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 |   Life is rough...I have to write it out. |
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I start blogs.....I neglect blogs....I abandon blogs. I start blogs.....I neglect blogs....I abandon blogs. I started this blog....I loved this blog....I abandoned this blog. I started this blog....I loved this blog....I abandoned this blog. I guess it is a good thing I didn't actually hold my breath. |
Day 951 Prompt: It's late, you fall asleep reading a book (your choice of genre), you dream about one of the characters in the book. What is the title of the book? What is the name of the character? What is the dream about? I have a thousand answers fighting it out to be chosen for this one but in the back corner there is someone just sitting and waiting…knowing he will be chosen. If I fell asleep and then found myself inside a book I would be Daemon Sadi from The Black Jewels Trilogy. I would want to dream myself into Heir to the Shadows where I spend a great deal of time in the Twisted Kingdom. But in actuality you could pop me anywhere in the span of the three books and I would be so very happy. If I had a second choice it would be Darken Rahl. I want to tear the veil…I want to tear the veil. I would never want to dream myself into a story of my own making. I am always so displeased with those.
What was your first musical love? Was it a band or artist? An instrument? A catchy commercial jingle? Tell us about it. My first musical love is without question Hall & Oates. When I was a little girl my mom and I would fucking rock out to some Hall & Oates. We would sing and dance and clean. It was amazing to me and so was she. Now that I am 36 and singing with my own children I find that Hall & Oates still never fails to make me smile. Does anyone need his or her ass kicked at karaoke? In fact…to show my true love I will confess that every cell phone I have immediately gets the Callin’ Oates hotline saved into the contact list. Immediately. Ever called it? I suggest you do it right now. Immediately. 719-26-OATES.   |
Day 23 Prompt: How do you feel about musicians who take direct political stances? Are you supportive of an artist's right to speak his or her mind about particular topics, even if you disagree with them, or would you rather they "shut up and play the hits"? Everyone is allowed a direct stance on anything. No one has to “shut up and entertain me” not to mention what they believe has no bearing on my enjoyment of their product. I love me some waffle fries from Chick-Fil-A but I don’t give them my money anymore. It’s a choice I make based on the stance I desire to take. What gives me that right just because I make considerably less money? I’m not Stephen King so I am allowed a stance on gun laws? I am not a member of the Dixie Chicks so I do get to say how stupid Dubya was. I’m not a Natural Born Killer so I can support hemp? We recently passed a law quite like the reverse of this….quickly changed due to the obvious ignorance…but what if you were not allowed to listen to certain music because the artist did not agree with your political stance? People would be screaming about how the downtrodden classes of people who do not live in mansions and drive tanks aren’t allowed to express their opinions because the government is afraid. We are all different and yet have paralyzed ourselves with the fear of appearances. Which has made us all gross. Just fucking gross. Shit...I don’t expect the scantily clad bronze gods I force to peel my grapes to call me Cleopatra. Believe what you want, just keep peeling. P.S.It's music week and in the course of this blog and corresponding challenges I have parodied approximately 13 songs since Christmas, I am going to die a thousand deaths if I do not get to fuck up someone’s song this week.  |
| I get all of these prompts in my email every day and yet I only respond to one. Why? Who the fuck knows. I can be exceptionally lazy while still operating inside the confines of my obsession. Like the neat freak with the filthy car. So no longer…I abandoned my daily dose of gratitude after one day because I also abandoned the idea as well as its corresponding idiot in the same amount of time. I am gonna answer some and damnit…I am gonna do it with regularity.
Day 474 Prompt: Do you think dreams sometimes can tell people what they have repressed? Did you ever have such a dream that made you go, “Ahha!”? I know that many people chalk dream interpretation up to hippies and raven haired women who are accountants by day yet gaze into a crystal ball by night, but I disagree. I absolutely believe dreams can tell you things you have repressed or things you are internalizing. No one is saying that when someone scoffs and tells you that the rabbit in your dream must mean that you are about to hop to a new opportunity it is legit. If it makes you laugh it is probably false. What would make the more…serious minded interpretation of symbols from dreams any less believable than the symbols that run rampant through everyday life though? Anything from your religion to your breakfast menu is nasty with symbols that are filled with the power of unspoken assertion. I can’t quite say I recall an “aha” dream of my own. I have had some doozies and even some recurring nightmares as a child, but nothing that changed my life or even my perception of it. If anyone is taking requests though...I’ll take one that reveals the path to a self-cleaning family.
Day 22 Prompt: Does music influence your writing at all? Can a particular artist, band, or genre shift the direction your blog entry is going in? There is that anonymous quote….”Art is how we decorate space; Music is how we decorate time.” Then there is a false version going around attributed to Julian Lennon. It says “Art is how we decorate space; Music is how we decorate silence.” Both are good quotes, even the false one. In fact the false version fits my life a bit better. It definitely fits my response better. Music influences my life of course. It decorates my time just as it does everyone else’s. It marks past heartbeats but stops future ones. Yet….I don’t love it. I love certain songs and I love certain artists, but music as a whole is much less of a persuasion than it could be. And that is because I do not want my silence decorated. I want my silence to be hollow and...colossal. I want it to be all there is. Now, silence is a hard thing to come by around my house. If you had a nickel for every time I have said that I cannot even finish a thought then you would die of copper poisoning. When I read or when I write….that is my new 2-child version of silence. (Well, that and mowing the yard which I do while fucking rocking out….think of a YouTube video someone films of their dumbass neighbor mowing their grass like they are at the club. Buuutttt the prompt didn’t ask if music influences the moves I bust while on the John Deere.) And so…music influences my writing nada. Zip. Zilch. None. Not too much does. Sometimes I start a post saying that I had something planned in my mind and then the course of my day decided to dry fuck my idea. That is not to say that anything influenced that post. It, in fact, means that I was never fully happy with the mental draft. I do not influence my posts. My posts influence me with their unexpected turns and realizations. They are their own thing and they let me know what they desire to be. I would never be satisfied with things written wholly within the boundaries of my limited influence. Nor would I want to be. Music influences my mood. Music influences my sex. Music influences my drive. Music influences my memory. But no, it does not change my writing, my silence is rhythmic enough.
DAY 949 Prompt: "Start by doing what's necessary; then do what's possible; and suddenly you are doing the impossible." Francis of Assisi What do you think? Is this statement true? I haven’t done a ton of impossible things. Despite my recent canonization. I do know that it is most certainly true that... "a journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step”…even if you are just looking logistically. I know that my mother’s annoying ass version of the same thing….”just get started… just start with one part,” is also true. And I also know that when you fall into that hopeless depression which leaves you clueless as to how to even begin loading the dishwasher, that forcing yourself to do the small necessities does in fact lead to doing things that were seemingly impossible. So yes – I absolutely agree with St .Francis….most people start in the mailroom. |
Prompt # 4 Week 78: Tell us about a flight, in a helicopter or a plane. Where did you go? What was the flight like? Once I flew to Hawaii to visit my sister. I am a good flyer. I can be a great one provided I don’t run out of fluids. Actually that’s pretty much a rule for life...don’t let skeason run out of drink…you won’t like her when she runs out of drink. I fly coach because I am a real person. The flight from San Francisco to Oahu was 11 hours. This was right up my fucking alley. I had snacks, I had liquid oxygen, and I had books. Man did I have books. I also never have had a problem NOT talking to the people around me…despite some great attempts. This wasn’t my first flight. It wasn’t even my first time to get the unfortunate seat assignment of that last row before the restrooms and stewardesses. (Oh yeah I did call them that. The semantics don’t change shit. Nut up your delicate sensibilities...there is nothing wrong with being a stewardess.) Anyway, that last row only has two seats; one for me and one for the dick. Oh this dick. This dick. (It pains me to say those words in a negative way) Sure – go to sleep, in fact I would like nothing more. Nothing. I can even deal with you breathing like Darth Vader; after all, it only took ten minutes or so for me to stop expecting you to suddenly ask me to call you daddy. BUT the fucking snoring that is disturbing more people than just me? That shit cannot go on. And no – I DO NOT want to roll my eyes in solidarity with the woman in front of us because no matter how close nuts are to asses in these tiny seats you are not sitting beside this fool. You are not an actual six inches from his fucking wet rattling. You aren’t doing anything about it either bitch, stop just turning and looking. Maybe I after I strangle you with that ugly ass scarf I will shove it down this guy’s throat. You can’t snore when you are dead. But hey – clearly you don’t have enough room in your fucking aisle seat. I can absolutely sympathize with your need to extend yourself into my seat area by a good….well I don’t know how many inches but if my pussy was hot your knee would know. Now we are seven hours in and I am fuming. I haven’t been able to read because my anger is invading everything. I cannot think. I don’t have room to drink or snack and even if I was tired, I am running on at least four lines of powdered rage. This asshole won’t wake up. The stewardess is less than helpful and I have to pee. Not just …maybe I will go to the restroom pee…but more like…I have been sitting here trying to wake your motherfucking ass up for hours and hours while the pressure of my pending explosion has squeezed my bladder into a kidney stone and if you don’t move your knee out of my crotch, and stop breathing three inches from my face then I am going to stab you with this shank I have managed to fashion while I have been imprisoned in the seat they assign to those who deserve to be punished. Finally I decide to get up and make my way to the restroom like a stampede of cattle, which I do, however this guy is the master of sleep and nothing will wake him. Mr. Motherfucking Hypnos and shit. There is no happy ending to this story...unless you count being in Hawaii when I stepped off the plane. Unfortunately after 11 hours of water boarding I just don’t count that. Plus…staying with my sister is a disaster post of its own. The final three hours or so of the flight were just as angry and awful. The man wakes up with about an hour to go and says to me….wait for it….”Hey.” What. The. Fuck? Are you kidding me? Shut the fuck up. Maybe you don’t understand why you deserve the lowest circle of hell of but I certainly do. I definitely cannot respond to genuine niceness with the like. HEY, I am still trying to not strangle you. HEY, I would waste one of three wishes asking to see you when not in the presence of a US Marshal. HEY, have you ever wondered what happens if you open this door? I am willing to take us all down. |
Day 19 Prompt: Share with the group one of your favorite poem that you have written. Then share a favorite poem written by another WDC poet. Why are these poem your favorites? Oh well shit....a Friday that isn't a Funny Friday and I STILL have to post a shitty entry. Damn. I don't have favorite things I write. Not poems at least. My first instinct was to go with something from the 12 Days of Xmas Soundtrackers challenge because that was so fun. (something like......"Invalid Entry"  } But all of those are parodies. Does that count? I suppose it does, but it feels like the wrong type of answer. Soooooo maybe one of the things I did for the Writer's Cramp. (like....."Invalid Item" ) Really though...there isn't anything about that I would cream panties over either. So NO...the answer to the question that was not asked is that I do not have a favorite poem I have written. Also, unfortunately the answer is much the same as for a favorite on WDC. I don't read the poems all that often....it's just not my thing. I did however go looking. I read a great many and there was one that I thoroughly enjoyed....it was:
Good god - the line: "So sore, my soul, full with regrets." It tickles my current mood in places best left unspoken. And the beginning: "I have traveled beyond memory To this place beyond thought, into decay." Please, please, please. Talk about a word turn on. So there ya go, I will end the poetry week all bitchy and grumbling, that way it can be like every other Friday; after all, I have already turned over every new fucking leaf in my yard. No I don't like anything. How dare you ask me such shit. Grrrrr. I write with hatred that I then direct upon said pieces. Hisss. I read what I want...fuck that horizon expansion bullshit. See how poetic that shit is? |
Day 18 Prompt: Every culture on Earth has its own poetry forms. Many of this forms have been introduced into modern western culture by various poets. Do you have a favorite form either from your cultural background or from another culture that you either enjoy reading and/or writing? If so, what is it? If not, what is your favorite form to read and/or write? I am a diehard Shakespeare fan and I will take a sonnet any day. Not just a Shakespearean sonnet but that definitely helps. Unfortunately, with all apologies to the bard, it is probably not my very favorite. As far as the logistics of poetry you shall need to forgive me, for I know not what I do. And this is because….I don’t wanna. Sometimes, and NOT very often at all, I like to remain ignorant. I do not want my life changing poetry to be bogged down with rules and form. Someone else can worry about that. Therefore…my favorite poems are those that rhyme and have some sort of cadence to them…but I like them to be serious. I will take some “Invictus” or “IX: To Celia” over a little “How Do I Love Thee?” or something about optimistic sunshine any day. They don’t necessarily have to be sad (though that helps) but they must be serious. But that is for reading, which is always meant to change me somehow. As for writing….I still like it to have rhyme and cadence but it is probably pretty obvious that I like em dirty. I participate in a lot of poetry things here on WDC and I can write non dirty poetry when need be, but when it is left up to me that shit always always takes a dirty turn. I also tend to not use very much dainty language. Ha ha…who me?!?!?! Even my…eloquence can be heavy. My word choice is muscular and thick and I suppose that’s what I like to read as well. See...right now I already have the first four lines of a poem whose opening line includes “muscular and thick”. I think you can imagine what sort of word choice is involved in that one. |
Day 17 Prompt: When you read a poem do you prefer to read it aloud or silently? Why or Why no? Good poetry needs to be read aloud. Every time it enters a new person it gets new meaning and that purpose needs to be spoken. It needs to be put out into the universe. Layers and layers of thought occupied space need to surround the words. My thought occupied space, falling onto another’s so that what is theirs also becomes mine. |
Day 16 Prompt: Prose poetry, which is written in paragraphs, focuses on images. This type of poem contains all the literary devices, tools, and techniques that a verse poem contain. Examples of this type of prose poems can be found in journals and even in some blogs. Some of the hallmarks of a prose poem are descriptive language, instances of poetic meter and rhyme within the paragraph. Other literary devices that are found in prose poems are plays on language or words, repetition, and the use of metaphor or simile. In some prose poems a reader can feel the emotions in the same way one feels them in verse poems. Have you ever read or attempted to write a prose poem? Did you find it more difficult to understand then a verse poem? Can you give an example of a prose poem? Ahhh well, here I did it again, just like in week one. Even though I could have read the next day’s prompt before I wrote…I didn’t because….because…because I can’t. I say that I don’t enjoy much poetry and that I couldn’t name anything that touches me no matter what. And then comes this one. And the answer springs to my mind instantly. There are tons of depressing lines I will never forget from Neruda. “…In this part of the story I am the one who Dies, the only one, and I will die of love because I love you….” But as far as prose like….Baudelaire…I suppose I like What is Truth just enough but not very much. That seems all hardcore prose to me and it doesn’t float my boat. It lacks…musicality. A pretty sounding story is still just a story. |
Day 15 Prompt: Every individual who reads, writes, or listens to poetry has his or her own concept of a poet's work. According to Salman Rushdie "A poet's work is to name the unnameable, to point at frauds, to take sides, start arguments, shape the world, and stop it going to sleep." How would you describe a poet's work? I am very picky about my poetry. There is so little that I truly enjoy. And by so little I mean So. Very. Little. I don’t need to be touched by poetry in general. I don’t need to be touched by a lot of poetry. It’s like art... if one single piece touches me then I am happy. Joyful poetry or sorrowful poetry – I want it to bring me to my knees, if only in my mind. A punch in the gut that flowers out from there. If it doesn’t invoke an involuntary response then I let it go…never to be thought of again most likely. Therefore, to me a poet’s responsibility is to push out the tears I skillfully ration. To turn memories into hauntings and hopes into fears. To sober my laughter. To quiet my butterflies. To present me with words that bring their baggage and move into my soul. If asked what my favorite poem is…I don’t even have an answer. Poems feed needs and my needs are constantly in flux. Ask Husband A, who longs for the elusive ebb. |
Day 12 Prompt: It's Funny Friday folks - Make it funny. Write that blog entry describing the funniest Friday you've ever experienced. Well, that’s it – it is official. I have been beaten. Funny Friday brought out the little girl writer in me. The one who stomps her feet and defies her elders. The one who stares you in the eye and in her sweet little voice tells you something like…”I wish I may, I wish I might, Have this wish I wish tonight….I wish…I wish….I wish Funny Friday would suck a dirty shithole.” So that little girl writer has come out every Friday since January 1st. She spouted her shit on the regular and just like a child, it was simple repetition. Now I have been grounded for a week. A long long week. My apologies to Theodore and “In a People House” “Come inside, Mr. Cat,” said the blue jay, “I’ll show you what there is to my Funny Friday.” My Funny Friday has things like… …asses bare Things like third dates And short hairs. 99 Bananas Beer Brandy Bacardi That’s what you find when my Friday is funny. Tongue Lube Stroking Head In and out Legs Spread These are big nuts Hear me roar Come along, I’ll show you more. Feet to the ceiling Ass to the floor Bitching Fighting Party Fail Cops Resisting Sirens Bail Hook and jab, Uppercut, Knee Questions, Answers, Anger spree Come On! Come On! There’s more to see! There’s so much kink when it’s my Funny Friday, A cell, and a block, and a cock said the blue jay. Butter that bread It’s tiny Small Refusing Waiting Big blue balls Homestead Rager Morals forsook Gas and booze And cars and crooks Explode, Glass, Metal, And tires Duck, Cover, Laugh, And heat from fire Cigarettes and dope Oblivious Trashed Look out below! I’m going to CRASH And… Another thing, it’s time you knew… My Funny Friday was a school day too! “And now, Mr. Cat, you know,” said the blue jay. “You know what there is to my Funny Friday.” |
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