‘A black cat crossing your path signifies that the animal is going somewhere.’
~ Groucho Marx
I would say I have been neglecting my lovely blog long enough…although it was for a good reason, but such is life. We can’t let anyone defeat us. And by ‘we’ (psycho alert!), I mean myself.
It is strange that just putting down these few words makes me feel better. {[Better doesn’t exactly express my state of being but I can’t think of a better (aargh!) word no, scratch that – suitable word]. (And yes, I think it is totally appropriate to apply brakes from mathematics to writing. Brackets are sexy.)}
So I need to get myself organized [the US loving auto-correct keeps changing it to organised (and it looks too soft without the z)]. Me thinks a new list is in order – new list of existing writing challenges. A to Z challenge anyone? That is the main one for the time being but there is also the new Fiction in 50 and all the beautiful Daily prompts I haven’t checked in (cliched phrase alert!) what feels like ages. I have to look up the rest (too tired to do it now).
Also, it is the time of the lent. Or so I was told. My colleagues and friends are giving up things: alcohol, chocolate, cigarettes, using lifts etc. I gave up my cat. Not because it’s lent. Because she had cancer. Aggressive one. I miss her. She was the gentlest animal I have had the pleasure to meet….I guess I should have put ‘morbid alert’ in brackets before writing this.
Anyways, random state of mind = random post. Be well.
Indifference by Dan Rhodes
Not wanting the intensity of my love to drive Skylark away, I feigned indifference. I worried that this tactic wasn’t working; seeming bored in my company, she would keep looking at her watch as though impatient to go somewhere far better. Even so, we would always disinterestedly arrange to meet up again. When, besotted, I casually suggested we get married, she shrugged her shoulders and, yawning, said, ‘Whatever.’ I couldn’t believe my luck. The man asked us whether we were prepared to love and cherish one another forever. Skylark said she might as well, and I told him I supposed so.
The Black Spiral
Someone I don’t know
Is living in my head
He sees the whole world
Just in shades of red
My opinions are his food
He grows stronger on thin air
Mining through my prejudice
Feasting on my fear
A never ending whirlpool
Sweeps me without fight
A bottomless sinkhole
Devours everything in sight
The blackhole in my mind
Collapses in forever
Making my most idiotic thoughts
Seem so very clever
Oh Anger! Oh Hate!
Gentle shouts, violent whispers cease
Leave me to live my life
To live my life in peace
——–
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Quote of the Day
“You cannot eliminate Poverty by giving people Money.”
~ Marc Faber
Roy, the Toxic Boy by Tim Burton
.To those of us who knew him– his friends –we called him Roy.To others he was knownas that horrible Toxic Boy..He loved ammonia and asbestos,and lots of cigarette smoke.What he breathed in for airwould make most people choke!.His very favorite toywas a can of aerosol spray;he’d sit quietly and shake it,and spray it all the day..He’d stand inside of the garagein the early-morning frost,waiting for the car to startand fill him with exhaust..The one and only timeI ever saw Toxic Boy crywas when some sodium chloridegot into his eye..One day for fresh airthey put him in the garden.His face went deathly paleand his body began to harden..The final gasp of his short lifewas sickly with despair.Whoever thought that you could diefrom breathing outdoor air?.As Roy’s soul left his body,we all said a silent prayer.It drifted up to heavenand left a hole in the ozone layer..
Fruits of Workshops
I had few attempted starts at writing. All shipwrecked on the shores of isolation. a.k.a. writer’s block. So I enrolled my confused mind to a creative writing course. First thing they tell you is to write. Write. Don’t think about what you are writing. Just write. Write down the first thing that comes to your mind. Describe first thing you see. Who you’ve met. Anything. Nonsense. Let it flow. Don’t think about it. Don’t edit. Don’t judge. And it worked. Something started to emerge from that cloud of meaningless words. An idea. Thought. It was addictive. It still is.
I have joined few workshops since then and there is one group I attend rather regularly. Are you not sure about committing yourself? No worries. One day workshops are synonym to fun and are filled to the brim with complete randomness, such as:
Small wall west of waste
hiding fighting trolls of Wales.
Fudge is smudged and judge is dead
Jet is off, the bets are set.
In this particular one we also collectively created a story about a unicorn, a lost lamb arguing with a robin underneath a branch suspended on nothingness and an angel (wearing a suit) stealing apples.
Go and have some fun. Explore. Get inspired. When normal people who happen to be aspiring writers gather in one room, magic ensues. Or madness. Depends how you look at it.
“Khaleesi” byTonya Ingram and Venessa Marco
“Khaleesi”
us women; merely second opinion
but first appetite
are taught early how to restrain the wolves,
when the men converge
all gnawing teeth and salivating fangs
these insatiable men who snarl us out of our lineage
sabertooth non-believers who cannot consider
how loud we can be
how brass and trombone this world has played us
there is no place here to
unravel yourself for them
bow your head
unlearn your name
for those of us
who introduce
the bold- face of mouth
become a whore’s tooth
become agile breast
become unbounded thighs
I learned to be quiet
when the anvils of
a false prophet
mistook my 13
for playground
only the quiet survive
I saw my mother
give her body to a man
she didn’t even know
didn’t even love like that
my eyes swallowed the whole of him and her
and all that it meant
to know who I came from
shook loose her skin
the last time a lover begged for me beautiful
for origami hands someone
who could crease fold his skin
I told him
I was the aftermath of paper
when it bows out of pretty
when the wind smacks it straight on its back
we’ve been smacked straight on our backs
too often for someone to assume us to be fragile daughters of eve
simple creatures only of night
and the devil who plagues us
we are not only a mouth and luring siren
we are the women
who dare think of ourselves as more than a fuck
when we lend are thoughts to breath
we know often
we are speaking the words that will kill us
for we are then called
bitch
cunt
whore
never a voice
just static sound
I learned to yell
when I met the devil
he would make cigarette burns
on my mother and call it chimney
birthed me a riot
now I speak with intention
will not cower to the buildings of men
who belittle me orphan
chastise all that I have to say
it is always too much or nothing
all nag or too shy
when your voice is a shot gun: a warning
to the careless
they will make sweetmeat out of you
go ahead
I have seen hell enough times
to know its scorch
it has taught me to forge this voice into a sword
sharpened tongue that’ll carve the bones
back into your lost
your stone-jaw threat does not cause my peace to be still
this is our birthright
this is our inherit
we are women who capsize entire crowds
with the sayings of the wind
holy knuckles
full
of fight
The search by Barbara Marsh
I questioned everything alive –
beetles, daddy longleg spiders,
the crayfish at the bottom of the yard
in Mr Sampson’s pond, the pond
that appeared and disappeared
with the rain and provided frogspawn
for my bucket. I kept it in the garage,
watching as it became small-tailed beings,
before the squatter bodies, their struggles
to evolve and survive without being
eaten by their own kind. The harm
lay in forgetfulness and I don’t remember
that they died; I can’t recall what I did
with them. Perhaps I put them back
in the pond, or took them to school,
poor little black dots of anxiety,
their only world red plastic, seconds wide.
From To The Boneyard
Dear Tutor
I have started studying at university three years ago. I have chosen a subject close to my heart and one I believe should be introduced to everyone. I remember the excitement when I became an official student again, the enthusiasm I was filled with, the prospect of boosting to my friends about a second degree. I remember the first day – students and tutors discussing together and in groups, the room was alive with eagerness to learn. I remember one of the tutors especially. He was brilliant. Knowledgable, engaging, smart, entertaining and I was little disappointed that I wasn’t assigned to his group. Although my tutor turned out to be rather brilliant himself.
My first course was amazing. I couldn’t wait to sign up to another. And another. And another. Some more digestable than others. Last year I signed up as well. I dropped out after two weeks. I just couldn’t find the time. Of course few months later, I have signed up to a new one. Dedicated to renewable technologies and guess who was to be my tutor? I was delighted. Then I missed the first tutorial. I knew that I would not finished this course either.
I work full time. I go to the gym four times a week to get in the shape for all the half-marathons, marathons and 100km runs I have decided to do this year. (Ok, the 100km is ‘just’ an endurance walk but I did it last May. It is super-tough.). I have found passion for creative writing and this little blog was born. I also have friends that I actually like to meet from time to time and I don’t really mind coming across some occasional entertainment and even romantic interaction.
As anyone juggling too many interests or projects knows, something must eventually go. Ideally, it would be work. Problem is, the work pays the rent, food, going out, studying, workshops, travelling and everything. I am not giving up writing or running either. There is too much passion involved in those two. I will be 34 in August and I live with a member of the feline kind so I cannot really abandon the social life. People might start to talk.
I don’t struggle with the studying material, I have actually read most of the +500 pages book, but I have not even attempted to submit the assignment. It is not that I lost interest in the subject. Environment, sustainability and renewable technologies are to me more important than ever. It’s just that I lost interest in the assignments, projects, deadlines and exams. All of the excitement has slowly evaporated like rainwater from pavements. The magic is gone. And yes I know it sounds foolish because I have invested money and time that now seems to be wasted. Not to me. I have learnt great deal of things that no one can take away from me. But I don’t want to do things because of money or because they are rational. I want to do things with passion. With my heart. Not with my head.
Eva Marasca 