Tuesday, November 18, 2014

Fictional Creations


This erasure challenge provided by Hannah from Imaginary Garden With Real Toads was...hard! But it made me happy to do it because I talked Team Netherworld's own Rose LeMort to allow me to take a page from her in-progress novel, Fetch, and play Erasure with it. The story is a paranormal romance. 
I hope Rose enjoys what I've done with her page.


Click to enlarge

I got the idea for the graphic from our own Seth. One simply turns the font on the words they don't want to white, then pastes the results into Paint and saves it as a jpeg.
I'm going to provide the poem in a slightly more cohesive form below, then, for a real treat, I will share Rose's original page. She has given m her permission to do so. Personally, I can't wait to see more of this story. Rose has invited the team to brainstorm with her, and you can see the results at the special blog dedicated to this end.

Here it is in a more directly readable format

invited
fictional creations. 
They must be based on something factual. 
I need to find out what that something is
wires crossed
like drivin’ through a thick fog on an unfamiliar road
it wasn’t a stupid move, it was a desperate one
Makes me feel like I’m alive again
I’m tryin’ to make the best of it
I could use a quick little thrill
a little kiss for you

This was hard--really hard! I like the end result, although it's a bit of an odd piece.
Now, here is the real thrill for me, to present you with the original page from Rose's manuscript. Write, Rose, write! We need to see more of these characters--now!

Pepper sat down on the couch and invited Gerry to sit beside her. He nestled against her like a frightened child.
“Put me in your pocket then, Love,” he begged. “Let me stay safe here with you.”
“Gerry, I’d like nothing more. But at this stage, your body is going to keep pulling you back. I need to try to find out just what this entity is. I found the one commonality, but I need something more to act on. Both the Lights of Zetar and the demonic sphere from the Vampirella comic are fictional creations. They must be based on something factual. I need to find out what that something is. Until then, I very much do want you to stay with me as much as you can, my fetching fetch.”
“How’s that then?” Gerry asked, a smile brightening his face as if he were basking in Pepper’s affection for him.
“A fetch is the spirit of a person whose body is either close to death or very compromised, like yours.”
“Huh. Me body could go on kickin’ for quite a while. It’s only got minor sixty-some year old bloke crap wrong with it. It’s me brain that’s a fried mess with all the bleedin’ wires crossed.”
“Same difference. Your spirit can’t operate properly through your body.”
“Hate it when the fuckin’ thing draws me back in, like it did this morning. I was fightin’ me hardest to make that warped gray matter of mine function for me. It was like drivin’ through a thick fog on an unfamiliar road. I so desperately wanted to tell the staff what I’d seen. Feckin’ stupid, really. Should have known they wouldn’t listen to some poor addled blighter.”
“Gerry, it wasn’t a stupid move, it was a desperate one. I wish I knew better what was going on. We’re going to need to work on this together, okay?”
“My pleasure. I love bein’ here with you, Pepper. Makes me feel like I’m alive again. I hate this fucked transitional state, I really do. But I’m tryin’ to make the best of it. I tell meself I’m gonna see me angel, and I’ll be damned if that don’t just make everything all worthwhile. ‘Ey, would you do me a favor?”
“What’s that?”
“I could use a quick little thrill. How about a smooch?”
“I think I could muster one pretty easily.”
“Quickly maybe?”
“Impatient much? All right, my fetching fetch, a little kiss for you.”
A rosy blush spread over Pepper’s cheeks. She could feel the warmth of Gerry’s kiss, could even feel a bit of moisture. The kiss became more passionate. Pepper found herself trembling in Gerry’s arms. When he broke the kiss, he looked directly into her eyes. 

~Morella La Muerte~
With big thanks to 
Rose LeMort

Cross-Posted to:


Imaginary Garden With Real Toads

Quiet People Have the Loudest Minds




Quiet People Have the Loudest Minds

I

In an industry that praises a man for being a blackguard
You refused to behave like a swine
You were tolerant, but not amoral
You chose to cleave to what you deemed important
Refusing to be some sort of cog in the machine

Your voice was an understated baritone
Your style in no way operatic
You preferred to let your axe do the talking
Coming up from a humble background
You led the poor in a quiet revolt
By teaching us to be unashamed of who we are

If anyone had ever referred to you
As a knight riding in on a white horse
You would have laughed
But you were a hero to many of us

We saw you as strong in spite of your diminutive stature
Which is why we were shocked when it was revealed just how fragile you are
There was no antecedent to predict
How swiftly and fearfully you would be felled



II

When I found out the reason
Why the world would never again hear your restless thoughts poured out in music
It made me shiver and sway
My soul was left a jittering mess
Tumbling into a sick, hellish abyss

My heart landed in the basement
And there is no consolation
Nor any chance for denial
My eyes are swollen from crying
Everybody knows that something's wrong
I never was any good at hiding behind a mask

This is the worst, the absolute worst
Because not only are there no expectations for recovery
There's nothing left of what you were in your head
Although the curtain's not yet drawn on vital functions
The obituary for your soul's been read

I thought it might be whiskey that would take you in the end
She was the one mistress you had trouble resisting
Because she temporarily quieted the voices of self-doubt
That screamed behind your placid demeanor
Quiet people have the loudest minds

I loved yours
Love it still
Love it always

Cie and Mo
for
Malcolm


Writing Prompts:
The Reverie

Cross-Posted to:
Dream About Me Sweet Brother
(Warning: Blog contains explicit, unapologetic slash/erotic gay fiction)
KHEL 666
Poetry of the Netherworld
Rattling Bones Undead Musician Magazine

Notes:
Morella La Muerte (Mo) is the primary writer on the first poem, The Real Cie is the primary writer on the second.
Mo wanted to use the words from both Wordles but became overwhelmed. She emailed Cie asking for advice. We've been collaborating since five this morning! Three point five hours in, we've finally got it cooked to delicious imperfection.
Delicious imperfection could also describe the subject of the poem, although that sounds kind of lecherous. We actually are referring to his personality. He was flawed, but extremely well-intentioned. He created wonderful things without knowing just how wonderful they were. He was also extremely hard on himself. He never measured up to his own exacting standards.
I doubt we'll ever stop writing about this situation. We certainly will never stop thinking that it's a steaming pile of crap on the part of the Universe. We'd have been sad to have the man killed off, but to destroy his mind on top of it, that's fucking insult to injury. His was a beautiful mind. The world has been robbed of a real treasure.



Ignoring the fact that we have to get a spotlight over here because Angus is taking off his clothes again, could we just for a moment pause and ponder the absolutely solid foundation of this very tasty blues-rock number?
Angus spoke about his admiration for Malcolm's style in a January 2014 article from Guitar World:

"Sometimes I look at Malcolm while he's playing, and I'm completely awestruck by the sheer power of it. He's doing something much more unique than what I do-with that raw, natural sound of his. People like Malcolm, Steve Cropper, Chuck Berry and Keith Richards-they're all doing something better than the rest of us. I can't deny that Eric Clapton's and Eddie Van Halen's lead stuff has influenced a stack of people, but for me it's the rhythm thing that's way more impressive and important to a band.


Malcolm is a big inspiration to me; he keeps me on my feet. Even when I'm tired from running around the stage for two hours, I'll look back at what he's doing and it gives me that boot up the backside I sometimes need."

Absolutely.
What a great loss, not only to the world of music, but to the world as a whole.


Photoshop manip by Cie
Original Eye in the Sky image:
Copyright: zadvinskiy / 123RF Stock Photo

Monday, November 17, 2014

Hungry For More

Hungry For More
I know this is the proper portion
Of tasty, healthy food
Which should be enough
To satisfy my body’s need
But I’m hungry for more
I need sweetness
Not just icing
But the whole cake
A little lovely substance
But not too much propriety
I’m sick of obedience
To rules I didn’t choose
Meat is good and vegetables fine
But what about a little wine
I crave a morsel of decadence
My need lies sweet on the tip of my tongue
My mouth waters for what I truly crave
The unspoken
Forbidden
Excruciating desire
For something I can never taste
~Cie~
The Prompt:
Imaginary Garden With Real Toads

Saturday, November 15, 2014

Love in the Time of Pain


Love in the Time of Pain
 
The love we feel
When things are going well
Comes easy enough
 
The test of our mettle
Is the love that we feel
When the road has gone rough
 
Love in the time of joy
Is a happy dance
Of a springtime song
 
Love in the time of pain
Is the sky crying tears
In a world gone wrong
 
Love in the time of joy
Carries you through the day
On angel wings
 
Love in the time of pain
Makes the soul want to run away
From what the new day brings
 
A sword through the heart
Reveals the true depth
Of the love within
 
~Cie~

Imaginary Garden With Real Toads

Dear Wanker


To the real readers, I apologize for descending to the sewers this way. I know the Conventional Wisdom states that one should never engage a troll, but I'm going to give this pathetic piece of garbage the two seconds of fame they so desperately crave, because I have something to say. 
For however "disgusting" you may think I am for (your words) "lusting after Malcolm Young's (private bits)," I think you are more disgusting for creating troll accounts and harassing people who are expressing emotional pain. Secondly, even in cases where I do feel attraction to somebody, I never "lust after their private bits." I feel for the whole person. Unlike you, I am not a complete lowlife.
Next, and perhaps most disgustingly, there is your assertion that I would molest a helpless person who could in no way consent to sexual activity. You have a sick, filthy mind. I have cared for people with dementia for some 21 years now. I would no sooner force them into sexual activity than I would a child or anyone else. You are a very warped individual.
In the poem where I mentioned feeling an attraction to Malcolm (and shame for feeling said attraction), I was referring to him as a healthy person, and to the essence that made him who he was; to his soul. That person would be capable of consent. More to the point, that poem expresses my anguish over the loss of this person. But the likes of you would not be able to perceive such nuances.
I don't think that I expressed some kind of crude lust even if the poem does express a forbidden desire for a taken person. But even if you choose to interpret my words

I  started thinking that I want to do bad things with you
Like that's gonna fucking accomplish anything
Like that's gonna bring you back
Like what the hell is wrong with me?

as meaning "I want to bang Malcolm Young (and here we assume I mean the healthy version thereof, and the essence of his soul) into next Tuesday six times a day every day."
Yeah, that's kind of crude, and probably pretty inappropriate. But it wasn't what I was implying. And even if it was, it's still not as bad as everything you've said and done.
I'd be shocked if you even knew jack shit about Malcolm Young, other than that he was obviously a guitar player with some classic rock band that I happen to like--if you even know that much. I'd be shocked if you had any idea why I care about him. I'd be shocked if you had any kind of personal worth at all, you despicable waste of oxygen.
Malcolm had more worth in his little fingernail than you have in your whole being. For you to say such foul things as you have regarding him or what he meant to me is completely out of bounds. 
I absolutely will not respond to anything else you say under any of your troll accounts. Keep creating them, I'll keep blocking them. You're fucking pathetic.
From this moment forward we return to the poetry--about whatever the hell we want to write about. Including Malcolm Young six times a day, if that's what we're feeling.
Some people just completely suck. Why does the bad stuff always seem to happen to the people that don't deserve it rather than to this kind of filth?

~Cie~

I know it isn't AC/DC, which would be apropos to the Malcolm Young references. 
But this is the one song that truly fits this kind of creep.




Friday, November 14, 2014

A Tribute to the King of Queen

I love this photo of Freddie Mercury, which Marian shared on tonight's Imaginary Garden With Real Toads prompt.

A Tribute to the King of Queen
 
He made a lot of people happy
He set a lot of spirits free
I never was a killer queen
But he made me feel like it was okay to be me
 
Onstage, he was flashy
Offstage, a quiet soul
Secret struggles and inner demons
Eventually took their toll
 
I dreamed of him after his passing
He gave my cheek a little kiss
He said "thank you, my friend, for thinking of me"
I told him he would always be missed
 
He is missed to this day
And well remembered
 
~Cie~
 
Note:
The dream part is true

Imaginary Garden With Real Toads

Further note for my rude commenter:
This is now the Freddie Mercury AND Malcolm Young blog. Hope it pisses you off.
(Sorry, still steaming about that nonsense.)

Thursday, November 13, 2014

Healing the Wounds Afflicted by Reason


Healing the Wounds Afflicted by Reason

I

Let the unknowable touch the buckle of my spine
Having to know the essence of everything
Takes away its beauty
Let it be what it is
Let yourself feel what you feel
Don’t overanalyze everything
It is what is
You are what you are
We are the product of our yesterdays
We are becoming our tomorrows
Don’t be so quick to discount what can’t be put into words
Let it be enough to let it be

II

In the end, everything dies
Stars become stardust
The most beautiful blooms fade
Their petals drop away
In the end what matters most
Is the sustenance they gave to their fellow beings
Counting the bread and wine by autumn’s gain
Is the best of measures

Image Source

III

“O, know, sweet love, I always write of you”
These words were already written in your heart, my friend
Digging in with golden talons
As you tried to deny that which was tattooed upon your soul
An offer of kindness
Became a desire for kisses
What you deem wicked
What you decry as x-rated
Is only the expression
Of your heart’s zeal
To heal
The beautiful, broken being
Left crushed against the rocks of time

~Wanda~

199 Words

Prompts:
Let the unknowable touch the buckle of my spine 
 Little Summer Poem Touching the Subject of Faith by Mary Oliver

*************

Counting the bread and wine by autumn’s gain 
– 
Poppies on the Wheat by Helen Hunt Jackson

**************

O, know, sweet love, I always write of you 
– 
Sonnet 76 by William Shakespeare