Ravens

Damned Ravens. All day they crash up against the milky sky. Now the whole western horizon is bruised with the blue-black of rainless clouds. Ravens are not intelligent. They believe, for example, that we have a second moon, one that floats around us under the surface of the ocean. A stupid idea. And how do you account for their loitering along the highways and pecking at apple cores and the rib cages of smashed deer?

I once knew a kid who thought chips of flint stone were valuable. So he picked up a few from the ground and swallowed them down. He didn’t look any different after eating the rocks. I didn’t know then, and don’t know now, the proper means for measuring a person’s value. Birds, I know. If they sing pretty and have yellow on their wings, they are worth something. A few years later, the same kid got accused of raping a girl. He didn’t rape that girl. I saw him a few times after that and he avoided me when I approached. I felt like a worm wriggling out from a hole in an apple...and he reached for an apple in front of me.

Most of the time, nothing makes sense to me. Why would you accuse someone of rape if you knew they didn’t rape you? Why doesn’t snow smell the same as rain? Snow almost smells like flowers. And If I had a choice to be anything in life, I think I might be one of those plain little birds that mobs ravens and chases them the hell away.

--Mitchell Hegman

A Point to Consider

What if Hudgins is correct?  What if all this beauty without horror is useless?

--Mitchell Hegman

In Need of Repair

Have you ever been driving along though a neighborhood of well-tended homes and abruptly come across one house that stood out in stark contrast due to neglect? Obviously, the house has never been maintained. And you pull over and stare long at the house, wondering why someone hasn’t bought the place just to raze it and start out all over again. What is wrong with the people who own the house? What must the people living next door think? Maybe you are tempted to roll down the window of your car and yell objections.

Well, today, I was that house.

--Mitchell Hegman

Dancing With Our Own Ghosts

Remember that night we danced with our own ghosts? That day you'd learned that your good friend was diagnosed with a sort of cancer with a name the doctor barely managed to pronounce. Terminal. That much clear. The beer tasted like wine and we cried like children. All the songs sounded stark and similar. The band in darkness. We learned one thing...you can’t let the ghosts lead.

--Mitchell Hegman

Crabs

A photograph I snapped at the market in Saigon in April of 2009

--Mitchell Hegman