Moments

I have been writing for many years, little short pieces.  You couldn’t call them short stories, and they certainly do not have the power of poetry.  They are more like vignettes, perhaps from a vaudeville. I have come to realize that my writing is like a vaudeville show, because my life IS a vaudeville show, not a play – well Theatre of the Absurd perhaps – certainly not a novel strung together with a manageable plot – stream of consciousness perhaps. 

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My life is not a continuous plot with a central conflict leading to a climax; my life is a collage of moments,  like unmatched beads, strung together only at the most superficial and subconscious levels.  Having spent a half century arriving at this intensely unprofound conclusion, I reveal my mumblings about moments, some my own, some belonging to others, some existing in that world of consensual reality, some not, but all profoundly real and very much a part of my psyche.