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 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.  My new new new blog is
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.
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| 32 degrees at midnight. I closed the window. I made good progress on Journalistic Intentions. They are a mix of prose and poetry, a bit like a haibun... but not. They are in my travel blog for now and on a private setting. They are due by the 15th. I need to look at contest deadlines. Some are mid-month. I'll check later today. Still haven't heard from some February contests so my expectations must be kept low. I'm tired. Just had some chocolate milk. Midnight is a good bedtime hour for me right now. Sun gets shiny around 8 once Apollo gets his chariot over the mountains. He seems to get a tad worn out every winter. Up at 8! A chilly 28 on it's sunny climb up to 50. I love a soft snow. The kind that sifts through the mind like the sands of time under my thinning hair. It's a nice memory come spring ... soon.  I posted the above in response to a post by Lilli. David McClain  (Tor) will soon be joining his beloved Mel aka Mrs Tor . He was recently diagnosed with cancer; it has metastasized. He is in hospital then hospice. One month? Maybe a tad more. David announced this on facebook. 44 degrees at almost 2 p.m. I'm sitting here shirtless with the sun warming my back. Vitamin D recharge. To cold outside to go half-naked unless you're young and jogging. Seen by the river: Hearts carved into timber, sparkle of water, glisten of snow, an incessant hum of tires on asphalt noticed in the quiet along paths that were icy and puddled last week, now drying in the sun. Brown leaf litter lifted by a waft of air, movement but no life, two bicycles gliding by, chatter between Shorts and No Jacket, a jogger in bright blue puffing past. The cottonwoods hold tight their buds as osier reddens. Both wait patiently in March. I unzip my jacket because it's too warm, zip it up again when a stray breeze refreshes my thoughts. Did y'all know it's Friday? I know because it's our janitors deep-clean day that starts at early at 10 a.m. and goes until the vacuuming is done. Otherwise ... would I know? 45 degrees at 6:26 as the sun sets. I made the mistake of taking a nap. Tonight I must write. 4009 |
  PROMPT March 12th Imagine you had to create an art piece for a gallery or museum. What would you create? As you enter the room you face a familiar painting that shifts as you walk though it along paths of dirt or cobblestones. Flowers blooming at every turn emit faint fragrances and bird-twitter softly fills the air. We rely too much on sight, they warn you when you buy your one-way ticket, every Starry Night is filled with starlight if not moonlight, sounds of the nightengale or at dawn the lark. Distant water burbles as an owl hoots or in a hush passes overhead. The fragrance of pale flowers beckons the moth. You pass from room to room as crows caw and flutter as patrons clink glasses and bottles, as waiters wend their way through gaslit tables. You can no longer deny this new reality. By the golden light you can almost taste the breath of life being shared. Yes, some fear to enter. It is whispered that some never leave. |
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