On Sunday, 14 June 2015, I launched my Project 365.
You can see all the images as they are posted, each day, to the mobile | mono | square album on my flickr account.
You can also browse all of my weekly updates ,which are posted each Sunday, here .
“the text has disappeared under the interpretation”
― friedrich nietzsche, beyond good and evil
Stormtrooper One: the force is strong in this one
Stormtrooper Two: there must be some mistake, we can’t delay, it’s all going wrong
Stormtrooper One: no need t’rush, the one in black will go down first
Stormtrooper Two: but the one in black has C & (i) d’A, the wrong way round
Stormtrooper One: och aye, I canna stan’ t any more
Exit stage left
a tongue in cheek 😉 post for weekly photo challenge – oops!
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
once a man, like the sea I raged,
once a woman, like the earth I gave
lyrics from the cinema show, seconds out, genesis
seconds are infinitesimal counting down seconds out but wait stop all the clocks what the hell is time anyway roll back the clock fast forward freeze frame pause seconds out
game >
< over
writing 101 | poetry | four | seconds | prompt by rosemawrites
< 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
Everyone thinks of changing the world, but no one thinks of changing himself
― Leo Tolstoy
The Poetry 101 Rehab was initially set up for those who missed the creative writing challenge of the Writing 201 Poetry course run by the Daily Post.
Some may remember that last week I was of a mind to change things. Sometimes change is not a good thing. Listening is always a good thing.
So Poetry 101 Rehab is back. Not that it was away for long.
How does it work?
Feel free to answer the prompt, twist it or ignore it; write a poem of your own or share a poem by another author. Write about your inspiration, your creative process or other poetry related thoughts, but this is in no way obligatory. Nothing is obligatory in this challenge. The idea is to get together, talk poetry and enjoy.
How can you take part?
Anyone can take part, anytime you want. Publish your poetry post and add a link to it by clicking on the Poetry 101 Rehab badge below or share your link in a comment. Use the tag Poetry 101 Rehab, so we can find each other in the Reader.
I will be your host, and I’m here to reply to your comments, read your poetry, like and comment. While this post is the starting point for this week’s challenge, do visit fellow poets in the link-up and chat to them on their blogs!
The prompt for this week is MAGIC.
Row upon row
of empty seats.
Day after day,
they stayed away
Who will pay?
None can say?
It sure ain’t,
magic.
This week’s prompt is a slightly bitter take on one of the consequences of the recent Brussels Lockdown and it’s also the prompt for the first day of the WordPress Writing 101 Poetry course to which I have signed up. I do hope neither you nor the people at WordPress mind me mixing the two together here in this post.
What will your take on the keyword MAGIC be?
Write about it in a poetry post and share your link in the comments section of this post and / or by clicking on the Poetry 101 Badge above.
writing 101 poetry | one | magic | prompt by la duchess d’erat
On Sunday, 14 June 2015, I launched my Project 365.
You can see all the images as they are posted to the mobile | mono | square album on my flickr account.
My plan, let’s see if I can stick to this, is to post a weekly update here each Sunday.
‘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
andy townend 