannery O'Connor, and Daria dressed in a cape, armor, boots, and armed with wit and a pen. She is currently looking for someone to illustrate this into a comic book.
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For Love and Half-Life
Skin and Bones, couch below you like a gurney,
you rest
alone, floating
in your blanket like white
foam over the ocean.
Floating--barely enough
weight to hold oxygen
in your lungs.

Skin and Bones, your eyes,
half-closed, look out at me
as if to say,

"This is how it is. I know."

Are you cold, no thin brown hair left
to pull and pacify, like a child
sucking it's thumb.  
Stripped of this.

Do you feel old, so sick at fourteen?

You look
like you could break, shatter
at the lightest
brush of whispered air sent
like a prayer to
your pale skin.

I want to scoop you into my arms,
fold your thin limbs
into my own,
hold up your head and let you know:
You are beautiful.
You are loved.

And now,
you have grown
from this frame, you left
that sickbed and carried
your life away.  
Forgot the weakness,
Skin and Bones, you glare at the world
daring it
to touch you
to touch your stone
sick skin.

Do you feel cold, so far away from any other
eyes wishing to hold you?

Do you feel old, so sick
at twenty-four?

You look broken, shattered by blows
of wind whispering memories through your hair.
Yet you march, hard, bore a way past.

I wish
I could hold you back
before the cracks
became your only
embrace, before your eyes promised
to die, Skin and Bones.

You are beautiful.
You are love.

"I do not think, therefore I am a mustache."
-Sartre *Nausea*
Francis Meyrick

very dramatic medium.  You certainly have that ability to conjure up strange visions, of hoarse and ghostly whisperings.
Powerful stuff. But don't forget to put your artistic side under pressure, and try something to-tally different once in a while.


We little humans, hurtling through the Universe on our tiny, pale blue dot, will find few answers to Life's great mysteries. But we should at least find many of the questions. To write is to ask. To seek. To grope. With humility, and humor. Peace.
Posted on Tuesday, September 21, 2010 at 04:43:01

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