Ghosts in the Machine

A plan is a memory of a future that hasn’t happened yet. But If the shape of a memory changes in the remembering of it, if the machinery in our head makes one inaccurate copy after another, at what point has the plan failed? In this miscarriage of the plot, are you left without a future, or was it always just a fairy tale you whispered with the only other person who could hear it?

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Bus Stop

What if you are sitting at a bus stop, in the dark, waiting for a ride that is not going to come. Will you, like those aging addled Germans, find comfort in the simple act of sitting there. Is it enough to believe you have a place to be and a schedule to keep, even if you can't remember where you are going, or what you are expected to do there, or even who you hope to be waiting for you when you gingerly make your way down the steps.

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Title Page

The problem with free will is that it's worth precisely what you paid for it, and when you cash it in the change comes in the form of regrets, and "what ifs," and all the second-guesses you can stuff in your pockets. When was my story written? Do I have to drive the plot now, or can I just sit back through the second half counting on the momentum of the plot and some carefully constructed dialogue to carry me passively along?

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Gale Force Winds

I have on occasion been a tornado. I have roared through life making a terrifying growl and destroying everything in my path. Let me choose my own path and I will tear your porch off, toss your belongings, fling your shingles, and leave you quaking in a corner in your basement. If something doesn't work, even if that something is me, I huff and I puff and I blow the whole bleedin' joint down. No second tries, no embracing the learning curve.

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