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Aug. 14th, 2002 08:44 pmI gave a writing dare to the stimulating ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
in2oblivion yesterday, and she responded perfectly. For those that want to play the home game:
Three paragraphs. Title: "Exploration" and you must use the words "thousands" "points" and "light" in the story. Only one dare word can be used per paragraph.
No other rules, no clarifications -- use your interpretation. Post in your journal and link here. It's all in fun, give it a shot!
Here's my entry:
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Exploration
The night watch is always challenging. And yet, it is now I can best see through the past; hundreds of years ago, thousands of miles from home, a sailor gazes into the same dark seas and bright stars. I can see him clearly, but I cannot see into him any more than I can see into myself these days. It is likely we share the same reasons for being here, tossed gently by the swell, hoping that something vital in our souls may be knocked loose by an errant wave, revealed to us, and allow us to go home in peace.
Why does the sea remind sailors of women? The smooth curve of its surface matches the in and out turn of thigh, of rear and spine and neck. Perhaps it's just the sensory deprivation, the lack of the sight of green or the scent of life. One's mind points to what is lacking. Or the impetus of being out here in the first place.
I think of home, idly, light thoughts of people and bustle. My mind shies away from thoughts of....
in2oblivion yesterday, and she responded perfectly. For those that want to play the home game:Three paragraphs. Title: "Exploration" and you must use the words "thousands" "points" and "light" in the story. Only one dare word can be used per paragraph.
No other rules, no clarifications -- use your interpretation. Post in your journal and link here. It's all in fun, give it a shot!
Here's my entry:
------------
Exploration
The night watch is always challenging. And yet, it is now I can best see through the past; hundreds of years ago, thousands of miles from home, a sailor gazes into the same dark seas and bright stars. I can see him clearly, but I cannot see into him any more than I can see into myself these days. It is likely we share the same reasons for being here, tossed gently by the swell, hoping that something vital in our souls may be knocked loose by an errant wave, revealed to us, and allow us to go home in peace.
Why does the sea remind sailors of women? The smooth curve of its surface matches the in and out turn of thigh, of rear and spine and neck. Perhaps it's just the sensory deprivation, the lack of the sight of green or the scent of life. One's mind points to what is lacking. Or the impetus of being out here in the first place.
I think of home, idly, light thoughts of people and bustle. My mind shies away from thoughts of....
