  I recently joined a writing group with some classmates and local college folks.  Our first activity was a freewrite,  which made my hand tired and really surprised me.  I started with an image that was framed on the wall,  and it took me somewhere totally different.  I didn't know that I had these thoughts in my head.  It was a free write.  I can't wait to pick up some of the ideas and create something new.  chinese faces staring back reflection invisible identity hand put over mouth kind of silent obedient like a dog that comes when called otherwise tossed out and left behind in some field not wide open but surrounded by dangers everywhere and if there were a way to hand over power to hand over these precious lives to the caring hands of another it would be done but sometimes there is no turning back time there is no "
actual"  to return to no home not even a house anymore it was not the bone house of your dreams it was milky and putrid grey in a soup of rain and washed up desires night after night of wondering what to do if the feelings of so and so mean more than the very delicate egg you carry around inside of yourself and you try to remember dialectics,
 post- modernism,  post- Marxism,  but those are only an approximation of what is really happening to you the rainwater filling up the room and it's up to your knees soon up to your waist what will you do when your heart gets sunk in that tepid water will you scream but what will you do when your mouth gets full of fluid and even breathing is no option you won't runaway you stay and try to float to swim to live life as if you always knew it was a flooded damn house or falling building or bullet from a gun you should have known that you dreamt and felt it why are you surprised 
