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c a t a l y s t: Dog

http://cameronmaris.blogspot.com/2010/06/dog.html

My compass spins, the wilderness remains]. Living with a dog again. Made me think a lot about. And what it means to sleep in a pile. Just because you need to feel. My sister had dishes in the cupboard. That were handed down from my. And when I ran my finger around the edge of a bowl. In the soapy dishwater, I was a. And when she left,. At long last,. Was broken for the last time. And that is what terrifies me the most. Without their packs,. Howling at the dusty, empty moon. Posted by Cameron L. Maris.

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c a t a l y s t: May 2010

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My compass spins, the wilderness remains]. My compass spins, the wilderness remains.". Sharp, like a needle. Perched on the edge. On the walk to my car. Three am and the. I'm taking a shortcut. A rabbit gets caught. Of a motion detector. And I'm in his light. He bounds beside me. Clear ahead of him. Find that star, kid. In a field of bedsheets. Her Sister, Sapphire. In the next room. Into a field of green. Cut a new path. Cut it North,. Posted by Cameron L. Maris. Subscribe to: Posts (Atom).

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c a t a l y s t: September 2009

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My compass spins, the wilderness remains]. It's a Metaphor, Fool. Can't sleep tonight. Words digging trenches in my brain. This poem is a reaction to something that happened in Modern Poetry class tonight, a story that ends in my professor telling me, "That would be fine, if this were a poetry class." Yeah. The first two lines are an Asian Figure poem, and the rest is me. It's a Metaphor, Fool". Like the thief the dog bit. In love with the bride,. Of the girl in the coma. Posted on the door. Finding myse...

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c a t a l y s t: January 2010

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My compass spins, the wilderness remains]. Why do we read literature? In the story -. Protagonist makes bold claims,. Draws resentment from Zeus. Scene is interrupted by the squealing of tires. Delivers love sonnet written. Years ago, smiles,. Exits, pursued by bear. The Chorus sings of broken embraces,. Hubris. Umbrage. Defiance. Standing. Redemption,. Is reborn - from watery grave. Mist, his hands. Red with the blood. Of forty thousand brothers. Posted by Cameron L. Maris. Subscribe to: Posts (Atom).

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c a t a l y s t: June 2010

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My compass spins, the wilderness remains]. Sam Gronning: In Memoriam. For the past ten years that I have known Sam Gronning, he has always wanted three things: 1.) To fuck Heather Locklear, 2.) To live forever, and 3.) If he had to die, he would die while fucking Heather Locklear. Needless to say, to my knowledge, Sam never did get to fuck Heather Locklear, even in his death, which occurred this morning, at the age of 67. To which Sam replied "I certainly fucking hope. Sam was a staunch conservative, and...

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c a t a l y s t: November 2009

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My compass spins, the wilderness remains]. Another attempt at micro-fiction for next week's class. Only three paragraphs this time, and I think this one's less. um. tacky. Please enjoy. By Cameron L. Maris. Amy glances at me with terrified, watery eyes as I pass. Her future is something that she has been trying to imagine, without much success. As she gazes down the street after me, all she sees is darkness. Posted by Cameron L. Maris. Feedback might be nice; it's not due 'til next Tuesday. 8220;Here&#46...

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c a t a l y s t: Darlin'

http://cameronmaris.blogspot.com/2010/04/darlin.html

My compass spins, the wilderness remains]. Was named "Darlin'.". Posted by Cameron L. Maris. Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom). Cameron L. Maris. Blogs by My People:. The Courtesy of Suicides (by Skelton A. Church). Where the Train Tracks End: Intuitions of a Cultured Animal (by Jaime Cruz). The Underground (by Meg Lanker). Solomon Grundie (by Trevor T. Trujillo). Thrashing Toward Tenderness (by kc Vernon). Maddie's Blog (by Maddie DeFrank). Hola El Gato (in English) (by Chris Bucheit).

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c a t a l y s t: August 2009

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My compass spins, the wilderness remains]. Sam Cooke and the Last Days of Summer. 8220;Sam Cooke and the Last Days of Summer”. The final days of August,. We’re sliding around the curves of a winding two-lane highway,. Rattling through man-cut canyons in a classic car,. Sam Cooke’s soul is pouring through rattling speakers,. Straining and popping to be heard. Over the wind whipping through the open windows. The cool, cloudy final days of the summer,. The brown and green of the Wyoming prairie is unending,.

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c a t a l y s t: Sam Gronning: In Memoriam

http://cameronmaris.blogspot.com/2010/06/sam-gronning-in-memoriam.html

My compass spins, the wilderness remains]. Sam Gronning: In Memoriam. For the past ten years that I have known Sam Gronning, he has always wanted three things: 1.) To fuck Heather Locklear, 2.) To live forever, and 3.) If he had to die, he would die while fucking Heather Locklear. Needless to say, to my knowledge, Sam never did get to fuck Heather Locklear, even in his death, which occurred this morning, at the age of 67. To which Sam replied "I certainly fucking hope. Sam was a staunch conservative, and...

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c a t a l y s t: February 2010

http://cameronmaris.blogspot.com/2010_02_01_archive.html

My compass spins, the wilderness remains]. O how shall i lament each passing day? Each arc of every journey of the sun? But with these thoughts of age and of decay. And wasted breaths of air - what we become. Is callous and unholy - but the thoughts. That fill the space behind this troubled mind. Are filled with - O! A face i ne’er forgot. And can’t forget, nor will, nor would I try. And so - lamenting each and every day. Becomes an hourglass - each grain of sand. We can’t forget - it’s not.