I hope everyone has a better year!
Thursday, December 31, 2009
Friday, December 25, 2009
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
Friday, November 27, 2009
I am not sure I have the steam to write 10K words for the next two days straight! We shall see. But December is NANO finishing month. I plan on signing up for that.
10,000 words is 40.. yes count them 40 pages of story written!!
That puts me at 23,532 words for the second NANO novel
75,532 words for the month.
Monday, November 23, 2009
I am thinking of doing something totally crazy! I am thinking of starting the second novel tomorrow sometime. Yes, a second 50,000 word novel in 7 days. Can I do it? I have no idea! Mainly because I have no idea of what to do for the second story! I don't write with out lines so that is out of the question! If I write an outline I KNOW I will NOT make it- they stifle me!
We shall see what happens. If I can get in 2 days of 10K words each, I should be able to get 50k more words. If I write erotic I shoudl be able to do so but I am not sure that is what I want to write.
Friday, November 20, 2009
Paranoid Inside (NANO excerpt Delirium by JL Denman 2009
Paranoid on the inside.
Sometimes I'm crazy. People, they stare at me from behind wide eyes. Why?
Stop looking at me! What is wrong with you? Keep your eyes in your own head. Don't stare. look away. Stop that. Plotting. Are you plotting on me? Are you? You back there planning my demise? You, you over there in the bushes, what are you doing? Why do you have a camera? Stop filming me. This ain't no Truman Show. Get out of my yard. Yes, I see eyes everywhere. Looking, blinking, starring, making those slitted looks at me. Stop it.
I hear you. What? You stop, you. Stop that whispering! Behind. Behind my back- I know you are there! I hear you. I hear the words you want to hide, but I know. I know deep down inside that you are just a mess. You want to purge your mess on to me. Stop following around with your gossiping mouths. I don't need you. Stop that. Keep away from me . Stop talking! Stop it!
My hands fly to my hears. Eyes close. Head shakes. Hair twitches uncontrollably.
Stop it Stop it Stop it! Go away!
I feel you breathing down my neck. Get off.
Flick. Slap at the invisible hands? Fingers? No! Talons click and snap at my shoulders.
Keep away. Keep them far away!
Growl. Grit teeth.
I hate you. Don't touch me with your filth. Go! Get. Move March get away!
Screams. Shouts. Echoes bounce off of dead walls and bone skulls. paranoid inside. Move! Don't you do it. Don't you touch me. I hate you did you do that. Flinch. Twitch., eyes closed down like lopsided shutters Stop get away. twitch Paranoid inside. they plot on me. I see them. Crazy people with gnashing teeth and bleeding gossip gums they talk and talk and talk and talk and talk behind my back. blood drooling on my bones as the y do. I know I know you! You bastard! You did it. Keep your fetid breath from my ear. Go away. Flinch left. Twitch right. Shiver . Cold.- the wind of the yacking and plotting and scrying and crying makes me cold so cold. Ice cold. Glacier cold. Need warmth not heat here Paranoid inside. They are trying to kill me. Freeze me out. Freeze me. Block of black ice. Slick! they try to chisel me. They do stop! You did it. Hair flies. Black brown strands string around in frantic webs.
Stop! Leave me alone. I hate you! Go.
Finger, knuckle white, points. Teeth clatter. Bite the tongue.
Stop! Stop! Stop! Stop! Strop!
Shake furiously. Paranoid inside. Faster turn turn turn around. F aces move like blurs, swirl- no twist into distorted faces. Noses become eyes. Eyes become teeth. Always teeth yack. Lips flap. They spread wide... wide... wide... sliced in gruesome faces. White, white, always white face and eyes twist and churn. No eyes- blind. No ears- deaf. No mind- dumb.
Stop! Stop! Stop! H
Hand flies to ears. Double over over over over again and over again. and .. more
Screams. Shaking shoulders heave. Lungs squeeze. Shoot. Bang!
Stop, drop dead?
Not dead. They plot and shoot and try to kill me. Paranoid inside.
Where are all your faces?
Dimmed- turned black ash. No faces? No words? Yes. Faster. Faster spin everything, spinning. Blink fast, faster. Constantly eye wide. Lid closed half pulled shutters over.
Double over again. Fall. Ground hard. Knees crushed under weight. Pointing fingers laughing laughter giggles, jest, jest, and cheers! Everything faster and spinning curled over again double in on self. Paranoid inside every side outside.
No! Truth! Real! Reality! They do it. They do it again. Over and over they talk and jeer. Stop!
Screams. Fetal position. Knees to chest. Head covered. Eyes squinted tight shut against the visions.
The noise- the talk, the scratching at bars, the scratching at shields- never stops.
Paranoid inside, around sides, outsides. Cover cower. Hide.
Stop! Stay away. free me! Help! No! Plotting. Plotting to kill me dead here and now. Stop ! Help!
No help for you. We win!~We win.
Rattling yawns crashing waves dark laughter dark taunting. Fetal position hiding.
Go! Leave! Stop your plotting on me. Leave me alone!
Dance the dance of the cabal!
Taunt tease vivisect! No!
Hide! Protection? Where?
Where are you?
I feel them press. Hateful people. Hateful faces. Hateful words. Stab at me.
They have knives! Oh!
Crouched in on self. Deeper. Hide escape. Hide!
Convulse. Spasm. raucous .
Screams! Screams! Shouts and tears!
Paranoid inside, around sides, outsides.
@ all rights reserved
Saturday, November 14, 2009
You can find the tutorial from Linda Rosa here.
Thursday, November 12, 2009
So I go to sleep tonightwith a 22,300 words count and a new title with some new direction! Deliruim by JL Denman 2009 NANO * Now we'll see if it actually sticks.*
Saturday, November 7, 2009
Thursday, November 5, 2009
So just got back from the Mint Condition concert in Cincy! The first two acts were cool. Eric Bennet- not that impressed. But it was totally cool to do something different. We got our tickets autographed and of course I took a butt load of pictures! My sis is going to post them and I'll post a few as well! Cool!
I also am at 8800 words on my NANO novel. I am about to write some more before I crash.
Monday, November 2, 2009
Alright pals o mine! Nov 2nd Drop me a line or a quote or a photo, etc. to incorporate into a piece for NANO novel 2! I look forward to hearing something for someone out there! EEEk :)
thanks Nona & Corrina for two prompts for yesterday, Nov. 1st!!!
Saturday, October 31, 2009
I can't believe this is the last day of October. I did not make my 35,000 word count goal for Gothno. However, In less 13 hours National Novel Writing Month will begin! The goal 50,000 word novel. I also plan on doing a second piece this month. However, I need all of your help to do the second piece! So Every day I'll ask for a line, a scenario, a quote, a picture, whatever you all, my lovely friends out there would like me to write about! Then I'll post the results for ya'll to read! Maybe I'll call it Words from the Book of Faces. Wooo I kinda like that! Anyway today I will be making a few novel badges and book covers! Check them out as I go! I have them posted over on Facebook.
Ok I can't decided which title to actual write so--- I'm making several covers and badges!
Thursday, October 29, 2009
I can't believe October is almost over. I only made 7500 and some change for Gothno. Now Nano starts on Nov. 1! Goal- 50,000 words in one month! This novel- The bIg Life of Brassy Beep. I might also work on another collection of vignettes. Yes, we're talking a possible 2 novels!
I was thinking of doing a Facebook write it challenge: You all suggest a few lines or a topic each day and I write a piece incorporating it into my novels! Should be fun! Hopefully it will work!
I was thinking of doing a Facebook write it challenge: You all suggest a few lines or a topic each day and I write a piece incorporating it into my novels! Should be fun! Hopefully it will work!
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Saturday, October 17, 2009
Sunday, October 11, 2009
Here is my Goth No banner and a rough excerpt from my novel- The Ring of Ourob by JL Denman 2009
The circle and the mother flashes of nightmare (Oct 10, 2009)
She got flashes. In the mornings when the moon faded and the
sun still hide from the world she had flashes. dreams. Those
fine detailed imaginings that never really left her. She
imagine that she had seen monsters. She ran to her mother
every night crying, tears streaming down her face her grey eyes
lightened with the sobs. She'd run to her mother tiny fat
little legs and chubby feet padding against the cold titles down dark
hallways. It seemed interminable, the chases through eh night.
She remembered the nightgown flapping behind her. It was
pink and roses danced across the bottom hem. The ruffle
flounced beneath that and then up the front of her chubby
belly a red vine slithered its way up to the throat of the
nightgown. Here another ruffle pink and rosy fluttered
under her neck. A tiny rose plastic button clasped neath that.
Her red curls cinched up into two pigtails flapped about her
shoulders as she ran to her mother's bedroom. "Momma!
Momma! Help! "
She frantically dashing into the room, breathing heavily, chased my
night terrors and dark demons, she 'd cower at her mother's
feet. the high boy bed with its cherry posters and lace canopy
was safe haven. It was a dream world much better than the
nightmare one Astrid fled from in her own corner of the
house. "Momma! "
" Come child. " her mother held out long arms, comforting
shelter in a dank mansion of a child's imagination..
"What did you see? " Her soothing voice washed over her
child as smooth and silky and tantalizing as warm blankets in
winter. " Her mother's hand, slim fingered and gentle caressed
the red curls and small shoulders in pink rose flannel.
Her little feet tucked up under her frame curled up on her
mother's lap, were warm. The chill of tile seeped out into the
covers her mother provided.
"Monsters. I saw them." She breathed quietly, a tiny thrush in
a barren tree chased by a cat breathed more restfully. " I saw
her. It. She had a tail like a snake. It was over the crib. She
sang a weird song. I saw her.
Astrid's mother slowed her stroking. Her pale face grew wan,
thin lips stretched tightly over clenched teeth. "Now, there
baby. Momma's here with you. The monsters will not hurt you.
They can not come passed the circle. See.?"
She pointed her finger towards the circular etching on the back
of her bedroom door. Like autumn leaves entwined on the
wood, or like flames slightly blown askew, the circlet seemed
to glow in the crevices. "Momma is here and nothing can
attack, or scare or harm you. The circle protects us all. "
Astrid's mother bent her lips to her daughter's forehead placing a
gentle tender kiss there. Her hand resumed is warm
caressing over her daughter's taunt back. In slow low hums, she
whispers soothing chords and rocked her baby to sleep again.
"I saw the monsters. They're coming." Astrid breathed
out slowly. He warmth of her mother's touch, the comfort of
her mother's bed, and the soft flame glow of the circlet the
door, eased her , lulled her back o to sleep. The dreams of the
monsters faded. to be replaced by the sound of her mother's
song and the visions of unicorns and peach blossoms under a
When her daughter's mind rested and she returned to quiet
sleep, Astrid's mother gently lay her under the heavy coverlet ,
brocade. In her own white ephemeral gown she slipped from the
bed. Her feet pattered against the cold tiles. She reached
the door and turned the gold knob. hesitantly she pulled the
door open. She leaned from the threshold and peered down the
corridors. Nothing but darkness and cold. She heard no sound
except the scratching of mice. The only light came from
the Gothic window half way down the hall. A single lawn lamp
like the gaslights from England's past shone through the stain
glass monochromatic. Dust bites or latent ghost scales whirled
slowly in the night light like pallid frost caught in winter
winter. She bent further, straining to see in the dark or hear
anything coming from Astrid's room. Nothing. From the
opposite directions a swift gust of wind blow passed her check
stirring a lock of auburn hair against her check. She flinched.
Quickly yet quietly she pulled back into the safety of her
bedroom. Closed the door and traced the circlet with her
finger as she whispered an ancient tune. the flame leaves glowed
red, a plume of red dust ushered from the center. As Astrid's
mother tiptoed back to the warmth of her bed, the leaf
flames died down to a amber hue. The circle will protect us,
she thought to herself. But for how long?
Thursday, October 8, 2009
Somewhat excited- I wrote another 1007 words for my Goth No novel today so far. That makes a total of 1930. I should be at 8000. EEK. Well there is always the weekend. I also cleaned out the fridge. I'm cooking a cherry pie! Thank goodness for Sara Lee cause... ya'll no I don't bake! Cook -yes! Bake - nah!
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
Ok, I am going to try and recover to the blissful place of writing!
Anyway, October 1st begins Gothic novel writing month!!! Excitement! I have no story idea yet or characters. I have a glue book page done to inspire me. That is about it! Maybe I should drag out the Poe for inspiration.
Sunday, September 20, 2009
I feel like crap. Maybe I'm depressed. It's weird. I feel creative yet I feel like burying myself under the covers or curling up on my sofa and NEVER leaving my house again except to go grocery or craft supply shopping! What is that about!? Is there such a thing as selective depression?
Why am I sad? I don't know. I think I still need time away from all this around where I live. Sometimes I feel like I need a TOTALLY new scene. Everything- church, apt, job, city to live in-- Maybe it's not sadness so much as a total loss of interest in most things in my regular life.
Thursday, September 17, 2009
Over on Sunflower Ranch- this picture was posted as a writing challenge. Here is my off the cuff 3 minute poem to go with it.
so in love
so deeply enamored of your grace
so deliciously green
so deep in touch
so divinly attached to the universe
so much more than life
so much more than peace
so much more placid, tranquil, enveloping
so beyond my expectations
so beyond my desires
so beyond the petty violence of puny people
so powerful in all your majesty
so entwined in love and earth
Vine- lead us to serenity
Sunday, September 6, 2009
I need a total change of scenery and place. I feel totally out of place being back from St. Croix. Some many things seem wrong or overly stressful. I can't even go into them. It's just this overwhelmign feeling- this all encompassing feeling of I don't want to be here, I NEED to be somewhere else.
Sunday, August 23, 2009
heavy looming darkness of blackened iron and rusted nerves
circlets of doom and gloom and unabashed slavery
clank lock down on skin fresh ripe summertime free
twisted weights waiting to consume
kinks in the absolute joy of 3:00PM
dragging through a work day
slave to the time clock booming its own clang and clank across the check-in point's walls
ain't work grand-
Saturday, August 22, 2009
Restless by JL Denman august 21, 2009
strung out on your love
wrecked in the heart
bound and gagged
insides worn out and the outside boiled away in frustrated roiling
dyeing from loneliness and sadness and absence
absence makes the heart grow...
fonder, deeper, wider, more more more more more more
absence makes the nerves fray
makes the soul strain
makes the heart beat two minutes then not at all then a mile a minute then nothing at all then slow and sluggish as a snail stuck in frozen sludge.
I feel it crawling
more nonsense blaring at me from speakers and screen and inside my own head screeching like hoot owls in the middle of a hail storm on the wake of a hurricane.
feeding desperation feeding heartbreak
your absence it pulls at me
it makes me cry
it turns my insides out to the world to pick at and poke at and wonder at and laugh at and...
night is too bright
day is too dark
heat is too cold
cold is sweltering
without your smile
without your love
without your arms
out out out out out
alone waiting for your return--------------- my return to you
I rest less
all turned upside down
all mashed and smashed against the back of my rib cage where my heart should be and where your love is hiding- too far away so far away yet so close so closed up next to my own beating, whimpishly, impishly, achingly restless heart that pumps memories and sweet songs to my brain.
restless. I can’t rest
'less you're near to me
here with me
next to me
to rest in your arms and cover myself with your kisses
..............................................until I smell your cologne on my pillow.
..............................................until I feel your kisses on my neck.
..............................................until I feel you, all of you again
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
Saturday, August 8, 2009
The big suck factor... it's almost time for school to start again! EEEEEEEEEW
I do have several pictures of my trip to post, however :) YEAH!!!
Friday, July 10, 2009
Over on Sunflower ranch's blog, this writing challenge #11 was issued. The following is my quick write response. Thanks Sunflower!
Giantess by JL Denman
I'm dreaming of snapping the Eiffel Tower in two! A mean super human strong giantess! I was green. My husband was so jolly. I wanted to smack him. He had no ambition, just stood around smiling like an idiot down or those tiny green bean fellows. I'd have stomped them down into green dust. Giantess! I'm so glad I am not green- ok I'm new at the giantess-ness of my new wish life, but I am not green. My skin is aquamarine with a hint of jade and turquoise. I shine in the sun, unlike my jolly green annoying husband! He is green as jungle leaves and just as dumb.
I dream of snapping the Eiffel Tower in half then erecting a diamond and lead crystal throne for myself in its place.
Friday, July 3, 2009
Feel like Dancing! by JL Denman July 3, 2009
I feel like dancin’
tappin’ my toes
swingin’ my hips
I feel like swirlin’ swirlin’ around a pole.
swingin’ my legs up and over my head while I slide down the gold shaft.
I feel like singin’
sing- throaty and lush into a sweaty microphone in a sweat club in nothin’ but a feather boa and a thong.
I feel like dancin’.
Dancin’ right on over
over the edge
the edge of a cliff
the edge of a castle wall
the edge of the stage.
I feeling dancin’ and crashin’crashin’ into rocks and water
splat on the bottom of a ravine
let the vultures dance in the sky over my corps.
I feel like dancin’
dancin’ on the edge
Flittin’ around the precipice
I feel like flyin’ flyin’ right on the wing of an eagle
an eagle sorin’ through the air- blind- and spiralin’ out of control
I feel like dancin’, don’t you know?
I feel it
deep deep to my toes, tips and toes
legs and knees
ankles and bones
Oh, yes! I feel like dancin’
dancin’ feel fine, fine as wine and drunk as a skunk
I feel like dancin’ and swirlin’ and swingin’ and singin’ and flittin’ and flyin’ and divin’ and splattin’
right over the edge
the edge of a huge ragged
jagged cliff that sings so high with wind songs.
I feel like dancin’.
Thursday, July 2, 2009
Thank you Sunflower Ranch for this award! It makes me happy to know that people enjoy my work! I have so much fun writing them!
**The NENO Award is given to "those who love blogging and love to encourage friendships through blogging, and to help others seek the reasons why we all love blogging." That's a very cool statement and one of the very best, if not THE best reason for blogging -- to encourage friendships through blogging.**
Here are some of the lovely blog places I like to visit! Keep up the excellent work!
Jen Rier Always Photography
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
I've been looking through old pieces. I also took photos of the water fountains downtown. One inspired a new collection. So I am combining previous pieces and new ones to make a poetry book. I plan to have it done by the end of July or the beginning of August. I think that would be a nice personal project. Here is the cover art I made from one of my fountain photos.
I am also going to do a poetry/jewelry book. Many of my jewelry pieces have names. So I will do a poem in conjunction with the piece. Some already have poems over on my gallery.
Cherry Blossom by JL Denman 3/27/07
He was buried under the cherry blossoms but he wasn't exactly dead. He wasn’t exactly dead... I smiled at the thought./ Exactly dead meant so many things. So many ends. But not EXACTLY dead meant there were so many places things beginnings left. I smirked at that.
He was always so smug. Smug, rude, vile. Dead would be far to good a state for him. Instead not exactly suited my purposes. My purposes? What exactly would you like to know of my purposes? No, I am no loon, traipsing through the world on the slippery edge of sanity. Some people may think so, but the insane never know sanity. I on the other hand had no problems distinguishing the two. I just happen to enjoy the sadistic, the dark, the rude, the wild, the OH my Goodness- well, in my case, the oh my badness! And he, there, buried beneath the cherry blossoms, he liked to play along- a masochistic nut job that enjoyed a dastardly joke.
So which of us would be insane? The inflictor or the inflictee upon who gets off on it? Either way, here we are in the downtown park, broad daylight, him buried under the cherry blossoms, and I holding the shovel what plowed him under. It is a hoot! It’s an experiment. How long can he stay there without losing it? How long will I stand around waiting for the tiny bell to ring? How long and how many passers by will look, stared, gawk but keep on moving about in their own clouded deluded funks and fogs?
I’m nearly finished with the second chapter of the new novel I started. He, there buried under the cherry blossoms, helps me with my writing. When he’s in pain, I’m in glory. When he’s stretched out, I’m wound up. We’re a pair, we are. Sun and moon. Light and dark. Sane and insane. Then again all truly good couples are.
I’ve finished another chapter, taken a nap, dreamed up another torturous plight for my crazed lover.
A short ringing. A light twinkle. A slight shift in the cherry blossoms. I stand. He claws. We smile. Home we go. He trails cherry blossoms and grave dirt.
Thursday, June 25, 2009
Notes: I hid under the desk, wishing I was smaller, wishing I could disappear altogether.
Why is she/he hiding? Who's trying to find her? Why?
They say we¢ll be around forever. The bomb didn¢t get us. The spray didn¢t burn us. The whole world dies and we, we little munchers, get to survive and chew and gnaw on the bloody, yummy bits. My brother, well, he learned the hard way that they, those giants out there with the microscopes and white coats and thick rimmed bottled looking eyes, were wrong!
Oh sure we survive. The race survives; it always does. But that don¢t amount to a hill of dung or rat drips in the grand scheme of my little self. Who cares if a race survives when you ain't there to scurry around with the rest of the minis? So! so what, I sound selfish? Think about it, you don¢t want to be some bitty runt dead at the bottom of the cosmic shoe. Do you? NO you don¢t! No shoe ridge filler for you! No boot heel mish-mash. No potato mash guts for you. YOU want to survive. Don¢t you? We all do.
Yet you force me to sit here hiding beneath that noise box. Scared to death that death will come for me. Yep, come right on for me, a giant smoosher ready to grind my exoskeleton to pulp. Oh, except I don¢t get that graceful, martyr-esque death that you all watch so much on those damnable plipping boxes with the electronic clicker! Oh, no glory and bravado and praises for me and my kind, not that I care too much about the rest of my kind in perpetuity since I won¢t see 'em no time soon if you have your blasted way! I get no 21 gun salute. I get gassed, stomped, beheaded. Smooshed and swatted with brooms and big boots- my head lying 3 inches away and my body scurrying around trying to find it Real funny, funny death for me! Pull off a leg! beat me with it! Stab me with the left over wing tip! Kill me, I¢m your lowly crunching boy! Thank ya massa!
Or it¢s death by that oh so wonderful, oh so threateningly looming, every expanding white crinkled up flimsy tissue thing. We weren't frightened by such flipery once upon a time. Oh what that don¢t hurt us. We¢ll survive a nuclear bomb! HAHAH, the last laugh was on Freddy. Freddy died at the hand of one of those white omens of death and gut spewing!
So you and your fine tall folks keep on spraying and stomping. I sit here under a piano wishing I were smaller, wishing I were invisible. The INVISIBLE INVINCIBLE ROGUE ROACH OF APARTMENT 747.
The Courtship of Medusa part I by JL Denman (talula)
"Are you utterly daft?
"You have no idea what you’d be getting into!"
"Of course I do. I’m not afraid."
"You should be."
"Look at me. Who should I be afraid of? There’s no one more hideous, except possibly the Elephant Man. Few are stronger except maybe Superman, but he’s a top side pretty boy. Certainly mortal."
"It’s dangerous. Life and death dangerous. I’m already dead even I would think twice, three times before doing something that crazy."
"Because you still need blood. Blood can still freeze, turn."
"True. This is suicide though, Frankie. You’re a big boy alright but you still have to eat which , last time I checked, makes you ‘alive’ and therefore there whole thing is dangerous. If not for you, then certainly the rest of us!"
"Not with a mask."
"Masks won’t help us if we look at her!"
"A Mask for her." He was exasperated. Even with his mind slowing he could figure that much out. Drac was being paranoid.
"She’ll never go for it. She’s a beast!"
He shrugged. "We all are>"
"true enough. But even beasts want to stay ‘alive!"
Frankie raised his protruding eyebrow ridge. He gave Drac a slow dropping sardonic smirk.
"Yes. Yes!. My good boy, I see the irony. But, that woman is a killer by choice or not. She’s uncontrollable. If you... if she... if just one of those little pets of hers gets feisty, the nearest ghoul could..."
Frankie slowly raised his stiff arms and grunted, "Maaa NAAAA AHHHH."
"Oh stop it! That stupid show you put on for those idiotic top side fleshies is not going to work on me and you know it."
Frankie plopped down on the concrete chair. Even it groaned under his weight. " You make me sick sometimes, you old bloodsucker."
"Look, Frankie, dating in the ghoul pool is slim pickings. I know! Why do you think I go around creating my own den of demon girls?" He chuckled. "But, this, this idea of yours, is just insane! That woman- thing- beast- she’s on her own secluded island with her wicked sisters for a reason."
"But nothing. Even if SHE allowed you within ten feet of her, her sisters would politely rip your sorry corpse back into its pieces. Of course provided looking at you doesn’t freeze you dead. We’ve not established that you ARE immune, you know."
Frankie conked his forehead against the concrete table.
"Bashing out the few brains you have isn’t going to do you any good."
Frankie’s head smashed through the table. In two pieces, the slab split. The noise reverberated off of the stone wall’s
"I want her. HER!" Frankie’s frustration rumbled in his big barrel chest.,
"I know you’re disappointed with your maker. You had every right to destroy him and that she devil he created for you. But this? This is reckless."
Frankie stood and grabbed Drac by the throat. White fangs snapped. Long talon-like nails slashed as Drac struggled against Frankie’s wide, crushing grip.
"I’ll have her!" Frankie dropped Drac as quickly as he’d grabbed the vampire up.
Outraged blood foaming at the corners of his mouth. His eyes, hell fire red, smoked. In an instant he morphed into a giant bat and assaulted Frankie. Stiffly, Frankie fended off the great attack.
"Don’t ever do that again." Drac hissed and spit.
Frankie wiped the ooze from his face then slumped back into his chair.
"I’ll have her."
"Suit yourself you bag of dead bits and rot. I hope she kills you. IF you con kill a thing as hideous and dead as you already are!"
"You’re already dead, too. Most of us are." Frankie grumbled.
"But she’s not! What does that mean for the rest of us?" Drac flew out of the tower window. The Wolfman howled as he lead the pack over the grounds. Coffins, sarcophagi, bottles, urns, lamps spewed their contents as well, sending genie and vampires and ghosts and goblins amuck in the night time world.
But Frankie plotted. She wasn’t going to be an easy catch, particularly after that fiasco with Jason. The sisters would be much more vigilant. They probably had employed or threatened a whole army of harpies and Valkyrie to defend themselves. Frankie’s bolts sparked at the idea of Jason’s blade slicing through his loves throat. Wicked breeder! Then to carry her precious head to that hideous king! A stray bolt jolted the window casement. How to get to her and bring her back and keep every other ghoul fleshy, at least not stone...?
When the first cock crowed the residents of Castle Galdumeare wrestled themselves into their respective containers to await the first arms of darkness, The few, like Frankie, who were unconcerned with or not constrained by sunshine roamed the grounds or slept at will. Frankie simply locked live wires to his neck and recharged.
While electricity jostled his large, dull frame, it energized and galvanized his brain. Connected, hyped up on electric juice, Frankie felt as smart and sophisticated as Drac or the Swamp Thing. Get one of the flyers to do it or one of the class ten ghosts! Either would be capable of carrying my weight and hers. IF the flyers didn’t go too near the island, but dropped me into the ocean, they’d be unaffected. Since the class tens have no eyes in their gusty forms, they would likewise be unaffected. They might even be useful in dispersing the army the sisters surely had surrounding the island. Yes! Get the class tens but would they help?
*** to be continued*
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
AWw thanks Mary! I appreciate it! Sometimes you feel like just rattling off into cyberspace nowhere. Thanks for being there to read and encourage. I have fun visiting your blog!!!!
Here are the rules as posted on Mary's blog.
Sunflower Ranch blog
Mary Ann Gruen blog.
Silk Painting with Deborah Younglao
Shay Stone's Jewelry and Art Blog
Fleur Violette Jewelry
Queen of Torts
Friday, June 19, 2009
A letter. People wait for them in the mail, in email, in Forever Never Land where letters mean nothing but babble fish words and snap crackle pop. Some people wait for letters to tell them that lovers miss them dearly. Others - to spell death certificates to stop the suffering of an invalid. Some people wait for letters that the tax man is coming, breaking up a happy business.
The other day I wait for a letter to tell me I was special, to tell me someone out in the wide wild world was actually thinking of me. It never came.
B. It’s a bumpy letter with humps and curves. It’s the boob of the alphabet. Not the geek but the breast. See, B. Two knockers stuck up on a spinal rack.
I like B. It reminds me of me. Not a stick thin waif like I! No! I has no spunk. No curve no umph! It stands there like a gash in the mist of flowing letters. But B is perfectly lovely!
B. Yes! Now she stands there round and full. Even in her little form, b, has bounce and booty! Junk in her trunk and stuff above the muff!
B is bright, bodacious, booty-licious, brave, brazen, beautific.
B is my favorite letter of the alphabet!
For haiku Fridays these were my three this week.
Weeping willows tears
Dim marshes sultry essence
a southern deathbed
Blue crisp snow crunches
crystal cicles sparkle white
bleeding polar bears
Not half full round moon
raging werewolves rampant
ferial dreamings eat
|The Signs of Scylla|
This evoled as pices for 100words.com. The title stuck in my head this morning and I wrote the pieces to catch up on the dates I had missed for June 100words.
The Signs of Scylla by JLD 2007
The Signs of Scylla I learned way back as a child. They guided me through adolescence. They spurred me through college. They rushed me along early middle age. The Signs of Scylla are grounded in truths that no one person ever tells you but that you must learn in order to be complete and navigate a world that doesn't want you in it. This world wasn't made for you or me or people like me. No, it was made for those that are THEM. The white kind. The rich kind. The boy kind. Not my kind who is/ are/ were everything darker, brighter, more knowing, less adored.
Scylla devoured. She, I call her she because she is violent and warm and caring and destructive. Scylla is a water monster bent on protecting what she deems fit. Scylla is powerfully evil and good combined. She is a mighty teacher. She guides the way. She protects the way. She's fierce. Scylla is a violent teacher and a heavy taskmaster. Yet, her wisdom is carnal, infinite, truth barbed with beastliness. Scylla the two faced, many face, bitch destroyed and conquered. She teaches how to live in rampant waters among violent men on floating vessels who mistakenly think they are invincible.
Scylla the wicked beast of the sea, she is the teacher of would be harpies in modern world. She mothers us through history's waters. I followed her signs.
She told me long ago when I was little exactly what to do to survive. Hide. Oh it seems cowardly. Hide. Go behind, go under, go anywhere where the dark recesses will welcome you. Hide. Be silent. Keep still. Keep your guard up. But hide young one hide. Stealth is thy friend. They fear not what they do not know or care to see is there. Hide little girl, listen, gain strength.
Scylla did not stop. She spoke more. She growled, crunched more wisdom.
She taught a new sign, lesson. Creep child. Creep through the mists in the midst of them that would kill you. Creep. Wind thyself like wet serpents around and through the strong fortresses of them that would destroy you. Creeping is not cow towing. No, little one, little girl, it is learning to bend and not break. It is learning to slink through and to spy out that which they would hide from you. They keep their strength and knowledge away. But between themselves they blather and boast.
The Signs of Scylla are branded into the hearts and minds and teeth of we who know. We, the little girls, the black ones, the darker ones, the ones who know the underbelly. Scylla, she cares for us and we learn.
She told me later to ambush. Aw yes, to snatch and crush at will. To snap shut my jaws upon the unsuspecting Viking raging and ravishing my waters. Snatch them, little one. Make them fear you, but keep hidden who you is. Let them hear the howls of their fellows. Let them see the bloody tore bits. Bite them. Retreat. Kill them. Watch them shit their pants.
Scylla is a mother - vibrant, lethal. She's the serpentine witch that they all fear. She's loyal to her kind.
Little ones, my children, my water babies, my disheartened, disenfranchised seed, be true to your calling. Rip from the world those that spitefully use you and your kind. Grind them down. Tear them. Keep them always to your faces. Be sly, cunning, strong. Learn of them. Watch them. But be loyal to your own kind. Your kind will protect you. Your kind will guard your faces, your loves, your hearts. Keep your teeth from out of each other's backs! Be united!
Scylla, my devouring goddess, patron saint of destruction, sea wench. My loving devourer- I hear, pass on.
Your faces are you and not you. Your mouths are you and not you. Use them. Open wide your maws, spew the fetid stench of dead men's boney blood when your future enemies gather. Remind them, paint them in blood gore of their past glories. Your faces are many. You are what you show, whatever time you choose. You, my little Scylla's are not bound by singularity. Your faces are many use them to your advantage and to their demise. Learn, waterbabies, learn.
The Signs of Scylla keep our sea ways, us buoyant in sucking whirlpools. They keep us vibrant in dark grey squalls. The Signs of Scylla ground us in the fluid tangibility of rough waters and peaceful depths in ocean canyons.
The Signs are our sacred texts. They show the world. They enlighten the lost. They keep at bay the ragers of war, the destructors of souls, the polluters of air, the defilers of woman, child, darkness, communal progress. The signs of Scylla, the destructor, gird up the underbellies. The Signs of Scylla, the scales of justice, not mercy, protect us.
Fuel for the Soul 9/29/03
Hunger. A driving consuming need to feed. Nourishment and sustenance- the lack of which will cause unrelieved pain. Lack, hunger, unsatisfied desire. Hunger leads to self destruction. Original preservation transforms and mutates itself into self cannibalism. Stomach begins to feed upon itself. Acid chews through the lining to nourish the body’s other systems. Slowly, slowly the body kills itself to save itself. Gradually the original strength, vitality, luster, and cognizance fades, diminishes until a bland, wan shell remains.
Without God, the spirit of men and women do the same. Fuel for the soul- the essence that is human and Divine must be ingested. The word of God fuels the soul,. Word is life; it feeds and nourishes. They word through sermon, prayer, communion strengthens the spirit. Word instructs. It provides the needed substances to function properly. It allows the soul to "eat" and use its energy to build proteins. To apply meat. The instruction allows the soul to function within constructive limits.
Little Girl’s Dreams by JLD 8/7/07
PROMPT: Pencils, rulers, and chalk- use them in a piece NOT about school.
When I was a little girl I dreamed of knights in shining armor. I dream of men strong in battle fighting, fending off demons, enemies, and hordes. I dreamed that valiant men wore silver and sparkled in midday sun. I dreamed that they spoke in high language, that they spoke with fire, that they spoke with authority. When I was a little girl I thought the men were saviors in flesh. They championed the wronged. They buoyed up the weak. They saved society. They card for the widow the orphan the beggar the enfirmed the feeble minded. Men were men and stood mighty in the sight of creatures, human, and god. Men were men and died as men and lived again as legend and died never afterward. That was when I was a little girl and believed that somewhere men, people, society were some how good in some part and worth saving and worth the trouble to battle.
I used my chalk then to draw in the fine features. The bold lines of dreaming and faith. I drew my knights in chalk on sidewalks and house walls. I drew them on slips of paper. I drew them on napkins and paper place mats. I drew them secretly on cinder blocks in old bathroom stalls. I filled my world with chalk -bold knights. Fuzzy, large, idyllic in simplicity. Easily effaced.
When I was a grown girl, I dreamed that men were men and that I was their lady with flying handkerchief and weeping eyes. I dreamed that I was gorgeous and beautiful and that the fair gallant knights riding off to war would dream of me and gain strength. I dreamed that I was Helen, a thousand ships launched in my name, my honor, my command to protect the world, to tame the world, to bring peace to the world and true righteousness to the far reaches. A black African Helen, a Cleopatra not doomed to be destroyed by love from a man who knew only ambition and conquering for some fleeting glory of an already decaying empire. When I was a grown girl, I dreamed that men were true, honor bound, loyal, loving, caring and that I was their inspiration and wellspring. But that was when I believed that men valued women, that women were virtuous and powerful, when I believed men and women were two parts of one, individual and whole unto themselves but stronger and more complete when brought together.
I used my pencil then to draw knights with angry furrows and slavering mouths. I drew then precise. Their eyes squinting against harsh suns and foul winds but their smiles greedy with the blood they’d spill. Blood spilled not for good but for self importance and glory and ambition. I drew fine lines, fine lines detailing the ravage insignia they carved upon their once glowing armor. Now dragons’ teeth dripped with blood. Wolf fangs sank into innocent flesh. Tiger claws tore at baby flesh. I drew pencil fine knights everywhere. In scrap books. On pieces of napkins from restaurants. I drew them detailed and fine on the backs of church bulletins, on the backs of receipts, on parking tickets. I drew them with precision on doctor’s bills, prescription drug envelopes, on eviction notices, on welfare stubs. I filled the world with penciled mirrors of savage knights devouring society, the poor, the weak, the enfirmed. Hard sharp penciled lines. Not as easily effaced.
I formed a ruler. A diamond ruler, each quality etched and filled with fine gold. I held this ruler close to my heart. I held it out against enemies, evil, men. I held it aloft daring any to reach. They were all found lacking. Their feats of glory were in vain. Their gestures of love futile. Their soft seduction words ridiculous prattle. I held my ruler, diamond, gilded, high. I was no longer a little girl dreaming of nobility in men, no long a little girl who dreamed fidelity in men. I was no loner the grown girl who dreamed of her own power to foster loyalty and pride in men. I was no longer the grown girl dreaming herself beautiful enough to tug and turn ignoble heathenish savages to hallowed heroism. Instead I was a mighty avenger, Helen turned warrior princess, daring the pallid vapid ruthless knight to do battle. My ruler, turned diamond sword with fine gold increments, lured and stabbed dead.
But something happened. From behind, from a place unexpected. From a time a generation a thought so unusual, he came forth. His brilliance shattered the savage enemies . His radiant light and soul overpowered them, shattering splintering then dissipating them like so much nothing that they were.
My mighty diamond sword fell to the ground. It’s deadly point squared. My eyes raged over him. His stature brooked no assault. His eyes hid no malice. His smile did not drip with the blood and angry hearts of weak and feeble people. His armor was not stained or carved with viciousness. It was smooth, high-polished. It shone and reflected the sun.
His voice was tender, the voice of assured authority. It mixed and spoke with healing and caring. It sounded like the rushing waters over river rocks, not the harsh fall of water from killing heights. His words were thoughtful. He spoke when there was need to speak. He honored the word. He thought clear patterns before spilling words and wasting their power.
When he reached to tough my bloodied hand, his rough skin soothed. Small warm shivers caused the fine hairs on my arms and neck to rise. With them a soft moan rose from the wellspring I thought dried and killed by the early savages tearing up the world, the hearts, the love. He opened his arms wide, his broad shoulders carrying the goodness of a bygone and forgotten age when men were men and honored their women with true respect, care, and completeness.
"Come. Fighting is over. Lay aside your weapons, draw new images." He smiled tenderly.
I walked forward into a new age of glory where this man was a knight, where this man was noble, where this man was loyal, where this man was caring. An age where the grown woman believed in the power of her own soul to bring forth, draw forth from dark places the glowing knight that this man is.
Now I draw images with purple ink, royal majesty impossible to efface.
Thursday, June 18, 2009
breezes breathe over green grass blades.
Yellow and red poppies play in the field
children in short frilly pastel plaid tops & bottoms dig in fresh dirt
Afternoon birds chirp in full flowered branches
Puppies cuddly puppy dos wag excited tails
Sun tanned boys in frayed baseball caps toss sticks and play fetch
Ice cream truck bells chime in the distance
grandmothers in housecoats fumble for change
Pre-teen hipsters blare hot summer tunes from antiquated boom boxes
5 o' clock chimes on the mantel clock over the dormant fireplace
drivers & pedestrians rush home through clogged avenues
fingers dial the local pizza shops and settle to movies with loved ones on the sofa
that comfy cushion
that ice cream
that old familiar safety of Granny or Nanna
that deep in take
that sweet exhale
that subtle miraculous instant when nothing matters so much as that fresh, crisp, ice cold glass of water or that first delicious long pull on that cherry red and pineapple white and blueberry blue Fire cracker popcicle.
Summer... it's the aahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh after the storm.
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
-------------throw me from the bell tower but don't break my heart. It's not too far down, but heartbreak is too hard inside. I can float on air, the splat at the end won't matter. But I can't breath without you. My heart would burst into a thousand pieces. throw me from the bell tower, just don't kill me slowly with rejection.
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
round and strong
straight and bold
It connected crazy dots
dots like dog poo on the side of the road next to the freight train that ran over the bird that the dog was chasing.
The fickle finger of fate swirled around a purple stone and made a moat. Miniature and dirty muddy brown from the rain water that fell off of the roof to the stream down the gutter to the ditch dug by the dastardly dog that pooed by the train, the same puddle that some neighbor child stomped in right before that muddy brown drop splashed into the moat around the purple rock.
The fickle finger of fate scratched its nails down the sloping mounds of playground sand. It created tunnels, channels where reddened leaves rolled down in autumn races like maple red chariots. They crossed the path where the purple stone lay surrounded by a brown moat. The rumpled leaves scuttled to the finish line by the other side of the sandbox. they settled first the red, then the red-Orange, then the burnt orange- first , second, third place at the wooden finish line of fate. Three wrenched from tree limbs by wet downpour that hit the roof that splashed down the gutter into the puddle of poo made by the dog that chomped on a bird run over by a train that kicked up the purple rock that fate moated that filled with the same muddy water. Now, these reddened leaves three, plastered with race sweat from running down the channels that crossed the rock that fate scratched were smothered against the log from the tree that lent its bough to build the sandbox where fickle fate's finger drew in my sand.
*free write based on prompt*
Monday, June 15, 2009
Come in packs
devour in hordes
sabotage en mass.
The Devil's friends rip and tear
scream and howl
beat and pulverize
The Devil's friends ain't no friends of mine
ain't no friends of yours
ain't no friends at all
The Devil's friends:
Depression -rides on black wings of Hopelessness
Envy- strides on the stones of cobbled Insecurity
Violence- wars from the back of elephantine Greed
Isolation- prances on the cold headstones of Rejection and Fear
Lasciviousness- sidles forth on silken sheets of Inadequacy
The Devil's Friends
ain't no friends at all
Friday, June 12, 2009
I am finding this lovely that you can have several blogs from one account here at Blogger! very convenient. :) Here is the new link http://jldenman365challenge.blogspot.com/
Sunday, June 7, 2009
It came in a box. Beating, dripping, oozing red rivers.
It came in a bow, blackened, burnt, hardly living.
It came in a bow, shredded, stabbed, honing by two veins of hope.
I gave it to you
No, you found it
Maybe it was cosmic intervention that sent you on the trail searching for the devastated mess trapped in a strong box of bone and metal and jagged spikes of pain.
Somewhere out there, buried under rubble, drowned in hot tar, bound by terrible marsh roots it hunkered.
But through rivers festering with black mosquitoes, jungle snakes, poisoned reptiles, wicked wizards in too green garb marred by to sick vomit, you traversed. You crept. You slouched. You charged. You searched and looked and scoured.
I gave it to you
No, you found it.
Cosmic intervention and your strong will carved out trenches, slaughtered feral beast to find it- it- trapped in the hell of loss, rejection, pain, despair, devastation.
you rescued it.
that dripping, lacerated, singed, sliver of my heart left- left nearly destroyed in a box.
Saturday, June 6, 2009
children's watershed laughter
smothers summer love
weeping willow tears
dim marshes sultry essence
a southern death bead
#3 Crisp snow crunches down
Crystal sickles sparkle white
bleeding polar bears
not half full round moon
raging werewolves ramped
eat fury dreamings
#5 night birds sing last call
sun rise o'er dark waters
when will my time end?
#6 yellow daffodils
nod happy in the wind
child smells the way
above grey clouds pout
blue tears fall on mountain's back
mountain mist covers
quiet swaddles the whole world
still patience imbibes