and when we reach that point, all we can do is quietly accept the fact
― haruki murakami, kafka on the shore
monsieur B. de’Velo
last seen, in a moment of passion
missing in action
most likely, inaction
no longer, in fashion
monsieur B. de’Velo
if you have seen him, or
are otherwise
cognisant of, his
(dis)position
reply, on a postcard
your cheque’s in
the post
your reward, in
heaven
just like
monsieur B. de’Velo
writing 101 poetry | seven | beloved | prompt by Vijaya Sundaram
fear has no power, and the fear of freedom shrinks and vanishes
you are free
― jim morrison
freedom
in whose name?
freedom
to maim and shame?
freedom
in whose name?
freedom
to put to the flame?
freedom
in whose name?
freedom
it’s a crying shame
to know what we do in ‘their’
name
.
writing 101 | poetry | five | freedom | prompt by impossiblebebong
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?
Or, 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 | thirty
He turned away, from the dark, rain lashed window.
Walked across his cold, empty, single room. Taking care not to trip on the cable that snaked across the perfectly laid out grey stone tiles. Selected a sparkling shot glass from the shelf of the kitchen cabinet, laid it on the pristine work surface. He opened the fridge door, it creaked, he knew, he needed to get it fixed. Took out the bottle, that still, after all this time, lay waiting in the shelf tucked inside the door, flipped the metal clasp that held it closed, poured the clear, slick, liquid into the shot glass. To the brim.
Taking the glass in his left hand, he walked back past the glowing screen, back to the window. He looked up at the towering chimney in the dark night, lifted the glass to his mouth, closed his eyes, the liquid slid down his throat, warming, burning. And as it did, he remembered, although, he knew, it was pointless to do so.
He turned, and, in a rage, hurled the shot glass savagely across the room. It stopped, when it hit the wall, at the back of the kitchen area, shattering and smothering the floor with sharp shards that would, he knew, slice into his bare feet.
Ignoring the fallout from his senseless rage, for now, he returned to his desk, turned to the low cabinet that contained what little possessions he had. Kneeling down, he opened the door, took out a large white envelope. Placing it on his desk, he took another shot glass, feeling the shards, that covered the floor, press into the naked soles of his feet, he tipped what remained in the open bottle into the shot glass, drained it in one long swallow, sat down at his desk once more, and opened the envelope.
He reached inside, and took out four sheets of paper, papers folded, and long ago abandoned.
He pushed his Mac out of the way. Spread the papers on the desk.
Each one was a painting, crude, simple, and yet powerful. Each one told a story, a piece of the puzzle, concealed in watercolours, created, he was sure, with passion, and then forsaken. But, he had not forgotten them. He remembered, the moment he had been given them, the artist, perhaps uncaring in the moment, had handed them over, not caring, unwitting, what might be their fate.
Fruit trees lining the banks of a patch of water; a bridge crossing untroubled blue waters; a ballerina in a bright blue dress, arms akimbo leaping against a yellow background. And last, that face, the face that had started it all.
It’s face.
A shiver ran slowly down his spine as that rendering stared back at him. He took the envelope and stuffed the paintings back inside, except that which bore the face. The pain seared again, shooting pains up his arm, into his shoulder.
Gasping for breath, he reached out for the painting that bore that terrible face.
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.
thirty | fiftytwo
< Sleep Awake >
Which is real?
Maybe you feel,
awake when you sleep?
Maybe you sleep,
when you are awake?
Which is real?
The sleeping you,
or the waking you?
And how, do you,
know?
< /Sleep Awake >
writing 101 | poetry | three | sleep | prompt by Rohit Pandey
Faces gone, black eyes burnin’ bright
– The Rising.The Boss. Springsteen. Who else.
Rear view mirror.
Mirror, mirror what do you see?
What you wanted to see?
What you wanted to be?
Who you wanted?
Look back in anger, at the smoke, the terror, the closed doors, the falling buildings, the smell, the screams, the end?
Look back.
Reflect.
Then, stop looking, at the reflections.
Smash the mirror, and to hell
with, seven years of bad luck.
There, is after all, only the road.
Always, the road.
writing 101 | poetry | two | reflections | prompt by Melinda Kucsera
‘and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference’
― Robert Frost
*Reading feedback from readers, since first writing this post as you see it below, I’ve decided to have another think about how best to take Poetry 101 Rehab forward – don’t want to lose or alienate anyone who has participated to date – let me know what you think?*
poetry 101 rehab has grown up
it’s now p \ m
and, it’s about to become raw, grittier than before
perhaps, a lot more
you may not like it, or maybe you will, either way let me know by commenting on this post, or send me your thoughts through my contacts page
best of all, post it
<decide>
dead inside (been here before),
suicide?
no, well,
(you) decide
no?
will you fight
for what you feel
(if you even feel)
for what is real
for you
and, if not,
would you, will you, for them?
or
will
you
do (just) what you need
to
survive?
<decide>
want to be part of p \ m – all you have to do is write a poem in response to the <weekly> prompt, scribble a note, share a track (if you wish), add a photo (or not), maybe toss in a quote and then tag your post p \ m and \ or you can click on the image below
of course, the rules of p \ m are that there really are no rules…
this week the prompt is decide, so go on, decide?
a new prompt for p \ m will be published here at 21:00 utc every monday
p \ m | decide
‘It was the possibility of darkness that made the day seem so bright’
― Stephen King
This post is began as something of an experiment. It is, started out initially at least, as my response to Day 14 of the WordPress Writing 101 course, we were invited (I’m late to the party – again) ‘to recreate a single day’. I’ve decided to twist the prompt, because that’s what I do. So, rather than recreate a day, I’m going to share today, my day, with you, my readers. That means I plan to update this post throughout the day, never tried this before so let’s see what happens? Let’s hope writing the post doesn’t get in the way of the day I have decided to write about. Ha.
12:00 Noon.
Woke very late, after months of not sleeping well, this day I slept through until noon. Woke to texts and news bulletins warning that the Metro has been shut down here in Brussel. Pouring with rain. Not a good day to visit Brussel. I’ve realised that I have no food, my plan was to visit Marks & Spencer and buy some comfort food. Comforting to see, courtesy of BBC News, that heavily armed soldiers are guarding both M&S and the Apple Store next door, now need to plan how to get from Molenbeek (yes indeed) to the store.
12:45
13:24
After coffee and hot shower, wrestling with html to insert columns (something I would have learned had I stuck with Blogging X01, decide to give up and just type. Now time to go out and see if I can take photos of whatever is, or is not happening. Wonder if I will stick with this 24 style post? Catch you later. maybe?
13:43
Now time to grab my camera and go see what’s happening. Catch you later?
14:25
Buses seem to be operating. Well this 86 to Brussel Centraal is anyway. Hard to write post with one hand and strap hang with the other. Never a dull moment 😉
14:49
15:47
Light fading now. Parts of central Brussel resemble a ghost town today. Is this freedom or fear. Who wins on a day like this?
16:16
Ok, time to head home and check the shots I took on the street. Also, I’m soaking wet and my fingers are freezing and my mobile battery is about done.
16:45
16:55
I can see I need to tidy up some code in this post. Realised it’s not that easy to try and post on a mobile whilst also trying to document troops on the streets with my Nikon. About which more later. Photos now downloaded to my Mac so now to review and edit. Will probably post some here and also over on belgianstreets.
17:27
Uploading shots from the streets of Brussel to belgianstreets. And watching BBC news talk about Molenbeek, from my flat, in Molenbeek.
18:10
Posted gallery of images from my walk around central Brussel this afternoon. Now time to take a break and have a bite to eat…
Check out my photos on belgianstreets.
19:56
So much for that break
20:45
left the warmth of bar, heavily guarded by soldiers and now heading back home to Molenbeek.
22:28
Now relaxing with a glass of wine and just watched my interview on BBC World News which featured many of the photos that I took today. And, when I decided to try this experimental post I thought it would be just another ordinary day…
23:41
Here is a rather poor recording of the interview that I gave earlier this evening on the BBC (it may take a while to upload and be ready to review). With apologies for the poor audio and wonky angle, I’m tired.
With thanks to the BBC I am delighted to have uploaded the unedited live interview that took place on Saturday night, this replaces my rather shambolic amateur capture…
01:06
Actually after a day like today, it’s hard to just, well, sleep.
02:10
And so, to bed, perchance to dream.
11:09
Another late rise, although in my defence I didn’t really fall asleep until around 4. Time to make a coffee and think about the rest of the day. At least it’s stopped raining and it was a peaceful night. May go back out shooting again today or maybe just curl up and read, been a while since I did that.
11:11
Coffee brewing.
11:56
So, I set myself a period of 24 hours for this post and the time has now come to wrap. When I started typing away yesterday I had no idea what the day would hold. Which made me think that we never really do. But many of us live our lives as if there would always be another day, another 100 days, so we perhaps don’t live the day in the way we would if it really mattered. Yesterday there was no terror strike in Brussels, thank goodness.
There can only be real peace if all of us care about the world we live in, care about each other, think about each other.
When we look at the terrible periods in history it is often those that sat back, did nothing, didn’t care, couldn’t be bothered, thought it was up to someone else, that caused as much harm as the perpetrators of evil and terror.
So let’s stand united against terror. They can only terrorise us if we let them. There is a role for each and every one of us to play.
Even little acts of kindness, care, compassion and understanding matter.
It’s not necessary to be a hero. Just don’t look the other way.
“You may say I’m a dreamer, but I’m not the only one. I hope someday you’ll join us. And the world will live as one”
― John Lennon
WordPress Writing 101 (November 2015): Day 14
‘some men never listen, and others never learn’
– lyrics from ‘the lady lies’, from ‘and then there were three’, genesis
and then, there were three
(for wordpress weekly photo challenge – trio and lucile’s photo101rehab)
(a trio from me
‘mr pohotny, senior vice president of a bank prominent in the capital city, met god on a train’
– zoran zivoković, the train
I love writing.
I love reading.
There was a time, long long ago, when two of the few things that kept me sane were the well thumbed pages of an Isaac Asimov novel, oh, and strawberry jam sandwiches. With lots of creamy butter on thickly sliced white bread. Pure poison, the sandwich, not Asimov, that was ‘Childhood’s End’, literally and metaphorically.
I was barely eight years old.
But, that’s another story.
This post is not about me, well not really, it’s about a man called Zoran Živković.
And it’s also, indirectly, about a country, a city, a people, and a whole bloody lot more.
But mostly, it’s about him.
I’m a big fan of Stephen King, I’m one of his ‘constant readers’. My recollection may be wrong, and I’m damn sure King is not the first person to make this point. But, his opinion, expressed in his quasi-autobiographical ‘On Writing’, that the first line in a novel is the most crucial, the hardest, the most influential, has stuck to me, like a limpet mine. Always.
’Someone must have been telling lies about Joseph K’ A fragment of the opening sentence of Franz Kafka’s ‘The Trial’. Frankly, having read that novel from front to back, and back to front, that opening line tells the whole sorry tale, nothing more is needed, the reader’s mind is slammed into overdrive right from the start, red / green, the smell of burning rubber on the road, there’s only one place to go.
And so also with Zoran Živković.
‘mr pohotny, senior vice president of a bank prominent in the capital city, met god on a train’
You don’t have to believe in God, ‘Hid’, or any other supernatural deity to get his point.
Just think. What would you do, in Mr Pohotny’s circumstance? What one question would you ask, knowing that the answer you received would be the truth. Would you want to know? Really?
And, after knowing, what then?
Živković poses his question in a short story which lingered in my mind long after the initial reading. Each time I take a train journey, I wonder, what if?
I have a collection of his works, alongside other novels by other authors, translated into English from the original Serbian. They are all good, but this one cuts through, like a cruelly sharpened knife through that strawberry jam sandwich.
Serbia, is a country that has a bad vibe for many people. Except, perhaps, those that have visited, and not at the controls of a drone, but lived and worked there as I did.
Belgrade, and her people, have been good to me.
But, I digress. I often do.
How often do any of us have the opportunity to sit on a baking hot summer’s afternoon, sipping a cold beer, with one of our favourite authors? One who helped shaped our view of a country and its people?
Sit in on a creative writing class in a University (in Serbian), listen to the softly spoken words of encouragement, the challenge, the passion that those words elicit?
And see the glitter and glow in the eyes of the students. Their respect for this man, their teacher.
I had that experience this Summer.
Zoran gave me a piece of advice.
His advice?
He suggested that I practice writing a short piece of prose to accompany my photographs. My eyes welled up as this author that I admired told me this. Someone I respected and admired had taken the trouble to share a beer with me, and his philosophy, and a little part of his life.
So, here, Zoran, I took your advice. Well, sort of, anyway, in my own way.
And thank you, perhaps in a way, you have directed me to the question that I might have put, in Pohotny’s shoes.
Or not.
The Train, by Zoran Živković was broadcast on BBC Radio 4 on 29 September, 2005.
Click on the link below if you’d like to listen to ‘The Train’, and let’s hope we read, and hear, more from Zoran.
This post is my response to the prompt of Day 12 of the WordPress Writing 101 course in which we were invited to express our opinion on a piece of work, (our) opportunity to comment on something you’re something passionate about, or review a piece of art or entertainment that you love or despise – so, this time, I followed the prompt to the letter, I think?
WordPress Writing 101 (November 2015): Day 12
andy townend 