Author Archives: John Swinburn

About John Swinburn

"Love not what you are but what you may become."― Miguel de Cervantes

Catching My Breath

Posted on September 26, 2016 by John Swinburn

The oxygen is gone from the air. I am inhaling the vapors of scorched sensibilities and charred civility. A poor excuse for a man is dousing rocket fuel accelerant on every shred of decent society, and then spraying the world with a flamethrower. … Continue reading →

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Man of Many Faces

Posted on September 25, 2016 by John Swinburn

I’m playing with a smart phone app, Prisma. Here are various treatments of the same photo that I manipulated earlier (using MS Paint) to wash the background with a “psychedelic” memory; subsequent to the MS Paint manipulation, I used Prisma … Continue reading →

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All the Secrets

Posted on September 25, 2016 by John Swinburn

I was up by four again this morning. There’s something about four in the morning, isn’t there? Something about that hour calls me out of bed and tells me to reveal what’s on my mind. And I do. This morning, … Continue reading →

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Butterflies

Posted on September 24, 2016 by John Swinburn

Included among the visitors to our hummingbird feeders of late have been various wasps, ants, and of course hummingbirds. But, just recently, some quite beautiful butterflies have become frequent visitors. I see these butterflies all around the Village, but only recently … Continue reading →

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Her Father’s Demons

Posted on September 24, 2016 by John Swinburn

“They’re stunted little men who live in those hills,” he said, pointing to the houses across the street. “They’re tiny, like elves, but these bastards have sharp teeth. And their claws! Goddamn, they’re monstrous beasts!” Calista Glazier winced as she listened to … Continue reading →

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The Cleansing

Posted on September 23, 2016 by John Swinburn

Certain words convey meanings that dictionary definitions do not adequately express. One such word , in my humble opinion, is “boisterous.” A group of pre-school children might be called boisterous. But the word is inappropriate to describe a gang of violent … Continue reading →

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She Didn’t Even Know

Posted on September 22, 2016 by John Swinburn

She didn’t even know she kissed him. She didn’t realize her smiles—and the way she shrugged and laughed—were kisses just as surely as if their mouths met. Each breath she took, every turn of her head to look in his direction, each protracted slow-motion glance was a disclosure of desire. His. And … Continue reading →

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Girding My Loins for the Onslaught

Posted on September 20, 2016 by John Swinburn

It was two fifty-five in the afternoon on Sunday, December 29, 2013.  I was sipping my second shot of Maker’s Mark.  That was not my usual practice.  Typically, I would not have had any Maker’s Mark, much less be on my second shot, at … Continue reading →

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Three Perspectives

Posted on September 19, 2016 by John Swinburn

Have you ever been stood up for a date that wasn’t yet scheduled? A suggestion of “let’s plan to get together,” followed by protracted silence? Yeah, if you look carefully at the precursor conversations and conduct an honest assessment of the situation, … Continue reading →

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My Sovereign Sky

Posted on September 18, 2016 by John Swinburn

When I am alone with the sky, when I look up toward the stars  or the clouds and abandon awareness of earth and its inhabitants, the firmament is mine. Or perhaps I am its sole subject, beholden only to its … Continue reading →

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Affront

Posted on September 18, 2016 by John Swinburn

“It was as if I saw it happen in slow m-m-m-motion.” Recuerda Villa, her eyes wide, recalled what she had witnessed. What she had seen, though Recuerda wasn’t close enough to see it quite so clearly, was this. Jolene’s right arm, hanging motionless at her … Continue reading →

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Discretion

Posted on September 17, 2016 by John Swinburn

Knob Creek Rye Whiskey. That’s the choice I made when deciding which of the six whiskies I should buy from those I’d tasted  yesterday afternoon at Colonial Liquors in Little Rock. I could have chosen any of the other four … Continue reading →

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Physical and Mental

Posted on September 16, 2016 by John Swinburn

Today, I’m using this blog as a journal. On my agenda this morning is a visit to my doctor for my annual physical, then a visit to Little Rock this afternoon with a friend. The first activity is routine. The physical … Continue reading →

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More Than I Ever Knew

Posted on September 15, 2016 by John Swinburn

This evening, I watched a news broadcast. Something was said in the broadcast, I don’t remember quite what, that triggered vague memories of a number of news items in days and months and years past. These news items involved people … Continue reading →

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That Little Piece of Serenity

Posted on September 15, 2016 by John Swinburn

That little piece of serenity you think you hide from view in the privacy of your own brain, that little kingdom over which you believe only you hold everlasting dominion, broadcasts through your eyes, its secret spilling into the air, … Continue reading →

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Devian

Posted on September 14, 2016 by John Swinburn

Four in the morning is the time of day when one is free to think unthinkable thoughts. It is a time of day at which sadness and loathing intersect with fear and rage. Depression and a multitude of other forms of … Continue reading →

Posted in Fiction, Writing | 2 Comments

A Lock I Must Crack on My Own

Posted on September 13, 2016 by John Swinburn

I spent two or three hours last night, glued to the television set, watching programs about cooking, eating, and smoking food. It’s rare that I spend that much time in front of the television, but last night I was in … Continue reading →

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HSV Open Mic Night

Posted on September 12, 2016 by John Swinburn

For some reason, I haven’t written before about organizing an open mic night. Perhaps I’ve been afraid the idea would fall through. And it could. But I’ve set the wheels in motion and I’ve made the plan public, so there’s … Continue reading →

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Losing Morfar

Posted on September 11, 2016 by John Swinburn

Once upon a time, an old Norwegian fisherman took his granddaughter out in his fishing boat. His boat was not the pleasure craft one sees so often today among men who call themselves fisherman. Rather, it was an old workhorse of … Continue reading →

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Incense with Flaws

Posted on September 10, 2016 by John Swinburn

I allow myself to live in confusion, where air becomes water and water becomes soil and soil refuses to permit one to breathe without struggling to understand and embrace chaos. I posted, earlier this evening, a rather rambling piece on … Continue reading →

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Alacrán

Posted on September 10, 2016 by John Swinburn

I know just a little about scorpions (alacránes in Spanish) thanks in part to my chance encounter with a mother scorpion and her brood of about a dozen babies upon arriving at a bed & breakfast in a village in Mexico a … Continue reading →

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Struggle Against the Wind

Posted on September 9, 2016 by John Swinburn

I struggle against the wind on the desolate beach, wet sand caressing my feet, as slivers of broken silica, progeny of crystalline boulders a million years old, compete with water and seashells for their place on the planet, offering my bare toes … Continue reading →

Posted in Poetry, Writing | 2 Comments

Unity is an Appealing Objective

Posted on September 8, 2016 by John Swinburn

People who attend the church (I really wish there was another name for it; I have issues with calling it a church) that I’ve been visiting periodically tell me they, and the church, are viewed in deeply unfavorable ways by … Continue reading →

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Man of Leisure

Posted on September 8, 2016 by John Swinburn

Last night, as I watched a bit of Jimmy Fallon’s The Tonight Show, an image from a show guest’s childhood—an image in which the guest was wearing a leisure suit—resurrected in me a long-lost memory. I once owned a leisure suit; maybe … Continue reading →

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Fruitless Pursuit

Posted on September 7, 2016 by John Swinburn

I awoke at just after 3 this morning with the expectation that I would conquer the world before daylight. This did not occur. I attempted my conquest only to be repelled by rational thought and struck by the reality that … Continue reading →

Posted in Absurdist Fantasy, Art, Sculpture | Leave a comment