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Joe Swanson

Author on Reedsy Prompts since Oct, 2020

Stories (284)

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Library

260 Followers

1 Following

284 Stories

4017 karma pts

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Trippin

Joe Swanson

“Rows and flows of angel hair, ice cream castles in the air, I’ve looked at clouds that way,” the lyric that sets the standards for the delusional subjectivism. We’ve all looked at a dimensional phenomenon and took comfort from the familiarity of what we conjured from a psyche ripe for exploitation. The tree with a face, the ice cream container whose cover having been removed, reveals the face of God. It is not that we need an excuse to be considered crazy, but our pointing to the sky...

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Perfect

Joe Swanson

The sky cloudless, the air carrying the scent from exotic gardens, mermaids rummaging through Davy Jones locker, and on the horizon the Jolly Roger’s three sails billowing with the bravado of ancient assumptions. Imagination is a wonderful invention attributed to whoever wants to claim liability, as most often it disappoints, as it is far easier than complying with exorbitant demands of a Mad Hatter. Campgrounds, nothing like the boulevard we pitched our tents on in WWII, Korea,...

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Do You Even Know?

Joe Swanson

“Do you even know what kind of plant that is?” “Does it matter? I just like the way it looks.” “It looks like the kind of thing that could kill us in our sleep, and our murders would remain an enigma in the eyes of our judicial system. No one would be able to say anything for certain, except that we were dead.” “You become so dramatic when you think I should not buy something, whatever it is, but aren’t able to co...

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Aspen and Me

Joe Swanson

“You had a Grandfather many millennium ago who lived amidst this grandeur, until they cut him down. I don’t mean to disturb your sensibilities, but sometimes the truth is the only way to see the significance of the life we have inherited.” He often began his stories that way. He did not know any of my ancestors, nor could he have. His name is Ralph, he’s an Aspen, I’m a Redwood. We both have scientific designations, but I’m not interested in the mechanics of identification. I know who I am, and that’s enough. H...

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Airplane Mode

Joe Swanson

I have begun to feel although 1984 has come and gone, much like the millennium fright our computers experienced, it has lasting implications that, like my dog, having left the confines of our algae laden pond, attempting to rid himself of the unwanted associations he has inadvertently befriended, refuse to remain unmemorable. No matter the amount of his nervous revolutions, he cannot free himself, from not only the memory of, but the physical aspects related to the experience. I find mysel...

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Horseradish

Joe Swanson

“You’re telling me if you had one book to take with into the unknown, with no chance of returning, no chance of ever having the opportunity to chose another book, you’d choose a book no body has ever heard of, let alone read… Horseradish?” “You, I know, have read extensively, have a background in literature, and know all about the innerworkings of what a book is, what it is supposed to do, and what it does. I don’t know anything about any of those things, but I do know that the purpo...

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And the Rains Came

Joe Swanson

“Here, you read for a while. My eyes aren’t what they used to be, and your light is terrible. Forget to pay the electric bill?” “You old people have a way of excusing yourself from things you don’t want to do, and blaming it on the ailments of age. Seems like the kind of thing that one day will come back, like the wolf story and bite you, Little Red Riding Hood.” “Read! Everyone’s a philosopher these days.” &n...

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Can Nothing Become a Something?

Joe Swanson

The Ott Building, the one on the James and Clyde intersection, that is where he went to work. I told him after he got back from the desert war that he needn’t work. He’d earned his keep. He’d given up friends, some family had given up on him, and he could no longer hear. Something to do with an explosion near him, blew out his hearing drums. I ain’t much good at that sign language, been trying though. I think it’s like learning a different language. You get too old, your ...

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Impossible to Know

Joe Swanson

“I was wondering if you’d have any suggestions.” Being a Librarian, although stimulating, challenging, and sometimes beyond the pale of reason, does not make one a mind reader. Everyday I am asked to recommend something that will cure or kill an ambition or lack of one, with little to no knowledge of the person or their needs or wants. “Suggestions about what precisely?” “ I just left the clinic and they told me I had…here you lo...

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A Critics Critique

Joe Swanson

“Is there a difference between a critic and a critique?” “I think it’s a matter of semantics. Some say potato, some Paw-Ta-tow, some critique, some criticize; gives people something to do but worry about important things, like survival.” “So, in your opinion, there is no difference between critiquing something, and being a critic of that same thing. Interesting. Critiquing to me, means examining something and then giving your opinion as to how you feel about what...

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Imfamous Truth

Joe Swanson

“I got the news today, oh boy,” the words, the song, reminding me that truth although necessary, should at times be tempered with empathy, possibly half-truths. Not just any partial truth, and not just partial truths that challenge the entirety of truth, but half-truths that are implicated by the whole truth. Truth is not always what we should hear when we don’t want to hear it, or at times, we need to hear it when it is softened with just enough deception to allow us to mislead ourselves, without realizing ...

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Reciept of Honor

Joe Swanson

“Did you see the review?” “It wasn’t what I expected.” “Nothing is what we expect. You should be proud. Most people can’t say they received even one review.” “Yes, I suppose, but then I didn’t expect this review, as I didn’t enter any contest where a review was warranted.” “Didn’t you tell me you entered a poetry contest?” “Well, yes. But it was a joke. I sent my grocery store rec...

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Coroner Cafe

Joe Swanson

When they mention the Coroner Café, the word seedy comes to mind. Seedy? Dingy, seamy, sleazy, all adjectives used to describe the remnants of a past time. A time when you could be, and were, scrutinized with the skeptical eye of pawn shop proprietor. It wasn’t because of the name, which was the Christian family moniker of Bartholomew Coroner, a devoted father, husband, and underworld figure referred to, in the annals of renowned crime families as, “Death.” If you were i...

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What About Bob

Joe Swanson

“What are you doing? We have to be there in half an hour.” “Be right there. Just jotting down a few thoughts.” “We are going to be late, because you are writing down a few thoughts to use in a story that you won’t’ let anyone read? What is the point? What is this new marquee of yours about?” “We are supposed to write a story about one of the reviewers who look at our stories and decide if they have more merit than o...

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Screaming at the Sun

Joe Swanson

The light, now spring, changing, its ability to root out the darkness, becoming discernable. Branch tips swelling, bark shedding its chameleon dullness, becoming vibrant in the suns warmth; life seemingly once again worth living. The swelling ocean waters crashing onto the wood strewn beach, salt spray caressing the agates blooming colors, exposing them to the hunt. Mushrooms reaching towards the official blue of April, in search of permission to perform. Spring, the season of birth, growth, a remi...

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