The 2nd Half Bucket List - Castells
The 2nd Half Bucket List - Castells
October 04, 2024
This picture does not do this activity justice.
I am going to Barcelona, the Barcelona province, the Balearic Islands, or any place where they speak Catalan, and participate in building a Castell.
This will rival somewhere between running into a burning building and walking a tightrope 40 feet off the ground.
Hemingway’s got nothing on me.
The Candy Store is Closed for the Weekend
The Candy Store is Closed for the Weekend
September 27, 2024
I turned the bolt precisely at 5pm on Friday
School had only let out 2 hours prior
It would be financial suicide not to remain open
Especially since today was payday
But what I was selling was not what I advertised
The children could locate candy bars and bubble gum elsewhere
My wares have infinitely more value
Both to the seller and the buyer
The first call came in at 6pm
His voice wanted a dime on Huckleberry in the 4th
I record in dry erase
In case the law wishes to audit my books
Seven more call for Huckleberry in the 4th
All seven wagered in multiple of dimes
To the uninitiated
The Roosevelt equates to ten Franklins
The odds were three to one
After leaving the paddock
The odds increased to four
At the start, they lingered near five
I can cover my losses
I expect others to do as I do
No other wagers arrived before the gates opened
I unplugged the phone for the next 2 minutes
Huckleberry finished first
Eight of my customers received PayPal transfers
I kept the phone unplugged
In lieu of my losses
The Candy Store is Closed for the Weekend
Signage on Saturday morning meaning more than it displays
Hoops on Saturday helped balance back to black
Pigskins on Sunday pushed me into a profit once more
Never underestimate the power of recent paychecks
Being squandered foolishly on a hope and dream
Never believe those who say, “Just one more time.”
For it is never the last time - Of that I am certain
The Spectral Skiers
The sun dipped low on the horizon, painting Lake Ethereal in hues of orange and pink. As the last rays of light faded, two translucent figures emerged from the mist that clung to the water's surface. Whisper and Echo, once avid water skiers in life, now haunted the lake in death, unable to let go of their passion.
Whisper, a wispy silhouette of a young woman, glided across the glassy surface. Her ethereal hair streamed behind her as she effortlessly maneuvered through the placid water. Echo, a tall, slender apparition, followed close behind, his ghostly form leaving no wake.
"Race you to Phantom Point!" Whisper called out, her voice a faint echo on the evening breeze.
Echo grinned, accepting the challenge. The two spectral skiers surged forward, their forms barely disturbing the water's surface. They zipped past weathered docks and slumbering boats, reveling in the freedom of their nightly ritual.
As they neared Phantom Point, a jagged outcropping of rocks that jutted into the lake, Echo noticed a disturbance in the water. A small motorboat, its engine sputtering, drifted dangerously close to the rocks. Two figures huddled inside, their faces etched with fear.
"Whisper, look!" Echo called out, pointing toward the struggling vessel.
Whisper turned, her competitive spirit instantly replaced by concern. "We have to help them!"
The ghosts changed course, gliding swiftly toward the boat. As they approached, they could see a young couple frantically trying to restart the engine. The man, dark-haired and broad-shouldered, yanked on the starter cord with increasing desperation. The woman, her blonde hair whipping in the wind, scanned the shoreline for any sign of help.
"They can't see us," Whisper reminded Echo as they drew near. "How can we help?"
Echo's brow furrowed in concentration. "Maybe we can guide them away from the rocks."
The ghosts positioned themselves on either side of the boat, their spectral forms barely visible in the gathering darkness. With gentle pushes and nudges, they began to steer the vessel away from danger.
Inside the boat, the couple felt a sudden shift. "Jake, did you feel that?" the woman asked, her eyes wide.
Jake nodded, his hand still on the starter cord. "It's like... something's pushing us."
"But there's no current here," she replied, her voice trembling.
As Whisper and Echo continued to guide the boat, they noticed a change in the water's temperature. The lake, usually cool and inviting, began to warm unnaturally. Steam rose from the surface, creating an eerie fog that enveloped the boat and its spectral saviors.
"What's happening?" Whisper asked, her form flickering as the steam passed through her.
Echo shook his head, equally puzzled. "I don't know, but we need to get them to shore fast."
The ghosts redoubled their efforts, pushing the boat with all their spectral might. As they neared the shoreline, a deep, rumbling voice echoed across the water.
"WHO DARES DISTURB THE SLUMBER OF LAKE ETHEREAL?"
Whisper and Echo exchanged alarmed glances. In all their years haunting the lake, they had never encountered anything like this.
From the depths of the lake, a massive, serpentine form began to rise. Scales gleaming in the moonlight, the creature towered over the boat and its ghostly guardians. Eyes like molten gold fixed upon the terrified couple and the spectral skiers.
"It's the Lake Guardian," Echo whispered in awe. "I thought it was just a legend."
The Lake Guardian's gaze softened as it regarded Whisper and Echo. "Ah, the Spectral Skiers. You have watched over these waters for many moons. Why do you bring these living ones into my domain?"
Whisper moved forward, her form shimmering with determination. "Great Guardian, these humans were in danger. We only sought to help them reach safety."
The serpentine creature considered this, its ancient eyes studying the trembling couple in the boat. "The living have their own world. They do not belong here in the twilight realm."
"Please," Echo pleaded, "allow us to guide them back to shore. We promise to keep your existence a secret."
The Lake Guardian remained silent for a long moment, steam swirling around its massive form. Finally, it spoke. "Very well. But know this: your actions have consequences. To maintain the balance between the world of the living and the realm of spirits, a price must be paid."
With those ominous words, the Lake Guardian sank back into the depths, leaving behind a wake of churning water and mist.
Whisper and Echo wasted no time in pushing the boat to shore. As the hull scraped against the pebbly beach, Jake and his companion scrambled out, falling to their knees on solid ground.
"What... what was that?" the woman gasped, her eyes wild with fear and wonder.
Jake shook his head, unable to form words. He pulled her close, both of them shaking as they tried to process what they had experienced.
Whisper and Echo hovered nearby, invisible to the couple but acutely aware of the change that had come over the lake. The water churned with an otherworldly energy, and the mist seemed to pulse with an eerie, greenish light.
"We should go," Echo said softly. "The Guardian spoke of consequences."
Whisper nodded, casting one last glance at the shaken couple. "I hope they'll be okay."
As the ghosts glided back onto the lake, they felt a strange tugging sensation. The water, once their playground, now seemed to resist their presence. Their spectral forms flickered and wavered, as if struggling to maintain their shape.
"Echo, what's happening to us?" Whisper cried out, her voice growing fainter.
Echo reached for her hand, his own form becoming increasingly transparent. "I think... I think this is the price the Guardian spoke of."
As they watched, their ghostly bodies began to dissolve into the mist. Panic gripped them as they felt their consciousnesses start to fade.
"No!" Whisper shouted, fighting against the pull of oblivion. "We can't just disappear! We have to protect the lake!"
In that moment of desperation, something extraordinary happened. Instead of dissipating completely, their essences began to merge with the lake itself. They felt their awareness expand, spreading out across the water, into every wave and ripple.
Gradually, the panic subsided, replaced by a sense of wonder and belonging. They were no longer just ghosts haunting the lake; they had become part of it.
"Echo?" Whisper called out, her voice now indistinguishable from the lapping of waves on the shore.
"I'm here," came the reply, carried on the evening breeze. "We're... everywhere."
As their consciousness settled into this new state of being, Whisper and Echo realized the true nature of their transformation. They had become the new guardians of Lake Ethereal, tasked with protecting both the living and the spirits that called these waters home.
In the days that followed, Jake and his girlfriend, Emily, tried to make sense of their extraordinary experience on the lake. They told their story to anyone who would listen, speaking of mysterious forces that saved them from certain doom and a glimpse of something ancient and powerful in the water.
Most dismissed their tale as the product of fear and an overactive imagination. But a few listened with wonder, and soon, whispered stories of the haunted Lake Ethereal began to spread.
Tourists and thrill-seekers flocked to the lake, hoping to catch a glimpse of the legendary Lake Guardian or the ghostly water skiers. But Whisper and Echo, now one with the water, kept the lake's secrets safe. They guided lost boats to shore, calmed treacherous waters during storms, and maintained the delicate balance between the world of the living and the realm of spirits.
On quiet nights, when the moon hung low over the water, locals swore they could hear the faint laughter of two young spirits, still reveling in their eternal water skiing adventure. And sometimes, if one looked closely, they might catch a glimpse of two shimmering forms skimming across the surface of Lake Ethereal, leaving no wake but sending ripples of magic through the water.
Jake and Emily eventually married, building a small cabin on the shores of Lake Ethereal. They became the lake's unofficial caretakers, working to preserve its natural beauty and sharing carefully curated stories of its magic with those who would appreciate them.
Years passed, and the legend of the Spectral Skiers grew. Children played at being ghost water skiers, and local artists captured the ethereal beauty of the lake in paintings and photographs. Through it all, Whisper and Echo watched over their beloved waters, their love for each other and for Lake Ethereal as eternal as the cycles of the moon reflected on its surface.
And so, the story of two ghosts who loved to water ski became a tale of transformation, protection, and the enduring power of passion. Whisper and Echo had found their true purpose, not just as spirits clinging to a past life, but as integral parts of the natural world, guardians of the delicate balance between realms.
Their story served as a reminder to all who visited Lake Ethereal that magic exists in the world for those willing to see it, and that love—for a place, a passion, or a person—can transcend even the boundaries between life and death.
As the sun sets each evening on Lake Ethereal, painting the sky in brilliant hues, two shimmering forms can sometimes be seen gliding across the golden waters. And those lucky enough to witness this spectacle are left with a sense of wonder and a story they'll carry with them for the rest of their lives—a story of two ghosts who water skied their way into legend and found, in the end, that their greatest adventure was just beginning.
Ineffable
Ineffable
September 22, 2024
The colors
More than the spectrum
Colors between colors
Colors without names
Colors seen nowhere else
The tranquility
Silence at negative decibels
Holding still
Almost posing
Perfectly undisturbed
The majesty
Heaven above
Meets Earth below
Synchronicity
Woven at the interface
The longevity
A comb swept stunning beauty
Not long for this world
Out of time with appreciation
My limerence object
Of jagged teeth, concubine of catastrophe, mark of midnight, and rivers of honey.
Four writers were approaching, and the wind began to howl...except replace wind with bloodletting of words, and ink into veins from these authors blessed and crazed with no other way to let it out, than to put it across a screen, and into our hearts with only pure aim.
Here's the link to the show:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1s3J_TYQqaM
And here are the pieces featured.
https://www.theprose.com/post/828745/king-of-california https://www.theprose.com/post/828053/the-drug-in-me-is-you https://www.theprose.com/post/828235/mile-run https://www.theprose.com/post/828263/the-only-shore
And.
As always.
Thank you for being here.
-The Prose. team
Embers
Flakes of creation pranced Infinite bound
Cosmic darkness, clashing gray puffed clouds and
Rustic fields fortuned by dandelion wisps
Wailing against ocean deep canvas clouds
Simulations clamored red eyes of stardust
Novae laughter locked light kevlar hatred,
Platelets scurried to sparred rifts, en garde new
Hell ten year holocaust, sauna mist drowns
Arctic iced whiskey cup; talk and talk 00-4
Burn every nuclear home- just as you did
Before. Aims wished sanctuary ashes
Away, Cowells at bay staring into
Fiery magma fins, sweet tangerine walls
Lashing tepid shed roof, wooden spine squeals
Sundered focal synapse: revolution
Revved as bumbling coupe engine, medals granted
Devil’s tongue spiraling in ears of young agents,
Hard fought! Clouded Cowells picked up Book of Dreams
Ripped page of Love, evolving revolver
Squandered, point, aim, shoo. Entity Aims access
To Oceanside granted. Prepare for War.
00-4 said in a gravelly commanding voice,
Legion gravitas dissipating, next
Awaits. Cowells gait slow and militant.
Neon mist crisp emerald blades, residue like
Faint oasis dreams, crystalline waterfalls
Splash weary leafy seams, above seas collapse;
Foggy fingers clasp to new day's sanguine glove.
Crisp autumn air reveals trails of clotted char
Streaks, livid vinyl crackles popped coffin den,
Devils suited, cloaked, petrified by plasma
Cotton candy haze- Hellfires spin to HQ.
Colt clipped, one round chambered, boulevards
Freshly lit, Coupe consumes tar roads, Gaul Heights
Prowling, sirens scatter pedestrian
Wards, youth inhale rotten flesh stench, plasma
Churns, gurgling cotton candy vents, cherry
Swirls unwind tonight's chapter. Petrified
Breath batters Book of Dreams, fresh yellow pages
Glow elliptical, Eden returns to mind
Drink the witches brew, swirling raspberry
Chamber drools cold exhaust, nights cost sanity
Coupe swerves with turbo thrust, escape the plains;
Pink city bound, cruel bars claw tinted glass,
Aims inhales midnight smog, tar fuses flesh
Late teens talk tactics, plain fashion, laughs
Echo sidewalks, alleys, veins of the city
Report to HQ command- dropoff- engage…
Cowells brushes onyx curls, ladies lurk drunk;
Quick punch paces livened liver, quiver
Unleashes snake chain gun ballistics, strange
Dame lights red and blue skyline- minds eye trails…
Dips, scrolls; Doom is imminent, intimate
Encounters flower Aims tequila shots:
Call me love, late in my premonition;
Navy blue tears confide in war torn lands
I know where you lurk:
Devil's Den
New Disciples.
I claim Heaven as my Hell
Paradise supplied in layers
Digital players spike
Cherry peace.
Flee
Mile Run
to be the one who died alone
upon the salt wood of an old and rotting whiskey bar
to be the black haired phantom
with obsidian eyes
swift and sober at the
mark of midnight
watch the ladies of the night
wear lilac white and scream beautiful obscenities
watch gamblers stumble home
to suicide
covering moth infested
memories of bankruptcy
with a mouth full of iron
to be the one who
met the devil there
only to outshine him
with a side eye of disgust
the path to wisdom
a slow mile run
Sea Of Teenage Tragedies
Teenage trauma
Drunk your milk
Boiled through bones,
As it swallowed split marrow
Through a chasm of groans,
Its Greek chorus
Of nervy phantom wolves
Howling ritual dirge,
Under rumpled velvet skies
Dearth of moon’s candle.
Storming furies in kettles
With galled steam spitting haze,
Throw brutal scorched screams
Clawing classroom walls.
Draws bosom cleaved tides,
And white knuckled seaside,
Your sinking pillow fantasies
Upon your sickbed of life,
Leaving blood ocean’s smeared prints
On stained glass windows,
In the cryptic cobwebbed convent
Of mind.
Teen royal
You could have been
If God’s stitch
Knitted a robe,
But the tailor of dreams,
Hacked at your clothes,
To devour skimmed dreams
From the cream of your soul.
Teenage tragedies
Wore you down
To quartz quartered stone,
Crushing you
With the brittle edged ache
Of hollowed heartbreak,
As you sailed away from the wailing Furies.
Those devil horned years
Are now just a tinny moan
Of sulking memory.