%%USERNAME%%    %%ACCWORDS%% %%ONOFF%% |
 |   A terminal for all blogs coming in or going out. A view into my life. |
Started July 1st 2019 for contests, etc. as other blogs are filling up and have other purposes.  I'm starting a new blog because
I'll be linking to
I've started an appendix (I no longer have one personally) to keep track of my Space Cadet journals for Space Blog. It's a work constantly under construction. Mind the mess.
I needed to start a folder for contests as there are so many deadlines and details to remember.
  |
Day 2936: November 30, 2020 for "Blogging Circle of Friends "  Prompt: I have a theory that selflessness and bravery aren't all that different. — Veronica Roth I think that they are severable. In a culture where kindness counts I doubt that kind generous people think of themselves as brave. The quote imagines a self-centered culture of Ayn Rand winners and losers and seems very Western Capitalistic. In that scenario, selflessness can be dangerous for those brave enough to flaunt the norms. Personally? For years I took people in, in spite of society's scorn. I don't regret that choice. Others may have thought I was brave. I was just being human in a way some had difficulty understanding. For "Space Blog" "Invalid Item" [] by A Guest Visitor Mini-review: (not done yet) I answered Lilli 🧿 ☕   question of the day and then deleted it (added another):I'm not a risk taker. But... when I was a-hosteling I wanted to sleep in an old train (Lund), sailing ship (Stockholm), minshiku (Yamagata), ryukan (Toyama), couchsurfing (Hjeltevad) ... I can't remember ever staying in a light house... but I would. A 5 star hotel would be more intimidating. I haven't been on a cruise or camping. I have problems with vertigo, heights, water. I tend to avoid those. These days I live alone and no one enters my room; but, when I had a house and space I let strangers spend the night or a month or two. That's too risky for other people. Biggest risk? Trusting and letting anyone close. It took 30 years for me to fess up to my first love. |
| No Space prompt today so I ramble. 1. I will not reach my NaNo goal of 30k by tomorrow. I don't care. If I just write 500 words daily in December I'll go over. Officially I'm at 20k but I haven't included a couple recent pieces yet. 2. I want to travel. If I can get the vaccine? I'll be eligible but not before January or even later. Until then I could go to Costa Rica. But I'd need insurance and insurance is expensive and doesn't reduce my risk. Their infection rates are high but not as high as here. Montana ranks #7 in the US with 5.3% infected. North Dakota continues to led at 10.3%. 3. Are all White Dakotans covidiots? Well... obviously not. Are Trumpsters all anti-maskers? No... but... of the top 10 states in percentage of positive-cases/population 8 of them voted for him (the exceptions are Wisconsin and Illinois). Conspiracy that! The truth? This wave is hitting rural areas hard but yes, anti-maskers and freedom-to-die advocates lead the way. Gov. Noem of #2 South Dakota is a prime example (Sturgis on a bun with a side of snot, anyone?). On the other-hand, Vermont... which is quite rural too is #51 at 0.66%. The lowest 'red' state #45 is West Virginia at 2.6%. Isolation? Fewer deniers? Perhaps. Regardless, don't get sick in the Dakotas. They may not have a bed for you. 4. Reviews. I've posted 17 recent ones. Some I submitted as private and others I forgot to link to Space Blog group. My bad.  I was more careful once I realized my mistakes (there's no way to correct that). I really don't like reviewing. I do mini-reviews in my blog. Few get the word that way. But my email sure lit up when I submitted my opinions (because that's what they are) to the review page. 5. I rated from 2.5 to 4.7 basically. I understand that everyone wants to get a 4.0 and a bunch of 5s feels even better; but, if I were a professor I would not have accepted many without a rewrite. I don't like flunking people, especially since most have sincerely tried... and failed. Which reminds me of Spanish in high school. Straight As. In college, straight Cs. In Costa Rica? I went mute. But now... I think in Castellano and at times prefer speaking it to English. Pues... depende... Best of November's reviewed items is a gem that reminded me of Shel Siverstein:
According to the Rule of 5 I've reached my limit for today. I have lots of writing to do while I sit by the window with the sun on my bare back. I've had my cups of coffee (one is never enough) and eaten a cheeseburger with lettuce (I never buy lettuce!) and if I work diligently I may take a walk. Took one yesterday. Felt good to be out. 3.286 |
Day 2934: November 28, 2020 prompt: Use these words in your post: fir tree, owl, snow, ornament, crystal, and clouds. We stared at it thinking... what is it? It sat there mum. Deep in the fir tree covered with snow, as white as the snow. It didn't move. We thought it was dead and too scared to find out otherwise we grasped our crystals as they began to hum. Someone was thinking about us! Finally. We had gotten lost in this unfamiliar landscape of frozen water. Ice dangling like ornaments where the weak sun melted and the frigid air refroze. We had no word yet for 'icicle'. A land of mirrors and sparkles deceived us to wander under the trees until a breeze picked up and erased our footprints. We weren't sure how to get back. That way? Or... The clouds swirled above us, around us, would have picked us up. We held onto the trunk of a tree. And looked up. That's when we saw it. Was it sentient? Could it speak? Did it know the way out? If it did... would it help us... We held the crystals to our brows to receive the message. The vibrations were strange. It didn't seem garbled, just different. Perhaps due to the cold. Perhaps we were too far away. Perhaps because we were scared? Perhaps we'd better find a way out. I looked up once more. I saw two eyes looking down. Had we made too much noise? The crystals vibrated again, stronger this time. We listened harder. All we could hear was a whoosh. Of what? Then a sound came from the white object. Had it decided to speak? We didn't understand. It spread its wings. It had wings! It looked frightening all of a sudden. We held onto each other, trembling. It swooped down to a limb closer to us. It eyes were huge. It's beak could have torn us apart. We made the mistake of looking at its claws. We were someone's supper. We closed our eyes and felt the passage of air, the soft whoosh. We felt the claws grab us, the wings flap and lift us. We opened our eyes to see the forest open before us. It was headed straight for our campground. We landed with a plop and let out cries. Our companions hurried to us. It perched nearby. What was it, we sobbed. One of our group smiled and twitched his ears as if he understood the soft sounds coming from it. He spoke in return, nodded as it flew off. What was it? Four Ears laughed. It's an owl, he said. Be glad she wasn't hungry and decided to help us. She says that the storm will get worse tomorrow, that this breeze is nothing. That the temperature will plunge and we'll be frozen meat dressed like this. She sounded worried. We looked at Four Ears as he advised the others to pack up and be ready to leave within the hour. He came to us to thank us for finding a new friend. One can always rely on the kindness of strangers, he said, then advised us to hurry. Note: I will somehow work this into a side story for my Space Cadet series. Four Ears is my main character. He has a name (I don't know it yet) but this is what others call him. Since they land on alien worlds... with all the risks that that implies... it seems fitting that an owl would help them and that his translator implants and keen hearing would come to use. And as a Xeno he would definitely understand how kindness was everywhere to be found. Also: crystals vibrate and can be used for communication. 3286 |
| Friday after turkey-day: I'm super tired. No reason for it. I walked to the grocery store for bread... and left with bread... a small miracle in and of itself. On the way I saw a green scarf in the weaver's window. Looked just like mine. I went back upstairs to check... couldn't find mine. Went down and mentioned this. She said that it must be mine as it was found on the sidewalk. Yep. Mine. So I should be happy. I spoke to 7 people today! Yesterday I just spoke to Bri when she knocked on my door. I didn't go out at all. I'm unsettled. Nerves can't calm down until s.o.m.e.o.n.e has their twittering fingers silenced. And I'm bored. This normally vibrant city is boring me to death. So I watched a Thai love story "Fighter and Tutor" at youtube. And I made jojos (roasted potato wedges). Even coffee doesn't help. I'm listless and slowly giving up. I wrote this before I saw the "30-Day Blogging Challenge ON HIATUS" prompt:What’s on the top of your mind right now that you need to tell someone about? That's about it. I'm not doing so great. And there's no one to tell. A mini-review for "Space Blog" of "A girl" by Angelina Wilson  It's a really cute... and poetic... free verse with more/core/roar rhyming at the end. In this case less is more. It felt a bit like Shel Siverstein in length and message (and that is a compliment). A 4.7 because I'm sure it could use an edit ... but of what? (maybe replace 'suddenly roar' with 'stand up and roar' as 'stand up' is an action and 'roar' need not be intensified.) Regardless, it's delightful as is. Prompt: Tell us about misjudging someone. I'm sure I could if I could think. I've misjudged and been misjudged. It's rough to think someone cares ... when they don't and sometimes puzzling when they do. I've never figured it out. In politics, many of us thought that Obama would lead us to the Promised Land. He didn't. And then when Trump got elected we thought maybe he isn't so bad and he'll grow into the job... he didn't and was far worse, a total frightmare. |
| Mini-review of "Invalid Item" [] by A Guest Visitor Definitely short like flash; but... it evoked nothing from me so it's missing something. Hard to empathize with a grifter who's full of herself unless the cigar stub did some harm or made her careen off the road... something. Sure, I'd be pissed! But 'pissed-off' just tells instead of shows my emotions... and will evoke nothing in the reader. The revenge itself seems too simple, too cliche. If she had lit one of his cigars, smoked it and used the stub to tattoo her name in his flesh I'd be cheering 'go gurl'. But there isn't that satisfaction. It also seems to be two moments stitched together. The second part could be the flash with the narrator referring to the earlier moment as an 'interior motivation' revealed as she reels him in and gets her revenge. Rate? A 3.5 as it definitely tells a story. If it could show instead of tell, it could be 4+, if it could evoke emotion or make me laugh? 4.5 It needs something. I suggest wicked humor as Marla seems the sort to dish it out. For
Prompt: This brought the captain to ask the question "Why do some people seem so set on vengeance and getting "even" with others? Well, injustice or perceived injustice for one answer. Much of my anger comes out of fear. If you made me that angry I just might lash back before I ask myself what I'm afraid of and come to the conclusion, "why bother". The Croats and Serbians have been fighting for 500 years. Each generation rubs salt in the wound. The world shrugs in disbelief. But hundreds died in the Balkan Wars of the 1990s. Another basis for vengeance may be quid-pro-quo. It's the negative side of "I did something nice for you so now I expect payment or something nice from you." Those with generous hearts and minds who don't see the world that way may not understand. A true "pay-it-forward" or "let it go" begs tolerance as well. This prompt fits well with my Space Cadet stories so I may add to this later. 3,279 |
I have roots that go back to various parts of Europe. Some I have visited. Some influence me even now; but, I don't live there. My grandparents had roots in Pittsburgh and Tioga County PA, Baltimore and Jamestown, New York but I haven't lived there. My parents grew up in Jeannette, Pennsylvania and Okmulgee, Mvskoke Nation (part of Oklahoma)... I've visited but never lived there. I was born on Seneca land but, although much later in life I knew Senecas, I never learned the language and culture although my town had a Seneca name and the culture was all around it, albeit invisible to most. I had a Mohawk landlady for 5 years. I implicitly respected her... which if you know anything about Mohawks is a wise decision. I lived in the land of the Cherokee. I learned a couple phrases but ᏩᏙ (Wado) is key. One gives thanks. There is no word for goodbye. I was a guest of a Choctaw and knew Quapaw, Chickasaw, Kiowa and Peoria. When I was homeless in Kansas, 25% of the shelter was Native... Hunkpapa, Ponca... In Montana I live on Salish land. I know how to say lemlmtsh (three syllables: lem.lmt.sh. The 'm' in 'lmt' is 'vocalic'). Again 'thank-you'. Here, I know the decendents of Salish, Blackfoot, Crow and Little-Shell. I suspect I know many more. I pity the people from Indiana, a place named for people that were banished from their lands. Only 0.2% now are Natives. Most will never know a Wyandotte, Shawnee, Potawatomi, Miami... but that won't stop them from opposing Native rights. In salute to Indiana's KKK legacy (1920): "If it ain't White it ain't Right" Thinking 'kind thoughts and prayers' falls on deaf ears of those you sought to exterminate or still demean and seek to eliminate (Here's pointing at YOU, Governor Noem of South 'Dakota'). Give thanks? Only if you sincerely mean it. |
Please use these words in your entry today~ calm, dialogue, wall, chop, treaty and deadly. Have fun. A back story out of time... 4150 220 Treaty of Crystal Tears Wahlena (Guinan) took me on a 'walk'. She had ways of wording things so that none would suspect. She was always taking people on walks. Most were just that. A walk. Chit-chat. Some advice. She'd even taken me on a walk or two. And then we would be somewhere else, some time else. I didn't know whether to be honored or frightened. But she hadn't killed me yet, so I continued to trust her. This day... we suantered through swaying grey fronds and angled black rock. She asked me not to speak as she picked up a stone and placed it in my hand. I listened. I had learned that crystal vibrations could record and transmit messages across time and space and that I could pick up the vibrations if I cleared my mind. I shook my head. Nothing. Wahlena shook her head and beckoned me to follow. We rounded a bend and now the grass was a pale sea green and the rocks a bit weathered and rust stained. I stood in awe at pink clouds while Wahlena stooped for another prize. We tried again. Nothing. Hours slipped by as we followed a path, now paved, now dirt, now covered with moss. I can't say we collected rocks or stone or crystals as my guide would pick one up, place it in my hand for some echo of recognition, put it back again among its dead companions. I was puzzled and a bit grumpy by the time we entered a glen with flowing water. At least the tinkles interrupted the silence of an empty landscape, theonly nioses the ones we made in passage. I listened to the water. It was speaking, as water often does. I heard a flow of melody and then... then I heard some harmony that wasn't water. Startled I motioned to Wahlena and went to see where the commotion was coming from. There was a bed of crystals... and they were singing. Finally, Wahlena spoke. "What are they saying?" "They mourn for the others; they are begging the water not to abandon them; They speak of a Great Wall." "Come." Wahlena got up and carefully followed the water to where a waterfall plunged. The riot of voices drowned out words. I heard everything and nothing. We climbed to the top of a ridge. When I dared to look around the stream was gone. A calm lake shimmered below us. "Come." That there was a stone path now shouldn't have surprised me that it entered a tunnel should have warned. One word. "Come, but touch nothing." We entered a green upon green world that showed no trace of barren rock. The path disappeared. But Wahlena moved as if she knew the way. I could only think she's been here before. And then she stopped before a wall. It glistened. She looked at me and motioned that I should close my eyes. I could faintly here voices speaking in a musical dialogue. And then... they sounded louder and clearer. Wahlena touched me and I opened my eyes. There was a door before me. We entered. "They are deadly." "They will guide us to the stars." "And the stars will bring ruin upon us." I heard laughter. "We bring ruin upon ourselves." The walls spoke, "Without the treaty we cannot leave and cannot help." The lights went out. A faint glow appeared before us. "We go without them." "Yes, we go alone." "What will happen now?" Silence. Wahlena took me by my sleeve to guide me. We went up some stairs into the sunlight and chatter of a day at the market. She smiled. "I'm always right." We went unnoticed past strange cloths and stranger vegetables dangling among dead carcasses, herbs and squawking creatures on leashes and in cages. The chop chop of the butchers unnerved me for some reason. My ears felt twitchy. Wahlena waved at a vendor and she waved back, beckoning us to enter her shop. "This is what you asked for last time." She held up a necklace of emeralds for Wahlena and looked at me. "We don't get too many Oxen here. They've been warned that some of us consider their extra ears a delicacy. And those with horns... are priceless..." Her voice trailed off. "I love the emeralds but the necklace I was really looking for had one ruby." Wahlena had thankfully interrupted as I blushed. I didn't have horns but I had read about the myths. "Ah... This?" The ruby glinted in the sun. Wahlena put her hand in her pocket to pull something shiny out and placed it in the merchant's hand and then touched the sparkling red crystal. The market had disappeared. There was nothing but smooth black rock. "I will explain later," murmurred Wahlena as she placed the ruby in my hand. I blacked out. When I came to we were back Home and someone was spooning stew into my gaping mouth. I heard him say, "Was it worth it Wahlena?" "Yes." I was told that I had been sleep-walking for a week, that we had left and were again in the Void, that Jaafaar was at the helm, that Kat would speak to me when I was ready. Ready for what? The next day everyone was assembled. Coffee, tea and biscuits were placed on tables. I was seated next to Kat where everyone could see and hear me. All sentients were represented, most of them fellow Xenos. All eyes and ears and limbs went silent as Cook brought out a bowl of water. Walena placed the ruby in it, bore her eyes into me as Kat commanded. "Tell us about the Treaty of the Crystal Tears." For
"In the Beginning" [E] by Teargen  Write your views about this poem. Nice to read a villanelle, a simple yet tricky form. Also nice to read a creation story without an overload of Christian jargon. Calling the Creator "His Majesty" works well. It avoids some cliche that way. Poetry? It uses rhyme and syllable length well. Villanelles have built-in poetics. As is I give it a 4.2 because I think it can be strengthened. Newsfeed comments: Thanksgiving: I grew up in Snow Country with ample amounts between me and my cousins. One year we almost went without snow until December! But 18" on the 30th. Needless to say we didn't travel much. One aunt lived fairly close and she and her daughter would visit. Later, my mother decided that eating in a restaurant was better. I hated that. Still do. We didn't always have turkey. Almost sure we had stuffing, probably rolls, always sweet potatoes. Last year I bought a goose and 5 of us without family had dinner together. Not this year. I picked up two turkey lunches today, ate one, will eat the other tomorrow. Tomorrow will be just another boring day. My best Thanksgiving? Spent at the Botanical research lab at Kansas U. I was 20. Two of us shared what we had brought. I remember sardines and crackers. I remember being happy. Gifting: I will answer from when I was a teenager. I had no money, had no allowance. I used what I had saved up all year to buy gifts. We saved wrapping paper from year to year. Foil was special. The usable pieces would get smaller and smaller. I would wrap everything to make it as beautiful and unique as I could. I didn't like getting gifts. I refused to open up anything in front of others. I would wait and be disappointed alone. I never got what I wanted. I had given up by age 13. 3272 |
For "Space Blog" a mini review of "Emerald Pixies Playing With Music" [E] by Lou-Here By His Grace  . Prompt: Write your views about this poem. I love the imagery of the title but I have difficulty hearing the music of the text. I can't feel a rhythm; it was no rhyme. It reads like prose which is fine if this were a ballad or set to music but on the page it offers me nothing. (Is there some meter I'm missing?) Words like 'tiny' and 'particularly' intrude as more than one descriptive does not work well. If this is for someone... yes, I know an Ida Mae... then it serves it's purpose but as poetry it somehow fails. It could be a 4.2 but as is? A 2.8. My Dew Drop poem: Passing through The spider in its web, the pig in its sty. Is it tears I shed now or an infection in my eye. KE DD#23 [177.278u] (23.novembre.2020) For "30-Day Blogging Challenge ON HIATUS" I told WakeUpAndLive️~🚬🚭2024  re 'peace'I use to love to drive down the open highway. I immediately think of Kansas dirt roads and corn and meadowlarks. Very peaceful. The rapeseed fields of Latvia and Lithuania reminded me of that. Even a trip on a train or bus can feel peaceful to me (as long as I don't have to pay too much attention about getting off. Last stop = best). But me and my old Pontiac when I was young = heaven. A response to Gabogame3 re being smart:"I would suggest kindness is more important than smart. A good heart makes life worth living. Intellect can get in the way. Which is not to say that intellectuals aren't needed. I'm pro-science and somewhat skeptical about many things, but I have a moral compass that helps me choose how to live my personal life. I mostly write poetry and flash fiction. I only have a few words to paint a picture that hopefully evokes some emotion. If not... I'm better off writing an essay. I do rant away at times. Unless you live in a multi-cultural city with friends from many diverse backgrounds different and similar to your own ... it becomes far too easy to live in one's head without any real outside experience (baling hay, fixing a car, nursing, climbing ... anything tactile can help). One can study the great philosophers sitting on a mountaintop, but if you want to eat it helps to know the way down into town and how to ask for food. Unlike many of my friends, I went to school in another city, then another state, then another country. I travel ... a lot. I've lived in rural areas and in the inner city. Each place taught me something. I would suggest to all teenagers that they need to get out of their comfort zone. I'm old enough to be your grandfather. Doesn't make me smarter though! (I wish...  ) As for wiser? But I have experienced cultures and languages, different perspectives, (and have eaten far too much!).So... I suggest kindness. Everywhere I've gone I've met kind people and the quote "I can always depend upon the kindness of strangers" is more true than not." I commented to 🌸 pwheeler - love joy peace  "Oldage... like baggage... "in our oldage we lose our baggage." I think 'oldage' should be a word. Some of the most important travels are short. Like walking down the street to greet an older person, a child or a dog or to only say thank-you to a flower that bloomed that day just for you. The longest journey for some is from their head to their heart. "Like baggage too heavy to carry, oldage must be sloughed and left at the side of the road we wend—to rot. Light-hearted we continue our voyage past the suns. Space Cadet Stardate 4157 160 Scarlett flies by, turns around then settles across from me. Her ruby eyes dance like pixies, I think.. "More like water sprites," she squeaks. She flutters her wings in a hum. "Yes, I can see your thoughts." "How..." "So many sentients with so many senses. I have to learn to speak slow in standard. Do you know why you startled me yesterday?" My ears shake as if to say no. "I was speaking in my own voice. No one else has ever heard me before you." I think about that. Maybe the implants are over-working, but... I usually know the difference. And what about Cook. Does he hear her too? But Cook, I ask. "Cook can't hear me. He's almost deaf you know." No. I didn't know. "He hears and sees thoughts much like me. His people and my people are distant relatives. We have wings. They don't. Our children don't have wings until the change occurs. His specie matures without changing forms." Ah... "No, not like that. And those implants that no one knows about? That's not why you understood me. You're a rare beast Four Ears. Your empathy grows by the years. Your curiosity and observation is already noted by many who respect you in awe or fear." Can all members of your specie read thoughts? Again her eyes whirl in rainbows and dance with ruby flames. She's amused. "No. They wish they could. They can read some obvious thoughts. Most are Engineers or Maintenance; a couple are Navigators. Our brains may look small but they analize at speeds that outrun this cruise-ship that calls itself call Home. A thousand of us could run the entire show." Now her eyes glow scarlet and vermillion. "But we're fragile. Just a brain darting here and there on gossamer wings." But you? "I'm a Xeno just like you. You observe keenly. You take notes and make observations that Home cannot, going places and speaking to sentients that Home cannot. That's why you're here." And you? "I'm a messenger. Nothing more and nothing less. And you have 4 twiching ears. Nothing more, nothing less." I hear a high pitched note. Scarlett squeaks one word, "later," and takes off. Sheima looks up from where she sits. "Why is she in such a hurry? And why have you been so quiet? It's not like you. Feeling ill?" And I realize I haven't uttered a word. So I smile at Sheima, "Just lost in thoughts," as a steaming plate of 'something' magically appears before me. "Cook said that you are to eat this 'to calm your unsettled thoughts'. His words not mine." And now I know one of Cook's secrets. 3.260 |
For
Min-review of "Stargazer Lily" [E] by Lou-Here By His Grace Nice little poem in aabb rhyme. It has rhythm although I stumbled and would love to hear the poet read it. Yes, it is poetic but like much verse that depends on rhyme in English the syntax becomes tortured. I could be re-thought with normal word-order and made to flow like free verse. The form keeps it bound to a 4.0. Also, anyone who has been within 3 meters of this lily knows its fragrance and unfortunately that has been left out by focusing on only one sense: sight. It does bloom with full sun but it's also fragrant at night. Prompt: Have you ever gazed at the stars? What were your thoughts? I grew up with quite a bit of light pollution that only got worse as Americans thought that the deterrent to crime was mega-watts banishing the night. Ah... seems that the crimes that occurred at noon didn't frighten folks as much. We were robbed of the night. In February I would walk home after basketball games and look up to Orion. But Orion shone bright. I had heard of the Milky Way but seldom if ever saw it. When I went to college in a small town, the night sky had stars! Quelle surprise! The real shocker though was sitting alone one night on the beach in Manuel Antonio in Costa Rica with nothing between me and The Philippines. I remember the Southern Cross. I remember the sound of the waves. I remember being overcome by Nothingness. Constellation of the Ox "It looks like you!" Gomo was laughing. Commander Tom almost smiled. There were right. Except for the ears. Four is better than two; eight is better than four. The more the merrier my people would often say as I rambled away. It's too hard to hear when everyone speaks at the same time. No one understood how painful noise can be for someone who hears everything. I always preferred quiet. I never felt one-with-the-herd. "What will you call that constellation?" "The Ox," I replied. "Doesn't look as smart as me." That shut them up. I kept a special folder of so-called constellations. Those space-born didn't understand how we planet-born looked up to the multitude of shiny objects in the sky and gave them names. In the Void everything changed day-to-day. It was mesmerizing to see the "Blue Warrior" transform into "Naked Lady". I kept track as Engineers and Day Commanders laughed. The Wings were amused even if they didn't understand me. Naming the placement of the stars had absolutely no value for navigation. They would never be in the exact same place with the exact same view ever again. The Xenos... they understood and said nothing in public. Kat, Cook, Gomo, 90210... Kat was pleasantly dreaming and 90210 was asleep. Gomo looked through me: "What do you think?" "Commander Tom is loosening up." Gomo snorted. As a fellow Kla he knew better. "As funny as Quip!" I laughed but Cook cut me off. "I wonder how Quip is doing." We sat there slurping until Cook decide we needed some stimulant to keep us awake. Gomo liked the bitter taste of coffee. Not me! I was fond of Gqarian tea. "Quip knew Jindal before. Knew him quite well. It was a shock when he figured that out." Cook spoke quietly. "No. He didn't quite tell me. I figured it out." "That yxworm." I nodded as Gomo continued. "We Xenos learn from observation, but even we can be blind." "Or deaf." Cook didn't need to add more. Unlike some in my family, I was quite aware of my faults and short-comings. "What have you learned by making notes on what 'constellations' we see." Few understood my role as chronicler. They thought my journals were for amusement or for future historians. Cook knew better. Kat knew better. Gomo's eyes widened in acknowledgment. "We see what we want to see. It's a way of expressing what we don't always say directly. It reveals much to those who can discern the pattern." "And 'The Ox'?" "It means that I'm being seen." "And what does that mean?" "It's a blessing and a curse to be invisible. My work is best done under the cloak of others ignorance." Gomo and Cook both nodded. "And now?" "It's impossible to hide from empaths! And Kat. Kat knew before I did." "But you aren't human." "Kat knows more than she shares." We all sipped quietly. "I'm becoming accepted." "And One-with-home." Kat had snuck in. "You woke me from my dreams. I need some soup." We sat there for hours. Kat was enigmatic as always but she did say that I was on a good path. And that felt good. To see patterns when others could not. To hear what others revealed by tone of voice or the slippage of a word. To be accepted. Home was becoming home... although, what Kat meant by her remark niggles at my brain. Even Cook seems to be aware that all is not being shared. Gomo was clueless. Oh, to be clueless! And happy. Gomo was happy. That too had not been obvious to me. And he was fast becoming a friend. The Cloak of Ignorance I can deny who I am and be loved, or I can share who I am and be shunned. Gomo and Kat left to take naps. It's so important for all of us to be alert when ready. It was the purpose of Night and Day crews and the schedules kept to make sure we were operating at a safe capacity at all times. It wasn't as if we could just sleep through the night and play by day. Fortunately with our diverse crew everyone didn't live on the same rhythms. Cook seemed to never sleep. "I'm good with a short nap," he told anyone who bothered to ask and Kat mostly dreamed. She seemed so harmless when she kept to herself. Our rhythms changed when we were at Home. The Landers especially noticed this. And guests who were mostly planet-bound found it hard to adjust as well. That first star-year was hard for me and most new-comers. Cook had explained it all when I first arrived with in his own enigmatic way. "Drink this and finish your soup and I'll try to explain." Of course, I listened without understanding. I now know that the soup was his way of helping my body and mind to adjust. Oh, others suspect as much, but my ears hear what others can't see, touch or taste. I wasn't surprised to ascertain that he even manipulated smells and fragrances! I'm awed at his talent. Today we sat in a moment of silence, enjoying the lull. Scarlett flew in and alighted. Cook read the twirling eyes, laughed and went for a bowl. She squeaked piteously. Too much what? I almost laughed too. So easy to think small means insignificant or that large and plodding means unintelligent. 90210 once talked to us about this mythical creature called an elephant. Large, slow, and more intelligent than humans in many ways. Word was that they still existed. The Void is a very big place. "You're not invisible to me," I said out loud. Scarlett stopped squeaking. "And next time take it easy." Eyes whirled in dismay. "Yes, I can understand you if it's very quiet." "But do you truly understand?" It was Cook with a small thimble of a bowl. Scarlett alighted and quietly sucked. "Not everything." "I don't mean whether you can hear but whether you understand." Chagrined, I nodded. "Very little. I'm learning that each specie has a drive to survive but that individuals may have other needs." Scarlett chirped. Cook smiled. "I can't hear Scarlett like you can but I understand wants and needs, except maybe my own." Scarlett fluttered her wings in a gesture of thanks and flew off. I looked at Cook intensely. "I am still puzzled as to who and what you are. You're everywhere you're needed before others even know their needs. Most call you Cook without even remembering your name. You become ever-present and invisible at the same time. It's as if you do not wish to be known." Cook got up to the sound of a musical alarm. "Please drink this," he calmly asked as he set down a cup. "It will help you forget." I drank it all with gusto. I write this down later fully aware that whatever I needed to forget has been erased, sure that the Cloak of Ignorance would be lifted at the proper time. One can trust Cook. That was all that I truly remember. |
Elisa the Bunny Stik  prompted me in "Identity Contemplations" so I wrote and wrote and... I'll edit later for clarity.Lefties [as in left-wing politically] see people as monoliths!  [duh]Yeah, I'm a 'lefty' ... left-handed too. I identify as left-handed and always mention it when I find a fellow lefty. OT? Nope. Lefties (as in handedness) can talk about smearing the paper in school, not being able to process what righties are trying to show, being put down for not being able to do things the 'right' way, for being forced to accommodate others. We all know the horror of scissors. So, in a way, we share something mundane (and not overtly political) that leads to a certain understanding [and commiseration]. Now... for those of us who love the color orange... do you know how many orange-loving lefties there are here at WDC? Quite a few it turns out.  Seriously, folks who have no contact with a group not like them can oft times resort to stereotypes; however, those who have a couple token experiences can fall into the fallacy of how one person can represent the whole. Left or Right Wing? All wings can exhibit this. I am fortunate because: 1. I've had Black folks as teachers, friends, housemates, neighbors, in the US and elsewhere, at various stages in my life. This is one of the few stages that I don't have many close Black friends. Also... highly educated, blue-collar, not-so-bright. All types! From inner-city, homeless shelter, small town. 2. Native Americans? Same. Landlady, co-worker, Senior Center, family I lived with, town I lived in in Cherokee Nation. Poet, friend, elders. 3. I have more than one friend who is trans, gay, lesbian, bi... From cops to artists, young to old. And everywhere I lived. 4. Claro, que he vivido en Costa Rica! I knew when I was 18 that there were 18 Latin-American countries... and none of them were Spain. However, it took living in CR, taking in refugees from Guatemala, El Salvador and elsewhere to totally appreciate the differences. Even in CR there are important nuances in culture between Caribe, Zona Sur, Valle Central, Guanacaste. Once again, have friends from different socio-economic slices of society. 5. Travel... there are very few corners of the world that I haven't met on my travels. And what a mix! In summation, just like do-gooders in the homeless shelter, some left-wingers want to embrace everyone without ever having had the chance to meet those they want to embrace (clue... not everyone wants to be hugged). Their hearts may be in the right place but they do-wrong because they have neither the knowledge nor the tools. So, yes, I identify as a 'lefty' (both terms) but not as White. And my lack of White Pride puzzles those whose identity is White... no matter how left or right they may be politically. Ah... just wrote a blog entry! Thanx for prompting me. |
View Portfolio
Visit Notebook
Send Gift Points
Awards
Badges
Send Email
Community Newsfeed
General Discussion
Sponsored Items
Book of Trinkets
Static Items
Books
Groups
Interactive Stories
Audio
Campfire Creatives
Community Notes
Crossword Puzzles
Documents
Folders
Images
In & Outs
Madlibs
Photo Albums
Polls
Product Reviews
Quizzes
Survey Forms
Web Pages
Word Searches
. That's good, right? Or did you just list those checked? 
