“I don’t want to get stale.” – Mark Frost
I almost wrote a limerick today. After the shuddering became less violent (I’m obviously allergic to rhyme), I decided to shamelessly copycat Kerry, and write an American Sentence for Rommy’s “Try Everything!” prompt.
the poem (inspired 2 of the stickers on my laptop—thanks 13 gazillions, Emma!):
Pre-Moth-Girl sips tea. Scissor-Lass thinks sharp. Differently-odd friends fit.
She asked if I had ever been draggedkicking and screaming and cursing in Spanishout of my comfort zone, just to end up having to admit that the new digs are rather awesome. All right, so Rommy might’ve said it differently, but that is what I heard. My answer? Well… who hasn’t!The first thing that comes to mind—when the topic of unwanted change bursts into the room—is poetry. I couldn’t stand it (things have changed a bit). On a fresher front, I’ve been drawing (since certain cognitive psychologist keeps reminding me that drawing and writing exercise different parts of the brain and doing both is best). I’m not terribly skilled at the art of making pictures that aren’t made of words. But you know I’ll try anything once, often thrice (the moment my brain grows some abs, I’ll totally show them to you).a (cherita) poem (for the Poetry Pantry #495 and the Sunday Muse #75) inspired by Kim’s Weekend Mini Challenge (Maladroit, which means “awkward in movement or unskilled in behavior or action”) and my latest drawing (see below):Watching everyone ahead,sure of stepand climbing higher.When I stumble, I rememberstubbornness can conquermaladroit beginnings.some time ago, I promised a friend (who’s not on social media) that I would share weekly links to my Instagram posts on my blog. I, um… forgot. So, here are the last couple of weeks of sharing. And I shalltry toremember next week, I promise *cough*:- “To love me…” said the praying mantis* scroll up to see the captions
What feels like a gazillion years ago, I wrote a web serial set in a world were myth had spilled into reality. One of the main characters was a ciguapa, a kind of land-siren who could enthrall anyone who saw any part of his face. He was a good guy. So, to protect others, “He wore sunglasses, and used his long living hair to craft a mask of thin braids around his face.”
Yep, that’s exactly how I described it. Then, a few months ago, my writing partner was reading the old manuscript, and not exactly containing her mad cackles, pretty much asked me, “What’s Chewbacca doing in your story?”The moment the words left her mouth, I saw exactly what she meant... and burst into laughter. I’ve tweaked the description since then. The character no longer looks like Chewbacca or Cousin Itt in tiny braids. Still, whenever I’m writing a scene with that character in it, I can’t help thinking, Hey, Chewie.for Poets United Moonlight Musings: the Interactive Edition, #2 (“That’s Not What I Meant”, where I invite you to write about misread words that conjure hysterical interpretations, about grammatical errors (horrors?) which change the meaning of a piece, about descriptions (which we thought brilliant) that end up filling our readers’ minds with images we can hardly recognize)
“Cousin Itt”, by @GroovyGothic
Everything (and everyone) sings and feels echoes of the music our tongues and hearts bleed into the world. I sing songs of pain and pleasure, tunes that crack bone, melodies that stitch ripped flesh and make a soul twist and dance and want…
to live.My ink chants groovy jazz and wretched lullabies for me (and for anyone) who cares…to listen.Everything (and everyone) sings… Listen and feel.“Time to Fly”, by Magic Love Crow(because the moon is full, and there is no better timeto unleash our song into the world)
for the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads (Just One Word: Groovy) and for Wild Friday at Poets United (where Sanaa invites us to find an incomplete poem and write a response that works like an ending for our choice: I chose “Everything Sings”, by Bill Cattey, a piece he started and the 1970s but didn’t go beyond the title)
After I said something positive about dandelions and wishes, someone told me, “Fluffy dandelions are nothing more than soon to be dead flowers.” And I responded, “No, not really. To me, a dandelion is a collection of wishes waiting to grow real.” I might’ve cackled, too (because I am obnoxiously positive *grins*).
the poem (for Poets United Poetry Pantry #492):
You see stingseverywhere,I see blooming.That woman (the one you ran away from, while screaming, “But she is full of snakes and needles!”), I see me in her wounds. I run to her, I chant with her, “I’ve made myself out all the wild I have lived.” Through the hurt (or because of the hurt), she smiles at me, she dances with me… and we soothe each other’s stitches.You see dying dandelionseverywhere,I see growing wishes.1. My dearest Rommy wanted to know if we indulged in goofy little things to get a smile going, on days that are less than awesome. To which I say, you bet your gorgeous, big-haired, vertically-challenged self that I do. My favorite bit of goofy indulgence is dark and dirty (and super-nerdy) humor. If I’m laughing at the horror, then I’m not dead yet. What about you, my Wicked Luvs?2. Eons ago, when my hands started turning on me and holding a book became painful, The Boy (the most handsome nephew/son/friend of them all) got me an Audible subscription. And I love it. Not just because audiobooks rock *grins*, but also because of Audible Originals. You see, in addition to my monthly credit for an audiobook of my choosing, I also get 2 Audible Originals. Some of the freebies can be… meh, but more often the choices are delicious. Without the service, I probably would’ve missed You do You: Proud to Be Fabulous and Rivals! Frenemies Who Changed the World.3. On “The SMART Act, Facebook, and My Waist”, I told you about saying adios to my FB profile. I stopped updating it and started a page. Now, I’m seriously considering unpublishing the latter (at least for a while). It’s not doing it for me. It sucks time, and it doesn’t seem to accomplish a whole lot. I might let it go on the 13th.
