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 |  Daily notes and timed freewrites but mostly my blog |
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All comments are encouraged, I am interested in what others think and feel along the topics I choose to write about. Highlighted entries: [#732826] "In Memory"        ![Merit Badge in Supportive
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| Just watched the Star Trek classic "The Trouble With Tribbles" Even when I know it's coming I still laugh when Kirk opens the storage container doors and all the tribbles fall over him. (What kind of mess would have occurred if all the grain in that storage unit hadn't been consumed by the tribbles as he suspected?) I still think sending all the tribbles from the Enterprise over to the Klingon ship just before it warped away was an immoral act of animal cruelty (Spock of all people thought of this solution). Sure the joke was on the Klingons, given their innate revulsion of the meek little tribble; however, because of that inherent racial revulsion the tribbles were most certainly extinguished with a thoroughly cruel efficiency. But then the captain of the Klingon vessel could honestly say, after the whole affair was finished: "No one knows the tribbles I've seen." |
| Well, I work four tens, so Thursday is my Friday. I went to bed late after work--around 8:30 AM and got up just before 6 PM.. Spent my 'morning' doing laundry and watching old movies on TV. Now I'm here to start my weekend activity on WDC. Did some reading, but nothing more, before logging off the site. |
| January 6, 2014 at 9:58am Tonight while looking through past text docs on my old computer, I found a letter I had written to my last life partner after she decided she no longer could share in my life. WOW! was I confused. Well, actually...I find that I am still confused. In nearly every other paragraph I ask her, "Why have you left?" After eleven years, I still don't understand 'what I did' or if she had ever really wanted me to share her life. I was then and am now upon looking back left with the 'feeling' she had lied about how she had ever felt about me. I form the question in several different ways but every time I ask, it amounted to the same thing. The first line of the second paragraph I write, 'I do not understand everything that has driven the wedge between us.' Then I end the paragraph with, 'Was I wrong to believe you had wanted me in your life?' The fourth paragraph I ask, 'Did I somehow convince you that you never mattered to me?' I end the paragraph with, 'Did we simply never really have a bond that would tie us together for better or worse?' In the fifth paragraph I state, 'I can believe (for a brief time) it is my fault that you are gone when I conjure up an answer that fits the state of our relationship today; but, it always comes down to the fact that these conjurations are my answers and none of them are yours.' Then in the eighth paragraph, just before the close of the letter, I write, 'I don't know why I love you, but I remember when I realized I did. I know the exact moment when my heart betrayed me. But, love is more than a moment or even a series of moments. When love comes alive there is no reasoning with it. From my present perspective, love is a hopeless insanity that brings only pain. I had believed with all the joy I felt, with all my soul, if you will allow me that expression...I believed I had finally found someone who understood and accepted me; who had the strength and the desire to withstand and balance my failings; and who had the endurance and the will to fight for and work with me to overcome our trials together.' And finally, I end the letter with, 'I don't know what to say when the question comes up why we have gone our separate ways. I am sorry if I hurt you, I wish I knew how I have hurt you. Maybe, I am over thinking the circumstances or maybe I'm trying too hard to find an answer where one just doesn't exist. I wish you would tell me if you know why. Could you tell me if you ever really loved me? This not knowing is more than I can endure sometimes. It doesn't help, but I still love you as much today as I did ten years ago.' I wrote this letter in October of 2002. My significant other had packed up and moved out around April. It is now 2014 and I still have no resolution to any of my questions. I have accepted there is no future fairy tale ending and have resolved to live my life without a companion. The thing that really sobers me to today's reality is I still love her as deeply as I did the first time the feeling hit me in 1992. I obviously love the ghost of who I believed she was to begin with, and not really her. But that knowledge doesn't change my world, does it? The sad thing is, since she abandoned 'us', I've not had the will to write. What used to flow freely from my fingers I now have to force and trick and bribe to get scenes, character descriptions, plots and interactions onto paper. When my love was joyful and secure writing was joyful and prolific. Every-so-often I get a glimmer of that part of my past. When I feel the pressure to write and when I keep the images even after I sit in the chair with the blank page, I capture for a brief moment what I use to feel and when the flurry fades I smile with wonder as I read what I've put to page, that I truly accomplished a creative purge. I live for those moments. I'm constantly looking for those inspirational triggers that will allow me to express my inner self. There is no joy compared to when I am free flowing words onto the page; even if it amounts to only a short sentence, or a paragraph. As long as I am able to write and smile while writing, that is enough to lift my spirits. Well, it is past my bedtime...today is a work day and I must get some sleep. Have a good Day and know I am smiling because I was able to put more than a sentence of creative expression to the page. The beginning and the ending of this blog is all new and original expressions never written or thought of before tonight (this morning)... |
| I've reworked She Talks to Angels and placed it in one of my works in progress journals (The original is still untouched at this time.) click on "A reworked story" I am interested in hearing if the extra 114 words is an improvement to telling the story. |
| A Poem I found and I wish to share. The Cold Within by James Patrick Kinney Six men trapped by happenstance In Dark and bitter cold; Each one possessed a stick of wood, Or so the story's told. Their dying fire in need of logs, The first man held his back, For of the faces 'round the fire, He noticed one was black. The next man looked across the way, Saw one not of his church, And couldn't bring himself to give The fire his stick of birch. The third man, dressed in tattered clothes, Then gave his coat a hitch. Why should his log be given up To arm the idle rich? The rich man sat back thinking of The wealth he had in store, And how to keep what he had earned From going to the poor. The black man's face bespoke revenge, While fire passed from sight. Saw only in his stick of wood, A way to spite the white. The last man of this forlorn group, Did nothing but for gain. Give only unto those who gave Was how he played the game. The logs held firm in death-stilled hands Was proof of human sin. They died not from the cold without But from the cold within. |
Ahhh. It is almost lunchtime-- Even on my days off, I try to keep my same sleeping schedule that I have during my work week. I don't have too much to say for the day since I just logged on. I will write here before logging off; maybe, I will have more to say about my activities. Take care and may your road lead to only good places. Deb Compassion and the effort to try and understand some thing that was not understood before is a step toward acceptance not only of others but most importantly of yourself. Murphy's law regarding Plot: Every Plot Starts to Go Wrong Just After the First Big Scene. |
| I figured out how to find the review details and I owe 39 WDC members a visit to their Portfolio and reviews in kind. I wish to thank everyone who paid anniversary visits and took the time to read and give quality reviews of my stories and poetry. Tonight/Today (Sorry, I work nights and this time of day is close to my bed time. My mornings start around 2:30 PM--Get breakfast, get ready for work--start work @5:15 PM and get off @ 4:00 AM--go home and putter around until 6 AM on work days and noon on weekends--then to bed to get up again @ 2:30 PM). All the times are Mountain Time Zone BTW. Yesterday, I spent most of my time reading reviews I'd received. Today I will read those reviews I've given just to reaquaint myself with where I was before my long abscence. Tomorrow I hope to be orientated enough to start cruising ports and reading and reviewing. |
My Blog counter says it has been 8 months since my last entry--actually, January 7th would be eight months  . This is the 2nd of January 2014. I am healthy, full time employed, and determined to become active with reading and writing again. Upon my return, I have spotted some changes to the site and must relearn to navigate again--the foremost being how to navigate what reviews I've given and those I've received--seems like a lot of information has been truncated? I am once again a yellow case. This is necessary since my inactivity was very unmoderator type behavior. Happy New Year to all |
In Memory of Christopher Allen Ludwig Born November 6th 1979 at Mather AFB Sacramento, California. Christopher is survived by his brother Timothy and sister Amanda and both parents, Debora Ludwig of Montana and Howard Ludwig of Arizona. Others who shall miss him dearly are his step-mothers, Cathy Ludwig, of Arizona and Alberta Hunt of Montana. After graduating from Anaconda Job Corp, in Anaconda, Montana Chris traveled around the United States as a welder for K.D. Steel and helped build the Home Depot in Missoula, Montana as one of his last assignments for that company. Then he was employed by Selway Corp in Stevensville, Montana for a couple years. Christopher worked with his father and brother in Nevada with the FNF Construction Company before becoming employed with the NewMont Mining company in Elko County, Nevada where he died of as yet undetermined causes on January 20, 2011. Official cause of death is awaiting the toxicity analyses and final autopsy report from the Reno, Nevada Coroner's office. The family and friends of Christopher gathered at the Larry Creek Group Camp from Sunday, August 7th through Thursday, August 11th 2011 to remember and celebrate his life. On August 9th Christopher's ashes were placed around Bailey Lake in the Bitterroot Mountains of Montana by his father and brother. Everyone agrees that Chris is finally home. He shall be missed by everyone who knew him and especially by everyone who loves him. (addendum June 6, 2014: As of August 2013, the Coroner's report states cause of death Unknown. So the closure we, Christopher's family, had hoped for in what caused his death, was denied us. However, as a family we have pieced together what probably happened, based on the extremely low blood sugar found in the toxicity analyses. Christopher had a drinking problem and he also suffered from 'hypoglycemia'. A bad combination by itself. The night before he was found in his trailor, he'd been arrested for a DUI and spent the night in the drunk tank. He hadn't been fed, of course, while there. He was released and while eating his first meal for the day, and getting ready for work, he died of heart failure due to hypoglycemic shock. The coronor said--unofficially--that what he was eating was taking more bloodsugar to digest than was releasing back into his system. As his mother I grieve the fact that my son died alone.) Christopher's new front yard  |
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Remember, write first for yourself. Who cares if anyone else likes it? That's not why we write. Just remember what Robert Frost said: "Poetry is when an emotion has found its thought and the thought has found words." Yes, it's that's simple 
Ken