Aspiring writer and poet. I've tried my paw at Slam Poetry however prefer Spoken Word. I write poems, short stories and am working on self-publishing a "pulp fiction" novella and poetry chapbook by the end of the first quartre.
From the writing blogs I’ve been reviewing. It seems that I should focus on one project. All the while ignoring the ever presiding ever increasingly less than mundane world out there. I’ve decided to put my dozen or so incomplete novella’s on hold and switch gears…
Taking inspiration from Kurt Vonnegut. I’ve recently read Cat’s Cradle and God Bless You, Mr Rosewater. The former got me studying quasi-crystals and it theoretically seems more likely the cascade affect dribbled within the book isn’t water based? Mr Rosewater’s conundrum to save society is to not be poor. However, not being poor means putting forth effort; and the underlying cynical philosophy of why bother trying? The relentless tentacles of conformity’ll get cha-cha-cha no matter which cloud you danse on? That or women’s underpants?
I don’t have to social skills to “deal” with people. What is the ideal response to provocation? Ideally continuing to chive on. Haters are gonna hate!!! I do take issue with not being able to go grocery shopping without having to dodge random strangers trying to hip-check me. Now maybe that person did that as a gag but I’m not certain who find violence funny? I’d really like to believe it was only a practical joke to which I was on the receiving end of. A joke? Fine so be it. I’m okay with guerilla performances. I have even attended a few so called sanctioned shows. À la ‘Asphalt Jungle Shorts’ but DTK current economic climate isn’t conclusive to anything #KWawsome. Even when the yuppies took over when there was the tech-boon up until the before times. Them “young urban professionals” were just as hyperbolically unfriendly as the hordes are drunken groups bar hopig after midnight. Except they were intoxicated on power. Or groupthink. Or, just because they had well-to-do upbringing and education isn’t going to make treat others (they feel are socially beneath them) with basic respect and common courtesy… I used to think that the so called ‘new money’ would be respectable. Turns maybe only in settings where they can act smoochie to appease office politics and decorum. Often while on my way to DTCC to play volleyball or basketball. I’d be heckled or harassed by yuppies as I’d bike past them. I’m not sorry for choosing a Human Powered Vehicles over the ever life sustaining petrol-guzzling SUVs. Don’t worry, Climate Change is only a conspiracy created by vegan bicycle driving hedonistic heathen hippies heaven bent on destabilizing the freeworld. There is no need to plan ahead and switch to a more sustainable environmentally kosher alternatives. All oil fields won run dry by 2026… and there I was lead to believe by my trusty OED that the gentry were obligated to share their wealth. Yet here and there they were taking verbal cheap shots at the poor for cheap thrills…
Directions:Use the Word of the Day from Merriam-Webster.com from the month of August in a scene; each day’s post must be a continuation of the previous day’s post.
Wordcount limit:150 words
August 19, 2021, Merriam-Webster Word of the Day:winnow(v.)
1a(1):to remove (something, such as chaff) by a current of air
(2):to get rid of (something undesirable or unwanted):REMOVE
2a:to treat (something, such as grain) by exposure to a current of air so that waste matter is eliminated
b:to free of unwanted or inferior elements:PARE
Roar lowered his eyes. I’ve never been on good terms with a Huntsman. Heck, I wish … “Maybe if I help the new guy with the other Jubars, because they’re gonna be as terrified of him as they are of Glassman…”
Freshly percolated coffee pours from a spout of an ingenious machine into the cusp of mug in a futuristic fully automated house that greets its owners with a cheerful; “Good morning” in a calming yet artificial voice of a nurturing woman. Accompanying the timed coffee maker is an array of postmodern glass wares; jars of spice with chrome lids, a fancy decanter full of brandy, salt and pepper shakers. All that one would expect to find in a kitchen however invariably useless since even the cooking is completed via automation. The echo of coffee being dispensed flourishes in the background as household computer announces; “System check commenced”. Computer screens flicker through incoherent code, LED lights flash on and off, intermittent beeps bip and bop as the computer continues its soliloquy of its internal workings. “Menu search in process” said almost indolent and indifferently and then proclaims that the “Heating cycle is complete, Swiss decafe ready , appointment schedule printing”. This is a SMART House, state of the art, top of the line and the best money can buy. It does everything but wipe our butts clean but that is what the bidet is for. George enters the room and greets his wife Lydia with an enthusiastic “Ta daa” as she grabs the coffee mugs from the counter top and replies with a not as eager “ta daa”. As they walk towards each other to embrace George comments on her reply, almost with contempt; “that was some “ta daa”. They have their morning kiss, just as is expected from any loving couple and George inquires; “Where are Peter and Wendy?”. “Where indeed?” the wife retorted being just as exasperated as her husband on the unknown whereabouts of their children. Just then the computer announces; “Incoming video message”. It is their children video teleconferencing to declare that they will be late for supper. It wasn’t exactly a conversation, they just appeared on screen Peter said they’d be late as Wendy waived and then ended the transmission. George was frustrated by this one sided communication and before he could get a word in the video telephone call was over. His wife Lidia then posed a concerned question; “George, I want to have a look at the children’s nursery”. George had an aloof response; “Why is it broken?”. To which Lydia replied; “Or have our therapist come look at it”. George was confused and then bemused by the idea; “Who David McClean, why?”. Lydia was befuddled by her husband’s lack of honest concern for their children wellbeing and had an almost sneering reaction; “The nursery its – its changed” said almost as if in disbelief of something we dare not even our conscious acknowledge the abstract oddity of reality. George replied with a confident fatherly regard for change; “Lydia, the kids are older now”. “No, no, no, it” and then sputtered silent searching for the right words. “Its strange! Come look.” She said and then put down her coffee and started walking towards the children’s nursery and George followed. As they were walking down the corridor to the nursery George said; “Good lord, for what we paid for that room.” He was about to go on a tirade but ended-up being interrupted by Lydia. “You’ll see”. As they got to the nursery doorway Lydia shushed George and then commanded the door; “Open”. The computer obliged and opened the door and acknowledged the order with a reply; “Nursery door open”. The couple entered the room to see and hear the grand landscape of the African Savannah. In the foreground a pride of lions with a nearby cypress tree above a great valley stretching for miles with a bright sky slightly hazy along the horizon. George was impressed with the grandeur of the electronic illusion and in his state of awe said; “Ooh yeah”. Just as a lion roared he continued his rational explanation of the mirage. “Dolby sound three-dimensional tapes, laser images, etc. I still can’t get used to this”. The virtual projection focuses on a pack of zebra grazing the luscious green field of view as Lydia scans the room for an anomaly. Eyes squinting as she scrutinizes every detail. As George takes it all in he finally says; “So.”. Lydia has a condescending reply; “Just wait”. She the nobs a moment later and points out; “There, a pack of vultures, those filthy creatures.” “So,” George abruptly replies as if having scavengers in a simulation is anything at all to be concerned with. Lydia just repeats “There is something strange here.” She was almost sceptical, now that there was another inquisitive mind examining the falsehood portrayal of reality within their children’s nursery. “Oh lord, look at that majestic pride. They just finished feeding.” George said with almost banal atonement. “Yeah, but on what.” She said with grave concern. George being a realist replied; “Maybe zebra or a baby giraffe”. “Are you sure” Lydia said still concerned. To which George cynically replied; “It is too late to tell”. “Wait George, don’t you feel it” Lydia whispered with a mother’s intuition. George looked up at the sweltering sun high above more vulture were gliding the drifts. Just then the heat got to him and he wiped the perspiration from his forehead. [up to time index 4:06… from youtube video]
It’s been about two hundred or so calendar days. However, it has been more of a daze. This society is seemingly collapsing under the oppressive weight of Umpa Lumpa narcissist continually doing things for attention like a toddler. I got in the habit of changing the channel or tuning out whenever the name that shall not be mentioned is mentioned. Even my beloved CBC is pressing the controversy. It’s enough to drive any sane person mad? I was already insane and hearing that news sobered me up…
Succumbed to joining the other reindeer in getting an Android box and subscribing to commercial free streaming service. Maybe access to endless B Movies may quell any lingering boredom?
I’m not in a healthy writing routine, Maybe the New Year’ll bring inspiration? But to me it still feels like it’s March !!!
To me, to be Canadian is to encompass all of the stereotypes you can think of. Unapologetically polite. Yet, we’ll say sorry gratuitously. A caring and sharing peoples. Full of hope and joy. Both accepting and welcoming. Astutely polite and witty. We like are coffee with two sugars and two creams. We watch Jeopardy for the double-double entendres. Hockey Night in Canada on Saturday nights over Sunday [American] football. We are accepting of any and all. Get along with everybody — any and all. Welcoming, friendly, love bacon… fresh bagels, poutine — poutine with bacon drizzled in maple syrup not ketchup!!!
We love trying new foodstuffs especially spicy dishes… polar bear swimming, hikes in Algonquin Park, cross-country skiing, tobogganing, playing horse shoes, et m. We work hard and play harder.
Always offings a helping had and quick to joke to break the ice. Can’t go a weekend without a two-four with friends. Unyieldingly apologetic working towards a better tomorrow.
Do whatever you have to do to make the world a better place. Baby steps towards constructing a future worthy of perseverance… I started a tree farm… it’s not much but it’s a step in the correct direction?
However, everyday I encounter peoples full of insolence and ill-will. It’s not the bullies fault that “they” are full of ignorance of what it means to be human. Oh, to be humane and humble. If only we could all afford that luxury. But being kind costs nothing but to dissolve your ego. Keeping your ego in check is key to remaining humble?
The bully in me died years ago. That is to say my persona isn’t governed by the need to be loud or provocative. Silence is golden afterall? There is nothing more beautiful than silence and there seems to be quite a few ugly people out there.
To be human is to be humane. Sure there are those that thrive on appealing to the darker side of human nature but that’s not me. Although, I have been known to have a dark sense of humour and howl at dank jokes. I’ve even considered doing stand-up comedy. This was after my stint on the local poetry scene which got all to political. I like poetry that sounds good yet says nothing. I have a stand-up routine written but I’m not sure any audience would like it?
My sense of humour shifts depending on what I feel like laughing at on that day. Some days I’m laughing my ass off to Daniel Tosh others I’m disgusted by it. Today, I find it off putting because I realize he’s just of privileged loudmouthed arse. Kinda reminds me of the dude at Sobey’s 02062021~1136 loitering beside the eggs in the daily section insulting peoples as they pass by. People just rolling their eyes and continuing on their merry way. Dude must’ve thought he was balling on stage getting laughs from the audience. Really just being foolish lingering at a grocery store in the middle of a pandemic. I can think of better things to be doing on a Saturday morning. Just the sheer arrogance of thinking people want to hear your unsolicited commentary. Not what you’d expect from a cosmopolite society.
“The bully” was educated outta me. I’ve matured and’ve learned how to be respectable. Which mainly means STFU and minding my own business. I have better things to do than say “I’m rubber you’re glue”. Very much reminds me at recess time in elementary school. Children slinging verbal mud at each other trying to see what sticks. “Sticks and stones may break my bones but words”… are just idle chatter. I have better things to do than make a fuss. I go to the grocery store to by food. Food is very essential to civil society. Having an over abundance makes life on Earth less precarious. I’m immeasurably thankful for there being a constant supply of foodstuffs. Although I have been taking hikes geo-caching cans of beans at various green spaces around town. I bury three cans about one foot down. This, call it a hobby I started six years ago. The cans only have a shelf life of two year though… I got the idea after watching The Book of Eli. I’d really like to believe in a future more like Star Trek but fear it’ll be more like Warhammer. I used to volunteer with the local Humanist Movement organization but then got distracted with work. Being a temp is vicarious. Often sporadic hours or for a limited time only. I lost count of all of the sinking ships I’ve temped at. Maybe the ships were sinking due to relying on temps? Kinda reminds me why I don’t fully understand ‘business’. Thinkers versus the do-ers. The educated at the helm. The millwright saying that’s not possible. It can only be created good, fast, cheap but you can only pick two! I choose the ball ? When people are over fed it leads to boredom. Being spoiled leads to stupidly for shits and giggles. So I found a hobby to both promotes wellness and gains me strength. I LARP….
The poetry scene was interesting to say the least. One “poet” would claim to be a starving artist yet had a fridge full of bourgeoisie delicacies. I brought a cheap bottle of wine to an afterhours event and was the target of connoisseurs jokes. The scene kinda had an air of MLM events. Everybody peddling their work. This is where I’m a failure. I’m not good at sales. I’m not selling anything. Although I do try to advocate taking the high road. I’m not certain the road to the future is paved by the Humanist Movement though. Quite a lot of pandering to the audience. It turned into a rumor mill no different than high-school. Teaching civics is different than practicing it. Not to mention the competitive nature of the intellectual sport. Quite a few privileged university educated people complaining about how this world is so unfair. Much irony? I volunteered by putting up posters around town. I still have a few for posterity sake. I didn’t realize if was a broken social scene until after. Not to mention me not being the greatest at socializing and missing social cues.
I’m working on a rendition of In the Company of Men (1997) movie. Not as a screenplay but as a pulp-fiction style novella. Pulp fiction in the sense of being full of sex and violence. Not in the sense of the popular movie?
We all know how “violent” language can be!
Instead two misogynistic corporate men this story has two misandristic feminists that run a poetry slam. The remainder of the plot is vis-à-vis. The women decide to take advantage of / make a weak hearted / soft man fall in love with them. Using their poetry slam scene as hunting grounds for a potential victim. Then try to trick him unto suicide.
It’s going to be entitled ‘In the Company of Womyn’ and will like be published via Kindle Direct Publishing within a month…
After I heard the sad news about Desmond Morton I decided to pick up one of his books. It inspires me to prepare poetry for Remembrance Day. Hopefully I’ll have a polished poem by the time the clock tocks that date.
As for war. In all of the simulations war is the only constant. Something about human nature that makes some people feel the need to dominate/subjugate others. As a pacifist I try to remain nonviolent. Some may see being polite as a weakness but not I said the writer to his blog which nobody reads. Maybe my superpower is gullibility.
More fuel for the ether? Why be nasty violent and vengeful whenceforth you could be a model denizen? Well, I’ve been mistaken for quite a lot of things in life. I’ve been called a dirtbag freeloading hippie, a grungy greasy punk, and other such lowlife lables people like to pin onto a donkey.
I try my best to keep my dejected caricature to my fiction… so until Marshal Law is declared or the moon conspiracy is revealed as false truth. I stay strong and free?
Nothing is as silly as believing all of that folly with an open heart?
So many souls gleeful with darkness? And ‘they’ do their worst to try to change the frequency of your soul! Can’t everybody see the colour of others soli?
Just because someone has darker skin than you doesn’t mean they have a dark heart.
I like the gays with their rainbow soouls. Not to say some don’t encompass darkness. Shimmering iridescent like a raven or a puddle of oil. A pale blackness dancing with the full spectrum like the spectre of this autistic adult waiting at the bus stop?