Write here, write now!

Ooo, provocative look into the darkness! 

Knowing me[¿Potential gore?]

How is it, to know someone? For my guts to be dissected, bit by bit to the point of exposure.Observe the mahogany color, one my eyes limits to see, staining my skin only to leave a faded crimson red.

The subtle pulse of my veins indicating my consciousness, as it slowly slips away.The thought is both something I deeply desire, and absolutely dread.

Such vulnerable state, is far too easy, to take advantage. But even then, the feeling of being weak to command, kill for you I will, and my dear, oh please, hold my blood stained hand.The idea is something I ravish.

 Oh to be known, given that much care, to discover your raw self, instead of the well baked one.

Eat me raw.

No matter the bones likely to choke you. No matter the fresh wounds caused by the hunt, no matter my still, beating, heart. Serve me as I am. Let the blood be my natural seasoning. The desire so taboo, ever so tempting, teasing me. Despite the awareness of it all ending with me devoured. 

Who is deserving of such a meal?

⋇⋆✦⋆⋇

Languish, I, on the cusp of things.

O that sacred space of the crossroads wherein it is a place neither here nor there.

Lessons learned that come from no other place nor time.

Patience tried to its fullest.

Ooo, great capture of the tedious passage of time!

I'm a part of a writing club on Neocities and this week's prompt was to base something on one of Salvador Dalis paintings so I wrote mine based on The Persistence of Memory (the clock one), as well as the weird vertigo I experience when trying to fall asleep! Felt like y'all would appreciate it as well (。・∀・)ノ

Clocks

The ticking of the clocks,

Their simple rhythm,

The gentle tick, tick, tick torturous as I lay sleeplessly.

The room is spinning though I am laying down.

It's too hot, too cold.

Is this what hell is like?

I'm being sucked down

Deeper

And deeper

Into the pit of my mind.

I'm going to be sick.

But where am I going?

I can feel my body laying still.

The clocks are still ticking.

I don't think I'll be getting much sleep tonight.

This is more of meandering thoughts that artistic prose. 

Gaining language/losing language.

I guess I've always been a bit behind the times. Style, slang, technology etc. I'm okay with that and even intentionally lean into that for effective self-parody. 

But I was thinking about flavored seltzer.

I hate seltzer, but I'll come around to that. Stay with me.

Thinking on my hatred for seltzer and how to properly describe what it tastes like to me triggered some thoughts on shifting language.

Yesterday, I made a 'sound'. And intentional cartoonish vocalization that was without words. My lovely wife, raised up on the same steady diet of TV that I was instantly recognized the sound, identified from which specific Bugs Bunny cartoon it had come from, and carried on with the dialogue from rote with perfect inflection.

She and I never properly learned higher math, but somehow retain this sort of thing for decades and decades.

Anyone under - say - 30? Would not pick it up. 

As for 'style', I'd say I spent most of my years cultivating a 'non' style. Not against, not subversive, just utterly non-defined. One day, I did post what I thought to be a pretty cute selfie. Took the time to actually apply make-up and all! A you ger friend commented that my eyebrows looked 'fleek'. I replied that I was off to go look that up and expected to be mad if it turned out to be an insult!

By now, millennial slang like 'fleek' and I guess 'yeet' are already past their prime and being parodied by these kids today.

In fact, people my age or younger, when wanting to sound especially old fashioned, might put on a pastiche of 'hippy' slang from the 60s.

I go a bit further back. My cultural and musical proclivities allow me to go full slang from the 1930s a la Cab Calloway and any other hep cats from the era.

So, slang changes. Words change. Learning newer slang is a bit like decoding a language.

Apart from 30s terms like "viper" or "L7", not much is 'lost' though.

But technology is a wee bit different.

About that flavored seltzer.

Remember?

This is about my disdain for flavored seltzer.

I thought about it and settled on an apt description of my experience with flavored seltzer to be akin to:

"It's like I'm watching TV, but it's so static-y that I can't quite make out if what I'm watching is a show about a lemon, or an orange."

Then it struck me.

Is there static on TV anymore? Or does the screen just go blank, maybe with a 'home' icon screen saver sort of thing?

I thought maybe to alter the description to be about listening to a static-y radio but again, my internal age check made me realize that no one really listens to the radio anymore.

Oh, I know that even these kids today will likely understand the 'static' metaphor, but have they actually experienced it?

They will probably understand it in a way, but their kids might not. And their grandkids would have no clue, really.

So, I'm searching for the 'updated' metaphor for just how unpleasant flavored seltzer is. 

Oh, that's good! 

A song I'm writing

////////// (escucha bien lo que dices)

/////// , don´t be

so hard, I need you here

/////////// (que rico lo que me hiciste)

/////// just 

too much I need to think

I´ve been feeling you too much 

/////// but

I don´t think I can trust

Como siempre

I can´t stand it

I can´t stand it

I can´t stand it

Sounding the Void.

How can we measure its depths?

Moreover, should we?

The void calls. From the heart of the preteenager to the greying philosopher

At some point we all hear the call.

Dare not to enter, not even to measure its depths.

Like a salt dolly sent to measure the depth of the ocean.

Shout at it.

Shout down its call.

Shout into it.

Though your voice be small 'gainst the immeasurable immensity,

Shout, sister, shout!

Someday, womb of the tomb will be appealing and then,

If the void does call,

Might you consider answering and perchance entering.

But not yet. Gods be good, not for many years to come!

And defiantly, 

Not yet.

Thank you Dahl <3

Curtis, your unintended prose posted as climate commentary may just be more poignant that most of the creative efforts here!

Winters in Sacramento used to be very cold, with long stretches of gray sky. Summers were hot, with at least one big heat wave. But global warming is noticeably happening here. Winters are not as cold, and summers are getting more and more brutally hot. We're still getting plenty of rain, but I'm not looking forward to summer. Spring will be nice, but July and August are going to be tough.

We don't have whole house air conditioning, just three wall units. One is in my room, cooling both me and my computer. During the heat waves, parts of the house become miserably hot. I stay in my room and work, and hope the power stays on.

21st century, you are not what I was promised...

The Late January Thaw

The great cycles of the season measure passing by the calendar. Carefully calculated by the sun and the growing of things. The eternal cycle of winter's sleep and summer's renewal.

So, too, are there but smaller cycles within.

Late January brings a thaw in all but the bitterest of winters.

The corpse of January snow lies withering upon the ground to be gone in the coming days, or else only in running rivulets of the road-away-ish along the highway sides, or else in the great piles of the parking lots. Blackened by salt and slowly shrinking away like fallen giants after battle with the Aesir. 

'Tis not the truth of spring, for the fierce snows and deadly freeze will return with a vengeance to be counted upon the weeks or even the months to come, but rather 'tis a most welcome respite!

Remind me once again, o late January thaw, of the promise of spring and the warmth of the sun!

Sleep yet, o seedlings safely slumbering beneath the earth, your time will come. We'll see by the telling of the groundhog how long that may yet be.

Dahling in the house!

Write something for us, love. If'n ye feel inspired

I love these! 
They're all so good.

Aww Becks, he doesn't deserve you love!

S'okay! Just spreads more poetry around (even the bitter ones ) 

Meanwhile, remind me not to piss you off!

I put in wrong place.  Trying again 🤦‍♀️

Ok. I worked really hard on this Macey. For like a whole. Under 5 minutes. Comes straight from my heart though .

Roses are red, the sky is blue.
I don't miss you, I hope you get the flu.

If you ever want to call me, call her instead. Maybe she gives a damn. Or will cook you a ham.

Don't choke on it.

LaMon! Love it! 

The big guy has talent.  I am not surprised 

A poignant reminder! But with it, let us have patience. 

LaMon, having seen your art, I never doubted that you'd have a poetic soul to match

So?

The world needs 'sappy' too! Maybe even more so these days! 

And please, write something new too! Even if YOU think it's gibberish. Even if YOU think it's just stream-of-conscious type stuff. Your words have VALUE! 

I might try.  English might be my first language but I still don't have a firm grip on  it lol 

I did write a couple things about a year ago.  I might see if I still have.  Complete sappy stuff though

Thank you, Becks! If ever you're inclined, write a bit for us! No one judges here, we just enjoy  

I enjoyed reading these Macey! 

Jon, dad. Brown like dirt.  :/ dang lol 

Kidding. Nice writing

Ode to an old wreath

Thank you, old wreath.

Thank you for warding the house 'gainst those dispossessed of any measure of holiday cheer.

Thank you for your reminder of life's renewal through the white season of death.

Thank you for your pleasant aroma of evergreen 'gainst the smells of a house in confinement, newly shut up for the season of ice.

Thank you for bolstering nature through the longest night.

But long past now is the night of Yule.

So, too, has passed Christmas, and St. Stephen's Day.

Passed is the latest counting of Pope Gregory's new year.

Passed is the defeat of the Holly King.

Passed is coming of the baby new year.

Passed is the feast of the wise men.

Passed is the time 'ere the days grow longer once more.

And so, I must graciously banish thee to the confines of the wilder places on my holdfast where stands my humble dwelling.

May your drying branches return to dust amongst whither you hath come.

May you serve as a surrogate fairy ring 'til the wee folk return to dance in the less settled places. 

Can a slate be clean once written upon?

Can the block ever return to uncarved?

The chalk dust remains as the slate is wiped clean.

The images may be gone, but the residue is there.

Pull out the cleaners and scrub down. 

Stuff that microfiber wiper into the cracks and get every last bit.

Yet wee bits of chalk do remain.

The ghosts of words written, of facts and figures no longer applicable.

The time is spent, the deeds done, heavy words lightly thrown.

Clean enough.

No magic eraser can yield up every spec of the chalk dust torture.

But clean enough. 

Make space.

New ideas, thrown boldly over the last faded ghosts of the old dust.

Until comes the day when they too are but dust to dust

And the slate imperfectly cleaned anew. 

Jon! Short and moving!

Nice!

Some people used to have blue eyes.  Blue like the sky.  Weird, I know. 

Before the world changed.

Now eyes are only brown like dirt or black like night or yellow, like dying leaves.

I remember her eyes.

Y'all,

LOL

Y'know?

LMAO

ROFLMMFAO!

'cause?

YOLO.

Umm .,.

YMMV.

From what depths have you sprouted from, o random nipple hair, now grown longer than should be possible had I paid careful vigil lo these past many days!

I spy you waving at me through the shower stream with your mocking gesture! 

'tis but in moments past my daily ablutions that I'll follow Lady MacBeth's advice and 'screw my courage to the sticking place", for the sake of but a moment's shock and pain I shall have at you while brandishing mine tweezers!

Back! Banished! O, foul growth, ye shall seek the depths of the drain. 

At least until one of your kin cometh anon and replace you. 

Wow, there's layers here! Love! 

This a random scribble I did this morning.

Frankenstein of the Forest

The Legend. No myth nor folklore

Not my original writing, but with the turn of the year, I thought I'd share the top winner of the 2023 Bulwer-Lytton Fiction contest.

This is a contest for the WORST fiction writing. Held each year since the early 1980s.

The overall 2023 winner Maya Pasic writes:

"She was a beautiful woman; more specifically she was the kind of beautiful woman who had an hourlong skincare routine that made her look either ethereal or like a glazed donut, depending on how attracted to her you were."

There are several categories in addition to the worst overall.

Here's the winner for the most vile pun:

While she had no regrets about throwing the lever to douse her husband’s mistress in molten gold, Blanche did feel a pang of conscience for the innocent bystanders whose proximity had caused them to suffer gilt by association.

Adam Chmelka, Olathe, KS

Very descriptive!

And post your comedy writing when you're inclined, please! "Comedy" is NOT "less than"! 

'Tis but a handful of days by the counting.

Less than a score. Less than a dozen. 

Steadfast remains my resolve.

But shall that ever be so, as the days pass?

As they transform to weeks?

As the weeks become months?

I look to the rewards of self-imposed sacrifice.

The gifts of denying the temporary will 'gainst the desire of the gifts upon mine countenance.

Oh, if I can but stick to the diet! 

Ooo, I know that experience well. Different highway, different car, different time, but the same!

That's brilliant though! Hope you had a great day

I didn't take my stim 

So I can shop with him

and we can drink the gin. 

Best I could do...Skipping my metadate for our outlet mall excursion/celebration of my last day of Cmas break. Hoping it all goes well! :p 

Winter legs.

As the menfolk had cast about the virtues of "No-Shave" in November, so too did I participate. While they proudly wore their vow upon their faces, so too did I upon my legs.

Or ... lazy.

I told myself it was a statement for the cause of feminism! I would NOT shave a statement of defiance against the expectational conventions of beauty!

Then I remembered that I'm already not beautiful, and that my legs were safely tucked away under long pants, skirts, or leggings necessitated by the cold of the season.

Or ... lazy.

November ends and some of those menfolk dashed off their beards whilst the hair of my legs continued their quest towards dominance! I told myself I was too busy taking care of work, spouse, son, and hearth to bother. Maybe there's truth to that.

Or ... lazy.

Today I had had it! Ere before the growth becomes thick enough to attract tiny wayward pixies and gnomes mistakenly wishing to settle in the quiet forest of my legs, it must go! It must go before the texture becomes 'puffy' to the touch.

I grabbed my Intuition razor, and upon seeing the formidable task, she shrieked, jumped from my wet hand, and scampered about the bathtub hoping for escape. She ended up sobbing softly to herself in the corner out of the shower stream as I took the time waiting for her to calm herself to exfoliate just a bit.

Slash! Swipe! Be gone foul stubble! Flee, o ye spirits of winter laziness! 

Until K grow lazy again and allow the fuzz to creep ever more dense again until it annoys me into action.

Charming! More please

Oh, the anticipation!

Much of the world waits in anticipation through the sleeplessness of their newborn son, and the gift giving of that day and children and oldsters alike delve into wrapped gifts given in love.

My restlessness is in awaiting the newborn sun.

Return to me, glorious light! Though the trees sleep, the seeds rest below the earth, safe below the bonds of ice and snow, the promise of a new spring will once again be renewed. 

Provocative thoughts for just three lines  

Good! 

Here's a line from a song I'm working on:

There's always something going on

Always something around

Maybe that's why God don't see me when I'm down

The void can swallow all. Hopes, dreams, fears, anguish, and all of the parts that make it all worth living for.

Sounding my voice into the void? Nay, says I. As I shout into the endless nothing, I am shouting at it. Cursing it with my very life essence while shaking my fist like an elderly pensioner would at the neighborhood rapscallions to get off my lawn. 

Stay, ye, oh dark nothingness. Stay in your lane! 

One day, if the gods be good, let it be many years from now,

I'll go to meet you. Perhaps even willingly. Longingly returning to the womb of the tomb in hopes that I'll have another around. That the endless infinite void spits me back out again.

Even if greatly transformed. Even if devoid of the knowing of things once again.

In the meantime, I shout! I shake my fist! I stand staid against you! 

The silence of the morning. The awakening of the little death of sleep.

Where we stand communing with the world of dream.

The shock of it. The disbelief. The slow realization.

The anticipation of chaos to ensue.

The people about, directionless in confusion,

Or else focused on the tasks.

The silence of the mourning. The awakening of the bigger sleep of death.

Where we stand communing with the world of dream.

The shock of it. The disbelief. The slow realization.

The anticipation of chaos to ensue.

The people about, directionless in confusion,

Or else focused on the tasks.

The rolling of time that brings both to each of us in its own good measure.

Thank you, green glass bottle, for keeping my Coca-Cola safe!

Handy, cold, clean.

Sound your gentle "pshtt" as I open the cap.

Wisp of 'gas' collected at the top on the breaking of the seal?

Nay says I!

Wisp of spirit charged with guarding my soda!

My relief. My simple pleasure.

I thank thee, oh spirit of the soda's freshness, as I gently exhale through pursed lips.

I release thee in gratitude for a task well committed! 

If ye be a latter-day genie, I wish only for the brief salvation of a tasty beverage.

Wish granted.

And you are free!

Ricky! Glad you're back! Another installment, maybe?

Sol, nice 'in and out' on the concept of 'ego destruction' and combining with the universe!

Just here to finish up my story to see if she can find him again lol.

I woke up with a fright the next morning. it had all been a dream... But it seemed so real. And there was a major party happening tonight for everyone in the kingdom to attend. For the prince. He had to find a bride or groom before the night ended.

Hours had passed and I got everything ready to make it to the party. The only thing left to do was to show up. And that's exactly what I did. 

I thought the moment would never happen. The prince finally arrived! But... he was identical to the man in my dream. And he just... He did glance my way!

He bypassed everyone that tried to approach him, and walked up to me. Me, of all people! He took my hand and began to dance with me. The way he moved... so flawless... And his eyes, so handsome. His smile was golden.

By the end of the night the prince made his choice.  Me. I was to be his bride. Me, a princess. It was a dream come true, and a magical choice. And I was ready to do anything he asked of me.

(Cool, done, yadda yadda yadda. Hands down this would be a good full-length fic-)