Starting a story
Many hopes and dreams arise;
Keep and lift them high.
Starting a story
Many hopes and dreams arise;
Keep and lift them high.
Are as comfortable in front of a camera as behind one? Being written about, as well as writing?
Photographers, artists, poets: show us DISCOMFORT.
A touch on steel
A flash of light
Blink of a shutter
A captured sight
I feel aliveness
Through my veins
Of all the lanes
I’ve walked; A lack
Of a thing breeds
A shine, a knack
For appreciating it –
Thus my love
For a camera
(And fear of
Being on the other
End of it;
I won’t have it,
Not a bit.)
I’d always rather
Save forever pure beauty
Than be immortalized
Through sense of duty.
As such, this weekend we are asking for a thirty-three word free-write. Any topic, any style–just give us your best thirty three.
This week I decided to put down my “Thought of the Week” in my first attempt at a limerick (aabba rhyme scheme). I’ve taken a bit of a liberty with “b”, as you’ll see. *nervous cough* So here goes:
Stifled by engineering, (a sacrifice?)
Rediscovered writing; added some spice.
A sudden epiphany: job with The Times,
Then, Oh yeah, this is why I took Science
Solemn vow: I won’t question it twice.
1: existing in a natural state and unaltered by cooking or processing
2 archaic : unripe, immature
3: marked by the primitive, gross, or elemental or by uncultivated simplicity or vulgarity
There’s nothing more unsettling than watching your mother, father, sister, grandmother and grandfather clustered around the television, all watching the same soap opera. I don’t know what disturbs me the most: one, that of all things possible, this is what brought the family together, two, regret that they choose to spend their leisure time (and sometimes their un-leisure time as well) so utterly unproductively on a regular basis, or third, that we as a people fall pray to the networks’ crude play on emotions so easily every time. The same formula of heartbreak, tears and gossip, and it works like a charm. Every. Single. Ti-
Oops, gotta go – he’s about to catch her cheating on him!
This weekend we are asking you to play around with the following quote:
Three things in human life are important. The first is to be kind. The second is to be kind. And the third is to be kind.
–Henry JamesWe want you to follow the same general structure of the above quote. Feel free to change the subject–tell us what’s important about coffee or houseplants or whatever you’d like. Or else change up the modifier–instead of telling us what’s important, tell us what’s sexy or overrated or pernicious. Your last three lines should closely echo James’s, giving us the same answer three times.
Three things are inexplicable about my love for him. First, that I love him. Second, that I love him. Third, that I love him.
You’ve imbibed a special potion that makes you immortal. Now that you’ve got forever, what changes will you make in your life? How will you live life differently, knowing you’ll always be around to be accountable for your actions?
I shuddered. Looking at the overcast sky, it made me wonder whether I really did want to be here forever. I walked down to the wharf where the cold ocean was beating against the city defenses. It was a gloomy morning, and I couldn’t help but relive my whole life in my head, thinking of all life’s problems, all my problems. Tug. I frowned, looking at my feet; they were caught in a tangle of seaweed. I tried to step neatly out of it and failed. Bending down, mentally rolling my eyes in annoyance, I tried to extricate my feet from the plant. But what I touched was certainly not seaweed – cold and hard, my shivering fingers scraped against a raggedly cut piece of plastic – it looked like half-full garbage bag. Indignant I wondered why anyone would ever mar the beauty of the ocean with (literally) garbage, thinking of all the Discovery documentaries I’d watched, all those otters and dolphins and turtles being choked to death. The next generation was gonna have a lot to deal with. Suddenly, I sucked in a gasp. No, not them. Me. I was going to have a lot to deal with. Pursing my lips, I kicked the plastic trashbag further out of the water to appease my conscience, before hurriedly leaving the spot. The sight of the ocean always made me think too much. Heading back down the road again, I decided I had better send the new couple next door a welcoming gift. And stop dumping leaf litter over in their yard. Cringe. I’d be seeing them for a while.
Do you belong in this day and age? Do you feel comfortable being a citizen of the 21st-century? If you do, explain why — and if you don’t, when in human history would you rather be?
Photographers, artists, poets: show us MODERN.
I think every age has its ups and downs. For example, Renaissance Europe had dashing gentleman and beautiful ladies, but no telephones. Probably very primitive toilets.
So I think I’m fine just where I am. That being the boring response that it is, I decided to try poetry this time, using the abab rhyme scheme.
Modernity is subjective,
Constantly changing shape;
Used as an invective
If heydays be used as measuring tape;
Used as highest praise
To the pretentious, or a new age
artiste; Lazy days
And broken ties cause great rage.
You can be modern in thought
In word or in deed;
But the question remains: what
is ‘modern’ indeed?
She found what she was looking for, one day too late.
“Argh, where’d that stupid sock go?” Janet groaned, digging through her sock drawer for the fourth time. She could find one of her black socks. The heel of one of her favorite pair of stilettos had snapped last Thursday, so she had to wear trousers and shoes to work again today.The only clean pair left were her red ones, and those just wouldn’t do for the company briefing she had to attend.
“Ms. Brown,” coughed the client as she rushed in, cheeks flushed, half an hour late. Everyone was staring. Crap. She could feel everyone staring at her feet. She gritted her teeth. She had a feeling today’s entertainment over coffee would be sexist jokes.
Kicking off her shoes, eyes full of loathing, she barreled into the laundry room, stuffing the offending socks into the washing machine along with the rest of the load, and hurled herself onto the couch, stuffing her face with two-minute noodles. Stupid black sock. Had to pick today to go missing.
Next morning was Saturday. Around twelve, she finally got up. She’d promised Sue she’d meet her for lunch today. Digging through the dryer for her white blouse, she accidentally stepped on something soft. It was a solitary black sock. She moaned; she found what she was looking for, one day too late.
Where do your morals come from — your family? Your faith? Your philosophical worldview? How do you deal with those who don’t share them, or derive them from a different source?
Growing up, my source of moral values was my family, but that’s a no-brainer, given that obeying and making them proud is ingrained in our minds as our duty from a very young age. As I grew up and met those outside my home, others with conflicting or perhaps different worldviews, I reevaluated the parameters of my personal definition of morality, and I continue to do so even today.
As a student of science, if there’s one thing I have learned, it is to absorb information unbiased, consider all the possible alternatives, and then settle for the most rational one; as the information available keeps increasing, to keep adjusting the parameters of my belief system.
That’s the attitude I approach morality with. The very definition of moral (definition 2) implies that morality is individual-specific. I base my sense of morality mostly on common sense; if it’s hurting someone, it must be wrong on some level, and conversely, if no one is hurt by it, it couldn’t possibly by entirely evil.
I believe the reason there are so many scuffles taking place over moral outrage is because people tend to be heavily biased. I’m no exception either; the best example I can come up with is the Twilight and Fifty Shades of Grey series. Hearing about the plotlines, I developed an immediate dislike to both the series. I said insulting things about the books left and right and felt no regret doing it. I thought people who read the book were fools. Then someone made a comment in passing about a literary preference of mine, and I immediately snapped at them, telling them “Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it,” then immediately felt ashamed of myself.
I took it upon myself to read both the series with as open a mind as I could muster, and, although my opinion of the series remained almost the same, I did find certain things to appreciate along the way. I learnt things I hadn’t known previously, and some of my stances softened.My worldview broadened a bit and I had to concede that if I were someone else, in different surroundings, perhaps my outlook would be different.
That lesson is what I take with me when I consider morality. No matter what my opinion, if I take the trouble to listen without bias, I will undoubtedly take home something important at the end of the day. And as far as tolerance goes, I go by the adage: Your yard ends where mine begins. It’s the perfect ideal to judge by, whether it be a question life, liberty, morality, or even actual yards.
We all have something we’d like to write about, but that doesn’t really “fit” our blog. Write it anyway.
Photographers, artists, poets: show us MISFIT.
The community bench is
Just another place to park this
That is my body,
But this is one place where I
Blend in. I don’t have to
Bring anything original
To the metaphorical table
Or pretend I like the taste of
What’s being served.
No one will ask me
Am I happy
or How am I.
We just smile at each other
So we know we’re not alone.