Rand's Rants

A collection of short-short stories born from a few minutes of string-plucking.  ---   Jane was picking at a faded scar on her right pinky. Her eyes remained constant. “The notes sound different lately.”  “How so?” asked the woman across from her. A dixie cup with a stir-stick sat abject on the table between them.  “Does it matter?”  “It’s a conversation, Janey. Questions are meant to be asked.”  “It’s probing.” Jane stopped, her hands still. “They sound… full.”  The woman inhales, slowly. Awaiting. Jane exhales, annoyed.  “What does full sound like?” The dixie cup is reached for, but again, abandoned. There’s only a sip left, anyway. Jane’s moved on to the tattered table wrap, picking at its soft cotton underbelly. “It sounds like him. And her. It sounds like Friday nights and Sunday mornings. It sounds like laughter, but in stereo.” Jane tears through the thin membrane of the table wrap, another hole in the broken canvas. “It sound...

  I’m an advocate for blurry vision. That may sound like a plea for imperfection. It may sound like I’m championing something that is inherently suboptimal. To the detractors of my statement, let me ask you: What’s so nice about crystal-clear? I’ve made analysis my selling point. I notice details that stick out; constantly searching for flaws in others’ hard work. "For the love of a god, end this run-on sentence!" "This is not a proper noun and thus should not be capitalized." "Why do you insist on not using an Oxford comma?" Semantics, but if they jut out to me they most certainly will to the public.  I scan, I pore over, I examine detail by detail . And then I do it all over again before I can say “good enough.” Communication, when done correctly, must be transparent. So long as I have my glasses on, or my contacts in, everything I analyze can be made clear.  Why, then, is there a relief to walk around a city you know inside-and-out without perfect visio...