Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

At the foot of Stillwater Range I crawl beside a chalk white sea known as Carson Sink; another magnificent Great Basin dead heart sump. God's country. A lone rock flutters on the playa's silvery fringe-- a Navy bombing target. It should have laid down a bit lower. But lower is hard to come by even in dead heart depths, some four-thousand feet above the ocean and safely removed from its designs on world domination. Streams come here to die. I creep along pure white space as sufferers' lyrics creep in and out of murmured dub reverb from the dashboard. As the white sea fades behind dunes, an old Soul Syndicate dub washes over... "Every day cost of living gets higher", which I hear as, "cause a living desire"... Every proper town square will hold a memorial to utter waste today. "Nine-eleven changed everything", sayeth those who would change everything. I'll stick with this dead heart, though it reminds me of why I came. I should toughen up.

When I get back, people will ask if I packed a gun into the desert, you know, to shoot at reflections or fight people in places where there are no people. That's always the first question. I've seen cowboys punch dust and cattle across US 95 on the way to out there, but out there has been a singular trial. Everyone packs, sayeth those who pack. If I took a gun into places of singular trial and unfixed reach, it might alter their chemical makeup beyond recognition. One never knows.

I liked (as a reader) being dropped into the middle of this story.

as a writer, i'm dropped into the middle of things constantly.

that Soul Syndicate dub could still wreck me.

Marvelous rhythms in these sentences.

A good, careful ear, but most of all, a transforming imagination.

Very strong stuff.


--NM

Fantastic read Mnaz, wow. While I was reading you, I kinda found myself pretendin I was chewin on a blade of grass in the hot sun, your prose being the way I wish my mind would work in moments like that......
Really nice cadence.
yee ah
Hest