Category Archives: Pantsing

ABSOLUTE 31,536,000: Liquid Time A to Z Blog Challenge, April 2021

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ABSOLUTE 31,536,000

LIQUID TIME

A to Z Blog Challenge 2021

YOU ARE THERE

There isn’t a map that points to where you are. There isn’t a Mall, Zoo, Amusement Park, Tactical Training Range, whatever. Do you need to know the exact spot you occupy? The exact moment in time? You’ve asked yourself, or others, “Why am I here?” It’s an unanswerable question. This isn’t peace during wartime. You are there, but you are not aware of that.

FLOAT POD

Z is not fixed.

Buoyed at 33.8889° C. The heptahydrate MgSO4·7H2O balances the interior gravity at approximately of 1.26. The FP (Float Pod) is sound proof, light proof, but not air proof. The Air Circulation System (ACS) brings in more air. Humidity often reaches 100%; there is alignment in the darkness. The temperature of the water is constant. The humidity levels off as eyes close.

Z fades into transcendental breathing.

The pod door shuts with a clang; the noise reverberates around the chamber. Z, already afloat, hands along sides. Both palms open, the backs of the hands are resting on top of the chemically infused water. The earplugs are NRR rated at 12dB.

Z is ready. Now. Always present in the Now. It never mattered when the Now came before, or after, the Now Z is part of. Or was, as Z slipped into the next Now. The next. Again.

Z lives each zeptosecond of existence. The why of here, there, now, folds into each other.

Z is approaching Transition. Z’s word for it. Not ours.

It will suffice.

TRANSITION

The door to the FP remains closed.

Z was/is/will be.

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

~Kurt Vonnegut

So, A.

Liquid Time.

B continues on April 2nd, 2021

Comments are always appreciated

The Vagabond Queen: A Tall Tale

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LIQUID TIME: A Portent (AtoZ Blog Challenge 2021)

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This is the day Z doesn’t die.

Z is in flux.

Z is insignificant, feeling utterly <less than< to others who stumble across Z.

There is a social, dreary wilderness that Z wades through,

often sinking into the mire, unable to attain a solid footing.

Z believes they has no purpose.

With no purpose in Z’s ragged mind, the universal

“Why?” goes unanswered.

Z was/is/will be.

Z’s wish: that Z wasn’t any of those.

Wishes don’t always come true.

This is the day Z doesn’t die.

It was Z’s thought to do so,

but never Z’s intention.


Welcome to Tale Spinning. This is the 10th time I have been part of the AtoZ Blog Challenge. I created Tale Spinning in February 2011. Two months later I joined in that wide assemblage of Bloggers. 

 

I wasn’t really prepared for the journey, then. I’m glad I took up the challenge/risk. 

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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

Too Often: a Villanelle

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Too Often, by S. Nager

Walk away. Walk away. Alone. Apart

Be dismissed, discarded, a second thought.

Now hide every piece of your broken heart

 

 

Love fractures, splits, by an uncaring dart

Shattered pieces, a broken soul is taut

Walk away. Walk away. Alone. Apart.

 

 

With love’s ending comes a yearn to depart

Disregarded love that never was sought

Now hide every piece of your broken heart

 

 

Each time, within your grasp, a fresh new start

Drifted, drifted, gone, even though you fought

Walk away. Walk away. Alone. Apart.

 

 

What was conceived more emotion not smart

Gave of yourself love could not be caught                                                 

Now hide every piece of your broken heart

 

 

Dreams of fidelity, hopes to restart

All dashed and ignored from a life so fraught,

Walk away. Walk away. Alone. Apart.

Now hide every piece of your broken heart

 

***************************************************************************

Author’s Note:

I used the poetic form of a Villanelle for the above poem. This is my first attempt as this was new, to me. Dylan Thomas’s “Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night” is a prime example of this poetic style. It is a 19 line poem with 5 Tercets (3 lines) that follow an ABA rhyme pattern, and one Quatrain (4 lines) to end the poem. Its rhyme pattern is ABAA. The last two lines of the Quatrain are the Refrain (which I crafted first) and they are used in the 2nd to 5th Tercet, intermittently. Thomas use of the 10 syllables per line harks to Elizabethan/Shakespearian Sonnets.

This was a bit challenging at first. I’m glad I tried it. I’ll probably do more, as I did with Sonnets over the years.

Remember: comments are always welcome.

Grandfather Speaks

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1st Chime: Midnight approaches. I’ve prepared for the darkness, urging it to mask what is to come. What needs to be done. What will be.

2nd Chime: I sit in her favorite chair. I have never done that before. The dent of her body is etched into the fabric and padding. I do not fit.

3rd Chime: Time. Time is going too slow. It is out of my control if I ever had any. My palms are wet. A tiny rivulet streaks down my brow into my eyes. It burns.

4th Chime: I gasp. My mouth. It feels like I poured ground cinnamon into the chamber. I cough clouds of red.

5th Chime: Hurry. Hurry. I need to. No. Wait. I can’t. Wait.

6th & 7th Chime: My calves cramp. I hadn’t noticed my knees were jumping like pistons. It won’t obey me. It won’t stop.

8th Chime: All. It’s not well. Not. The walls are closing in. There is wailing from the floor, right under my planted soles.

9th & 10th Movement: I heard no chimes. I’m fixed on the second hand as he struggles for the next second. The grandfather is moving time on.

11Th Chime: My lips are cracked. As I use my tongue to sponge them, I get the taste of copper as it sweeps over the swollen bottom lip.

12th Chime: Here. It is here. The elevated heart rate hurts my rib cage. There is a sour smell surrounding me. It does not offend. I am dripping wet with perspiration. It is time. It is time. I reach over to the frazzled side table.

The grandfather clock ticks eleven more.

On the 12th tick, the gun barrel is in my mouth.

I…

 

 

<<<<<<<<<<     >>>>>>>>>>

HAPPY HALLOWEEN!

I host a writing group on Saturday mornings: Daydreamers Write! Prompts & Challenges. The above was from the challenge prompt: Strange things happen when the Grandfather Clock speaks. The challenge: Coat your piece in MOOD. Write in First-person & the narrator is not reliable. If you can, use all five (six?) senses. Some wrote prose, some poetry, and then…

The picture is ©Eric Freitas. If you want to see more of his work, the link is attached to the picture. His work is amazing, and Eric works on commissions. Check his website. 

 

Daydreamers Write! Prompt & Challenges  is a virtual writers group. We meet every Saturday morning (EST) from 10:00 am to Noon. Two prompts (2nd one holds the challenge), writing, sharing, constructive feedback, all in that two-hour slot. What I love about keeping this virtual is that we have members from both coasts in the US, and one from London. 

Click on the link, sign up for a membership, and then find the date you’d like to join in. Please send in the RSVP that is attached to that day’s invite. 

Any questions? You can leave me a message on the MeetUp page or direct to organizerdaydreams@gmail.com

The Misfortune of Sea Monsters (part two)

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The Misfortune of Sea Monsters (part two)

Part One: The Misfortune of Sea Monsters

NOTE: if you have not read part one (link above), this will make little to no sense. I am trying my hand at a serialized story, and you really do need to read it, part by part. Thank you.

Part Two: The Hafgufa and The Harpoon

Captain Magnus tried to stop Young Ned from leaping to a certainly lost cause, but he was too late. The Return swayed, but no man was more made more steady on his feet than a captain whose ship was an extension of himself.  The large ripples the beast made, as it bore Meigs down, tried their best to topple him. He heard some of his men falter and gasp, but he would have none of that.

“You’re a fool, Young Ned. A brave one, but a fool all the same.” The captain stayed at the side of his ship, speaking to an uncaring sea, waiting for any sign.

The foolish Young Ned was far below, swimming downward. His labor was fierce, as the creature tunneled the water as it should, and Young Ned was handicapped by the harpoon he knew he must have. Meigs was a rag doll in the monster of the deep’s tentacles, and his mate, his friend,  felt it was already too late, but this feeling only propelled him to swim faster.

The “Vanishing Island” (for so the Hafgufa has been called) belched a stream of what Young Ned thought would be if one could smell underwater, noxious fumes.  Stopping its descent, it turned towards Young Ned, its eyes locking onto him. A tentacle was thrust towards him, then another and another.  Each time the attack was thwarted by a right blow of the exquisite sharpness of the harpoon that Young Ned wielded. Both he and the monster scored points, but none were as deep or as ruinous as what came from the well-placed pike.

He was fast losing the last of his air reserves when a tremendous blow freed the undulating sea body of SM Meigs. Young Ned grabbed his comrade and began his ascent. The creature, leaking foul fluids from the many contact hits delivered,  sent out a spasm of its own pain and struck Young Ned across his back,  sending the harpoon spiraling out of Young Ned’s hand and knocking him unconscious.

***

The deck of The Return was hard and wet under Young Ned’s back as he coughed up the bracken seawater. Retching was a rude awakening, but any revival from what seemed like certain death was a good one. Captain Magnus gave his one good hand to Young Ned and helped him stand. Young Ned politely shook him off, bent at the knees, and expelled the last of the wretched substance.

Standing up, Young Ned looked around him. There, amidships, by the mizzenmast, lay the body of SM Meigs. Nothing was said: he knew Meigs was dead as sure as he knew the Hafgufa would pay, and pay dearly. Young Ned also noticed one other thing: the harpoon he carried into battle lay at his feet.

Puzzled, he bent and picked it up. “Captain, how…” he began.

“I know, lad, I know. You should have been as dead as poor Meigs.  Too much time had passed, and the lads and, sadly, I had given up all hope. The sea waters were thrashing for all to see, then they went still. I had said my prayers and sent you Godspeed to Davey Jones’s embrace when…well…”

“What? Please, Captain. I don’t understand why I am still alive here on deck. I felt a blow across my back, a shattering pain lanced through, and I felt the sea enter me as I quickly lost all awareness.”

Captain Magnus stared hard at Young Ned. He turned his head and spat over the rail. Turning back, it was the first time the captain would not make eye contact.

“You know me for an honest man, as honest as the sea will allow one to be. The crew saw this too, or I wouldn’t have believed it myself. We had given up all hope, but…the mysteries of the seas are deep. The still water broke apart, Young Ned, and you, Meigs, and that blasted harpoon were on the back of a narwhal. This one was male, a lovely helical tusk, as woven as a twisted knot of hair. It floated long enough for us to retrieve you and poor Meigs. We thought you were gone too, but, well, you coughed up the sea as it coughed up yourself.”

“The narwhal?” Young Ned inquired.

“Slid away and gone. Come…no use scratching our heads about this. You are alive, Young Ned, and I am glad that I can keep my promise to your sister that you stay that way. Well, at least for today.” Captain Magnus smiled, slapped Young Ned on the back, and turned, barking orders to set course for land and home.

Walking over to the body of his friend, Young Ned knelt and said some prayers. He also vowed, in these moments of silence, to seek vengeance, so dreadful and sincere. Lost in his moments of grief, it was only the collision of the boatswain, Mr. Diggs, that brought him around to a deck that was beginning to tilt and the noses of men in a panic.

“Diggs…what is it, man?”

The boatswain, face ashen, said, “Look starboard; look what you’ve brought upon us!”

Pushing the man away, harpoon still in hand, Ned rushed starboard, pulling himself up so he could look over the rail:

The Hafgufa’s tentacles were climbing the sides of The Return, tilting the ship. One passed by his head and twisted onto the mizzenmast behind him. One solid jerk, and the Hafgufa and Young Ned were staring at one another, connected by sea, wood, and bone.

The Return cried a mournful sound upon the waters.

to be continued…

What It Is

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the-vanishing-time-sandy-wijaya

Crumbled mass of memories

Beating to remain

Drift away in pieces

Day by week

Week by month

Our chorus has refrained.

 

Let the days go by

Time is translucent

Affixed by artificial means

Seconds are meaningless

Hours, years, what do they share?

Try to keep track of this dark despair.

 

Say: “It’ll be over soon. We’ll return to normal.”

Hope that’s true, but, it’s written in the wind

Carved deep by our wants

Fashioned by others invested greed

It’ll all be over soon.

Hah! Don’t hold your breath.

 

Don’t cross my boundaries

While I obliterate yours

My space is limitless

Go back to other shores

I am eternally right

You know you’re always wrong.

 

Don’t come closer

Don’t you fucking dare.

Hide behind a wall of hate

Imagine I don’t give a shit

This world is for the taking

One breath will never come.

 

History becomes what we think

Nothing learned; ours to repeat

Our earth creeks and shakes

As it senses and retaliates

In the beginning, one

So at the end. None.

 

Crumbled mass of what we were

Bleeding to remain

Feeling wasted, dried to dust

Yet we wait behind closed doors

Time isn’t after us

Nothing is holding us.

 

**Apologies and credit to The Talking Heads.

 

Nightmare Reflection: 2020 AtoZ Blog Challenge

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Reflection #atozchallenge 2020

 

NIGHTMARE REFLECTIONS

NIGHTMARES FROM AN UNBLEACHED SOUL

The AtoZ Blog Challenge 2020

Writing In Captivity

The AtoZ is a challenge. I take that seriously. Since 2011, my first foray into this, I have changed gears from year to year. I like stretching beyond my comfort zones. Some of it has been well taken in both Stats and comments. Others, like this year, not so much.

I am pleased with what I chose to do:  write 26 Lyrical Poems under the theme title. Write every day in April, except Sundays. I have written poetry before, many well received by the readers. But, I write in that style intermittently.

This was truly a challenging April.

If you’ve followed from April 1st  with Awakenings to Zealous O’er the Seas, you’ve experienced my venting, wistfulness, wishing, observations, and anger through my words. Some I rhymed on purpose, some I just let the words loose.

Every single poem was written with a genre of music or musician’s styling playing in my head. I did not intend to appropriate any specific song; it’s the overall mood they convey and are masters of. I’ve written songs before, but I have no knowledge of musical notation and I don’t play a musical instrument. I hear it inside and then turn to someone to collaborate with. From humming it out, setting the beats (as I see them), hearing it played,  gets me going. Seeing how the meter is off from one (or many) line(s) starts my rewrite of the lyrics if needed. Tweaking the piece, scrapping whole verses, you know: first to finished draft.

The music that drifted around me as I wrote the poem daily (I don’t pre-write) is varied:

  1. Big Band/Crooners; Folk music; Rap (as I understand it); Sea Shanties; Rock; Heavy/Thrash Metal; Alt Rock & Alt-Country; Punk; Romantic-ish; Blues; Singer/Songwriter.
  2. Artists:  Tom Waits; Leonard Cohen; The Kinks; Joni Mitchel; Peter Gabriel; Kate Bush; Sousie and the Banshees; Alestorm; Dean Martin; St. Vincent; later Beatles; Beck; The Clash; The Cure; and others that my mind can’t latch onto right now.

Nightmares from an Unbleached Soul

Why Nightmares from an Unbleached Soul? What does that mean, to you? What do you think it means to me? I asked that question near the end of the month and got one response.

Noor Anand Chawla wrote:

I think your title alludes to the fact that you lay yourself and perhaps your worst fears, bare to your audience, through these 26 pieces. “Nightmares” refer to your worst fears, and “unbleached soul” refers to the absence of restraint and being absolutely honest about your feelings.
Perhaps my explanation is too simplistic? What do you think?

Noor pretty much nailed it. I feel that nightmares go beyond our sleep. They are all around us. It could be people, situations, personal fears, perceived fears, and hurt that you feel has been done to you, or that you have done to yourself.

Noor also got the “Unbleached Soul” part. I would add to that when we follow the crowd, stop thinking on our own (or made to stop), refuse to look at things from another angle = Bleached. Soul or Mind: interchangeable.

Overall, I am a non-conformist. I despise the statement “We’ve always done it this way!” For me, there is no box for me to think out of. It’s been imposed on me time and again. Not my thing. I’m creative. I don’t always follow mindless rules, inflexible, with no desire to even listen to a different POV. Sometimes I’ve done that: those are the times I get headaches constantly and down more aspirin than I should.

Try Noor’s blog (link above). I think you’ll enjoy her writing.

Overall 

I love the AtoZ Blog Challenge. I’ve come across some amazing writers, and many have become online friends. Their pieces are varied from all types of fiction to creative non-fiction to reviews and more. That’s a big part of why I come back.

As I mentioned above, I like a challenge when writing. This gives me that opportunity with the potential to reach well beyond the people who follow me. I’m not hawking for new followers. The performer side of me wants people to want more, for the readers to take what they will from the piece that can touch them &/or make them think.

I am disappointed, again already mentioned, with my stats and comments this year. This was the smallest audience of all my years participating. I went out on a limb, poured a lot of what’s inside of me (as Noor mentioned), and while getting some amazing feedback I wonder what didn’t connect with others. Normally, I’ve had serialized stories that are long in length. I get that. Long posts are sometimes passed over, especially when you are blog hopping.

If I join in again next year, I have a lot of contemplation ahead of me.

Big thanks to Arlee Bird and all the other hosts who worked on this year’s Atoz Blog Challenge. It is obvious how much work they have put in. It shows in many ways.

Big thanks 2, to all of my readers, commenters, and supporters. Too many to name, but know your interaction is priceless.

Stay safe and healthy, everyone.

missionaccomplished

Query Élan Vital: Nightmares from an Unbleached Soul, AtoZ Blog Challenge

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 Q2020

NIGHTMARES FROM AN UNBLEACHED SOUL

QUERY ÉLAN VITAL

What's the substance of consciousness? 
The public face that's worn; the other unknown.
Locked in & secure is the hypothesis
Of surviving another day all alone.

The nature of the world that is shown
Demanding expectations that aren't you
Comes in conflict with your moral tone
Become other than yourself, unglued. 

Qu'est-ce qui ne va pas?
                                       What's wrong with you? 
Chaque jour, vous endommagez votre âme!
                                       Every day you damage your soul! 
Défaillance fabriquée Hors de contrôle.
                                       Fabricated failure Is out of control. 
Aveugle pour le bien intérieur.
                                       Blind to the good inside. 
Pourquoi es-tu ici?
                                       Why are you here? 
Pourquoi?
                                       Why?


The mind is such a chaotic thing
Taking on more as it melts away
Dripping out as they pluck your strings
Life is a burden on tilted display. 

Numbness finds it's way into despair. 
Tightness in the heart beyond belief
Finding yourself balancing on a chair
Looking for answers, some relief.

¿Qué sucede contigo? 
                                          What's wrong with you? 
¡Cada día dañas tu alma! 
                                          Every day you damage your soul!
La falla fabricada está fuera de control. 
                                         Fabricated failure Is out of control.
Ciego a lo bueno por dentro. 
                                          Blind to the good inside.
¿Por qué estás aquí? 
                                          Why are you here?
¿Por qué?
                                           Why?
[Instrumental]

Nani ka mondaidesu ka?
                                          What's wrong with you?
yeder tog ir shedikn deyn nshmh!
                                          Every day you damage your soul!
Echèk fabrike Èske soti nan kontwòl.
                                          Fabricated failure Is out of control.
Cieco per il buono dentro.
                                          Blind to the good inside.
Limadha 'ant huna?
                                          Why are you here?
Why?                                      Why?
                           Why?

*********************************************************

Author’s Note:

For those that will ask:

The first chorus is in French.

The second one is in Spanish.

The third section has six languages. In order:
Japanese; Yiddish; Haitian Creole; Italian; Arabic; English.

Yes, I had music in my head as I did for every AtoZ entry.

I hope you liked it/were moved by it.

Comments are always welcome.