http://slow.writerscafe.org/perhapsbenjamin The original writings of author Benjamin en-us Copyright 2026 WritersCafe.org 1776215972 WritersCafe.org RSS Generator 15 Auction ManComeby and buy the warestowipe away your cares! Righthere right here this itemthiseye gem, fine piece of workdoesnot have secrets that lurk!Takeit home, take it to rome, take it anywhere!Yousir! In the front, in the front, stand up!Get.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/perhapsbenjamin/1313452/ The only way, the way onlywe could see, could we see?We watched closely, watched closely wedid what we could, what could we do?There's not enough time, is there time enoughto watch the planet die? Watch the planet die. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/perhapsbenjamin/1312897/ That man in theblack coat,with the grizzledcheeks and tight skin aroundthe throat,has a purpose and aplan and has no idea ofeither one;That woman holdingthe cane and walking with a limpcannot run,and always wins themarathon andalways wins it bymil.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/perhapsbenjamin/1311208/ I am a drum, my life a rhythm just building to a cataclysm. Sometimes I'm off-beat, so I retreat, repeat, and reseat my listeners. First I start with a roll, quite drollbut steady and quick, each stick like the wings of a dragonfly, highoverhead it floats in the sky.Then .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/perhapsbenjamin/1310677/ ...againno water today. My throat aches like craggy rocks and empty air. Iwould think the wide sand oceans of a desert wasteland would be theplace to die of thirst, but I'm cursed; The high top of a mountaintall will be my rest, my bed, my deep slip down from here. Like a.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/perhapsbenjamin/1310673/ Across the streetunder a lamp brightis a tiny campsiteof one. With hair spun andwoven tightshe sits and laughsfor fun.Her house, her home,her tent --rent free-- isalways light and fresh;Its easily moved andimproved with tapeto fix its shapeafter .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/perhapsbenjamin/1310191/ He approached me on the street,that man, hair like wheat stalkssurrounded by smoke and cunning,air like a fox.He offered me a night to eatout like kings, and so he flungthe end of his cigarette, rings still hung in circles about him.How could I resist? He pers.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/perhapsbenjamin/1309550/ That flat block absorbs you;deep into the space between its walls, a smooth sensation, elation callsbut falls short of satisfying, everytime.It shows the world: everything there is, hurled at your face in caseyou weren't listening close enough,ears pressed as if .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/perhapsbenjamin/1309035/ Thereis no time more confusing thanthelast minutes till sleep;Themind wants to reap itself, consumeitself and keep mefromknowing why.--Fallingfast in a vast space below,arace to the bottom they-got-him,quitegrim they say without a limbtoshow for it, but maybe the pit.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/perhapsbenjamin/1308590/ White scratchy sheets greets thepatient in the cold hard morning. In mourning for those around him, he lies still andquiet,hoping the air is as poisonous asit smells.Nothing quells his fears: not the bright fluorescent suns, not the still flowers with .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/perhapsbenjamin/1308579/ The polished wood feels likethe edge of a shot glass betweenmy finger tips, my lips cracked and dry,I crave that drink.The only sound is a crooked door,a horse stutter, my heart at my core.Hot sun, hot sand, hot air to breatheI seethe and wish this all be over.He stands not far a.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/perhapsbenjamin/1307568/ I loved itwithout doubtmy tiny littlesprout, but--it always grew:to my knees thenmy chestthen my headthen the rest.I emptied mygarage of its things,a toolbox, somerings...all from yearsand years ago,time rusted like gearsin a watch. Still it .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/perhapsbenjamin/1306932/ The work is hard the work is roughthe work leaves you so dead and tired,you're stuck and mired.Hands are made crooked claws,calluses made sore and torn,throat filled with earth and sand,how much more can you take? Fake it, don't let the boss shake it fr.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/perhapsbenjamin/1306438/ His memory works likea child's blocks fit together,brightly colored wooden pieces clumsily placed no matter whetherthey fit or matched.He hatched a plan anyways thoughdespite his inability and lack of brutevirility, the ideas grew up. He thought they might las.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/perhapsbenjamin/1305905/ Small flames waver against blacklike a jellyfish underwater; they lacksubstance.The fringe of night remains sketched,the shadows pushed back and stretchedto veil countless beasts,the edge of the campsite is torn.I know, I know they wait,with appetites large.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/perhapsbenjamin/1305207/ Quaint faces in tiny boxessay crackle words througha blizzard of static. The ears have long since gone deaftrying to hear the world's problemsover waves of wind and air.A battered pair, storytellers at heart(but twisted by news and time),tell about the newest .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/perhapsbenjamin/1304564/ Did I die?...did I die?I see a milky sky and black branches,crisp against each other above me, framed by a car window.Glittering glass, broken, covers me like sea shells, the ringing in my ears like waves on a beach.Everything reaches my ears in a moment,.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/perhapsbenjamin/1304089/ The waves of amordant sea crashed into a wall of endless rock. Along the verticalshore a forest stood, a vast tower of green. Trees clung to the edgeof the cliff with dying urgency before relinquishing their grip tofall into the cold bite of water. All animal life had left th.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/perhapsbenjamin/1303983/ “We'reout of fire wood again...” “There is nothing I can do about that, you want me to go outthere?” “No...no. I just wish we had more. It's cold, you know?” Two malefigures huddled around adying fire. The eerie light created shad.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/perhapsbenjamin/1303975/ Theroom was filled with a dense smoke only tempered by dull yellowlights. A rabble of voices and shuffling footsteps passed throughthe smog. In the backcorner of the club sata man quietly, reclinedwith his feet on a round table. His gray fedora lay delicately uponhis he.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/perhapsbenjamin/1303974/  The sun filtered in through the small musty windows of the classroom. The room was old, the dark wooden floorboards smooth from passingfeet and moving tables. In the corner was a gentle red fire. It wassilent and cast conflicting shadows with the little sunlight thatma.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/perhapsbenjamin/1303973/ I brought itback to the garagein a brown paperbag, (the one frommy food).I held it closethe whole way,it did not weighmore than a tuftof fur, like atiny bur it nuzzledmy side happy tobe along for the ride,but with a sharpsting. I set it downand it.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/perhapsbenjamin/1303600/ It spoke to me, just now. It told me many things. Things I don't want to hear. Here, itspeaks again, again.  --Listen. You weren't meant to be a squirrel. Not a squirrel, or a chipmunk, or a mole, or a vole, not any ofthese. Listen, listen to me. Trees were meant to wa.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/perhapsbenjamin/1303445/ I found one outside of the gas stationonce.It was odd, a tiny ball of fur andfeather,a fleeting life held firmly in myhands.I felt it shiver, just a small quiver.I felt its heart beat a chant (I can't die, I can't) so faint.It poked it's beak between my.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/perhapsbenjamin/1302955/ There are spaces in between notes, tones to rest your bones on, crawl up and rest therecurl up and sleep where the deep resonant bass like soft laceholds you up--up to the high trills, they tickle your breathlike a warm blanket--they surround youin.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/perhapsbenjamin/1302393/ Tarmac like an ocean, it'sinsubstantial like my wallet, and my tank. If I were a ship I'd sinkinto that long deep drink,the road pulls me under.With thunder I awake--twin eyes face me, race towards meand I forget how to move.--there is nothing smaller than.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/perhapsbenjamin/1301822/ Tonight I'm sleeping in the alley.It's not what you think, it's notbecause I don't have other places,home bases to rest or requesthelp is not what I need.What I need is company, and not for a fee--That'd be too easy, and a measlytime it would be, ti.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/perhapsbenjamin/1301282/ The pear sat perplexed in the pantry.His life was just sitting, patientlypretending he knew more of the world.So the pear peered through the doorinto the lore and legends of theoutside.Buthe was in a precarious state on the edge of a ledge and forgot--pea.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/perhapsbenjamin/1300615/ -Tuesday:September 18th, 2012 10:19pm- JohnHenry watches a man in his bus window. The callus face does notseem to mind his interest, but the eyes twitch with knowledge. Theman's thick hair woven into a net of black grime. Like a cagehe thinks. He wears a pair of blue o.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/perhapsbenjamin/1300596/ He pops pills of essence, his effervescence captured in acapsule;he's high on himself filled full.Like tiny plastic figurines, the pillscrawl deep into his stomach to nest,a rest from the cold outside world. There's a whole family there now:Mom, Dad and li.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/perhapsbenjamin/1300087/ Musichas taste, ithas texture.SometimesI will pick atthe notesandchoose the most succulent pieces,athree bar phraseorhigh octave trill,andlet my hungry teethslowlysink in,likea ripe plum.Themelody dripsdown my chinandtickles my t.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/perhapsbenjamin/1299901/ His fingers pull thestringsand each rings a callout,A single voice, thentwo, mingle and flood theair.Paired together,foreverI've waited to hearthem.Her with delicate bow,sew the notes likeseedlingsthe lead sings. Him with a jump in hishands.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/perhapsbenjamin/1299899/ Each step he takes shakes, the ground breaks.From the east he approaches, encroaches, like a creeping blight that kills sight, and a scream shrills fromThe town of rust, a shantyfull of lust and greed,drinks its mead and thinksit safe to lead this life;.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/perhapsbenjamin/1299898/ Thecrooked army, it cannotharmme in its slanted state,itsfate to march foreverlikea game so clever andtwisted. Thebattlefield misted, coveredwith crystal capped flowers,eachcowers. Abovetowers gray bulks, greathulks that crush.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/perhapsbenjamin/1299896/ A car, builtwith muscle,roar, and coreof iron fist, purrsat the door.Three men stepout and feet hit theconcrete, a beatlike the one inmy chest,step and thenrest, they crest mythreshold. Cold looks,empty faces, spacesbetween theirteeth,.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/perhapsbenjamin/1299603/