The Daily Post 11: “Climate Control”

 

BEGIN TRANSMISSION.

 

I’m actually doing one of these BEFORE midnight! Which means I might actually get it done and not fall asleep in a lump!

 

Have fun~

 


 

 

Title:

Prompt:

 

I definitely say that climate has some kind of effect on people’s moods. I mean, ba-dur. It doesn’t have to make any kind of consistent sense, though. Like how some people love hot summer days and I think that just outside of the window is the world slowly being baked to death beneath the unflinching fire of the sun. So to heck with that, time to completely steer myself away from this original point!

So I prefer to think about how weather can affect your thought processes and imaginations. Like how storms for me charge up something deeper and more brutally natural about the world. So, I’m further developing a philosophical trend of thought for a novel/novel pair of mine that involves the trinity of Machine, Sentience, and Nature and Nature certainly isn’t the way we like to think about it on our padded modern world. Nature, as we like to think of it now, can be easily corralled and persuaded to move or be removed so it can fit neatly into our little gardens or groves out behind our homes and other nice stuff like that. When in reality, if nature had its way, it would tear off our faces and wear them as trophies after sucking all the nutrients from our brains, of course. So when I see stuff like thunderstorms and droughts and snowstorms and hurricanes, I can’t help but be reminded just what the ruling of the world’s natural order is:

Humanity likes to think it’s at the top because of its creation of machines that allow it to survive the natural world. And yet, without that assistance, humanity would be consumed in an afternoon by a system that doesn’t care if it lives or die. Nature doesn’t care for art or culture or great legacies because it created all of those things in its earthy, pulsing womb. All that has been created or ever will be created is the product of the natural forces around us that provided all of the atoms and materials and the laws of physics and energy that makes every one of our human creations (from the material to the imaginative and existential). Again, when I see storms blasting bolts of sky-splitting energy or a rainstorm turning a desert into an ocean of flowers (Have you seen those Atacama Desert pictures? That’s what I’m talking about!), it makes me realize just how tiny we humans still are, even with all of our machines. Everything that we make seems to have an edge of disdain for it- disdain for the natural world that seeks to disempower and unmake us at every turn. I suppose that’s something that we humans can be thanked for, the feeling of scorn that drives us to pursue progress at an almost homicidal rate just to ensure that we aren’t subsumed by a force that can crack the freaking sky open with a flick of its finger.

I think I had an ultimate point I was going to try to get at with all of this but now I’m afraid I’ve lost it. Oh well, that’s part of the fun of doing these- the point arises from the process. It also helps that this is usually how I make my little diatribes. I usually just make noise and say things until I realize there was a point there all along that I just wasn’t able to see.

I suppose I could say here that it’s not just weather that affects our moods but our moods affect how weather appears in our eyes- from something to be afraid of or annoyed back to something from which all awe and self-reflection as a person and as a species springs.

If that was all a bit too high-brow of you, here’s a stupid thing I made up recently:

Being killed by Satan should now is called (by me and nobody else ever), “brimstoning.”

 

 

THE OTHERS

 


 

<a href="https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/climate-control/">Climate Control</a>

 

 

There was another dumb thing I made up that I wanted to add up there but then I forgot it. You’ll be spared, readers, this time.

 

 

Good luck, you brave writer folk!

 

END TRANSMISSION.

 

 

 

Advertisements

Daily Prompt 10: “Non-Regional Diction”

 

BEGIN TRANSMISSION.

 

It’s a two-post day today? How very strange. The moons must be in alignment. And there must be two moons… both are disturbing to consider.

 

Have fun~

 


 

 

Title: Non-Regional Diction

Prompt: “Write about whatever you’d like, but write using regional slang, your dialect, or in your accent.

 

 

So, Iveardtha we from Cheecago don’t really hear out own aixcent. I, personally, try to undo the most nasally part of the aixcent. At the very least, I don’t pronounce Cheecago as “ChicAHgo.” I think that just kinda sounds stupid. And yet, I really like learning mor’abou other regional differences in language across the US. And elsewhere I s’pose. Fr’instance, we Cheecagoans refer t’eh tennis shoes as “gym shoes.” I guess because we were always using them in gym class back in school. Also, dijuknow that only Illinois people think it’s right to end sentence with, “with?”  My friend Alec, hoo’sfrom Michigan,  thinks its kinda weird that weecan’ask people if they’d wanna, “come with,” if we’re goin’ somewhere. Instead’ov asking, “do you want to come with me?” Jus’seems wordy to me, honestly.

And I wa’sexperimenting earlier today with m’new microphone. And I think I remember pointing out just how strange my voice sounded sometimes. And I thin’kthat comes from my weirdly gravely voice that’still somehow high-ish pitched. Like I swallowed a cheese grater. Also, there’s one parta’my-mouth that doesn’t really fully open all the way, which makes it’sound like I’m slurring or mumbling more than I usually do.

Som’than-tawork on, I guess.

 

 

THE OTHERS

 


 

 

Pingback:

<a href="https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/non-regional-diction/">Non-Regional Diction</a>

 

I would have gone on further but even those one-and-a-half paragraphs took me about half an hour to do. Which is just too long to dwell on one post!

 

 

 

Good luck, you brave writer folk!

 

END TRANSMISSION.

 

Daily Prompt 9: “The Power of Touch”

 

BEGIN TRANSMISSION.

 

I got nothing. Not even two thought-nickles to rub together.

 

Have fun~

 


 

 

Title: The Power of Touch

Prompt: “Textures are everywhere: The rough edges of a stone wall. The smooth innocence of a baby’s cheek. The sense of touch brings back memories for us. What texture is particularly evocative to you?”

And thanks to Laura Thompson, I guess.

 

 

So, I’m gonna be a rascally little scamp and totally avoid the question.

I’m going to come right out, in some semblance of answering the question anyway, and say that I think that marble, the stone kind, has a very pleasing texture to me. But never in the way that I think it will. To try to explain and sound less insane as a result, whenever I see a marble statue or floor, it always looks and feels, in my mind, smoother than it actually is. I expect it to be the apex of smoothness and the slickest thing since the Fonz. Hey, that’s not registered as a typo- that’s pop culture for you (D’oh, on the other hand, is still seen as a typo).

In other words, what I think I’m going to feel is not what it really feels like. Isn’t that a little bit odd? I mean, to have your brain just manufacture a better feeling of a stone you maybe see once every couple of days and in very small quantities compared to everything else you could possibly touch? I can’t imagine it’s a very survival/evolutionary-based trait.

Oh, and here’s a bizarre side-note: I sometimes have the urge to bite into really smooth surfaces, such as marble and smooth wood. Seriously, it’s true! As a kid I used to try to sink my teeth into the smoothest parts of my bedpost. The teeth marks are still there. I’m looking at them right now! I was a strange kid but no less strange as an adult a physically-larger child.

The feeling extends to wanting to sink my nails or various sharp objects into such surfaces.

I mean, isn’t that just kinda freaking weird? Like, to really put it to paper like this makes it sound even more out of its mind. Not like I mind, this since this stuff really turns heads. Quick, now that everyone’s looking at how much of a freak you are, insert some kind of deep philosophical and humanitarian message into the post!

Later, child, later.

For now, I’m tired and frayed at the edges like paper passed through a tumble drier. I think most people call this phenomenon, ‘Thursday.’ I call it a rallying cry, waking me up to realize that I don’t belong in this nine-to-five, two-day-weekend, world. It’s burdensome enough just living with this council of idiot geniuses (or is it genius idiots?) stuck inside of my head, so all of their stupidly brilliant (or brilliantly stupid) words reflect off the unflinching walls and, with each echo, they gain momentum like a hail of reaping arrows falling down upon the heads of marching knights at Agincourt.

 

Huh?

 

 

THE OTHERS

 


 

 

Pingback:

<a href="https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/the-power-of-touch/">The Power of Touch</a>

 

I wasn’t kidding before, I don’t have anything to say here for once.

 

 

Good luck, you brave writer folk!

 

END TRANSMISSION.

 

 

Friday Fictioneers: “Ruination of Imagination”

 

BEGIN TRANSMISSION.

 

It might just be the enormous ocean of stress on my shoulders right now (I’m not even in school right now but I swear I’m taking finals right now) but I really couldn’t come up with anything for this week. So I’ll just borrow a title from an old poem of mine and  then try to come up with something with little-to-no prior planning.

We’ll see how that goes.

 

Have fun~

 


 

 

Image Copyright: J Hardy Carroll

Image Copyright: J Hardy Carroll

 

Title: Ruination of Imagination

Genre: (Almost) Nonfiction

Word Count: 100

 

 

 

I end up over at the open grave. It’s unmarked but I’m already familiar with it— it belongs to someone I knew very well.

A skeleton lays inside, as if it died waiting. I hoist its skull up to the sun and indeed, “Alas! I knew ye well!”

The detritus of my dear better half is scattered before me, wrapped up like a casserole in paper. Somehow, my head is almost completely empty at the draining sight. It must be that, with his departure, I only try to create noise, if only to avoid silence.

There, pathetically, lies my imagination.

 

 

 


 

 

Meh.

That’s what I think of it. Just meh.

 

 

Good luck, you brave writer folk!

 

END TRANSMISSION.

 

Friday Fictioneers: Live Wire

 

BEGIN TRANMISSION.

 

Based on real events from last night. Filming football games takes a lot of mettle, I assure you. Especially when it’s 40 degrees and windy.

 

Have fun~

 


 

 

Image Copyright: Connie Gayer

Image Copyright: Connie Gayer

 

Title: Live Wire

Genre: Almost Nonfiction

Word Count: 100

 

 

 

The football stadium thrums with life. Our video feed, however, does not.

“We’re live in five minutes, people. Pick up the pace.” My boss tenses over his keyboard like a turtle under attack. The cold inside comes his temper.

“Page?” Someone asks. “Did we forget her?”

“Crap,” my boss said. “She had our video cable.”

“I’m right here,” Page said.

“Right where?”

“Here.”

“No, I mean the cable.”

“I guess I’m able,” Page says, chewing her lip. “I signed up for this, didn’t I?”

“The video cable.”

The crowd outside roars. Football must be a huge deal to some people.

 

 

 


 

 

Boy, when it rains it really pours doesn’t it? It always seems like whenever I actually have free time, there’s a thousand new things that I discover that come crawling out of the ground like zombies. The football filming I referenced in the story is one such 12 hour roadblock/zombie.

 

 

Good luck, you brave writer folk!

 

END TRANSMISSION.

 

 

Flash! Friday: “Judgment Day”

 

BEGIN TRANSMISSION.

 

Pandora just gave me the Skyrim soundtrack on my Enya station. Not like I’m complaining, but Skyrim is Nordic, not Celtic. Those uncultured slobs at Pandora, honestly!

 

Have fun~

 


 

 

Title: Judgment Day

Character: A Man on Trial for Minor Theft

Theme: Justice

Word Count: 260

 

“This man,” the defendant cried, pointing at me, “took something priceless from me that I’ll never get back!”

The sanity in the room is sucked up there’s so many people gasping. Every person in this room is a woman, stunning and glowing with an inner kind of radiance, like the sun behind a cloud. I know all them all. And they all know me to the point where this whole courtroom is just one big jury box.

And I don’t think I’ll like the jury’s verdict.

I stand up. “But Your Honour,” I plead to my first ex-wife, She looks ravishing in that white robe, “she gave it to me willingly!”

The walls are lined with broken clocks. All of their hands point down, like a Roman Caesar sentencing a gladiator. And they chime, pummeling and divine until they hurt my ears. I sit down. The judge never even had to touch Her gavel.

“I’ll never get the time back that you stole from me,” the defendant says, glaring at me. Does she even have a lawyer? Maybe everybody here is one, too. Do I have a lawyer? Nope, just radiant faces reflecting light like sheet ghosts from my past.

“I think you’re overreacting here,” I say. I meant to charismatically laugh but it died in my throat. “We all had fun, right? Better to have love and lost than never at all?”

“You’ve never lost an hour,” the judge says, Her hand going for the gavel with Godly grace. “So for all your loving, its time you lost some.”

 

 

THE OTHERS

 


 

 

And I guess today is my 2-year anniversary with WordPress, neato! Why on earth did I start this up in October? Why did I start this up at all?

Nostalgia will reveal that one day, I’m sure. But it is not this day.

This day we post and go to bed.

 

 

Good luck, you brave writer folk!

 

END TRANSMISSION.

 

 

Friday Fictioneers: “Rivers Flows Through Us”

 

BEGIN TRANSMISSION.

 

Rain’s weird. It’s so damn neutral. Just nature being nature, not messing up lives or helping them. Just continuing the cycle, spinning nature’s big wheel. And it’s too quiet and contemplative to make a real plot out of.

At least my tired brain says so.

 

Have fun~

 


 

 

Image Copyright: Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Image Copyright: Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

 

Title: River Flows Through Us

Genre: Fantasy (?)

Word Count: 100

 

I wish my antlers could grow leaves. I could be more like unto my lord, nature itself. The way each drop falls from one leaf to the next one down to my own head and then to the soil. Rain is nature’s great river, touching everything in its flow on the way down.

My fawns are young but they know this to be true. They hold their heads up skyward, even without their antlers.

We all laugh, content to be part of the flow of the river, while humans run and hide from it all, running from parts of themselves.

 

 

 


 

 

There should be a law about making young people go to bed on Friday before 1:00AM. Just doesn’t seem right.

 

 

Good luck, you brave writer folk!

 

END TRANSMISSION.