Spillwords published a short story of mine. The Death of Art. I like Spillwords because it’s WordPress’s magazine, with an editor. So, it’s connected to WP while being its own entity. The story, if you haven’t read it already, is a mix between Stream of Consciousness (James Joyce, Proust, and others) and Edgar Allen Poe’s Single Effect Theory. It’s a horror story…maybe. I tend to like implementing multiple themes. It’s not an easy thing to do. The story is not long. It would qualify as Flash Fiction, which is perfect for the internet. Give it a like using your WP account as access to Spillwords and take advantage of Spillwords yourself! The link to the story and Spillwords is below. Thank you for the support! I’ll be reading your posts!
A trail near a lake called Burnt Lake. Might be a little hard to see on a phone.This is the trunk of an old growth tree. There not many of them left. They look a little different than other trees.
WordPress handles spam messages well. However, there used to be spam written by bots that I miss. They were so entertaining that I would regularly read them. Now that AI alleviates grammar conundrums, these funny miscues have all but disappeared. Here’s a few of the old ones I received and my responses to them.
“My salad has done better this summer but just in the last couple of months when the weather improved.” –I’m so happy to hear your salad is doing better. I was worried!
“You know a complete lot its almost hard to argue along.”-You’re right. Don’t argue along. That would be taking my side, and I know a complete lot.
“I’ve got much clear idea concerning from this post” –I’m glad you’ve got much clear idea concerning, because I’m much confused idea concerning your message.
“Why people still make use of to read newspapers when in this technological globe the whole thing is available on web?” –Things are indeed strange in this technological globe. I tend to read newspapers, because they hire “real” journalists.
“This enables that you simply much better picture of how your business is creating. We are all human beings.” –I’m glad to hear we’re all human beings. I was beginning to wonder.
“These pieces really set a standard in the indrytus.” –I am so happy I’m setting standards somewhere.
“Weeeee, what a quick and easy soiunlot.” –Wasn’t that cool? Soiunlots can be so tricky. Weeeee!
“This was so helpful and easy! Do you have any articles in rehab?” –Well, unfortunately, a couple of them have checked in. I heard they were doing well in editing.
“Hey hey hey, take a gardener to what’ you’ve done.” –That’s a great idea. I’ve never thought about inviting one.
“That’s a posting full of ingiths!” –I know. I’m full of good ingiths.
“Just do me a favor and keep writing such trnhcnaet analyses, OK?” –By all means. I’m a master of trnhcnaetian theory.
“If you’re looking to buy these articles, make it way easier.” –Mmmh? I’ve never thought about buying my own posts. That indeed is easier. There, I just gave myself 10 bucks. Woo Hoo!!!
“Thanks for spending time on the computer (wiritng) so others don’t have to.” –You’re welcome! I think?
“Continue to be down the great operate! You realize, many individuals ‘re looking near to do this facts, it is easy to aid these products.” –Roger that. I will continue to be down the great operate to aid the products.
“I like to party, not look arcleits up online. You made it happen.” –I’m glad I made that happen. I wouldn’t want you to resort to looking up arcleits online and keep on partying!
“It is possible (and frequently done) to build over 200k crop armies (aka, World Wonder armies) from a six cropper.” –What? I mean…what?
“Why does this have to be the ONLY reliable source? Oh well, gi!” –What can I say? Poetry is most reliable source ever. That’s all you need to know. Ain’t no gi about it.
“I’m making posts about scientific explanations behind everyday ––appearances.” –I knew there was something weird behind everyday appearances. Thanks for providing scientific explanations for this unsolved mystery.
“Stretching is discomfort.” –I’ve told my cat the very same thing! However, he doesn’t listen and keeps on stretching! He looks comfortable doing it though.
AI’s first attempts were crude and frequently you would receive a busy signal. Boldly exit where no reader has gone before (Just watch your step).
A cougar is perched up high in a yellow pine, hidden. Below him, a trail cuts through grasses, and I see his paw print in bare dirt, formed when the mud was thick. Now, it’s dried into cracks, wrinkles in earth, his movement of the past solidified. He doesn’t worry about me, the noisy one, whose feet crunch upon leaves, dried long before the last of summer appears.
The turf is so dry and brittle. It’s a fragile crust. One hard step and I think the entire world would crumble. Flowers of the new spring have already begun to wilt, dropping petals. Their flakes stick to my socks, scratch my ankles.
Even now, the grass begins copying the color of the sun. No matter how good of a watcher you are, you can miss their intricacies, their dance with the wind, a courtship of eons, and their ever-slow movement, a reach for light.
Breaking into the sky, Adams, Hood, St. Helens, even Ranier surround themselves in blue. Their heads adorned with hats made of clouds, attempting to pierce gravity, the last mystery.
Sometimes I worry about movement…the sun, the earth, our movement…my movement. It’s too easy to believe in one singular movement, especially my own.
The cougar will come down from the yellow pine at dusk, when it’s difficult to see him. He is the color of the sun. He will use the sound of the dry flowers and deep grass… and when the coming night quiets the wind, he will search for the slightest movements.
Somewhere near the Klickitat River.Eastern part of the Columbia River Gorge.
When the Willamette River meets the Columbia River, the latter breaks up and forms a delta of islands until it converges downstream. (A clue? Is this poem really a murder ballad?)The Clackamas River near an interesting little town named Three Lynx.
April is still cruel And this city? Still unreal. The snow will melt Daffodils will bloom Arrows will still fly Even Cupid shoots them With awkward aim
Are we mistaken to listen to the wind? That whisperer that works Its way between warm clothing ...Tickles, biting softly On the ends of our touch Imprinting its song on our necks.
“I would have never thought You would become my lover Having passed you In the hallway a thousand times Among the smell of floor wax Cafeteria food, and The slamming of locker doors. ...Excuse me I’m younger than that”
Now, in the city of Yonder Stands our orphan With his gun Walking along the edges Of an eternity of assumptions The quickest way to freeze Us into madness...oh, do not Ask what is it? Even Dorothy killed two witches And I swear The sky has been etherized.
For I have known it, known it all Have known evenings, mornings Afternoons Have known The familiarity of strangers My nose buried in their bosom Of warm, warm skin, bared to Gravity, orbit, & galaxies Moving...moving... Moving
“What a Sunday drive it was Unplanned, without directions. The heat of summer blew Into our rolled down windows”
O you who turn the wheel and look to windward, Consider.
In this poem, I abstracted lines of famous poems and lyrics to shape my own poem out of them. Along with the poem I added on of my abstract images. Thanks!
Click on this image to hear the music composition _Landscapes_. (Blue hour on Mt. Tabor)
The rate of speed in which we travel is unprecedented in human history. To think that for around one hundred years we have been able to speed through urban and rural spaces. These 100 years are a brief moment in comparison to our combined history.
When I started to compose _Landscapes_, I initially thought of modernism and postmodernism in basic forms. The first pertaining to new systems. The latter pertaining to dismantling of systems. And it came to me that our modernisms are a story of movement, and this movement is accelerating. We’ve traveled through both eras, quickly. Our perception of the world (_Landscapes_) has been altered to perceive it at a different rate of velocity. Different perceptions lead to different conclusions. No wonder people are always telling one another to slow down. I question whether that’s even possible.
_Landscapes_ is a composition of movement, of acceleration, of viewing landscapes at an ever-increasing rate of perception.
Click on the image above or the image link to Soundcloud below to listen. Thanks so much!
Mountains and hills have their own weather. You can see in the distance on Tillamook Head, it’s raining on an otherwise blue sky day.
They chased Lee. That’s what they did. He would strut up the street, yelling, mad-like... and they would chase him back home. Back to a home tucked in a corner. The one his parents had picked for him, to make things easier. He had wild eyebrows like erratic marker pen slashes drawn above his eyes and when he stomped up the street, he threw bright, unfinished Lego sets at them, which landed upon a hard tar-bubbled street. The Converse Kids smashed them to bits while they ran, jumped, and squealed after him, until Lee’s red front door snapped back into place, onto his plastic blue home. The one tucked in the corner. They returned to the rules of whiffle ball with hollow bat & ball, involving the tops of trees, the boundaries of curbs, mailboxes, and the height of telephone wires. The Lego pieces were picked up by morning by invisible parents, who, for some strange reason, never yelled at the Converse Kids to stop chasing, to stop running, to just...stop. Well, they’d bought the house for him, hadn’t they? Wasn’t that enough? Occasionally a lone Lego piece would appear during a rainstorm mixed with fallen leaves. Neon yellow balancing on a storm drain.
Thoughts…piled. (All images that I post can be enlarged by clicking on them)
This is part of my people series. There are two others. Gerald and Shelley.
Back from the grocery store, keys jangle as I place them (hopefully) in the spot they’re supposed to be found. I glimpse my cat asleep, dreaming, head down, buried in his bed, concealing his moustache. A paw is curled over a nose and hind legs stick out straight…awkwardly. Ears twitch, flutter, and slant. Eyes blink, bat, while closed. A muffled meow slips out trembling lips.
I know he dreams of me, the wizard of dry food, good witch of treats, Dionysus of catnip. Then, I am also evil magus of loud voice, mystic of flea medication, Charon, ferryperson to the veterinarian. Still, after all I’ve put him through, he will look up at me with those blue eyes, forgiving me for all my offenses, thanking me for all my kindness.
Then I remember, I forgot the cat litter. I shout out a well-worn expletive. Evil magus strikes again! This wakes him and there is a questioning look on his face. Well, let’s say it’s not really a question, but a realization. One that all who have an animal friend or two know. It says, “What’s this crazy human up to now?” It is in this moment when the reason why the universe exists is revealed…if only for a millisecond.
Generated by AI, “Almost Intelligent”. Your truly
This is number 2 in the cat series. For number 1 click here.
MoonCat 