Velvet Verbosity

Though this video is about human sex trafficking, it touches on how pornography and the pornification of our culture is driving demand that is creating more and more victims every year. I found this through the Second Carnival Against Pornography and Prostitution where I was linked. Not sure how they found me, but I’m honored to be doing my part. Over at A Room of Mama’s Own, MPJ sums up pretty well how it is a problem of the spirit, not one of morality, prudishness, or censorship. I agree with her, though I still think things go much deeper and there is clear and compelling evidence that actual people are being harmed directly and indirectly. This video highlights how demand drives the sex industry as a whole, and thus contributes to human sex trafficking. I won’t apologize for making you feel squirmy. We all should.

http://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=8237966222974862949&hl=en

Distractions, obstacles, sickness, sun, work and obligations. It is a never ending merry-go-round.

So before you can think about that I didn’t post on Sunday as I had planned, let me distract you with this week’s submissions for 100 Words on Distraction.

The Wandering Author was so inspired by distraction that he wrote TWO submissions. Rock on WA! I loved the irony of the first one.

Distraction

Eyes on the controls before him, Thurman struggled to concentrate on the reaction he was expected to monitor and control. Distraction is your enemy. They’d drilled that into him during training. Distraction kills. Making the continual necessary corrections was nearly impossible even with the reminder. One of the visiting bigwigs had brought an assistant, a tall, lushly built redhead in a dress that concealed little more than it had to. One glimpse left him hopelessly aware of her presence. She leaned over his shoulder, curious. Thurman had just time to think distraction kills as the fireball incinerated the control room.

Distraction

It is best to avoid distraction while writing, lest some catchy jingle such as Nothing But Gingerbread Left disrupt the flow of your thoughts. If you are distracted, the result may be a very good cat, with whole phrases or sentences nonsensical or out of place. If you do find yourself with nothing but gingerbread left, you may be forced to discard whole paragraphs you’ve written. It can be difficult to pet a purring cat in your lap while typing, or reconstruct your ideas later. A distracted writer is a catnip carrot. Only those who can concentrate should eat gingerbread.

Lceel, that clever guy, wrote this delightful 100 Words on a certain weekday morning distraction.

“Where are you going?”
“I have to get up and go to work.”
“Can’t you just cuddle for a little while?”
“Well, okay, just for a few minutes though. I have to get ready.”
“Well? Get a little closer.”
“How’s this?”
“Better. But put your hands here … warm me up.”
“Warm you up? How is putting my hands there going to warm you up?”
“Not there, silly. THERE.”
“Oh .. okay .. you know, I really don’t have time for this.”
“But I’m feeling so much warmer now.”
“Yeah .. me, too.”
“Do you REALLY have to go?”
“Well .. maybe not this minute ….”

The Night Blogger is new to 100 Words, and a High School student. It’s a cheerful thing to know that there are students who still take an interest in writing. Please hop over to Night Blogger and show your support.

In the front of the classroom is a drone; the buzzing of a thousand killer bees. I ignore it. Why pay attention? Test tomorrow. I force my eyes to the whiteboard but the squiggly red lines dance continuously like some obscure African ritual. It’s not the sunlight outside that’s so tempting. It’s the clouds. I want to jump in the puddles, though I’m trapped here with learning shoved down my throat. It is such a pleasant distraction. I can’t help but want to touch that rainy sunless sky with fingers far too short to reach so far into the heavens.

Secret Agent Mama, though not a High School Student in real life, plays one on her blog reminding us how fulsome life was during adolescence.

A million thoughts race. A hundred-thousand feelings surge. A thousand regrets weigh heavily. A hundred tears fall mercilessly. All because of you.

I’m careless.
I’m fearful.
I’m clumsy.
I’m numb.
I cannot understand why you fluster me so!

Why won’t my mind put you to rest? Why can’t I just let go? Why do I torture myself so? Why is this so hard?

These thoughts, my feelings, rugged regrets, bitter tears; they are going to be irrelevant one day, I’m sure. However, now they bountiful and it’s a p p a r e n t that I need a new distraction in my [teenage] life.

Sadie is back trying to distract us from our lives. As they say, Distraction loves company.

Dishes, Laundry, Beds to be made, Children to be fed –

Oooh, look! It’s So You Think You can Dance! Premiering tonight!

Dinner dishes sitting, dishwater cooling, piles of laundry to be folded –

Did I update my blogs today? Oh, computer, you suck me in – look! – Fussy posted pictures! Jennifer’s making me giggle again! Oh dear, and Holly is being animated again! How can I compete? Do I need a new layout? Look at the new games available!

Wait – it’s one in the morning! Crap, and I still have a messy house, and my family is asleep. What did I miss?

Welcome to JM’s “Monkey Mind”. Don’t get distracted!

I came here to… Man. I really don’t want to. I mean, there is no reason not to, but I’d just rather…

Crap. Did I take… Yeah. I can see it from here. On the couch. Hm. Maybe that’s the problem. I should be at…

What was that noise? I could have sworn it was… Yeah, maybe not. I always did have an active imagination. Maybe that’s why I collect all those funky…

Ew. Dust. I definitely – Oh! I haven’t put away the laundry. Man! I should have done that…

Why am…

Oh, yeah. I have a book to write.

You have to visit Mr. Lady to see the picture that accompanies this post! Priceless.

We rose from dinner, boys running outside to indulge in the last of the fleeting sunlight, baby off to play. Once the evening tea was brewed, a few minutes of quiet fell over the house. Beds waited to be turned, dishes waited to be washed, but even I could not resist the cool evening air, the still of twilight, the crisp night air of spring.

I stepped out on my deck, tea in hand, and soaked in the first moments of peace the day saw fit to bring. It’s a good thing the baby can find things to keep herself occupied.

Sassy Mama Bear, our resident poet, gives us another gem.

Drifting away, leaving
Like a balloon floating on the wind
into the great blue sky…

I try to focus, think
come back to the here and now
to stop being distracted…

Yet my imagination rules
the creative juices flow
as my mind drifts away…

Silly thoughts, fears, worries
Manuscripts written in my mind
Never pen and paper to meet…

I am most lost to this
journey of distraction, and attraction
at the time when…

Sleep is just about
to take control of my soul
the pillow is my cloud…

Dreams while awake,
Not having memory come morning
A regrettable mistake.
~ Penelope Anne Bartotto
May 24, 2008

This week’s challenge (see here for details on how you can play) is from Shadows of the Mind by Roger Penrose. A book on the science of consciousness, because yeah, I’m a geek like that.

Against

Want.

What is it we think we want? It is different things for different people. Some want the American Dream; house, kids, SUV in the driveway, big screen TV, and a manicured lawn. This fly buzzing and beating it’s wings against the window wants to find it’s way outside, and after an hour or so, it will finally fly out into the morning through a small crack in the window frame. The elderly lady with big ears and a checkered shirt at the counter wants a Jelly Stick and a coffee to go, and inexplicably I want to wrap her into a hug and smile into her face.

My internet was down folks, so I couldn’t get this post up until this morning. I wanted to get it up sooner, but we don’t always get what we want, do we?

Let’s start with The Wandering Author

Want was all Michael had ever known, the one thing he understood. It was a mixture of cold and hunger seasoned with fear. Watching his brothers and sisters turn hairless and thin as sticks, seeing his mother’s dull eyes follow them as she slowly wasted away, every cell of his body crying out in want, he was the last of his family. He died alone, surrounded by their bodies. All the while, mocking the want that consumed him, food left Ireland’s shores to feed the demands of mercantilism. Experts agreed with the British politicians such inhumanity was the best decision.

Fiction Scribe

Want. Need. Lust after. Desire.

Such delicious words for such an often unpleasant thing. Want. Everyone wants. That’s all they seem to do sometimes. Want a hand, your time, your opinion, your money, your space, your reference, your last piece of the death by chocolate cake.

All I want is some peace and quiet.

Maybe some time to relax as well. With a magazine and a bubble bath. Kiwi and apple scented bubble bath. And candles. A lot of scented candles around so I can read and relax. Enjoy.

That sounds nice.

So maybe want isn’t such an unpleasant thing.

Secret Agent Mama gives us a twofer.

Sometimes what we want isn’t what we have, and sometimes what we have isn’t what we need.
Sometimes what we need isn’t what want, and sometimes what want isn’t what we can have.
Sometimes what we have isn’t what we need, and sometimes what we need isn’t what we want.

—————————————————-

I often feel tiny, invisible, a speck of dust. Like I could blow away and it wouldn’t even matter; I’d just join all the other particles floating around in a void, a blurry haze. I want to feel huge, discernible, a precious metal. I just want to matter to you.

LCeel

In the city, the thin wail of the baby echoes around the small room. He was born drug addicted and he is hungry. There is no food and his mother is dry. He was born to it.

In the countryside, a starving young woman whose baby has died drags herself to the Free Clinic, hoping to find food. She has had it thrust upon her.

In the mountains, the old miner is slowly dying of black lung disease. Since the mines closed up, he can’t afford care. It just wasn’t anything he expected.

Given a name, the ‘it’ is Want.

Judith Shakespeare. You might want to grab a towel or open a window first.

(Want in 100 Words)

The honey drips softly, sweetly,

thick and heavy from your lips.

I taste your breath but briefly,

and suckle at the delicacy you boldly deign to offer.

All that is elegance and beauty, your hands quick to roam…

Smug in their discovery:

content with these small indulgences of their own.

You smile as you taste my shame.

I labor against your hold.

I bloom, blush, unfurl…

Speaking softly to your hips, I grow bold.

You press closer and smile your knowledge.

I quietly sob, rage, then soften.

I taste of you and you of me-

The honey all but forgotten.

Sassy Mama Bear has a new blog just for writing! Go check it out.

To want.
To need.
How do we know the difference between the two?
I want to know happiness, to never feel afraid.
I want to feel secure, to know the world is not falling apart around me.
I want much.
Yet, what do I need?
I need true love, wait I have that.
I need unconditional love, wait I have that too.
I need much, and yet it seems I have these things.
So I return to want.
What to want?
I want happiness, for you and me.
I want peace for eternity.
To want, is to have no need.
~ Penelope A. Bartotto
May 17, 2008

And last but not least, Jeremy is back with

Here at the point where want becomes need
Is where I find myself in greatest danger
Leaving myself open to the flames of desire
Unafraid of burns, but of being blinded
Blinded by the smoke that may come
When the flames subside

It’s lonely out here at this point
This may be the one from which I won’t return
But I’m not one to shy from want
Instead I embrace it
If only in the hope that it won’t engulf me
Then again, I can think of worse losses in life
Like the ones that result in not living it

From “Drinking: A Love Story” by Caroline Knapp, I bring you

Distraction

As I said it was 1999. It was the end of an unwanted marriage, and the beginning of beginnings. I was taking classes at a community college in preparation for transferring into a four year college. Partly because this is how you have to do things when you interrupt your college career and partly because I just needed to get started and it was the only college available to me where I was. I had been burning with the need to finish my education and I didn’t want to wait any longer for all the circumstances to be right.

I met RT during my World Religions class, the same class where I read The Four Noble Truths for the first time. Our teacher was the reverend of a local Unitarian church and a wise, gentle woman. She saw that a few of us were intensely interested in Buddhist thought so she arranged to have the director of a nearby meditation center come and speak to us. Most of us had lived provincial lives tucked into the mountains of Vermont and the idea that there was a real live Buddhist living close enough to pay us a visit kind of rocked our perceptions. RT walked in to the small classroom and sat in the middle of our U of desks. He was abnormally tall and watching him fold himself gracefully into a small classroom chair was a simple delight.

RT sat for a few moments before he began to speak. I couldn’t pretend to know anyone else’s mind, except that afternoon you could hear a pin drop as we waited for this elegant man to speak. Though we didn’t know why or how, this man was different from most folks we had come across until then. It wasn’t that he was tall, or elegant, or composed, or strangely self-confident. There was something more that made us hang on his every word even though he said nothing particularly profound. The truth is, I can’t remember a single thing he said, but I can see him, see him walk in, sit down, fold his large hands around the seat of the chair underneath him, and see his face and smile as clear as if he were sitting here now.

A bubbly mirth ran through RT. He seemed always on the verge of laughter as though everything were delightful and funny. That struck me. That I could put my finger on. I’d met plenty of happy enough people in my life, but not with this level of absolute ease. I looked for any hint of fallacy, any evidence of a facade. Nothing. He was just…there. Really there. It was so simple it was remarkable. Stunning really.

It was then that I knew I needed more than some text, enlightening as that experience was. I needed to become a practitioner of Buddhism.

Ah Eden. Paradise lost. Was it ever real or merely a construct of human imagination, a place created in the mind to explain and ease our suffering? A past and future promise that there is a place we can return if only we get “it” right.

Yesterday I discovered that I missed the deadline for a local arts grant by HOURS. I had been checking and checking their site waiting for the deadline and details to be announced sometime in April. Then I got sick with this fatigue and it was all I could do during that time to get up and get my daughter to school in some approximation of “on time”, and then work. My limbs, even my fingers, felt hollowed out and fragile like an abandoned wasp’s nest. I could move, I could think, I could stay awake, but it took so much will. By the end of the work day, all that pumping of will power left me mentally exhausted and I forgot all about checking the arts council site. I would just crawl under the blankets and stare with dry eyes at the television. I couldn’t move, but I couldn’t sleep either. As I’ve already said, I’ve now seen more movies in the last few weeks than I’ve seen in the last 5 years. Being a couch potato is as alien to me as walking on two legs is to cats. It’s just not in my nature. That alone tells me just how sick I’ve really been.

My point? I’m not sure I have one except that I feel as far from the grace of Eden as one could get, and missing that deadline by such a small margin was the exclamation point on a bad few weeks. Let’s get to the 100 Word submissions for Eden.

This week, Jeremy emailed me this delicious entry. The link to his site is for his book, you won’t find this entry there.

So, this was Eden, the magical garden where life began, at least, she thought, for her. It was the small garden outside the church in the town where they first met, where they put off getting married until spring, when it could be in that garden so family, friends, and God could enjoy the sunshine they brought to each other’s lives, the love. She toddled through here as a child so many times, she knew each rock, rose, and root. And she now held them both, brought them back, to where it all began, to become part of it forever.

Sassy Mama Bear asks if Eden can exist.

Eden, can it exist? Where could one find a place that qualifies as paradise? Does such a place exist that could ever meet everyones needs? Is there a tangibility to the word?
Or is Eden a state of mind? A sense of perfect happiness, sublime bliss?
Have you found your Eden? Is it a place or a feeling?
Are you still searching? Will you know it when it is there?
Was there once a garden, where God started humankind? Are the gates still waiting somewhere for the right person to find them again?
Do we have that power within us?
~ May 8, 2008

The multi-talented Secret Agent Mama is back from vacation with poetic vengeance.

Her head is seemingly filled with
A senseless silence

Despite constant efforts to increase the volume
There’s still a personal void

This emptiness often muted
By the sounds she chooses to muddle life with

I’ve tried to tell her
I’ve tried to make it clear

But my words are too softly spoken for her to hear
She doesn’t understand why it can’t be easy

Why can’t she just recreate that melodic tune
That personal eden

Where there’s more light than dark
Where there’s more love than hate

She’s trying to amplify and resound
So….she opens her mouth and sings

Lceel reminds us all of the innocence around us every day. By the way, Lceel, aside from being a loyal player of 100 Words, and flattering me each week with new descriptions of me, is also a burgeoning artist. Go check out the evolution of his paintings.

There are those who would say that Eden is lost. For Eden was Innocence; we knew not we were naked. And Eden was no knowledge of Fear; danger had never arisen. And Eden was a lack of Want; all needs were provided for. And it would seem that Eden is lost. But there are those among us who live in Innocence; they don’t care if they’re clothed. And they have no fear; for they don’t recognize and understand danger. And they want for nothing; they ask for nothing beyond what they are given. They are Children. They live in Eden.

JM over at Fiction Scribe offers a, erm, slightly cynical view of what might have become of Eden. Of course it’s fiction, but captures well the disillusionment we all have felt at the receiving end of lost love.

Eden. The mythical, biblical land of absolute perfection and paradise. Thinking of Eden made John think of great expanses of very green grass with beautiful trees in sight in every direction. Some bore the purest beautiful fruit you could ever imagine.

Eden meant perfection. Love. Serenity.

That is, the biblical Eden.

The Eden of his reality was anything but serene. He tossed another one of the pictures featuring her and him on the fire and took a cold pleasure in watching it slowly curl up before turning into ashes.

Maybe after the betrayal of Adam and Eve, God burned Eden.

And so begins a new challenge. Readers, if you are new to the 100 Word writing prompt and challenge, you can find details here. I’ve just picked up a book that’s been on my “must read” list for years. Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance. It’s one of those books I heard about over and over again through the years, and I’ve finally come round to reading it. From its pages, I challenge you with:

Want

Check this out.  Is this not the coolest laptop pillow you’ve ever seen?  From Intelligent Forms Design, who’s philosophy is to “provide unique lifestyle tools that merge environmentally responsible values with innovative performance and aesthetic impact”, this is a design company shooting straight for my heart.  Being environmentally responsible doesn’t have to hurt and it should be just as cool as trashing the earth the way we have been.

I found these when Googling for a solar charger for my Macbook Pro.  The small Canadian company that makes these pillows also makes a solar “lounge table”.  Essentially it’s a solar coffee table that charges all of your electronics from cell phones to laptops.  The laptop pillows (there are three designs) are all made with sustainable materials and are designed to be highly functional.  The above design keeps the heat off your legs while allowing for cooling ventilation.  The “log” design holds your laptop in place and even gives you a wrist rest for comfort.  Smart, sexy, functional, and responsible.  What’s not to love?  But you know what I love most about this company?  They use a Mac to model their goods.  Because Macs are sexy, that’s why.

Oh dear, I must be losing my touch. This week brings only two 100 Word entries. Probably my bad for being a tardy poster. Or bloggers going and getting all famous.

Truly though, I’ve been sick (along with McShirty) for going on two weeks now. It’s a strange affliction that mostly causes extreme fatigue and a general malaise. It’s been hard enough to work but blogging has just proved to be too much. So for someone who doesn’t watch TV or movies (much), I’ve seen about 15 movies in the last two weeks. Yep, for two weeks if you went looking for me, you wouldn’t have had to go much further than the local couch.

Sassy Mama Bear has a great piece over at her place complete with a music clip from “Lunatic Fringe”, which brought me RIGHT back to the 80’s.  Ah, I can smell the Aquanet now.

She danced to music that nobody else heard, swaying one second, and bouncing madly the next. She chattered when she walked down the street garnering bemused stares from anyone she passed.
Her family had left her long ago, at a special place, as they called it. A place where people just “like her” lived and grew up together. She was little then. Pigtails and a gingham shirt neatly tucked into her Oshkosh B’Gosh overalls, she looked so innocent and sweet.
Years went by and she never saw her mama or her papa again.
When she was eighteen she was free.

I love this one by LCeel.  I think I know this guy.

I knew him so many years ago. Back then he was a vehement Goldwater Republican. And an angry young man. We were in the Marines together, but eventually, went our separate ways. One day, out of the blue, came a call. He rambled on about Nixon, the CIA, the FBI, his Senator and all the conspiracies that the government was party to. There have been many calls in the last few years. And long, rambling letters. He sold his business. He’s retired now. He is alone. He has always been alone. From where he lives. On the fringe.

LCeel also talks about the rapid passage of time and children growing up so go read the full post.

Today, I’m choosing a word from my bookshelf without opening a book.  Let’s see, how about…

Eden

If you want to play, all the details are here.

Softness delights and soothes me. Things that are soft.

• My daughter’s fingers dancing across my face when she is 10.
• My sea green cashmere t-shirt.
• The surface of a still pond.
• Kitten fur.
• A lover’s mouth.
• Waking up to Spring mornings.
• A newborn cry.
• The letter V.
• The soles of my feet.
• The Genuine Heart of Sadness

Painting by Robert Popick

I’m just wondering what content you’re reading that I’m not writing. I’ve thoroughly checked my blog, and I just can’t make the connection between my content and the ad you’ve most recently placed on my blog with a half-naked woman selling Skid Steer Tires?

Blink blink.

Could it be the entire category labeled “Feminism”? Because feminism and women selling tires in their underwear must be somehow related. Now I happen to know that you have some amazingly ginormous brains working for you over there at the Google complex. Perhaps you could set them on the task of creating algorithms that actually interpret my content to produce relevant ads. Maybe you know something I don’t, but I don’t think that you’re going to sell many tires to my readership. I know I mentioned Goodyear a few times, but apparently you’re only reading half the conversation.  I think you missed the part about fair pay for Lilly Ledbetter?  Maybe my brain is too small to comprehend your mysterious ways, because I was equally confused at the Muslim dating sites, the diet plans, and the mail order bride ads. Maybe that’s all you got over there? Yeah, that must be it. How else to explain the complete disconnect between my content and your thinking you’re going to sell women on my blog. I’d send you a memo, but you wouldn’t get it.

Maybe Ima fire your a** and switch to Blogher ads.