Velvet Verbosity

Ultimate…the best of something, the pinnacle, the end goal. What of that? Whatever the goal, whatever the grand prize, what happens if and when we get it? Then things are downhill from there? Why do we want the ultimate of anything? The experience of it I suppose. Look at this quest from a distance however, and it at once becomes clear the absurd game we play with ourselves of future and past. The path to the ultimate is a journey of future longing. The path after obtaining the ultimate is one of looking back. Desire for the ultimate takes us out of the now and keeps us from truly living. Each moment is one of fresh creation, and it could be argued, each moment contains within it that ultimate if only we can change our perspective.

The Wandering Author captures well the suffering we can create for ourselves in this quest for the ultimate.

Elusive Ultimate

How often
We seek the ultimate.
How often
We proclaim it found.

Yet -
Is life long enough
To sift centuries of wonders,
Comparing, discarding, selecting?

Does any have insight enough,
To speak another’s mind?

At twenty,
Dreaming ultimate dreams,
Daring to hope
Fragile promise durable.
At forty,
So often weighted by
Doubled experience,
Dreams crumble, tumbling
Into nightmare,
Leaving only ultimate loss -
Which, too, may pass.

Future thoughts
Forever beyond view,
Chasms greater and stranger
Hide others’ minds unguessed, unread.

The ultimate -
Indefinable,
Unreachable,
Ultimately elusive.

Thus preserving,
Always,
More to seek,
Heights to strive for;
Ultimate fountain
Of hope.

Night Blogger captures this longing in a completely different way, taking on the voice of that hopeful longing.

Wind. Shivers, rushing beneath skin, trembles through fingers. Hair, blown forward, wild.

The canyon wall stretches on, into darkness—where’s the end? Or, perhaps, the end is just the beginning…

The beginning of…?

Feet slip. Slivers of stone tumble down, disappear. It’s the tempting of death—the abyss—that’s so intoxicating. It calls.

Freefall. A searing glimpse of death.

Then the save. Arms are yanked upward. Cloth catches the breeze—colors dyed to mimic fiery cliff faces.

Oh, to fly! To keep going, never stop; not for walls, people, nor societies. To flaunt the end, to start anew;

The ultimate.

Ash, a newcomer to the 100 Word Challenge, and a new blogger, offers that perspective of finding the ultimate and the beauty in everyday life. Be sure to check out this new blogger’s work.

It’s hard to focus on the ultimate when drowning in the mundane: a blaring TV as my daughter watches “Jungle Book” while simultaneously playing with her singing crab; a house that’s need for cleaning is in direct inverse proportion to my level of energy and motivation to do so; a wife who moved directly from bed to the computer to work (on a Saturday!). But then I am caught by my daughter’s beauty, by the line of her cheek and jaw which mirrors my wife’s, and I realize I’m living the ultimate and I wouldn’t trade it for the world.

Sassy Mama Bear is proving to be a versatile gal, moving easily from poetry, to emotional stories, to humor. This week her approach gets the message across with humor and tongue-in-cheek-fun-poking. Comedy is a powerful tool to get messages through defenses. Not to mention, laughing does the body good.

Yes, ladies it has finally happened the ultimate break-through in the fashion industry has come to pass…
They have invented clothing that indeed is “one size fits all.”
Hurry now to the nearest retail chain store as this wonder garment is literally flying off the shelves, as it required the use of parachute material to accomplish this miraculous task. Now mind you skinny gals will grab them even though they have no need what so ever, so don’t delay shop now.
It is the ultimate sale, for an ultimate item…
And now we return you back to life and reality.

~ Penelope Anne
June 27, 2008

I think Lceel is officially the longest and most active participant in the 100 Word Challenge. I’m always tickled to see what description of me he introduces me with. Sometimes I’m left to contemplate just a couple of words for a while. If you are familiar with his other challenge entries, you will remember that he sometimes finds himself writing about our propensity for war, the suffering it causes, the needlessness of it all, and asking why. These pieces are not only emotionally compelling, but timely as the war in Iraq wages on yet gets further and further from the front pages. We should never forget that we have sent human beings into a war that will forever change them…if they survive.

He lay on a pallet, one in a long row of pallets. He seemed to be sleeping. There were twelve. They had all been shot by the same sniper. They were all dead.
I met Jimmy when we guarded Viet Cong prisoners at Phu Bai. We were friends. We were both going to be going home about the same time. He wanted to introduce me to his sister. He hoped I would marry her.
He lay on the pallet with a small purple hole in his chest. He had paid the ultimate price. Then, as now, the question is, Why?

This one from Marco Kaufman came in by email and isn’t published on his blog, but I still want to link to his blog, The Big Book of Grievances, so you can check out his fiction. Welcome to the challenge Marco!

“If I come home,” he said, “things’ll have to change drastically.”

“Like what?” she asked.

“You can’t see him anymore. No more phone calls or letters either.”

“I don’t think I can cut him off completely.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’ve known him a long time. Even if what happened was a mistake, why should I freeze him out?”

“We’re married. If you want to stay married, he has to go.”

“Are you giving me an ultimatum?”

“Yes, I am.”

“Well, I don’t give in to ultimatums.”

“That’s a shame,” he said, hanging up. He filed for divorce the next day.

That’s all folks! I’ll be updating the main 100 Words page soon with the latest challenges and any of you new participants.  And Lceel, I will be getting to passing on that bloggie award you gave me.   I’m still reading House of Mirth by Edith Wharton. It is fabulously brilliant with an introduction by Marilyn French. This week’s word is

Hour

I have all your entries for this week’s 100 word challenge.  Will post them all this evening when I get off work.

Cheers!

VV

I’ve been called out, called back, whatever you want to call it. As LouCeel says:

This was just beginning to build into something really nice. New people joining in and all. Please don’t let it die. The 100 Words is a worthwhile endeavor. But it needs YOU.

It’s true. I’ve been more and more absent just as things were beginning to hum along and people were picking up interest in the 100 Words challenge. What’s the trouble? I could say the usual. Life. That would be true, and even more true because life is complex and my reasons for being absent are indeed complex. Life has happened and is happening in such a way that I would really like to write about it. The trouble is that I’ve never reconciled with how much to share and to whom. My number one struggle with writing has nothing to do with traditional writer’s block. I know exactly what I want to say, I just don’t know that I can say these things “out loud”.

A few years ago I met a writer in the town I live in. He had been published multiple times and his books were fictional, but largely based on his own family’s life and I could never get my head around how he was ok with calling family members out on their stuff, particularly from only his own point of view. “How did they react?” I would ask. “Doesn’t matter”, he would reply. I couldn’t get that. Couldn’t accept that.

What I’m trying to say is that I am at a crossroads where I’ve lost my desire to write unless I can actually write. Get down to the juice in the marrow. Yet I can’t bring myself to because it would mean revealing thoughts and feelings about others that I’m not sure they could accept or understand. I’m afraid “my tongue will tell the anger of my heart” (Taming of the Shrew) and some will not be able to hear it without transferring it all onto themselves.

True, there have been other things keeping me from regular blogging. A death, a sickness, broken limbs, too much work, too little money, the chores of day to day living as a single mother, and so on. I could satisfy you with those excuses easily, but the real truth is my inner division regarding writing.

That said, you’ve all been remarkably enthusiastic and supportive and I do love seeing how you each interpret each week’s challenge. So let’s get down to last week’s 100 Word Challenge, shall we? The word was Protection. In the words of Henry Ward Beecher (not a man I advocate necessarily), “The power of hiding ourselves from one another is mercifully given, for men are wild beasts, and would devour one another but for this protection.”

Adam is a newcomer to the 100 Word Challenge. Unfortunately there is no comment feature on his blog, but you could always comment here if you feel so inspired.

When perceiving a threat, the frightened and lazy-minded man knee-jerks into a fear-based mode of thinking, and moves to lessen the likeliness or degree to which he can be affected.

He has taken the easy way out, and in doing so he has forsaken the Good Fight of finding a resolution to the threat’s underlying cause. In effect, he has invited the threat to persist.

Screw condoms.
Screw airbags.
Screw insurance.
Screw unions.
Screw contracts.
Screw police.
Screw armies.
Screw balances of power.

Life should not be an exercise in fear management.
Scrap any system necessitating protection schemes.
Rethink.
Rebuild.

How true the last line of this piece by The Wandering Author is.

Sturdy walls of stone
Withstanding cannon’s recoil,
Shouldering dense green thickets,
Yet marked by something slight
As passing moments.

Amidst great guns firing,
Roaring deadly defiance,
Massive blocks of granite
Stood unshaken.
Beneath spreading roots
In thick soil awaiting hostile reply,
Roofs bear up unsagging.
Unyielding fortress,
Silent now,
Worn.
Not expected cataclysms of war,
Only time’s unceasing footfalls
Conquered island bastion.

Once blocking enemy ships
Astride harbour approaches.
Turning aside even thoughts
Of attack.
Now ignored, overflown
By aircraft, time’s little joke
On designers, builders.

Vital protection,
Outdated, abandoned;
Monument
To simpler years.
What bulwark can repel
Passing time?

This piece by LouCeel reminded me of a post I wrote about a year or so ago about a woman I often saw jogging on my way to work. There was something about her, something about the way she ran that made me think immediately that she ran for purposes other than fitness. Anyway, wow! Great piece.

She runs before the wind, the swells running with her and threatening to swamp her. Her sails full to the point of splitting, her mast straining against the lines which hold it erect, she runs for the harbor whose light beckons across the angry and swollen seas. The grey and angry clouds bear down on her like scowling old men, their wroth expressed in the terrifying gale which is trying to sink her. She runs for home, and harbor. She seeks the one thing the harbor offers her in this time of need; the thing she needs the most. Protection.

Fantastic little work of 100 word fiction by newcomer Susan at West of Mars. Hope we’ll see her again!

“It’s time,” ShapeShifter’s manager said. “You need to protect yourselves.”

“Sounds like it’s the girls who need to be protected from us.”

“Either way. You’re at the point in your career where you need to be careful. Paternity suits might be only nine months away.”

No one smiled. Trevor didn’t smirk. It wasn’t funny. This was about contracts and rules and following them, three things Trevor particularly hated. This was about growing up, which was one of those things Trevor had vowed to never do.

“If we have to, we have to,” Mitchell said. He wasn’t happy about it, either.

Oh Secret Agent Mama, how I do love thee.

In a cocoon, to be wrapped
Within a strong, silky embrace
Forgetting about the worries of the world
And all the challenges faced

Her main goal is protection
Through guidance, pattern, and prayer
Allowing mistakes to be learned from
Making sure to take care

Though there is constant fear, worry, and doubt
Her maternal instinct does truly hasten
As faith is embraced, projected, and reflected
On to the precious children

Swaddled baby, enveloped child
They will each break free and take flight, all on their own
While a mother sits and continuously questions
Making her steadfast and unwavering vigil known

Mama Bear Writes got me right under the ribs with this one.

Hold me close she begged of him,
Hold me tight for I feel fear stealing over my very soul,
Don’t you feel it?
The blackness so thick spreading ever closer to us,
It is eating everything that dares to cross its path.
I’m afraid, please just hold me tight.

He held her, as she trembled in his arms,
He saw nothing, felt nothing but concern for his lover,
He hated seeing that lost look in her eyes
Hated knowing he couldn’t beat an enemy
He never saw but knew was very real to her.
Protection, all he could give her.

~ Penelope Anne Bartotto
June 23, 2008

The Night Blogger was late, but so was I, so it’s all good. The powerful words of youth.

I have a dream, sometimes. It’s of a great stone wall that towers over everything, though in this dream “everything” is but the cracked landscape behind me. Nothing of import lives int hat barrenness. But nothing at all lives near this wall.

It’s just me. And the wind, and the dirt that hears the wind whisper in a language I can’t speak.

A feel of vastness, and life–danger. I perceive danger beyond the wall.

The dream makes me cry because I know that wall is my protection, and everything across it is what makes me want to live.

I got this one by email from Angelgal. Another newcomer so be sure to visit and say hello!

Babies of all kinds leave it,
And we all need it from then on.
We were told the words would do it,
The ideals that accompany them.
Laws are supposed to give it,
Police are supposed to supply it—
It’s believed bars will do it—
But really, for who?
And what about those who are
‘On the other side’?
She thought the piece of paper would do it.
He thought the gun would do it.
Hardening our heart is supposed to do it,
But really it keeps everything out,
And supplies none.
Its exact nature is found
Only in love.

That wraps up another round of 100 Words. I’m still reading House of Mirth but I don’t have that with me so I chose next week’s word from A Confederacy of Dunces, a book recommended to me by a friend long ago. The word is

Ultimate

Let’s have entries in by Sunday midnight, eh?

Wow, I know it’s only been two weeks, but I feel like I’ve been away forever Internet!  I missed you, of course I did, but real life just beckons and demands sometimes.  Evil Kenievel is mending well, or so it seems.    We meet with the surgeon again on Friday.   Considering the amount of metal Evil Kenievel now has in his arm, perhaps this week’s writing prompt should have been Metal instead of Plastic.

Plastic it is.  I’ll be reading all your posts on this topic for the first time as I write this, so go back and check for comment love!

The Wandering Author starts us off with an unforgiving piece about the role of plastic in our culture.

Plastic, a cheap substance not inherently beautiful like metal or wood, breaks easily in use, yet refuses to degrade and go away when tossed aside to clutter up meadows and forests. At best an inexpensive, less satisfying alternative to better materials, the ultimate cost to our world is high.

Plastic, not real, not honest, not strong enough to resist pressure.

In neither sense is plastic a positive idea. Yet our society makes more and more from plastic, trusts it to do more; we vote for plastic leaders, idolise celebrities with plastic bodies and personalities. What does this say about us?

I like what Fiction Scribe did with this piece.  There’s something about the rhythm and cadence that captures well a culture’s frenetic drive toward perfection.

Eyes. Ears. Mouth. Shoulders.
Neck. Lips. Cheeks. Eyebrows.
Fix. Pluck. Colour. Exfoliate.
Cut. Trim. Tease. Curl.

Diet.

Accessorize. Prioritize. Organize. Glorify.
No success? Try, try, try.
Don’t be shy or chance goes by.
Blush on cheeks. Shadowed eyes.

Exercise.

Change. Mold. Mesh. Mingle.
Trim. Taut. Terrific. Anti-wrinkle.
Suck in. Chin up. Chest out. Glitter sprinkle.
Shine and twinkle.

Surgery.

Money. Shine. Pride. Pose.
Liquid lips. Hint of rose.
Spine distort. Deforming toes.
Beauty’s price. So it goes.

Virginity lost.

Realization. Past generation.
No room for age in new Y nation.
Old dress, news, style, fashion.
Nothing left. No education.

Plastic.

Renee Daniels writes about a specific kind of plastic.  The kind we should all be avoiding like the plague given economic forecasts.

“Pre-Approved!”

“O% APR for the first six months!”

“Improve your credit!!”

Hmmm. It would be good to have in an emergency…oh look!  Saks is having a sale…

Credit increase?  Well I’ve earned it.  And look!  Nordstrom’s is having a sale…

What do you mean it’s rejected?  Well try this one…what?

Where did all this clutter come from?  It’s time to simplify, organize, reduce and reuse.  Time to go green. Perhaps I should remove the plastic in my life…

Secret Agent Mama slayed me as well as her unwanted visitor with this clever piece.  Mishi is clever!

Dear Unwanted Fly In My Abode,

I know you have your place in this world. I know that without you I cannot exist, but you need to realize that your incessant buzzing in my ear is the beginning of your demise.

I will not swat you with a plastic fly swatter. I don’t have one. I will not Mr. Miyagi you with chop sticks. I’m good, but not that good.

Over yonder you wait.  What you don’t see is this damp towel.  It’s the only weapon I need in this war. Insect, prepare thee for death!

Sincerely,
The Fly Slayer

Mr Lady over at Whiskey in My Sippy Cup creates a riddle of sorts.  To find the answer, you’ll have to visit and see the picture that accompanies this post.

For thirty years I traveled through this world in a haze. I was out of balance, life was a mere blur that passed before my eyes. And then a little girl came into my life, and I realized that I had to take care of myself if I was going to be a good role model to her. I stopped making excuses and fixed something in my life that desperately needed attention, found the one thing that I thought could bring focus to my life. And that same girl, who inspired this in me, stole my fake plastic clarity today.

I’m thoroughly enjoying witnessing the young Night Blogger’s evolution as a writer.

The streets are crowded.  Conversations, cell phones, men in business suits walking swiftly.  The click of hells, the honking of horns.  Taxis pass, hold up a hand.  Birds crow, street lights flicker.  Nervous expressions, confident ones.  Smiles.  Frowns.

 

A quaint shop nestled between towering factories.  Quiet and ignored, its mannequins watch with dignity as strange faces appear and disappear from one moment to the next.  Lavish masks, feathered ones, sequined and weighted with gaudy fake jewels.

 

“What business is there in selling masks?” she would ask.

 

I would reply, “Everyone wears a mask.”

 

“These ones are plastic.”

 

“They all are.”

I don’t think I missed anyone.  Lceel I checked your site just to be sure.  Sorry to hear you were sick!

I just started reading The Pillars of the Earth but I don’t have that with me so I’ll have to pick up another book.  Hold on while I go grab one… Ah, perfect.  From The House of Mirth by Edith Wharton the word is:

Protection 

Internet, just a plastic heads up…today is the day for 100 words.

Love, VV

Happy Sunday!  Today was just about a perfect day with beautiful weather and chock full of good moments.  I’m glad the sun finally went down because my awesome-day-o’meter was just about to go over the top.  So let’s get started with the round-up, shall we?

JM at Fiction Scribe had me convinced she was a mother when I read this.  Pop over to her blog see what the inspiration was.

Our daughter Amelia, Melly for short, had decided at the wise age of three that she was politically minded.

“Like Alex,” she would say.

Alex, ten years older, already had an interest in politics. Melly simply liked to let her opinion be known. Fortunately, she didn’t quite yet know how to deal with opposition from President Mom.

“I’m against eating carrots,” she said one day, eyeing the orange veggies on the table.

“Well,” I said, “I’m against you not eating your vegetables like a good little girl.”

Melly blinked at that a few times and then said, “Well, maybe one.”

A powerful piece by Sassy Mama Bear

The pounding had started again, the noise deafening in the silence of the room she sat in. Like a jackhammer ripping through years of neglected concrete and asphalt the noise reached a peak of insistence, demanding she pay attention. Remember, never forget, bear the pain for eternity it screamed. She could not fight against them, the millions of memories that stretched back decades. She could not hold them back as they strained against her mind, threatening to take control. Make it stop! She slammed her head against the wall, and if only briefly she found silence, then they started again.

~ Penelope Anne Bartotto
5-28-08

From The Night Blog.  If you haven’t already visited over there, you should.  Some interesting writing coming from a high school student.

I won’t be afraid. The familiar faces around me are meaningless. I will not tolerate being one of them.

My legs shake. People glance at me, frowning. They’re listening to the speaker giving a suave aggregation of his notorious school career.

“They’re my friends,” he says, smiling. Cameras flash. “I love each person graduating today.”

Rage nullifies my fear. Suddenly, I’m standing. I’m reaching down, grabbing the microphone.

“He doesn’t love any girl who won’t step out of her pants for him.” The pain eases. He’s standing stock still, in embarrassment. Cameras are flashing away and I’m smiling. I’m smiling.

A beautiful piece by newcomer Renee Daniels

I stir quietly, noticing your warmth along my body and the pressure of your leg intertwined with mine. I move my fingertips slowly across your skin, marveling at the sensation. I lay my head against you, nuzzling into the hollow between your shoulder and neck where I can breathe in your scent until my senses are saturated. Gently I kiss your amazing lips, missing the taste of you but unwilling to disturb your slumber just yet. Here I feel wrapped in your presence; I feel safe. And I smile in wonder at the privilege of awakening with you against me.

From a dream, Secret Agent Mama was inspired to write this.  By the way, I’m particularly flattered that the multi-talented SAM especially loves the weekly 100 word writing prompt!

Running, sweaty, and completely out of breath, I found myself turning around often. I kept looking back with this expression of dread and worry. I kept thinking, leave me alone, let me be, stop making me run; yet still, I ran. I looked back one last time and saw this huge rush of water coming toward me. Immediately I stopped running, dropped to my knees. Then as the water surrounded me, sweet relief. The water against my body was cold and refreshing. I swam in the water, never once worrying or looking back.
I simply let the current carry me forward.

Mr Lady over at Whisky in my Sippy Cup (that title makes me laugh internally every time I see it) sums up motherhood in one breathless piece.

A tangling of limbs in a dark, secluded corner of the world between two strangers turned into a child growing around my vital organs which turned into a little man pushing through an unwilling cervix that became soft pink skin warmed by mine in a hospital room that grew into cuddles after owwies which evolved into hasty kisses on my cheek at school doors and subtle snuggles when no one was looking which will change into handshakes at college dorms one day. For now, forever, I hold fast to the memory of my soft, sweet, perfect creation pressed against me.

The Wandering Author tried his hand at poetry this week.  All I can say is “Here Here!”.

Against
I cry out -
Against
Death and loss.

Against
Entropy.

Against the inexorable current of
Time.

Against
Cruelty and its craving:
Suffering.

Against
Lies luring us astray -
Politics;
Every party, every candidate -
Posturing,
Hypocrisy,
Good intentions soured, presented as fresh,
Cures worse than diseases,
Distortions of truth
Winning votes,
Betrayal of all
Who trust promises.

Against
Conformity,
Thoughtless obedience -
Slayers of creativity;
Hatred and intolerance,
Harsh enforcers;
Standardization,
Enemy of infinite variety.

Against
Greed,
Lust;
Which cultivate
Indifference to all
But their satisfaction;
Exploitation,
Pollution,
Destruction,
Bitter fruits of indifference.

Against
Rigid law,
Rules, regulations,
Injustice.

Against
War in any form.

Another newcomer, MommyCosm, used the writing prompt as an opportunity to write about recent personal experiences.  Welcome aboard MC!

The way you treated them goes against everything I believe in as a coach. They learn more by what we do than what we say. They are only rebelling against current authority because they are not being led by proper example. They are just kids.

I cannot sit by and participate in something that goes against my life philosophy so strongly that my body has reacted with it’s first panic attack. I love this school. I love being a coach. I love those girls. I never envisioned walking away, but against my prior plans, I feel I have no choice.

Lceel called me fragrant!

I love the feel of your skin, warm and soft, smooth and silky. I love the smell of your hair as I bury my face in the soft, warm crook of your neck and taste the goosebumps I find there with gentle licks and teasing nibbles. I love the feel of the long smoothness of your back under my hands, as I gently draw you to me by running my hands up between your shoulder blades and pressing your chest to mine. I love the way your thighs welcome me. With the pleasure, is the feel of you against me.

This next one by Sarah at Sadie’s Storylines is the kind of piece you chew on for a while, excavating the meaning slowly.

Once best friends, now we barely speak.
Against my every wish.

Our beliefs the same, you gave me them
Against my every action

You think you are in the right
Against my every thought

Deep trust and faith you felt in me
Against my swirling moods

Now it’s only shame I see
Against me every step

How am I to win you back
Against many obstacles?

I should give up, move on
Against your tide I swim

But my behaviors now mirror yours
Against how I want to be

Is my future doomed to copy you;
Against my only children?

That wraps up the Against challenge.  The challenge grows a little every week, and I’m excited by the possibilities as the number of participants grow.  Y’all are keeping me busy reading!

The new challenge (rules here) is from Magical Thinking by Augusten Burroughs.

Plastic 

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

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

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.