Music Friday Prompt #6 “Stand Up” by Hindi Zahra – Being the Real Me

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sUttxCLcwP8

Use the above song as inspiration for any form of creative expression (including but not limited too short stories, poems, lyrics, artwork, photography, covers, music/dance videos etc.)

The parents looked at me and said

‘You have to stand on your own to feet

Be real in all you want.’

Such sage and simple advice

I carried through life

Over the curves and ups and downs

The days when fantasy seemed more real

Than the day-to-day hum drum of work and more work.

School was never a place for me,

My teachers were uninspiring

Classmates wanted to be fashionable

Saw mediocrity as their life’s goal.

Education I found for myself

No thanks to the system

Which frowned on individuality.

It tried to mould me a clone of their lacklustre selves.

Standing on my own two feet,

Came at a cost

Persecution, ridicule, scapegoat

The butt of so many jokes when

All I wanted was to be me.

Lovers came and went,

Took a part of me

Left me scarred

Financially at the mercy of others.

I learned the hard way that people

Despite what they said can’t be trusted

I was better on my own,

Wandering the world, being me.

I was the oddity in a world of indifference

I lurched from one crisis to another

Always learning, being me.

I reached out one day

‘I hope you don’t mind me intruding’,

Discovered a real person

Not affected by society expectations

Not like other women

Happy being who she is

Never seeing me as anything more than me.

I rest now in her arms

I stand on my own two feet

I am a person, a man of integrity

Aware of my own self

I am the real me.

Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2015/08/28/music-friday-prompt-6-stand-up-by-hindi-zahra/

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Tale Weaver 28: art & artist – Street Cricket

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Artist: M.C. Escher; Completion Date: 1948; wikiart.org; The Drawing Hands

One afternoon, you become more than usual lost in the art. You wander into a gallery tucked away at the end of a long hallway. Hanging on the room’s beige walls, is an odd collection of paintings with no clear linking theme, style, painter. You turn to go, but instead, find yourself inside a painting looking out at the gallery.

Weave a tale about your experience inside the creativity of the artist’s mind. What is the subject/style of the painting?  How does it feel being on the inside looking out? What surrounds you, interacts with you, finds/discovers you?

It was not the dust and age of the painting that attracted me but the subject matter.

I was once one of those kids playing cricket in and on any space we could find.

The hot blazing summer taking toll of our energy and our resilience to play all day.

What I loved about this image was the painter’s depiction of a period that wasn’t so long ago, at least I recall it. A time when such games were played with great attention to detail and fiercely competitive.

It was like wandering back through my childhood and observing Rick, Pete and Craig along with Kate and little Jenny who insisted on being included even though we boys saw them as extra fielders and never true participants in a game we thought in those days the domain of us boys.

So I’m sitting on the hill to the right watching intently as games of street cricket were as intense as any played anywhere.

I remember this artist as a man who depicted life as it was in a time before the visual world we know now took over.

I once had an argument with a friend over the value of his work as art. She argued it wasn’t art but rather a picture as the artist didn’t give any interpretation but rather painted it as it was. My argument was he had the talent to paint it and record a way of life that is long forgotten now.

To me it is art as he tells me a story and I like story as a way of reaching out to an audience and reminding them that once things were not as they are now.

I sat there for a long time watching and observing the enjoyment the kids were getting from the game only to be interrupted by the shrill sound of a mother’s voice calling them to dinner.

To me it was a moment, a time to treasure, and as I suddenly found myself back in the gallery looking back at the painting and the many others consigned to this dark corner of the gallery I was pleased I’d had the experience I did to once again remember a childhood that had its own form of magic.

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Artist Darcy Doyle

Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2015/08/27/tale-weaver-28-art-artist/

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Kreative Kue 39 – Strapping

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Using this photo as inspiration, write a short story, flash fiction, scene, poem; anything, really.

It was true he thought that the dark side was always going to be the more interesting side.

Dark sides intrigued him. His interest was such that he found himself incarcerated in this asylum with an open window on a half moon night.

In his head there danced the demons that enjoyed the space between his ears.

They urged him to commit no end of trivial nuisance things like pissing on the floor and to constantly bang on his door simply to attract the attention of the night staff.

Usually when he went too far it meant a strait jacket, and he didn’t like that sensation of being trussed up and restrained.

But it was the voices that most bothered him. Not always the same voice, some days a voice like that of his father, stern and authoritive.

Other days like today when the moon shone brightly in his night sky the voice was playful, urging him to play, to forget about his own discomfort, to make the most of the opportunity to be destructive but this voice scared him as he knew the consequences of going too far.

He’d found sitting below his window and looking up at the moon gave him a sense of peace as he rapped repeatedly on the floor.

He found himself floating into a space in which he could lose himself and indulge his mind in fantasy and escape.

All this was interrupted by the hands of the night duty nurses strapping him into the suit which he hated and him then fighting tooth and nail to avoid the strapping, promising the world if he could be let alone.

Hours later he awoke in the room with no end, a place he found devoid of all visual sensation which sobered him up in very quick fashion.

The voice in his head ridiculed him for being weak, for giving in, for getting them caught.

He thought for a moment there was some truth in what the voice said. He then vomited a black and green substance, his way of purging the demon, at least for the present.

Knowing freedom he closed his eyes and dreamed once again of the moon.

Written for: http://channing.info/wp/2015/08/24/kreative-kue-39/

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Photo Challenge #75, Trapped, August 25, 2015 – At Great Cost

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Image: vishstudio

I awoke

Sweat pouring from my brow

The dream was so real

A nightmare?

Driving down a road

Enjoying the vista

It never occurred to me

Disaster beckoned.

Not watching the malevolence

Circling me

Unaware and naïve

I continued on my merry way.

The road narrowed, as do mountain roads

But this one narrowed

Until there was nowhere to go.

Trapped.

No forward.
No reverse.

I abandoned my car

As retreat was the only way out.

I was going do a runner

One swathed in impossible challenges,

As the demons I past were stalking

Gathering at the pass so to speak

Ready to pounce and remind me

I was stuck,

No prospects

No future

A nothing

I was at their mercy.

With nowhere to turn.

It was into a battle

That waged many months

Exhausting me

Leaving me numb

Bereft of feeling.

In time I won

But at great cost.

Scarred, gutted,

Forced to start again

Building from out of the trap

Surrounding myself with the faithful

And newfound courage

I stepped forward.

For looking back

Was a akin to a death sentence.

You have picked me up

Pointed me forward.

I hope you are there

The next time I falter.

Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2015/08/25/photo-challenge-75-trapped-august-25-2015/

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FFfAW-Week of 08-25-2015 – A Pair of Boots

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‘I wouldn’t get too close.’

The warning came from the little old lady standing behind us as we viewed the most improbable of sights.

We stood and stared at the boots that lay just ahead of us.

‘Spontaneous combustion,’ we heard her say.

‘One minute a man the next a pair of boots.’

‘You saw this?’ we asked.

‘Of course I’m his wife I see everything he does.’

‘But spontaneous combustion doesn’t make any sense.’

‘Well if you knew him it would. He was full of hot air.

Always going on about things, getting his blood pressure up. It was just a matter of time.’

‘You don’t seem too upset.’

‘No he had a good life. Couldn’t have wished this on a better man.’

‘That’s a bit callous.’

She looked at us then stepped forward and picked up the boots and tucking them under her arm wandered off saying:

‘After forty years together all he left me was his boots and they’re worn out.’

Written for: https://flashfictionforaspiringwriters.wordpress.com/2015/08/25/fffaw-week-of-08-25-2015

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Mondays Finish the Story – August 24th, 2015 – Little Luigi

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Finish the story begins with:  “The family had no idea that little Luigi would grow up to be…”

The town’s one and only cereal killer. Brought up in Australia he loved his wheat bix, and ate them ravenously each morning.

But one day on a full moon something odd happened and he changed from sweet and adorable to demonic.

The community became aware of this when they entered their kitchens and discovered their kitchens strewn with corn flakes, rice bubbles, fruit loops and to top it off his Aunt Betsy found her porridge which was never too hot nor too cold dripping from her pantry doors. Poor Aunt Betsy was never the same again.

Finally he came unstuck when Elsie Mansmith caught him red handed savaging a box of her nutra grain. Elsie being a part time vampire and medic, but that’s another tale, knew just how to disable Luigi.

The men in white coats arrived and carried Luigi off muttering something about ‘Iron men coming”.

Written for: https://mondaysfinishthestory.wordpress.com/2015/08/24/mondays-finish-the-story-august-14th-2015/

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Wordle #75 “August 24, 2015″ – Rice

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This week’s words: Orpheus (Greek Legend. a poet and musician, a son of Calliope, who followed his dead wife, Eurydice, to the underworld. By charming Hades, he obtained permission to lead her away, provided he did not look back at her until they returned to earth. But at the last moment he looked, and she was lost to him forever.) Follow Meantime Bleary Considerate Deafening Proximate Faculty Simulacrum (a slight, unreal, or superficial likeness or semblance) Preserve Rice Charcoal

When Jim was baptised you could have heard a pin drop when his mother announced that he was to be baptised James Orpheus O’Brien. It was an understatement to say that her announcement was met with a deafening silence.

The priest protested that it was not a saint’s name and that God would see it as bowing to false idols. But Jim’s mum would not be moved to change his name for love nor money.

Years later when he asked about his second name she told him it was to remind him never to look back in life, always to be moving forward for what happened in the past if bad would always be bad and she wanted her son to be always moving ahead no matter what.

And he did for the day he entered the charcoal business, although he knew it was a dirty trade but a valuable one and he never looked back. In his day it was a valuable commodity, people valued its potential and his contract with the Church was enough to ensure his future success…

He was a considerate man, he gave to charity, he attended his local church, he soon became a pillar of society, a person many wanted to be seen in the company of.

He had a penchant for rice, he ate it at every opportunity, sang its praises, even began a small import business bringing containers of the stuff in from overseas.

Meantime the charcoal business was flourishing. His joint ventures mean long hours at work and often on a Friday morning he would appear in his office bleary eyed from working over night his faithful follower and friend Mathias Numblebum would often remark as only Mathias could, that Jim was in present times a simulacrum of his former self.

Gone was the chirpy get up and go young man of years back. His workload had left him barely functioning at times and sometimes his ability to proximate the company’s forward projections came into question.

But when the business is yours it is your preserve to do what you want and that when he sold his interest in charcoal to the Science Faculty at the Dodgy University it did raise eyebrows it must be said. For many-said rice was a good product but it would never take off in the way charcoal did and Jim’s ability to make a decent decision was called into question.

Just as the business storm clouds began to thicken the Orpheus part of him kicked into gear once again for a week after his decision to sell off the charcoal business the bottom feel right out of charcoal leaving nothing but a lot of dirty hands and faces.

Rice suddenly took off, helped enormously by the influx of Asian migration and the acceptance of Asian food into the local community. It was true thought Jim, as he sat down to his favourite fried rice dish that his mother had in fact been very wise with her choice of names for her son.

Always forward never looking back

Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.files.wordpress.com/2015/08/week-75.png

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Writing Prompt #121 “NoEnd House Part 4″ – Remember when…

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The kids quickly called it the ghost room

What was once the lounge room

The family meeting place

Where we sat around the fire on winter nights

Listening to each others stories

Celebrating the joy of Christmas

Birthdays and gatherings of family.

A room that bustled with life taken from us

Replaced with an open space where we all fitted

Admittedly in more comfort

But with out the heart of the old room.

Now it sadly sits in front of the house

Neglected except for the occasional dust

The sometimes visit of mislaid friends

Who admire your handiwork.

The effort you made to provide us with a ‘good ‘ room

Made inaccessible.

Kids were banned from the space

God forbid they sat on the new lounge

That their dirty feet soiled the carpet

A white pile, which I could never understand.

Children are grubby, its how they are

They bring dirt in with them

They soil where they walk.

So the room has been consigned history

Along with its energy and its life.

Today we gathered around my table

Remember when one said….

Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2015/08/23/writing-prompt-115-noend-house-part-3%E2%80%B3/

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“Ladybug’s writing challenge” The Knock at the Door

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The first challenge:

A stranger rings your door bell “I hate to bother you, but could I come in.” This is the start of a conversation you thought you would never have, it leads to an adventure you thought would never happen.

Most Sunday mornings are quiet in my part of the world. It’s a lazy time, folk sleep in, some garden, there’s always the family packing to get out early for their weekly adventure in the outback or just sit under a tree and look at the scenery.

My day took an unexpected turn when my doorbell rang and there stood the strangest of men. He had a long beard; the bluest of eyes and a smile that captivated me from the word go. And the word was: “I hate to bother you but could I come in?”

No sooner had he said it then the door was open and in he stepped. Next thing I knew we were standing in the kitchen, the kettle boiling and him watching as I poured the boiling water into the teapot.

‘Lovely day,’ he said.

‘Yes beautiful,’ I replied still completely in the dark over what was going on.

‘I’d love a cup of tea,’ he said.

‘Of course,’ I said and poured him a generous cup.

‘I’m God,’ he said.

‘God?’

‘Yes you know omnipotent, everywhere at the same time that sort of thing. Wears me out to be honest.’

I was taken aback I have to say. God in my house? ‘You aren’t lost or anything?’ I asked curious as to why God might choose my house to visit on a Sunday morning. I thought he would be present in each church doing his Godly thing at this time.

‘No not lost, having a sort of time out. I saw that you were just pottering about with no particular goal for your day so I thought I’d pop in and have a cuppa with you. Oh and to answer your last thought I’m really not in church every Sunday, that’s a human thing not mine, I did say to keep holy the Sabbath and all that but that was a suggestion not a rule, you humans take everything literally and I have to say it has tied so many of you in knots.’

‘I tend to think of it as a day of rest.’

‘Good for you, you’re my sort of man after all. Never really intended for you all to be on your knees paying homage on a Sunday. I always thought of Sunday’s as a day to relax and get away from it all not spend hours in a church listening to some self appointed preacher raving about I don’t know what and most times I don’t care.’

‘You aren’t what I imagined God to be you know.’

‘No most people say that. That I’m irreverent, imagine that, God being irreverent, what would the fundamentalists say I wonder. Strike me down in a flash I’d say and then what. ‘God struck down’ the papers would say. Where to from here?’

He sat there sipping on his tea and then asked if he could have one of my fairy cakes that I was keeping for afternoon tea when I was hoping my good friend Louise, the girl of my dreams, might stop by on her daily walk with her dog Doey.

One feels one can’t deny God when he wants a fairy cake so my afternoon tea disappeared down his divine throat.

‘Did you make these cakes?’ he asked.

‘Yes I did.’

‘Delightful.’

‘May I ask a question?’

‘Go ahead. I’m God I know everything.’

‘Is there life after death?’

God stopped his munching, his beard was smeared with fairy cake and cream and he wiped his mouth and looked intently at me.

‘Is it important you know?’

‘Well yes, I often wonder what is the point to all this.’

‘The point? Does there have to be a point?’

‘Well yes otherwise the whole thing of life is meaningless.’

‘Oh I see. Are you a generous person?’

‘I think so. I give to charities, I’m kind to my fellow man.’

‘Good then you are doing ok.’

‘Is that it?’

‘Is what it?’

‘The whole point? Am I good?’

‘Well are you?’

‘Yes!’

‘There you’ve answered the question.’

With that God hopped up from his seat and walked to the front door.

‘You are a good man you know. Most people would have thrown me out by now. There are an awful lot of non-believers out there. It’s frightening at times. Thanks for the cuppa and the cake, I must drop by again some time.’

‘But,’ I stammered, ‘Is that it?’

‘Afraid so,’ he chortled as he reached for the door handle. ‘Believing is what it is all about. If you know for certain then you might begin to take me for granted and that might not be such a good idea. Keep up the good work, and those fairy cakes are simply divine.’

With that he was out the door and off down the front path, a quick turn left and he was round the corner and gone. As I closed my door I did wonder if all that had occurred was a dream.

I sat down at the kitchen bench and pondered what had just happened, it was a most unusual occurrence indeed.

Almost as unusual as the plate of fairy cakes I saw on the bench, the ones I was sure God had just eaten. But these ones had a strange glow about them.

Written for: https://nonsmokingladybug.wordpress.com/2015/08/22/knock-knock-anybody-there/

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SoCS August 22/15 – Mind

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Today’s prompt is the word ‘Mind’

What comes to mind is your intelligence for even though you put yourself down as not being all that smart because you don’t have the bits of paper I have doesn’t take away any from your ability to view the world with a perception that leaves me speechless.

So often you ask me if I mind hanging around the likes of you. As if that is any consideration when its you I like to hang around with. It matters little to me what school you went to, how long you stayed there, how bored you were with uninspiring teachers in front of you or what you did post school.

What I do mind is to never take you for granted for that would be devastatingly naïve of me.

Rather I am going for the mind blowing experiences I get when in your company, how you make me laugh, how you make my mind connect with yours so that often there is a mind fest going on between us.

I too wonder what goes on in your mind that allows a person like me to get in there and look around. It’s a great place to be I have to say, you tell me you don’t mind and I hope that’s true. I love to explore your mind delving a little deeper each time I venture there to find out more about what makes that beautiful mind of yours tick.

Written for: http://lindaghill.com/2015/08/21/the-friday-reminder-and-prompt-for-socs-august-2215/

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