The ways that we write and rewrite our life narrative…

It is the story that happens, and the narrative that we weave.

Love in the most unlikely of places and strength, too.

Love isn’t formulaic. It’s not predictable. And it’s certainly not one-size-fits-all.

And it’s hot and cold, and the journey won’t always be so difficult.

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“Every tool has an intention,” he said. And the timbre of his voice rippled through the air and knocked gently against the liquid pooling in my body. It’s the story that happens, and the narrative that we weave.

“Every tool has an intention,” she screamed, and it is the ways we write and rewrite that narrative, the ways that we expand it to fill the sidewalk cracks and allow it to contract on a cold winter’s day. The icicles hanging off of our gutters could take out your eye, but the ones on our neighbors’ house are more treacherous.

There is a glimmer of magic and I kneel before you and give my consent for all the spells that you ever want to cast around me and through me. Every tool has an intention and everything has more meanings than one because desire is plural because this life is one of multiplicity because the myth is not a lie just because it presents a myriad. There are many wells, many paths and rivers and streams.

Every tool has an intention and I want to cross that out and write intent. I like intent better. What is the intent of a magic wand? Or a scalpel? How does the amount of light and dark alter a tool’s purpose? And what are the moments when I would prefer not to know? It’s knowledge and wisdom and knowing and ignorance all wrapped into the cheeseball that was served at this year’s New Year’s party.

It’s biting the apple, despite the warning. It’s biting the apple in spite of the warning. It’s biting the apple because of the warning. It’s the serpent and the debate of good and evil. It’s moralizing in an arena of untold power. Every tool has an intention and sometimes the intention is to cover up fear.

The pain spiked and how can it spike when I’m not even moving? And if you were blood would you be the kind that flows or gushes or oozes or spurts, and why? Every tool has an intention and they say that woman’s was the downfall of man. We have romanticized ideals of Venus Fly Traps, but no one is capable of harming another without the victim’s agreement to be a victim. It is in the way that we write our signature, the ways that we mark our prey.

At the dinner table, I always watch to see what hand you hold your knife in and how you use it to cut. There is technique in the slicing. Every tool has an intention and somewhere in the mists, there was a moment of training. It is the unspoken schooling that is of the most interest. It is the unspoken exchange that draws the most eyes. We have our journeys and the way that our paths criss-cross through the dark wood, and Dante would be proud and Beatrice wasn’t a creature of the shadows like him.

Every tool has an intention, and the chase doesn’t end there.

It merely begins and begins and begins.

Listen to this

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