to fall out of lifetime
into dream embraces
and forget an outside
imagine
careful, clouds
glide against ever blue
falling up into the you
imagine
lost roads in drift
over the hills and
far away, a heaven to
imagine
hazy daze
Photo by Harald Pliessnig on Unsplash hazy daze drifting through
a forest filled with mists
a shrouded day of
memory's ghosts & steel
careless wraithing
a bone wight shamble
given to the otherside
casting about for home
dewdrops on the pale
naked for the grey
a rumble within shadow
stalking unseenTo like, click comments or:
hazy daze
half-penny thoughts | 18jul25
Photo by Dariusz Sankowski on Unsplash I visit plenty of places on the internet lately for or by writers and I recently encountered this strange theme on one site where all of the writers seemed to all be posting in the theme of “you’re a great writer, keep writing” affirmations for each other. Some were even pretty self-congratulatory (“yes, I like my own posts and I am not ashamed to”). Still others were of the “everyone here is the best writer”.
Now… I’m not against encouragement. I’ve even partaken in it myself. But when it becomes a common, daily and reoccurring theme… I have the strong urge to pinch my nose and walk away from that kind of community. Even if it is well-intended community-building, it still smells like bullshit.
Write, don’t talk about how great everyone else’s writing is (and god-forbid, don’t tell me how great you think your own writing is).
What do you think?
Am I just being a humbug? Or does it feel like a weird kind of phony? Do these folks really mean it? Or are they just saying it, hoping that others will pay it forward until it boomerangs back?
To like, click comments or:
half-penny thoughts | 18jul25
murder
Photo by Aleksei Zaitcev on Unsplash a murder outside and
a drive-by suicide
laughing, what a joke
waiting for red fox
waiting for red show
chewing on that razor wire
where did you think
you might go?To like, click comments or:
murder
careless memory
Photo by Kaique Rocha on Pexels.com i stone eye see
wondering at
the fuss of things made
while even more words
make timberfall from
scythed crescent to
sunset canyon walls
no more false assurances
no more casting out lines
this tightrope is far too thin
but this tightrope is mine
step once a million rivers
passing over and by—
careless memory
carry me to nightTo like, click comments or:
careless memory
Campfire Sessions — 16jul25
Photo by Ville Palmu on Unsplash You’re learning, says Raven. A bit soft in the head, but at least you’re progressing.
I put another piece of kindling in the flames, keeping the fire. It’s fire season in the forest. While there is no big risk of flames causing mass destruction here, of all places, I try to be mindful of the possibility and restrain the firebug inside. It seems like that critter has vacated anyway, which is just fine by me. My inner firebug got me into as much trouble as fun over the years and I’m tired of manufactured crises.
(more…)To like, click comments or:
Campfire Sessions — 16jul25
Torture update
Photo by Serena Koi on Pexels.com Well, that went much more like I was used to in terms of experience before Annie showed up to make dental visits living hell.
It has been five years since my last regular dental exam and cleaning. In spite of needing some pretty intensive maintenance on my teeth for staining, tartar and plaque, my gums were in much better shape than they had expected on Monday and I don’t need to come in for any additional “special” treatments for my gums. I have one surface cavity, which I suspected and is scheduled for repair, and a bit of a groove on one outward facing tooth that they are going to preemptively fill for cosmetic and protection reasons. Other than that? I’m golden.
My pain appears to have been due to clenching and gum inflammation.
Was it torture this time for my regular checkup?
(more…)To like, click comments or:
Torture update
nightclubbing
Photo by Michael Starkie on Unsplash dreaming hazy
shadowed clubs and
all smoking cigars...
you look sexy as hell
wearing that smirk
with a stogie in handDon’t ask me who this is supposed to be or where we were clouding up the scene, but this dream lingered with me well after I woke up. Much better than the one about my daughter’s giant pet centipede she talked to in hisses, which is another dream I can’t explain.
To like, click comments or:
nightclubbing
