writing while you mow

I am writing all the time now…little stories as I mow the lawn or drive down the street. I am carefully constructing these little fantasies of worlds in turmoil or more of a utopia than my own. Stories, that for the first time, are not my own. Real fiction. I never get them down anywhere so they just drift away. And, they are mostly forgotten by the time I sit here or near the journal beside my bed.

Fall might actually be here. Maybe to stay. I went to the state fair this weekend with my camera hoping to get something gritty and dark. But I didn’t. Everything was clean and the carnie workers were all dressed in the same white shirt and black pants. Except for the occasional missing front tooth they were looking quite respectable. And suburban. Instead, I ended up with bright colors and blue skies and my friends eating snacks from the “I can fry anything vendor”. The new car building and surrounding ten acres of new cars was like being at the showroom, even fresh carpet on the ground. The exhibit buildings were all smooth and cool and even the bathrooms were fresh. What is happening? I think I’ll have to go down once at night, to see if darkness changes the atmosphere. Maybe nighttime drains some of the vibrancy out of it and gives it the edgier quality I expected.

I want to explore everything right now. To take my camera and capture things that are broken and falling away before they finally do.