16 Renford Road
Soliloquy #1
Submission Techniques
"The Form"

you're becoming schizophrienic... the... the... overwhelming plea to just 
make it all go away ... swallows you.

/A Look

	We live in a brief, constant state of unrest.  Seventy years to walk 
through a days/daze, constantly teetering between an infinite range of 
projects unfinished, books unread, cereal left uneaten, people whose calls 
we've failed to return, dogs left un-walked, disagreements unresolved, 
dreams un-chased, relationships ended uneasily.  There is a parade of 
conflicting inner voices in your head of issues from the past, ambitions for 
the future, needs to be met today.  Caught between them all, you feel 
insane.  And so you go flying.
	As you fly over your world, surveying the scene, you see all of 
these things; the swamp of emotional muck in which a person would have 
drowned, the stones regrettably left unturned and the ones that you would 
rather have left lay untouched.  Hurt feelings and unfulfilled expectations 
are littered carelessly all over the plains.  A little girl sits by a dried up 
river wishing, her shoes off, for some moisture to bathe her thirsty toes in.  
And then there's the hill.  Oh man, the hill!  Ahh... if only you could have 
the time to see what was on the other side!  But the time is just never 
there, and so the other side of the hill remains a mystery.  Puddles have 
gathered in lowlands from the rain, and the grass below begs for the air.  
The puddles collected from floods of the past, when they were unable to 
drain, due to the backed up sewer system that you hadn't had time to fix 
because of all the other things you needed to tend to.  Oh, if only the time 
was there!  And then all the things to do today!!  You feel something 
strange and look behind you to see a huge wall of flooding liquidized 
concerns pouring onto the landscape, rushfully spilling over the scene, 
countless reminders screaming at you all at once in the waves, together all 
resolving into a massive, incomprehensible roar.   The puddles are 
violently engulfed by this thundering mass of oceanic chaos that is too 
much for the landscape to absorb; needless to say, the little girl is 

16 Renford Road (three)
Page 21
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