Tag Archives: prose

June 6th, 1944 – D-Day Remembrance

I think of the water—crashing and reaming against the sides of their boats, rocking the steel platforms that they had their feet planted on. A frothy, foamy excursion through wailing winds and raging ocean waters. The spray would plume up and over the sides of the boats, misting them with a salty shower that seeped into their cuts and sores, chapped their dried, burned lips, and singed their swollen tongues. The unforgiving water would cling to their jackets, soaking through into their shirts, chilling their cores to a shivering edge. It would bleed into their boots, coating their socks in the freezing ocean rain until their feet were frozen and wrinkled, covered in blistering wounds that ached with every step. Continue reading June 6th, 1944 – D-Day Remembrance

Hurriers Wall

What’s the hurry? If we always hurried to the next moment our lives, would we ever actually stand to experience the moment we are in? Or would every passing second slip through our fingers, losing it’s meaning because of our rush to prepare for this unreachable future, ever eluding us, ever being chased over fences to greener pastures, ever dangling just out of grasp. To fully live the present in service to the future is to live both pieces half-heartedly. Continue reading Hurriers Wall

3,004.8 Miles

20190528_082836.jpgI have traveled 3,004.8 miles on this little adventure of mine, up to this point, sitting just outside of Bend, Oregon. Or at least, that is how far my car has driven—I could probably tack on a few extra miles to the overall count if I added in the nature hikes and city walks I have been on. It doesn’t feel like 3,004.8 miles—for some reason, it feels like a lot less, which could be due to the length of time I have spread the mileage out over (roughly 3 weeks).

I have traveled 3,004.8 miles, and what do I have to show for it? Continue reading 3,004.8 Miles

Free-duh-m

Being on the road is such a strange experience–and not because of the obvious reasons, like having to figure out where to sleep, where to piss, where to get a snack, or where to get some free WiFi. Although, these things are all aspects that take more consideration when living on the road. I’m referring more to the mental game of transitioning from living in a house with four walls, to living in a car with six windows. From a place where I had any luxury I needed–heat, internet, memory foam bedding, a couch and T.V., people walking around, filling those spaces–to this point, of balancing the car battery and fuel bill for heat and power, paying close attention to data usage for mobile hot spots, eating out of the Rubbermaid pantry that sits in my back seat, and pit-stopping every day or two for a new bag of ice to keep my passenger-side fridge operational. Continue reading Free-duh-m

How much longer?

Prose Poem Written By Christian J. Ashliman

If I had known that day would follow the track that it was destined to, I might have curled up in a tight, little ball, hiding under the thick, woolen blankets that draped my bed—for it was a day lived in the clouds, floated through as I scraped for solid ground, trying to make sense of a change that felt too sudden. We were together now, motoring down the highway towards a preschool where it was doomed to crash, bound to deteriorate into a child-like match of show-and-tell, featuring all of my infinite shortcomings, breaking way to a wave of wrenching realizations of losing the one. Tears, anger, frustration and guilt—emotions swirling around in a boiling chemical cocktail, using my imploding skull as a chalice. In the classroom of a dark, dingy schoolhouse, the jet-fueled spiral broke, dragging me kicking and screaming into a new reality, no matter how intensely I wished to wake up.