C.A. MacConnell
10/23/2020
10/22/2020
10/20/2020
Alive
You
are sick again, filling your prescription at the counter in a feverish daze, back turned
to the fast walkers who cut through the crowd with shopping cart
weapons, cursing
yourself because you still want a cigarette. You finish
muttering your condition, hand
the
white slip to the coated, vague bodies, and turn around, looking for a place to
linger,
when you see him waiting for his name, sitting in the row of uniform
chairs, one empty
on either side of him. You sit down on his left, notice his
soiled skin, the wide-lined
scars,
the way his clothes hang on his frame as if one move would make them fall,
piece
by piece, until he is naked, another man with the same anatomy, labels on
the parts
that
make him alive. You feel like patting yourself on the back. No one else would
have
gotten
so close. A suited, fat man struts up to your scarred partner in waiting,
studies
his
appearance, asks him if he’d like a chance to better himself, to find a job, to
clean up,
leaves him a thick brochure, and drifts down the aisles with a holy
grin. The scarred man
shakes
his head, looks into you with blue eyes clear as an ache, strong as your
hacking
cough that just won’t go away, and says, You just never know about people, before he
grips your hand and
tells you his name, tells you to take care. There is nothing polite
in
the way his soft, tired voice works through his chest to his limbs, leaves the
thick lips.
Before he even spoke, you
knew him. Before he even took your hand, you were already
touching. A smile,
some kind of tug in your chest, and the joy of strangeness makes you
want
to collect everyone in a circle, close your eyes, listen to each mysterious
song
of
skin and bones, cup your hand around the closest ear, and whisper, Pass it on.
C.A.
MacConnell
10/19/2020
Roadside
The Jaguar is broken
down,
and in the traffic's face,
I am making
wolf eyes,
feeling the speed of machine
cheetahs,
because no honest beast slows down,
and the hot air burns any cheek,
like sun-beat bars on a steel cage,
and the closest
rest stop
is five hundred tracks away,
and I wonder
where you are killing
lunch.
10/11/2020
10/04/2020
Coming Soon!
Pretty strange to think that the above stack of paper has consumed me for the past year. And there were a few sections that I worked on for some years in the past as well. People always ask, "How long did it take you to write that book?" Often, I don't know how to answer, because pieces of each book have come to me over time. Overall, if I think about the process literally, it spans 20 years sometimes, considering life
experience and sections I've written in the past. So this is my
answer...it takes a long, long time. But after fucking around, when I get cracking and focus, it usually takes a year, and it rolls out fast.
This will soon be Book Four...now I'm editing on the page. I can see necessary revisions better when I change to paper. It's exciting to be this far along on the sucker.
Hey, I saw the movie, Ava, last night, which I loved. <3 Jessica Chastain, so talented. Badass movie. <3 Colin Farrell, John Malkovich, Geena Davis! What a cast. It was so good that I sat through an entire pixelated, messed up version of it, since my cable was not cooperating. Alas, I'm going to have to see it again at some point, but I will say this: Chastain even looks stunning in slo mo and pixelated.
Hope you're well. This year has sure been challenging for everyone. Here's to creation. Here's to art. And here's to everyone getting by day to day with a will to survive despite life's hiccoughs.
Love to you,
C.A. MacConnell
