Ross Dale Kelly
Copywrite March, 2008

Turn on the dish. “Alright, I thought,” and got up, turning on the TV attuned to a large metallic dish out in the earthy backyard, full of a few types of fruit trees, with a long path that crossed a little river encased by some partially dilapidating concrete riddled with moss, complete with footbridge and tall fences leading over the property to the beach. It was in the tropical winter of Mexico where the warm water and busied people created an atmosphere of loose society, where parties could happen during a lunch hour at a restaurant run by the man who lived and dedicated his self to running a clean kitchen to bring in the foreign business and intertwine the visitors with the people seamlessly, assuming one spent the time to search for such a quaint restaurant.

The television was part of a satellite program which allowed for just about the only current news to that which was outside the hubbub within town and the talk circulating around my radar, in tune with my own thoughts, but partially separated through the seemingly small rock wall between my own secluded ways and the general public, quite ecstatic to being so sociable.

I closed my eyes and envisioned the house, the people, the boats out fishing in the surf, and further out, the solid flat water teaming with large fish, twinkling in the water, often a porpus or large turtle. I saw myself out in a small fishing boat, complete with two outboard motors, and podium style steering encasement. I was out there with myself, as the world seemed to pull at the air next to me, sucking in a wave of life, pulling down to me that which I seemed completely enthralled with, in love with, and in harmony with. It was like a colorful cyclone which settled in the shape of a friend, but much more, a woman who was ready to burst with emotions I had been pulling myself forward to hear.

We were together on the boat, bobbing on the flat water, the land far off in the distance in front of us, where the journey had begun for me. Now together, the land looked even more inviting, and I seemed so much less concerned with the problems between the people and the targets of different things which created stress and such distance between people, even ending in the crash of force which was so common.

All was contained within my presence in one moment. Everything I was continued to flow through me. I moved up a little to her, and placed my hand under hers. She then looked back at me and smiled, stepping forward, into my arms and chest, where I needed her so deeply. But, I could not let this settle my energy, and our corresponding parts did not seem to turn into such a neutral body. Instead every little bit of the space between us became crushingly beautiful and important, as each piece of space grabbed my soul and pulled me up to a level of graditude beyond any level which could be reached.



Criticism RDK July 12, 2008
It seems I am doomed to spend eternity bound within an intertwining web of chastity. The fate of my happiness relies on my ever-suspense within this tangled mess suspended, ever close to a cold tile floor, bobbing with the wind.

Luckily, nothing lasts for eternity, except that which is in the past. I am encapsulated in a turret of love, shooting through the world, waiting to grasp something which I can use to hold myself afloat once the love leaves me stranded among the pulpy reeds of life.

I have lived myself already to my fullest of potential. High school was basically nothing short of anything you might picture to be a success. I only wish I could live the rest of my life without the distraction of the short impressions I give myself or the eternally short evil present within the present day life. I want to move to a future where the problems are the past, but why sell myself short. Why not live the days where the problems are the now and reap the benefits of the lessons learned, the small pleasures to be had, and the eternal friends to be made.

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Creative Writing by: RDK
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copyrighted October 11, 2008 RDK