tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1128469884487763839.post3698781412558934066..comments2024-03-29T08:07:09.703-07:00Comments on Unemployed Imagination.: 2 Minutes. Go!JD Maderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13058074115809620653noreply@blogger.comBlogger12125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1128469884487763839.post-82438017126057863202022-07-27T15:07:20.050-07:002022-07-27T15:07:20.050-07:00It's like a mantra. I'm 100% there. You mu...It's like a mantra. I'm 100% there. You must have hacked into my head. Nice work - I loved this too.<br /><br />(Mark A Morris)Anonymousnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1128469884487763839.post-83402092183035885642022-07-27T15:03:13.883-07:002022-07-27T15:03:13.883-07:00The writing throughout this is so fluid and the st...The writing throughout this is so fluid and the storytelling is so engaging. I love the detail and the way you catch our attention and lead us along. It reminds me of Stephen King’s narrative style but it’s most definitely yours. I loved it – it’s fabulous.<br /><br />(Mark A Morris)Anonymousnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1128469884487763839.post-37006961393267247052022-07-17T15:38:39.812-07:002022-07-17T15:38:39.812-07:00“And this one?” The Informator rapped on the scree...“And this one?” The Informator rapped on the screen, using his extendible claw. “Can anyone tell me what this one’s meant to be?”<br /><br />The class went quiet. Adams affected a cough, pretending he’d contracted pleurisy. The traditional ailments were making a resurgence, Lyme disease currently being the most common cause of fatalities in the Americas. It had been placed third in Eurasia, coming behind the Spanish Flu and Ebola. Housemaid’s Knee had re-emerged in Chad and Uganda, its victims requiring multiple amputations in the most severe cases.<br /><br />“Adams – you’re excused,” the automaton said. “Now, can anyone else tell me what the image represents?”<br /><br />“Is it a larch?” Tompkins said, half raising his hand. “Only my father used to say it was the best choice if you were unsure of the answer.”<br /><br />The Informator growled, grinding its gears. Tompkins had given the same answer for the previous three images, and it was becoming tired of leading this class. It was a far cry from being active on the front lines in Western Russia. And to think it had traded PTSD for a career in education.<br /><br />“Anybody else?” It scanned the rows again, looking for anyone showing an iota of interest. It was about to offer the answer itself when James raised her hand.<br /><br />“Is it a daisy?” she said. “Only it’s got petals and a stem. And the thing on the top’s a flower. Amirite?”<br /><br />“Close enough,” said the Informator. “And now for my next slide – 20th-century world leaders.”<br /><br />(Mark A Morris)Anonymousnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1128469884487763839.post-24056109615376888362022-07-17T09:01:43.737-07:002022-07-17T09:01:43.737-07:00Beautiful. I could feel the weightlessness of the ...Beautiful. I could feel the weightlessness of the water.Laurie Borishttps://www.blogger.com/profile/08361627047571650547noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1128469884487763839.post-73139879588253828962022-07-17T09:01:01.613-07:002022-07-17T09:01:01.613-07:00"Feel safe. Repeat." I love this."Feel safe. Repeat." I love this.Laurie Borishttps://www.blogger.com/profile/08361627047571650547noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1128469884487763839.post-18606252275075222702022-07-17T09:00:11.436-07:002022-07-17T09:00:11.436-07:00I was riveted. At first I thought it was a self-dr...I was riveted. At first I thought it was a self-driving car. Really loved it. And what Vickie said.Laurie Borishttps://www.blogger.com/profile/08361627047571650547noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1128469884487763839.post-67159898467896691182022-07-16T16:50:10.231-07:002022-07-16T16:50:10.231-07:00Hero
We’re looking out for a hero,
So the song go...Hero<br /><br />We’re looking out for a hero,<br />So the song goes. <br />Someone who knows what <br />You’re going through<br />Trying to be you <br />When others don’t approve<br />Or judge for what isn’t you. <br />These tales that make no sense. <br />The things that aren’t true. <br />You’re caught in the middle<br />And it isn’t good to be a woman. <br />You’re here, but you’re not <br />Allowed. <br /><br />Vickie JohnstoneAnonymousnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1128469884487763839.post-7773168696798438682022-07-16T12:23:50.277-07:002022-07-16T12:23:50.277-07:00Laurie, this brought me to tears. That so many suf...Laurie, this brought me to tears. That so many suffer a like story at the hands of monsters leads me to plans of revenge. Intricate plans that are even more monstrous than what has already occurred.<br /><br />I take comfort from them...Anonymusthttps://www.blogger.com/profile/02789241739451534679noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1128469884487763839.post-49496874497443709942022-07-16T08:04:02.184-07:002022-07-16T08:04:02.184-07:00It takes a while to get your bearings in the Warsa...It takes a while to get your bearings in the Warsaw refugee center, but eventually you find two of your neighbors from Kyiv, an elderly couple, and over surprisingly good coffee you play asylum geography—who is where, who has taken them in, who has returned. The wife, Magdalena, says Renata is there, too, as is her family, but she rarely leaves her bed. They all worry for her, but there are so many to worry over. Magdalena leans closer. “Something bad happened, I think.” You nod, the words tightening your throat.<br /><br />Renata lived in your apartment building, on the third floor, with her grandparents and younger brothers and sisters. She was a beauty, a rosebud of a teenage girl. Amber-brown hair curled fashionably around her delicate jaw. Several times when the sirens went off, you sat together in the shelter whispering in the dark after the children had fallen asleep. Telling stories, keeping each other strong. Becoming friends.<br /><br />One night when the sirens sounded, Renata didn’t come to the shelter with her family. Her grandparents were despondent. She hadn’t come home for dinner.<br /><br />The next day there was a knock on your door. It was Renata, but a version you could never have expected. Her shoulders curled in and her eyes were lowered and there was an ugly, florid bruise blooming on her left cheekbone. You pulled her inside the door and held her in your arms. You didn’t have to ask what had happened. You knew. All women would know. You held her until she softened against you. You asked one thing: if she needed a doctor. She shook her head as if she could shake the memory out of it. You made tea. You pretended to drink it. The water cooled. The afternoon faded. You promised not to tell her grandparents. You gave her a phone number of a clinic that had helped many in such trouble without asking too many questions.<br /><br />It was the last you’d seen of Renata. <br /><br />You ask Magdalena to bring you to her, and she thinks it might be a fool’s errand, but she indulges you. Her grandmother sits stiffly at her bedside, in a giant room filled with army cots. When the older woman sees you, her eyes narrow. She rises like a cobra preparing to strike.<br /><br />“Please,” you say. “I’d just like a moment.”<br /><br />Her wariness softens and she moves a discreet distance away.<br /><br />But Renata doesn’t turn to greet you. Even when you sit, even when you set a hand on her thin shoulder. You whisper soft words. She shifts on the cot, and her eyes are hollow, red-rimmed. Her T-shirt drapes over a flat belly, and at least for this you are relieved. You want to ask things. You want to ask everything.<br /><br />“She found out,” Renata says, her voice a tiny creak. “About the doctor. About what I did. She thinks I’m going to hell.”<br /><br />You suck in a breath, lean over and pull her into your arms. “Oh, honey,” you murmur, as she grips you back fiercely and wets your clothing with her tears. “We’re already there.”<br />Laurie Borishttps://www.blogger.com/profile/08361627047571650547noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1128469884487763839.post-37561277590561647892022-07-16T06:33:28.181-07:002022-07-16T06:33:28.181-07:00WATER WINGS
We walk on water only to
sink inside,...WATER WINGS<br /><br />We walk on water only to<br />sink inside,<br />spirited down into the depths<br />of silence.<br /> <br />Liquid seeps between our toes,<br />sucks us down,<br />until we are one with silence.<br /> <br />The depths echo our thoughts,<br />transport us to a new world<br />outside of time,<br />our limbs no longer ours.<br /> <br />Bodiless we hang,<br />suspended. Only consciousness<br />in blue.vickiejohnstonehttps://www.blogger.com/profile/15947507866512596346noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1128469884487763839.post-58336266999829958352022-07-16T06:32:57.775-07:002022-07-16T06:32:57.775-07:00THE WEEK
You need it simple.
Get up,
eat breakfas...THE WEEK<br /><br />You need it simple.<br />Get up,<br />eat breakfast,<br />drink a cup of tea.<br /><br />Go to work,<br />get it done, <br />travel home safely.<br /><br />Prepare dinner,<br />watch a movie,<br />rest up,<br />go to sleep,<br />soundly.<br /><br />Repeat.<br />Break for the weekend.<br />Get more sleep,<br />chill out.<br />See friends.<br />Share some hugs,<br />and some laughs,<br />swap stories,<br />maybe rock a little. <br /><br />Go home. <br />Go to sleep.<br />Feel safe.<br />Repeat. <br />vickiejohnstonehttps://www.blogger.com/profile/15947507866512596346noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1128469884487763839.post-15512616861599576832022-07-16T06:32:26.035-07:002022-07-16T06:32:26.035-07:00I was sucked in. Great story. I didn't expect ...I was sucked in. Great story. I didn't expect the car to be empty. Great build-up and scene building. Love the raven at the end. Very Poe and like Judgement rearing its head. vickiejohnstonehttps://www.blogger.com/profile/15947507866512596346noreply@blogger.com