Category Archives: Mindfulness

Who Do You Write For? Some AtoZ biz

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Dream With Writing

WHO DO YOU WRITE FOR?

SOME A TO Z BIZ

LIQUID TIME

In case you did not notice, I am taking a huge leap/risk in style, content, and formatting with LIQUID TIME. So, who am I writing for? Just for myself? Just for the audience? 50/50?

Most times it is for myself, to see how far I can stretch, hone my skills. How, on later rereads, does it hold up way past the due date of the emotions that pummeled me while writing. I take risks. Not every one of them pans out. Some lead me to different approaches, different research, different observations of life.

On the readers hand(s), I do do my crafting for the reader(s) as well. I look for commentary, what pleases, what doesn’t, the whys behind either stance one takes. Suggestions are taken in the (hopefully) intention’s delivery, as a “have you thought about…?” or “Would you consider…”; a way that I construe as just that: a suggestion from another’s POV.

Suggestions, for me to think about, to possibly add to, delete, or turn things around. They are given to support, encourage, and give the author a different POV lens to consider.

I do not take demands into consideration. Nor the comments that essentially read “If I was the author…” or “You should not…” Well, you aren’t the author, that’s in my hands. As to the “should not…?” Really? Really?

“No” hasn’t a place here in Tale Spinning. My cranky two cents, plus inflation.

LINKS LINKS LINKS

Liquid Time Postings

2021 Theme Reveal

Liquid Time: A Portent

ABSOLUTE 31,536,000

BACKWARDS

CONTINUANCE

A to Z Main Link & Blogs to Follow

Blogging from A to Z April Challenge 2021

TOSSING IT OUT

THE MULTICOLORED DIARY

BLOG OF J LENNI DORNER

THE SOUND OF ONE HAND TYPING

THE GREAT RAVEN

SASCHA DARLINGTON’S MICROCOSM

ROSE THE STORYLADY

JO HAWK THE WRITER

FICTION CAN BE FUN

HD HISTORY

BREWING COFFEE, TWISTING WORDS & BREAKING PENCILS

ATHERTON’S MAGIC VAPOUR

THE CURRY APPLE ORCHARD

WEEKENDS IN MAINE

Iian KELLY-FICTION WRITING

KEITH’S RAMBLINGS

THE OLD SHELTER

I will post more blog links I follow later in the week. Please visit & leave them a comment

Thanks, All.

CONTINUANCE: Liquid Time A to Z Blog Challenge 2021

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CONTINUANCE

Liquid Time

AtoZ Blogging Challenge

“My past is everything I failed to be.” ~ Fernando Pessoa

Z writhed through bouts of slaughter.

An eternal splintering of that moment(s).

Here, the push. The electricized rail. The train.

Here, the backhand. The kick. The stairway. The neck.

Here, the rifle. The scope. The contract. The hit.

Here, the airlock. The depressurizing. The ejections.

Here, the bolt, the honed Bowie, the smile.

The neck. The liver. The heart

The blood. The blood. The bisection.

Trespassing under sea, through the stars, across the multiverse, homes, hovels, a maze of mazes.

Never ending.

There was no end.

Z slayed everywhere.

It was too much.

It was too much.

It was, too much.

TRANSITION

Ad infinitum.

body locked killing blows body locked ejected released hired passion hunted hunter poisoner stalker ripper strangler clown giggling gouger monster butcher mad-man/woman self-defense abuse insanity cold-stone drugged drunk protection protecting pro-active suicidal sadistic black widow peeping tom cowboy vampire torturer exsanguination executioner

Z’s hands dripped red.

Z became another moment.

Z’s eyes closed, teeth clenched, long exhalation.

Z collapsed into Fetal Prime.

This is the day Z doesn’t die

Z was/is/will be

Sunday, April 2, 2021: A list!

Monday, April 5, 2021: D

Comments/feedback are always welcome.

BACKWARDS: Liquid Time AtoZ Blogging Challenge, 2021

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BACKWARDS

Liquid Time

A to Z Blogging Challenge 2021

Shard by shard we are released from the tyranny of so-called time.” Patti Smith

FLOAT POD c

Z is not in a raster format.

Yet, pixelated within the FP (Float Pod), Z is obscured. There are no filters, graininess, or fuzziness. Z is not enlarged in the chamber; more the reverse. In the perverse total dark, floating on chemical laden liquid, Z contemplates a linear spiral.

It began once the Pod door was shut, blocking out the lights of the room, a total eclipse of fluorescent tube bulbs.

Until.

Awareness fades with ease. Z has/is/will experience(d)(ing) the mindful disassociation gift that the FP offers. Not a womb as others had/have/will deride(d) it. Z dives freely, embracing the dissolution, not surrendering to it. Z does not know where the absolute certainty in the purity of the Float Pod comes from. Yet, it is there.

Z vibrates from a pure, righteous (without the trappings), hole in Z’s soul. It is all encompassing.

Unintentionally, Z synch’s into the O². The plunge causes

TRANSITION

z to fracture

every muscle seized trembling to an unheard beat z’s middle twisted into a double fisher man’s knot numbness came taking control z slipped away from z in any tense a full force centrifuge bodily liquids separated density versus density the shell splintering no control no control z found every zeptosecond of z’s life if z hadn’t been in synch there might have have been, is a, or will be a z no warning that

Z fell into a moment. One Z had been able to walk away from. The next moment was just as bad as the preceding one. Z knew the pattern. Z’s fists clenched.

“Damn it!”

THE LAB

Schrödinger’s Float Pod sat in it’s birth.

This is the day Z doesn’t die

Z was/is/will be

So the journey begins. Backwards, like the Ghost of Christmas Past. 

I want to give thanks to MAXIME LAGACÉ of Wisdom Quotes. 

Yes, the internet is full of links to a plethora of quote sites. I’ve cherry picked the specific ones that have wound up on past posts. This time, Wisdom Quotes made it easy with one stop shopping. Uh, I mean copying. Yeah. That.  There’s a powerful story behind the Wisdom Quotes site. More power to Maxime Lagacé.

Special note: If you are seeing a Kurt Vonnegut “Slaughterhouse 5” feel to this, it’s a semi-conscious choice. Z is by no means Billy Pilgrim, and I am not trying to plagiarize Mr. Vonnegut’s amazing book in any way. A beginning homage? I’ll plead the fifth on that one. With Continuance (April 3rd), Z begins the tread to elsewhere.

Please leave any comments &/or feedback below. It is always much appreciated.

C you tomorrow.

LIQUID TIME PATH

Liquid Time: a Portent

Absolute 31,536,000

AtoZ Blogging Challenge 2021: Theme Reveal

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#AtoZChallenge 2021 Theme Reveal

Is it almost April already? I thought it was April a couple of months ago.

Or was that years?

What are days, months, years, seconds, minutes, hours, decades? Does any of that have any meaning anymore? Did they ever really have meaning? Is Time our side? Does it go by when it’s in a Bottle? Is it One Moment, does it come After, Too Much, or does it Stand Still? Does it hit me, waits for no one, turn back, or is it The End?

Ponderous Time

OR

Liquid Time

I guess that’s my theme.

I have absolutely no clue where I’m going to go with that. Might change my mind 120%? Anything is possible.

Come back on April 1st, 2021. I will post every day of April, except for Sundays. 26 posts. Get ’em while they’re hot! Check out the AtoZ April Challenge to join in &/or find other blogs to read

Though the following quotes…hmmm…

“Time is a created thing. To say ‘I don’t have time,’ is like saying, ‘I don’t want to.”
 Lao Tzu

“Time is an illusion.”
― Albert Einstein

“Time is liquid. One moment is no more important than any other and all moments quickly run away.”

― Kurt Vonnegut

#AtoZChallenge 2021 badge

That Morning

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Maori-Grey-Color-Ink-3D-Cracked-Face-Tattoo-On-Boys-Hand-For-Man
Pulled up to the curb
Hated building in sight
Drive shifted to Park
Pinging from under the hood

Tools for the day gathered
Unsnapped restraints
Body free
Yet, an unexpected hellish message came to me

Heavy chills from that winter day
Were nothing to the inward heat
Words tore through the chest
Filling up a now empty cavity

Pain sat in those words
Brushing off; tossed away
Snow fell in furried force
Muddled mind filled with numbing pain

The words made no sense
Content denied
The words finally made sense
As what was left flew away

No awareness of time falling away
Park was gone; drive remained
Yet no destination set
To a melted mind


We don’t grow when things are easy.

We grow when we face challenges.” ~ Joyce Meyer

Sonnet: When The Time Is Right

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There comes a time when people get tired of being pushed out of the glittering sunlight of life’s July and left standing amid the piercing chill of an alpine November. Martin Luther King, Jr.

OIP

 

Intimidation tactics are useless

Where the many are set upon as thieves

These are times punctuated through much stress

With hopes that all of our fears are relieved.

 

Hateful, scornful words meet extreme actions

Quiet shattered by jeers of discontent

The deep divide of opposing factions

It puts roadblocks in the way, we are rent

 

Yet, if the tide was to turn to the truth

The consequences in dire dispute

Thoughts and prayers may not be the needed sooth

To mend what has been sundered by refute

 

What impending years that we will pass through

Steps can be taken for our lawful due

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☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼

This was a blog challenge: Simply 6 Minutes from Stine Writing

The rules for the challenge: Use today’s prompt (The MLKjr quote above)

Write for SIX Minutes. When your timer goes off, you are done.

Post on Stine Writing blog or on your own with a link on that blog’s site.

I did the above in under six minutes, where I had enough time to make sure there were ten syllables in each line.

I know; I shouldn’t edit, but, c’mon. It’s a sonnet. 🙂

One – Thirteen – Eight

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Thirteen years

Separated by a day

Tear apart Autumn.

 

Leaves die,

Their true colors surfacing

Until they fall.

 

It all happened too fast

As slow as it went

Eight years the aftermath. 

 

Two held out

Eyelids close for the last time

Left much unanswered with regrets

 

Stick it out, alone

As ideation throws itself

Against membrane walls.

 

Silence instead of screams

Close lips, open eyes

The yelling of the past is past.

 

There is a disconnect

Rejections, Turned backs

As the darkness of the night

Seeps into the coming day

Hiding is opportune

When one day is like the next.

 

 

One Two 300

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The number 300,

Where did it come from, you ask?

Come sit, dear child.

I will do my best

To describe 300

It’ll put your mind at rest.

Once upon a time, One became known

To all across the world

Yet no One knew then

That One had a twin; of sorts

One was delighted

Thinking that “!” was by One’s side

Yet a rude awakening quickly followed,

That Exclamation Point always trailed behind.

One drifted along,

A fraction of fear, for

One wanted an addition

Of this, it was clear,

Alone One felt relatively null.

A need to multiply, One felt,

Was its right summation

Was One the final destination?

UNTIL

One terrible shaking shook the world

So unexpected and irrational

When the shuddering settled

One felt naturally at ease

Not knowing the quiet

Was but a tease.

Yet One was but a start,

Another One came calling,

Abstract and complex

People were swept off their feet

Heads all awhirl, 

Some stomachs, too, truth to tell.

Trees fell, waves rose up in the air

Then all was quiet on the front

Staying right and stable.

‘One happened, then once again?’

Questioning arose

One following another One did not compute.

A wise woman named Venn asked

“We should all come together,

A gathering circle.”

They joined as a group

They overlapped in a fury

Theories were thrown about,

Until One shouted, “Eureka!”

Twa claimed its name.

Ideas and events added more to the mix

Tres followed Twa

Then came the rest.

One hundred came,

Followed by Twa hundred in a row.

Last year it was 299,

Then we added One,

And 300 was born.

So, dear child,

300 is here! This equation is solved.”

“But Grandpa,” she said,

Rubbing her eyes,

“Why will next year

Be 300 and One?”

ON THE EDGES

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Bouquet, Van Gogh

On The Edges

The invitation was relatively concise

Arrive at two, the brightest of light

A short path to the house

Brings you up the three steps

A porch sweeps the space

The entryway is here

Knock once, twice, thrice

The door swung upwards

Letting you in

Gusty wind plays on your back

Pushing you inside the two-floor house,

First flight

Swiveled head & searching eyes

The walls were white

And nothing else

The place was bare, except

A sweeping curved stairway centered itself

Polished cherry wood atop

Carved wood posts with intimate designs

Of plentitudes of flowers; a bouquet of railing

Uprooted vines holding these tableaux

It caught your fancy

Drawing you near

Noticing the details grow deeper

As you traveled the veneer

The steps asked you to climb

Even though you initially declined

The curves, the peaks, the depth drove you so

Up the stairway was where you needed to go

Upon the landing, three doors were in view

The first a white blank

The next as vacant as the first

But down the hall, the third door was ajar

Difference cascaded with what could be seen

As you thrust this door open

Into a dream

The walls were a garden

A multitude of colors

An aroma on your lips

Laid out with grace, so serene

From floor to ceiling, white walls a memory,

A facing of beauty only nature provides

Spaced only apart when a window sat between

You count the varieties, the mixes, the hues

You softly place fingers

Coming away with light dew

Turn to the right, to the left

Back again and reversed

Taking in this garden menagerie.

One window tracked you

Wanting you to gaze through

Stark contrast unappealing

A blank whiteness with edges

Of shadows descending

You shiver as you walk back to room center

Sitting down on the floor

In equidistant space

The facing of flowers

Moves you inside

Embracing your vibrancy

Of peace and good faith

Mathematical Equations Flow into a Bear’s Winter Den.

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Mathematical Equations Flow into a Bear’s Winter Den.

“You should let it go”

The Grizzly snapped

Claws sharp and bright

“Stop the hoping;

Nothings coming back!”

As the Bear pounces on you,

Teeth clamping on

Growling “No one’s complete.”

She’d advance then goes still

Hot breath steaming your face.

Your legs quiver

Barely holding you up

As eyes bore into yours

You can’t look away for

No place to retreat.

“Prove it!” she demanded

Pushed full weight against the rocks

“What do you think you deserve?

What offers can you keep?”

She came to you,

Not the other way

Break all the fucking rules

Then she came, then pushed away

Retreating then imploring

Over tumbling common ground.

Repeating past confusions,

Not again, not again

There’s a challenge, a test

It’s denied. unspoken, yet

Rend your mind wide

Show that you bend,

Expectations leveling out

Leaving little behind.

Except you.

You are easily left behind.

Unique in a good way,

“Not trashed,” she opined.

In that moment

Invisibility leaps forth

Blurring the Grizzly from taking

More than you’re worth.

It ripped into you

Left bleeding before the crowds

Who feeds into the invisible shroud

You’ve donned again, for as always,

It is always around.

“Prove it!” was demanded

Never given the chance

So, you are forced to turn and run.

You stumble,

Head an aching mess.

And you trip, you fall

Excoriated, shattered, so fucking deep.

It is easy to hide

You’ve established that fact

Yet a question remains:

Is it easier to just die?