Music Friday Prompt #7 “Lateralus” (Cello Cover) performed by the band “Break of Reality” – Looking

Posted on September 4, 2015 by Michael

Take it take it take it

Give it give it give it.

Easy easy easy peasey

When everything is black and white

But then there’s colour

Tone, contrast, perspective

And you look and look and all you see are shapes

Then you know you’re a fucked up joe.

So you wander

Wander the streets looking looking always looking

For the one, the one to set you straight

But no matter where you look

Under what rock

Round what corner

You always see the one

Disappearing round the next bend

And when you get there

It’s the same shit all over again.

The man looks at me over his horn-rimmed specs

Says young man but you have some growing up to do

What do you see when I show this?

And he spreads out an inkblot

Looks at me expecting always expecting

And I look and I see my mother, my father,

My brother and sister

And they are running, running away from me

And I try to catch up but it’s hopeless

And as I run I trip and fall

And I hear them laugh

I hear them whisper

The brother our son is useless

Has no place with us

Go go go family.

Take it take it take it

Give it give it give it

He’s ours let him wander

Let him suffer

We don’t want him

We can do without him

So take it take it take it

He’s just a fucked up joe…..

On a street corner I sit

In worn out shoes

Ragged shirt

A tin can in front

Reduced to my base self

And the music in my head

Plays its mournful melody

The haunting cello,

The tired strings

Scratching out my song.

Take it, give it, take it, give…..

Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2015/09/04/music-friday-prompt-7-lateralus-cello-cover-performed-by-the-band-break-of-reality/

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Tale Weaver #29: Tranquility

Posted on September 3, 2015 by Michael

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Image: ©Scout’s Snapshots: used with permission.

They say death is the final place in which tranquillity can and should be achieved. I hope this is correct and that the fires of hell are another of religions control mechanisms.

As my death is approaching I have been urged to plan my final days and in doing so give some consideration to making my funeral the perfect funeral.

Apart from the expected grief of the occasion, I hope it is more celebration that grief.

I’d like time after my death for people to be informed and given the opportunity to come and celebrate with me. I’ll be there in spirit.

As I am a face book person my executor has been given instructions to place a small but tasteful obituary on my page. This is one way of informing the 90 followers that I have indeed passed on. There will also be a short announcement on my WP to the same effect.

I want a week as I have said before the funeral to take place.

I have informed my executor as to whom I would like to be my funeral celebrant.

I guess it will have to take place in a church and that aspect doesn’t worry me so I guess if it has to be a church my local one where I grew up will do the job.

I would like my schools clarinet choir to play. They are the classiest group and play the coolest stuff and I have informed them that they will be called on to play in my entry and departure. They can play ‘Gentle on my mind’ for an entry and ‘ You are my Sunshine’ as you carry me out.

It is highly likely the church folk will be upset by this but its my funeral and if they have issues tell them to come and talk to me about it

I have written letters to be read during my service.

One to my children and grandchildren telling them how proud I am of them, how amazed I am at the beautiful people they have each become, how remarkable they are as human beings and that I will be with them always.

To my family and friends I have written my thanks for sticking with me all these years, for being there when I was down, for picking me up and dusting me off and pushing me forward, I will never be able to repay the love they showered on me. Being part of a family has been important to me.

To my former partners I have written a letter in which I discuss my life with them. Of the misery they afforded me, of the pain and humiliations they laid at my feet for so many years. I will thank them for all of that as it led me to be the man I am now, that despite their best efforts to dismantle me, tear me limb from limb and make me realise the worthlessness they worked so hard to promote I did rise from their fires to see life and myself as the person you knew, a man of integrity and love.

Finally to my one true love I will express eternal love, remind her that always is always.

For in my darkest moments she was there, her hand to hold, her shoulder to cry on, her love and care undying. I have treasured every second I have had with her being in my life and even though we travelled a challenging path we did it together, two mates, two lovers.

I will remind you that today you come to say farewell to me. That I want you to recall the moments we had fun, those times that are important to you.

After when I am reduced to ashes don’t worry about an expensive urn; a brown paper bag will do, as I want to be spread around my garden and my yard. Not too much over the ferns as the fairies, like us, don’t like their air polluted, even if it is me providing it.

Raise your glasses my loved ones, here’s to me.

Tranquillity awaits.

Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2015/09/03/tale-weaver-29-tranquility/

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Photo Challenge #76, Hope and Houses, September 1, 2015 – Lofty Abodes

Posted on September 2, 2015 by Michael

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Image: – oprisco

She lived in lofty abodes

He lived in shallow ditches

She dressed in finery

He dressed in what came his way.

She dreamed of love of a life

He dreamed of surviving one more day

She dressed in shoes that displayed her toes

He dressed in shoes that never owned a hole for toes.

They passed each day

She on her way to work

Her eyes downcast

Avoiding contact

Noticing the scruffy man

Who sat outside her condo foyer.

He was a blob in her life

Not sure if he was human

But curious as to why he was there.

He awaited her passing each morning

Sat so she might notice him

Knowing he was nothing in her eyes.

But he admired her finery

Her poise, her focus well away from him.

The girl living in a lofty abode

Never found love

She searched and found

A world devoid of true love.

Every man wanting his piece of flesh

She wasn’t going to give anything away.

One day she dressed in dowdy jeans

Her knees poking out, her shirt torn,

Her finery left on the shelf of her lofty abode

She sat beside the man, took in his smell

Looked closely into his eyes

Saw substance, saw a person,

Talked about her life

Listened to his.

As the sun rose she took him to breakfast

Watched as he are hungrily

Chatted to him over coffee

Realised they had never once smiled

Saw him resigned to his life.

Later she emerged from her lofty abode

Resplendent in her finery

She walked past the man

Resplendent in his poverty

Dropped him a note in her hurry

As life had a hustle and bustle

She knew she had to keep up

Finery came at a price after all.

Each Sunday she came down from her lofty abode

Gathered the man, his rags, his smell

Walked till dawn with him

Each telling the other their story

Then taking him to breakfast

He expressed his gratitude.

She expressed her desire for tolerance

Awareness and compassion.

The man gathered himself inside his rags

Looked at her, her youth so obvious

Her privilege apparent

‘Be you,’ he said. ‘You’ll get to like her.’

Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2015/09/01/photo-challenge-76-hope-and-houses-september-1-2015/

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Kreative Kue 40 – Pay the Ferryman.

Posted on September 1, 2015 by Michael

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Not admitting to sin and failure had been a burden for Biggus. He had been sent back into a world that was foreign to him in every way.

As he sat in the Plaza De Monte he couldn’t help but remember the days of his youth when the Plaza was a buzz with market stalls and at one end famous orators would gather to sprout their current views on the Empire and those who governed it.

But this world was bizarre. People seemed happy to just sit around and drink from cups filled with the foulest of substances called coffee.

Often people came up to him speaking in strange tongues and made him stand along side them while another foreign speaking person held up a small thin rectangular object and he didn’t know what it was but was very important to them.

Afterwards some of them gave him money, at least he assumed it was money with the odd word Euro on it.

He couldn’t understand why no one spoke good Latin, some words he recognised as from his time but there seemed a conglomeration of voices and words that right at this moment he was feeling particularly despondent. And he couldn’t find the bath house that he was sure was in the eastern corner of the plaza but now there was a food house serving round flat bread with toppings of different kinds on it.

It was all so puzzling to him that he concluded this must be hell and that every one here along with himself was waiting for some sort of delivery from this hell hole. Though no one seemed very bothered by their predicament.

He did have a pretty good idea as to why he was here and promised himself that next time death greeted him he would certainly remember to pay the ferryman.

Written for: http://channing.info/wp/2015/08/31/kreative-kue-40/

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Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers 1st September – Waiting

Posted on September 1, 2015 by Michael

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Image: Louise at the Storyteller’s Abode

The train steamed in and her hopes were high. It had been six weeks since the end of hostilities and each day she came to greet her two sons.

Once again she found herself on the platform her hopes up that they would stick their heads out of the carriage and wave frantically to her.

Around her villagers stood awaiting the arrival of their loved ones and smiles were exchanged with their expected appearance.

They knew of her daily vigil. The woman’s resilience was admired. Many recognised her inner strength. In secret they saw little hope for her after this amount of time.

As the engine passed, the steam from the wheels escaped in a cloud that engulfed the platform. She heard none of the exclamations of joy around her as the passengers disembarked and again she felt that recognisable pain in her heart.

Maybe tomorrow she thought, turning away.

 

Written for: https://flashfictionforaspiringwriters.wordpress.com/2015/09/01/fffaw-challenge-week-of-09-01-2015/

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Mondays Finish the Story – August 31st, 2015 – Uncle Earl

Posted on August 31, 2015 by Michael

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Image: Barbara Beacham

Finish the story begins with:  “The cemetery spread along the area known as Devils Abode.”

It was a devil of a place to get too. Uphill all the way.

Every villain and miscreant ended up buried deep should in the next life they be considered for a second crack at life.

Uncle Earl was buried on a Saturday. Aunt Kate asked us to go up and make sure the hole was dug.

There was a hole but only three feet deep. Earl needed a good six feet just to be safe. So we had to shed our coats and dig it the extra three feet.

Kate wanted a quick service so as to get to the wake. We arrived at the cemetery to discover the gravediggers didn’t work on Saturday. We boys once again set about the task of filling in the hole.

Kate stood and watched.

‘He’s safe now,’ she said. ‘He ain’t coming back the miserable bastard.’

 

 

 

Written for: https://mondaysfinishthestory.wordpress.com/2015/08/31/mondays-finish-the-story-august-31st-2015/

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Wordle #76 “August 31, 2015″ – Carson

Posted on August 31, 2015 by Michael

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This week’s words: Sterile Dull Rivulet Barley Volitant (engaged in or having the power of flight. Active; moving.) Phlegm Embasan (to wear clothes while taking a bath) Precarious Sanatorium (a hospital for the treatment of chronic diseases, as tuberculosis or various nervous or mental disorders.) File Sombre (it is just the British spelling of somber use whichever form you prefer) Soup

It all started over a bowl of soup. Carson questioned the sterility of the kitchen as his soup has traces of hair and other things he called foreign objects in his soup.

What made it hard was that it was a vegetable soup so questions arose as to what should be there and what shouldn’t. The argument went back and forward as Carson was never what you’d call a dull person. He loved an argument never caring greatly if he won or lost.

Such was the disagreement that the chef was soon involved arguing that barley was an acceptable ingredient in his soup. Carson maintained it was a grain fit only for bovine creatures and should be kept well away from humans.

It was when the chef produced his meat cleaver and began to make threats upon Carson’s potential manhood that he suddenly saw the need to become volitant, leaping over tables and other guests in a display that shocked everyone including Carson.

He fled out the doors of the restaurant and made his way the Medway Rivulet where he had a hiding place for such emergencies. He had escaped another precarious situation by the skin of his teeth and now decided to lay low for a while and see if time would help settle the air for him.

But he did file away in his small and limited brain the actions and aggression of the chef.

In the middle of the night Carson experienced another of his reoccurring nightmares where he found himself incarcerated in a sanatorium having once again been found bathing in a highly questionable embasan manner in the rivulet.

From an early age Carson had an aversion to water. His father had warned him of its evil powers and Carson had made it a life long mission to avoid it on every occasion and the wearing of clothes was a sure way he thought of preventing his skin from coming in contact with the malicious liquid.

It was in the sanatorium that his fears were fully realised as the first thing they tried to do was wash him and Carson who promised himself to be at his sombre best had fought like a navvy to stay out of his greatest nightmare.

Realising the nightmare had taken its usual path, of terror for him, he cleared the phlegm from his throat in his usual violent way and settled back in to what he hoped was a peaceful sleep devoid of volitant thoughts and embasan activities.

Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2015/08/31/wordle-76-august-31-2015%E2%80%B3/

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1 Event That Will Help You Expand Your Readership: Meet and Greet

Posted on August 31, 2015 by Michael

A great way to meet and visit some new bloggers.

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Writing Prompt #122 “Collage 5″

Posted on August 30, 2015 by Michael

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The madness was plain to see

The magic mystifying.

Why he stayed in a mad house

Inhabited by such a lunatic

Puzzled so many, but not him.

The days of love were long gone

Feelings existing in a mist of memory.

They tried all they could

To remedy, to renew

To reinvigorate.

But no cure-all was going to make a difference

When desire and want had long left the building.

She had her own flights of fancy

Those desperate moments when logic gave way

To the thoughts of criticism and anger

When the irrational became the norm

And children cringed in fear

Doors locked should the marauder

Find them shivering in each other’s arms.

For him the magic lay in his resilience

His determination to remain sane

Not try to imitate her madness

For that would spell the end.

He needed to be protector

Guardian, the rock for them who feared

The only one who could possibly

Give them reason to fly when

Underground seemed so safe.

So the tree they each inhabited,

A family rich in love and understanding

Who took him in, offered solace to the children

And whose safeguarding led each child

To adulthood as a member of a tree

That stands tall and proud.

While the madness continued around them

They looked on, distanced themselves

Stuck together as the magic grew stronger.

Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2015/08/30/writing-prompt-122-collage-5%E2%80%B3/

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SoCS August 29/15 – “four-letter word.”

Posted on August 29, 2015 by Michael

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This week’s prompt: “four-letter word.” 

One of life’s joys is the appropriately placed four-letter word. So easily do we squirm when such things are uttered or for that matter implied in conversation or in forums such as SOC.

The thing about the words we all cringe from but at various times find our tongues getting us in to trouble is that they are all harsh sounding words.

You spit them out from between your teeth and no matter how hard you try it’s hard to say them with any softness. After all to say to someone in anger ‘go get soft’ doesn’t quite make it in terms of intention.

I once attend a lecture on the obscene words in our language. It was advertised a week ahead and was one of the most well attended lectures at the place of higher learning I was attending.

I own a DVD, which goes into the origins and uses of the famous ‘fuck’ word. It’s been around a long time and has so many meanings and I’m sure many yet to be evolved. Said in anger it can be terrifying, threatening, affronting and down right wrong.

I was always intrigued that in Shakespeare’s time such words were edited out of his scripts but he found round about ways of describing sex and all that went with it, plus the violence of some of his plays was allowed. I mean to be referred to as ‘a rhinoceros’ pizzle’ hardly strikes fear into you does it.

Though he found ways of using the ‘c’ word as well.

In Hamlet, Hamlet is saying to Ophelia:

Hamlet: Lady, shall I lie in your lap?

Ophelia: No, my lord.

Hamlet: I mean, my head upon your lap?

Ophelia: Ay, my lord.

Hamlet: Do you think I meant country matters?

The expression ‘country matters’ says it all.

I was intrigued once to discover a book written by a guy who had spent obviously a lot of time researching the use of obscenity in Shakespeare, to have written a book suggests there is a lot of it in the plays.

No matter where we go now days we are confronted by the use of four letter words in our everyday life.

They are with us, have been with us, are spoken in high places, in low places and places in between.

Don’t well damn the four-letter word, use it with meaning!!

 

Written for: http://lindaghill.com/2015/08/28/the-friday-reminder-and-prompt-for-socs-august-2915/

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