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Archive for October, 2016

Quoted in the Grove:
It requires wisdom to understand wisdom; the music is nothing if the audience is deaf.
~Walter Lippmann

Any authentic work of art must start an argument between the artist and his audience.
~Rebecca West

Solitude is the audience-chamber of God.
~Walter Savage Landor

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Posted from the Grove:

Imagination: the gift that never stops giving

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Prewritten for Thurs (11/03) @6pm PT/9 ET is: clown, navigate

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@Writers Platform:

Prewritten: symphony, ecstasy

~BarTalk: Saturday AM

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Impromptu: drum, history

~MissMerry: MM Impromptu

History repeats
Drum beats echo through the night
Dogs of war unleased

~

~Odin: Impromptu words

What was, is now, and what may be.
are the forces of wyrd that few can see.

True history revealed to the curious few
that live their lives by theodic thew.

To travel the worlds is only for some,
that voyage to the beat of a drum.

~

~BarTalk: not-a-ku

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Quoted in the Grove:
Not a wasted word. This has been a main point to my literary thinking all my life.
~Hunter S. Thompson

It ain’t whatcha write, it’s the way atcha write it.
~Jack Kerouac

To gain your own voice, you have to forget about having it heard.
~Allen Ginsberg

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Posted from the Grove:

“You write your first draft with your heart…and you rewrite with your head.”

These are the words spoken by Sean Connery, as a writer, in the movie, “Finding Forrester”. Writers the world over are now gearing up for NaNoWriMo, the National Novel Writing Month. This yearly event takes place during the month of November when writers commit to penning 50,000 words. The heady passion to write comes first, but it is the shared commitment of the many thousands of other writers that propels the project. The rewrite comes later.

Watch Mr Connery below for the juice to get you started, then click the second link for instructions.

 

~

https://nanowrimo.org

NaNoWriMo begins in two weeks, time to start mapping out story plot and characters. Write on!

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Prewritten for Thurs (10/20) @6pm PT/9 ET is: aurora, revenge

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@Writers Platform:

Prewritten: indigo, cafe

~Piffin: “Valerie”

Her name was Valerie
At least, I think that was her name
She was a dancer at the strip club
By the Cargo Cafe
Where the indigo neon
Reads “Live Nude Girls”
But her eyes didn’t look alive at all
We shared a cigarette once
Standing sheltered from the wind
Beneath a rusted train trestle
And we talked while it burned
She said she’d learned there was a God
On the Christmas that she prayed
For snow
And it rained all day instead

~

~MissMerry: Prewritten by MM

She laughed,
technicolor movie star laugh
flash of indigo eyes
perfect white teeth.

Sitting in a café,
back patio table with an umbrella
a splash of Grey Goose in our coffees,
we talked for hours
things past, present, and future
rolled through the afternoon.

Why did we leave our tiny small town?
Did we leave our souls behind?
Was happiness here
where we thought we should look
or was it back where we started
all along?

Funny, after all these years,
to be close enough to
share our views
yet hide the pain
the disappointments of
the casual life that isn’t at all
what we thought it would be.

~

~BarTalk: Alley Cats

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Impromptu: consequence, reminisce

~Piffin: “Shard”

Glass shard
Consequence
Frail memory in my hands
His eyes were deep
As my dreams were deadly
Blue moon that never lands

Glass shard
Eloquence
Soft parchment to a flame
Heart strings
Bruised on midnight loom
Suitcase back home, in shame

Glass shard
Reminisce
Throw light into this dark
His eyes were deep
As my dreams were deadly
Glass shard
Loan me your spark

My dreams were deadly

~

~BarTalk: 3/5 + 1 = 2

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Quoted in the Grove:
The failure to read good books both enfeebles the vision and strengthens our most fatal tendency – the belief that the here and now is all there is.
~Allan Bloom

In the case of good books, the point is not how many of them you can get through, but rather how many can get through to you.
~Mortimer J Adler

The man who does not read good books has no advantage over the man who cannot read them.
~Mark Twain

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Posted from the Grove:
By request, a musical progression:
~Greg Laswel: Dodged a Bullet
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PPiFIejACyg

~Crosby, Stills and Nash: Wasted on the Way
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lln-5lBoiRY

~Paul McCartney: You Gave Me the Answer
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wyo_xGyVJuA

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Prewritten for Thurs Word Games (10/13) @6pm PT/9 ET is: indigo, cafe

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@Writers Platform:

Prewritten: ecstasy, treason

~BarTalk: Justice 4 Just US

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Impromptu: slither, song

~MissMerry: MM Impromptu

In a tumble, fall, or slither
the words fall
a jumble
come hither,
echos of the heart
warm and dark
an ache,
a low soft moan,
yearnings,
all in a dither
and become
a song of love…

~

~Piffin: “Verse”

I dream of a song
Write it down; midnight in bed
Early next morn
The verse that I’ve born
Is scribbly-scratched and misread
Another vain treasure
I’ll never get to share
Don’t matter a lot
‘Cause tees that I dot
Are met with yawn and blank stare
Descending to kitchen
Bare feet on tread and pile
I percolate Joe
Half-lidded, I go
Onto the deck with a smile
The slithery wash load
Is dancing on the line
Neighbors out chatting
Kittens out catting
Everyone is doing fine
My dream-song unsung
My day has begun
And everyone is doing fine

~

~Greenie: Breathy Voice

Thinking along a random thought
something undefined, became a’wrought

Trying to recall an inner song
words became a writhing throng

Clamorous ringing in my brain
can’t decipher a single refrain

Soul song raging to be let free
innermost urges within the depths of me

Slithering along the corridors so dark
waiting for the hope of a spark

Spilling out from fingertips
breathy voice from my full lips

~

~BarTalk: song of the saxophone

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Quoted in the Grove:

When my bed is empty,
Makes me feel awful mean and blue.
My springs are getting rusty,
Living single like I do.
~Bessie Smith

Iron rusts from disuse, stagnant water loses its purity, and in cold weather becomes frozen, even so does inaction sap the vigors of the mind.
~Leonardo da Vinci

The mintage of wisdom is to know that rest is rust, and that real life is in love, laughter, and work.
~Elbert Hubbard

EndQuote:
Everyone needs a warm personal enemy or two to keep him free from rust in the movable parts of his mind.
~Gene Fowler

~~

Posted from the Grove:

~~

Prewritten for Thurs (10/06) @6pm PT/9 ET is: treason, ecstasy

~~

@Writers Platform:

Prewritten: a pic

 

~Piffin: “Cut It Clean”

Razor in the bathroom light
Everyone’s in bed
Crickets serenade me
And the circus in my head
Pink scar tissue sergeant stripes
God, I love this war
T-shirt for a tourniquet
Then I unlock the door
All of the things
I can’t stand about you
Are the things that I know about me
Cut it clean

Standing on the bridge again
I try not to sway
Look east, into the future
Five minutes away
Sunrise on a city
That looks pretty much the same
As one I hated yesterday
But beggars can’t complain
All of the lies
That I keep telling myself
Are truths if I were brave enough to see
Cut it clean

Drinking in the moonlight
I’m working on my tan
It’s someone else’s sunlight
But I do what I can
It’s funny when I think about…
It’s funny when I don’t
I’d like to think I’ll think more often
But I think I won’t
It’s time that I got me
Back to earning my stripes
Razorblade clutched in my hand
Cut it clean

~~

~MissMerry: Prewritten by MM

Howard leaned forward on the bar, nursing his second Dr. Pepper and Crown. His stomach rumbled, empty save for the liquor as he had opted for a liquid lunch. He’d gulped his first drink -chasing the buzz that warmed his chest and helped to numb the edges off of his frustration.

Now, deep in thought, he sat at the bar alone on a Tuesday afternoon in the lull between lunch and the “old fart” time before happy hour. The barmaid always fudged the happy hour start time for the small group of elderly curmudgeons who were regulars in the early afternoon. Still a little early in the day, they had not yet arrived. So, for now, they were alone.

Stymied by one of those turning points in life. – A fork in the road so to speak, he was frustrated to be stuck, paralyzed with indecision.

Fingers tracing lines from the top of the glass to the thick paper coaster, he absently hastened the slide of the condensation on the sides of his glass. The coaster swelled as it absorbed the water, ink starting to spread like watercolor where someone had doodled a picture he could now not quite make out. Like the doodle, he felt faded and a bit fuzzy.

You live your life with an ingrained sense of ethics, he thought to himself. Sure, it may be different for each of us as we go forward. You try to do right. We decide; yes or no, white or black, good or evil, often without thought. Even little things like, to beat a yellow light, fudge a bit on a tax return, add an hour on a timecard… It could effect himself or someone else if things went badly. If we stopped and thought about each choice, and the possibilities that could unfold, myriad timelines opening up with each possible decision made, it could make us crazy. But some things you can’t help thinking over before you deal with them.

Sometimes it just looked like you were screwed no matter what you did.

He looked up at the yellowed Budweiser Clydesdale clock… thinking he had better get on out. Usually he enjoyed talking with the old guys. They all considered themselves as wise and sage advisors. But today… well, he just didn’t feel like hearing their bullshit.

Sitting up with a start he took a large gulp from his drink, the ice clattering as he turn the glass up to get the last few drops. He set the glass back down with a thump of finality that made the barmaid look up with an expression of bored annoyance.

He had to decide, it was for a good cause. No, not good, just a necessary cause. He did not want to think about how many bad outcomes there were, he just hoped the odds would somehow turn out in his favor.

“Care for another one?” the barmaid asked, pausing from her endless scrolling of the cable tv menu.

“No thanks. What do I owe you?” he asked as he pulled a dirty and crumpled ten out of his pocket.

“$7.50” she said. He was not sure if he should be happy or annoyed that she gave him the old fart price… but he pushed his empty glass forward and laid the bill on the bar.

The barmaid nodded and smiled as he mumbled “Keep it…”

He walked out into the blasting heat and glare of the afternoon sun. If he hurried, he could get the job done and behind him before too many people were around.

For better or worse, he headed to the polls…

~

~BarTalk: Wrong, twice

 

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