project 365 mobile | mono | square | week 37

I launched this Project 365 on Sunday, 14 June 2015.

You can see all my images, as they are posted, each day, to my mobile | mono | square album on Flickr.

You can also review all my weekly updates, posted at noon each Sunday, by clicking here.

Desktopmms-Edit

poetry | 101 | rehab | file

we’ve got, a file on you

face(the)book
insta(nt)gra(tification)m
there’s a twitter(ing) in the hedgerow

we’ve got a file on you

pressed for words?
are you ready to take a tumbl(r)e?
not pinterest(ed)?

we’ve got, a file on you

it’s not about you, it’s all about.me
there’s no happy medium
it’s the first stage of lighting a fire

and don’t forget

we’ve got
a
file

on

you

poetry | 101 | rehab |  file


My (late) prompt for this week’s Poetry 101 Rehab is FILE.

So, this week, do you know what they know? About.you? Do you care? Inspired by comments on last week’s post, Apple’s spat with the FBI, and a moment’s reflection. Are we just the kindling for someone else’s fire?


You can link to your post in response to today’s prompt by leaving a comment on my post and / or by clicking on the poetry | 101 | badge below and leaving a link.

And you can also tag your post with Poetry 101 Rehab so that it shows up in the WordPress Reader.

Please feel free to copy and paste the badge across to your own post and your own site 🙂

2015_06_19_09504

More information can be found on my poetry | 101 | rehab page.

project 365 mobile | mono | square | week 36

I launched this Project 365 on Sunday, 14 June 2015.

You can see all my images, as they are posted, each day, to my mobile | mono | square album on Flickr.

You can also review all my weekly updates, posted at noon each Sunday, by clicking here.

Desktopmms-Edit

drunk(en lion)

What’s so unpleasant about being drunk?
Ask a glass of water!

– Douglas Adams, The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy

swirled, and shaken,

not, stirred

grappa, gripped, grasped and gratuitously groggy

swallow

me

don’t,

remember

me

is your

thirst,

quenched?


for laura’s literary lion – drink me with a nod to the shout out for my previous (and punctuation free) dip into the  maw of the lion 

dark | side | thursday | forty

Do you need, desire or crave a new challenge?  Are you open to sharing your dark side?   Then read on.


Do you have a dark side?

AJT_6650-EditOr, think you may have one. Or indeed worry that you might have one. Or, for that matter, worry that you don’t and would like one? If so,  join me here each week for dark | side | thursday.

Over a period of 52 weeks, I am writing a story. A dark story that will unfold as the weeks pass. Each Thursday, at 13:00 UTC, I will post a new chapter. Each chapter will be exactly 500 words long, and will be accompanied by a photograph. You can catch up on the story so far by clicking here on dark | side | thursday

Share your dark side?

I invite you to join me either by writing your own dark story, week by week, or, if that is too much, by dropping by, now and then, perhaps when the mood suits you or, perhaps, when it doesn’t, and by sharing a photograph, poem or a suitably dark piece of prose. To cross over to dark | side | thursday create your post, tag it dark side thursday and link to it by clicking on the dark | side | thursday badge below, where you can also find all the contributions so far. Or you can simply share your link in the comments section of my weekly post. And, should the mood take you, you can add the badge to your post.


dark | side | thursday | forty

‘I will break you, do you understand?’

The lips of the figure looking back at him barely moved. The shock of hearing such cold, brutal, words from a simulacrum of his self, separated by seconds, seared his (lost) soul. More than ever, he needed a shot, needed so much more. Never mind internal warming, he needed a meltdown. He needed to lose himself. If he wasn’t already lost.

The thin man coughed, briefly.

He turned his eyes away from the replicant, the simulacrum, the imposter. Turned his eyes to the thin man. The thin man, in the white coat.

‘It’s 12:51, it’s time, it’s no longer seven minutes past one. Maybe you remember that time, the time you crossed the street, in a distant northern town, the man asked you (innocently) the time, you told him it was seven minutes past one, you knew it wasn’t, but, even then, you knew. You knew that it was time. And yes, you knew that it was 12:51, and that it always would be. It is written.’

The thin man turned away. With his right hand he reached down into the left pocket of his white coat. His fingers found what he needed. He popped one of the round white pills, took it between his finger and thumb, brought his hand out of his pocket and turned and faced them both.

‘My part in this is over. The time has come, the time is 12:51, the end has no end, you know – both of you – what you must do. She knew too, you knew that she always knew, it conditioned her every action. You both know (and knew) that. And, you both know that only one of you can survive what will come next. When the time comes to make the choice. I wish you all you wish for yourselves’

With a swift movement the thin man popped the pill, bit down hard. His eyes rolled back in their sockets. He fell to the ground.

He looked at his shadowy simulacrum, their eyes met. They both raised their right hand, index fingers extended. Their fingers touched. Their fingers pressed together. There was a brief, intense flash of light, a low rumbling noise, a searing pain flared in (their) left arm.

Then, nothing. (Again).

He felt the cold smooth surface pressed into his forehead. The familiar geography of his desk. He raised his head with care, his eyes unable (unwilling) to open. The familiar hum of the fan (of his Mac) taunting, teasing him. Rain lashed against the windows. The chimney towered above.

He sensed these things, he did not see. Not yet.

With trepidation, he opened his eyes, pain blasting him as he did. He squinted at the screen on the desk. Searching for the menu bar, his eyes gummed and inflamed, he found the row of sparse black numbers, he struggled to focus, he struggled to take it all in.

Though the mist, he saw the time.

12:51


The portal to dark | side | thursday opened on the twenty first day of may in the year twenty hundred and fifteen and will remain open for fifty two weeks.

forty | fiftytwo

dark | side | thursday | thirtynine

Do you need, desire or crave a new challenge?  Are you open to sharing your dark side?   Then read on.


Do you have a dark side?

AJT_6650-EditOr, think you may have one. Or indeed worry that you might have one. Or, for that matter, worry that you don’t and would like one? If so,  join me here each week for dark | side | thursday.

Over a period of 52 weeks, I am writing a story. A dark story that will unfold as the weeks pass. Each Thursday, at 13:00 UTC, I will post a new chapter. Each chapter will be exactly 500 words long, and will be accompanied by a photograph. You can catch up on the story so far by clicking here on dark | side | thursday

Share your dark side?

I invite you to join me either by writing your own dark story, week by week, or, if that is too much, by dropping by, now and then, perhaps when the mood suits you or, perhaps, when it doesn’t, and by sharing a photograph, poem or a suitably dark piece of prose. To cross over to dark | side | thursday create your post, tag it dark side thursday and link to it by clicking on the dark | side | thursday badge below, where you can also find all the contributions so far. Or you can simply share your link in the comments section of my weekly post. And, should the mood take you, you can add the badge to your post.


dark | side | thursday | thirtynine

One second was all that stood between them.

Between success and failure, between darkness and light.

One second.

Two worlds (more).

Separated by one single, solitary, second. Less than a blink of an eye.

And yet, world’s apart.

Two universes separated by a second.

As he watched the two figures approach the hole he knew, that, from where he stood, he would see the two parallel scenarios unfolding.

‘Your mind is just a program. And I’m the virus’*

The thin man, no longer smiling, continued to look at the screen, continued to speak.

‘You have been programmed for this moment. You are mine. You have no thought that is not mine. No will, no desire, no fear, no happiness, no lust. Nothing, that is not mine. Do you understand?’

He looked back at the screen. The image had frozen, then stuttered back to life. The couple were no longer together. The taller figure, dressed in black, had approached the hole in the ground.  The second figure had retreated, into the distance, into the ether.

‘What you are seeing is what might have happened, or, more precisely you are observing two parallel moments that might have happened, separated by a single second. I could show you more, much more. If I were I to do so, you would almost surely not survive the experience. Did you know that there is no single flow of time? Not one time, but an infinite number of times, separated by a single second, backwards and forwards. An infinite sequence of times, separated one from the other, each by a single second. Each time differing from the next by the decisions taken in a split second. Can you imagine what might happen if it were possible to travel between those moments?’

He watched as the taller figure lay prone on that cold ground, watched as the figure, dressed in black, groped into the darkness, his fingers scrabbling at the edge of that cold hole.

‘He is not aware of his destiny, for him time travels in a simple linear fashion, one second follows the next. As he gropes in the dark, he can’t see the shades of his infinite past, present and future states that might exist (or not). For him, there is only his now, always his now, no past, no present and no future.’

The thin man turned away from the screen. With a swift click of his fingers the screen faded and disappeared.

‘It’s now time for you to learn more. And yes, it is natural for you to be confused. You have suffered much, and you have caused much suffering. I think you know that there are consequences. There are always consequences. You do know that, don’t you?’

He looked at the thin man, unable to comment, unable to think.

The thin man turned and, with a gentle susurration, a door opened.

A figure stood at the door, a dark figure.

He looked at that figure.

The figure looked back.

At himself.


The portal to dark | side | thursday opened on the twenty first day of may in the year twenty hundred and fifteen and will remain open for fifty two weeks.

thirtynine | fiftytwo

* Lyrics from Psycho, by Muse

poetry | 101 | rehab | revolution

Better red than dead?

Tall poppy syndrome?

Another brick in the wall?

More than my job’s worth.

Go on,

be one of the crazy ones.

They’re the ones, that change the world.

poetry | 101 | rehab |  revolution


My (late) prompt for this week’s Poetry 101 Rehab is REVOLUTION.

So, this week, how do you feel when you see injustice? Do you burn with desire to fix it? Do you feel powerless to make things different? Is it someone else’s problem? What does revolution mean to you?


You can link to your post in response to today’s prompt by leaving a comment on my post and / or by clicking on the poetry | 101 | badge below and leaving a link.

And you can also tag your post with Poetry 101 Rehab so that it shows up in the WordPress Reader.

Please feel free to copy and paste the badge across to your own post and your own site 🙂

2015_06_19_09504

More information can be found on my poetry | 101 | rehab page.