Remember The Fallen
And so this is Christmas
But still the shells fly
Machine guns still rattling
Though no-one's sure why.
Not over by Christmas
We clamoured to go
But still we are fighting
For what? We don't know
Friends falling and dying
In squalor and pain
It's not what they told us
Its all death and rain
Remember us fondly
Lest others forget
The war to end all wars.
Did that happen yet?
Remember the fallen
What the poppy is for
For respecting the dead
Not respecting the war.
Lest We Forget.
RELATIVE
She placed the mug on the table and asked me, ‘‘What is it you long for?’’ I guess my attempts at not looking, well, kinda restless failed.
What did I want? I did not really think about it. But one thing I was sure of was that whatever I wanted, or all I desired was just to do something- anything— not really to simply do it to pass time, no, whatever I’ll decide to do will be something that will bring change to things...at least that’s what I long for.
She cleared her throat. Ah, I still hadn’t answered her question. Uh, will she think I’m crazy? Maybe so, maybe not.
Anyway, I actually would like to know what she longs for, too. We might be able to assist each other with getting what our hearts desire~ aye.
#RELATIVE©
28/10/2019, lundi.
The Past Self
The selfishness and ignorance of inexperience
At living in a universe of individuals
Does mutilate my memories of juvinility.
Maturity of consciousness breeds humiliation
Of reactions and responses, and in retrospection,
One ambition keeps repressing the demoralizing:
To vow to keep moving forward.
King Neptune’s daughter
Waves crashed onto the breccia
a young maiden emerged from
the ocean carrying a water owl
she stared at her winged creation
& smiled with tears in her eyes
it was best that she sends the message
her father would be furious to find
out that his daughter had fallen for
a mere mortal~he wasn’t a royal
still that didn’t change how she felt
about him— she loved him and hoped
her father would let them be together.
#KingNeptune’sdaughter©
sunday, 20 october, 2019.
Write Your Genre
Don't stress to impress
if one reader couldn't care less.
Write your truth
(or your lies)
your dreams
(or your nightmares).
Whichever is your toy,
whichever sparks joy.
If you can't, take a break
your life isn't at stake.
Write what you know
and what you want to know
What brings emotion
to your motions.
It's your choice,
your voice.
Here's my final advice:
if that idea has its own:
theme song playlist,
characters (your a-list),
place in your heart,
a mental plot (a start),
Then you're ready when you are
just make sure to shoot for you star!
Genres I Dig
I can go all over the place. I prefer good, literary works where the focus is on character development, but sometimes literary works can get dull. The plots go nowhere, so it takes a deft writer to pull it off. But I loooove when high-quality writers steal plotting from genre fiction: David Mitchell is a master of this.
Some excellent examples of this genre/ literary blending include The Lovely Bones by Alice Siebold, Cloud Atlas by David Mitchell, and Exit West by Mohsin Hamid.
But I also read my fair share of science fiction, probably my favorite genre. The Expanse series by Corey is a fave. As is anything by William Gibson, the Dune books, Iain Banks's Culture series, etc.
I used to read fantasy, but it got old. During college, I realized I'd outgrown it. Though I confess to having read EVERY SINGLE Discworld book by Terry Pratchett and loving their satire. And, of course, I've read the Harry Potter books.
That said, I've recently been introduced to urban fantasy through Neil Gaiman, whom I love. A lot of urban fantasy is YA... and I'm WAY older than YA... but I have found some stuff that I like a lot. Writers like Patricia Briggs and Jim Butcher... whom I enjoyed but stopped reading after he creeped my out by hyper-sexualizing a 15-year-old character.
I also read a lot of crime fiction, preferring cozy mysteries and whodunnits over action. adventure.
That said, when I write, I tend to stick to that magical realist mode. It forces me to focus on character and real, human emotions, but it allows me to bring in genre-driven plote elements like zombies, witchcraft and vengeful spirits. Though I steer clear of "epic quests" and other tropes and use these elements symbolically.
Hope this helps.
poetry reading. In no particular order
AR has done a reading. I see her and want to speak to her. I do not know how to respond. every word takes me such a long time to formulate. We are standing in a doorway, I am extremely moved and conflicted about how to speak. She says something. I can’t remember the exact words (the exact words are important). something about how she doesn’t want my feedback to feel like a gift I am giving her, --I cup my left breast. It seems a way in which I am trying to get out of explaining my difficulty.
There is a space for writers where they have a half an hour to write. They are all men. They are dominating the space. It is a lovely area with big horizontal wooden tables. three in a row with two rows. The men sit there with all kinds of technology and virtually grunt at people. I sign up for some time to write and they give it to me. I have to go away and come back later. I mumble something about how I prefered it when AR was there, as a woman, as an energy.
There is another area, also long wooden tables, vertical and communal. A bar in the front. people are taking a break and having a special lunch. there are energetic discussions. I feel as if I have missed the discussion. I find a space. I have a glass but the man at the bar pours me a special draft in a special glass.
S says he has gone to see my brother perform. Part of the performance is also a talk or something. S says that my brother is losing interest in the talk because everything he did he did for his family to speak to us and if we are not there he does not want to talk.