Carving out a corner to post random crap.
There is no Tomorrow like the moment that has passed
The concentric circle of Time belongs to me at last
Take me where the need is Great
Leave me where I’ll meet my Fate
Abide the wisdom locked Inside
Go now, turn back the Tide
Forge on toward The Great Divide
Time is like a set of building blocks. Move them around. Switch them up. Set them in any order you please. Worlds spring up in the random patterns of action.
She likes the rough stuff. Rousing me at 4 in the morning with no coffee in the house. Maybe America runs on DuhKin but I need one more hour of sleep and a triple shot of stronger stuff. Can't come around when I call. Oh, no. I was told to expect the erratic timetable. Scheduling a tête-à-tête is not worth the effort. When she says Jump! just sit down, shut up, and get out of your own way. You've got to let the words run off-leash because they aren't going to double back around. See? Another thought has slipped on by to be forever lost.
bag-carrying ambassador
via news.yahoo.com
I reckon there are worse things one can be called. This terribly non-newsworthy tidbit tickled me today because…I had a dream about Gary Locke last night. Nothing dramatic, simply a "Wonder what he's up to?" sort of thing. I guess, thanks to AP, I (and you!) now know.
For Your Review: Wendy the Whippet submits a snippet of her WIP.
“What did you say?” Zoë kept her composure as angry faces closed in around her. She had seen bulky, nondescript club dwellers when she and Ben entered the End of the Line. But now she saw the women and men were all tall; of a uniform height, and that they looked similar to one another. Like a family of 30 children. Through her fear and mounting agitation, Zoë couldn’t help notice how striking these strangers appeared to her. Not carbon copies, for there were blondes, brunettes, redheads, a shiny bald pate or two among the encircling mass. But they all had the same firm jaw line, perfectly square and chiseled, and the noses were the same. The nose would not have been out-of-place on her face. It was the eyes that held Zoë firmly to the sticky bar room floor, not able to back away and make a run for the door. Each man, each woman, all of them representing the various races of Earth, had the same set of deeply intense blue-grey eyes. Beautiful and powerful they all were, and they did not seem happy about this petite interloper that crashed their gathering.
“Speak up!” The barkeep was in Zoë’s face now. She hadn’t realized that her lips were forming words against her will.
“That’s my brother,” she mouthed, barely above a whisper. An involuntary sweep of her eyes toward the back of the bar left no doubt in the minds of the encroaching crowd. Zoë was snapped out of her trance when she felt a firm grip on her left arm. The energy that radiated up and down the entire side of her body made her cry out, though she was not in pain.
“Explain.” The barkeep was bearing down on her, his blue-grey eyes searing a path to her thoughts. Zoë tried to keep her mouth shut but her words were ringing in her ears. Her reply was being blasted across the dingy room like she was addressing the crowd through a P.A. system. Zoë's voice had replaced the crackling static of the classic rock piped into the bar.
“The man in the painting is my brother Alex. I want to know what you’ve done with him.”
Photo courtesy of AKC
The starting point. There are too many points and maybe none of them are worth starting. Do we care that your character is less than sterling? We can talk circles, dance squares, and walk lines, but the story is going to lead us where we've never been before. Is it illusion…delusion…reticence…confusion? Why does my head pound when there's absolutely nothing in it? There's more than one way to get the story told. Two opposing forces each capable of birth and destruction. Each with a mission to carry out. Why do these voices from the past hound my every step? Is it to gain more followers? Train more teachers? Spread The Truth before the other option makes it past her lips? You nurture me as you cut me down. You tear and destroy while filling me with light. Is this the life you wanted for yourself? Why not take mine? I have more to use up and discard before this game is over. Who holds the power – the gifted or the insane? Or are they one and the same?
Read play. Then watch movie.
This one's for people that love and hate telecommunications…but mostly love photography.
They’re usually ground carcasses on the blacktop. Skunks, voles, geckos, squirrels, rabbits, snakes, armadillos. Poor Armadillo. A coyote or two. Having been told that a few years ago the current site of my neighborhood was scrub brush, tall grass, and wildflowers, I’m riddled with guilt. Though I may not have bulldozed over critter dens and native flora, I am a usurper and destroyer in my own little HOA way. The street down yonder is named Hawks Nest. Too bad most of that bird of prey’s habitat has been taken up by the ubiquitous triumvirate of Donut Shop/Nail Salon/Dry Cleaners. As I bake and broil in our summer of drought, I curse the lawn that some out-of-touch committee forces me to maintain. Water wasted in the name of uniformity. Conformity. Displacement of wildlife living under my deck.
"Born Free and Equal: The Story of Loyal Japanese-Americans at Manzanar Relocation Center, Inyo County, California" by Ansel Adams
Semi-Daily Scribbles 