Directive to the Circumspect Texan
When the vowel trips through the consonant and knots
the tongue, remember this: artifice. A making. In one
hand, a knife. On the table, cured flesh and fermented
products. Imagine uncertain lighting, laughter, a narrow
opening and the uphill walk three days into the parametric
world of occlusion. Tell no untruths. Mention refrigerators
and your proficiency with duck. Admit failure and order
a second pilz. Listen. Discuss heat and issues of space,
personnel logistics and the pleasure of July departures.
Cite advertising and Ashbery. Savor what is rightly not
yours. Embrace inadequacy. Forego dessert. Express
true gratitude. Say y’all. Shake hands. Find the door.
Please welcome Owen as my latest Guest Poet!
You can read more of Owen’s words here: http://sensualism.me/
If you would like to be a Guest Poet, please email me your poem to email@example.com
Butterfly in shimmering light,
Garden blooming in new season.
Kookaburra, sitting, soulful –
Poignant is the far horizon.
Orchid flowers, life awakens,
The day grows ever longer.
Prodigious is her effort, action.
Human in kind,
Love we find
In simple, pleasant things.
Far horizon, ever closer,
Droplets they descend.
Life, we wish to never end,
The day draws near,
Feel the softness of my flesh,
without worrying about
the layers beneath
or the scars that mark it.
See the depth in the
cold stormy seas of my eyes
and hear the truth mixed with
the agony beating within my heart.
Taste my lips with abandon,
like I dream of devouring yours,
then I will no longer remember
to breathe anything but you.
© Sarah Doughty
The King of Horror, Stephen King —who has a knack of making ordinary items frightening and has a haunting literary empire — turned 68 Monday.
King began writing about the scary and supernatural at an early age, selling stories to his friends in school. He was eventually forced by a teacher to return the profits.
Since then, he has published 54 novels and countless short stories, with over 350 million copies of his work being sold.
In honor of his birthday, here are 10 things fans should know about the author:
Thanks to everyone who wished me a happy birthday! Although I was born in 1947, I’m gonna party like it’s 1999!
— Stephen King (@StephenKing) September 21, 2015
10. King suffers from triskaidekaphobia.
He may be a master at scaring others but the number 13 terrifies King.
The paranoia is so intense that King even avoids multiples of the…
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And he said
“Now that she is my muse
What shall I do?”
You write for her
You give her your every effort
You show her that she is worthy
of so much more than you can give
(and she is worthy of more than she gets)
And you write for her
You offer your thoughts in the form of words
You offer every echo in the dark chambers of your heart
You offer all this with no expectation of reward
If you do that
Then she is your muse
And you are her poet
How can it be otherwise?
NSFW. Very naught story.
Nanowrimo starts tomorrow: NaNoWriMo.org
So this is it. Day 365. Final post of Crystallising Dream.
I thought I would have something profound to write, one of my more deep and meaningful posts but it appears I’ve gone word-shy again…How do I put how I feel into words? How do I sum up the last year? How do I possibly get across the experience of following and manifesting such a long held dream?
The message comes back…by saying thank you.
Gratitude. I’ve said it before and many times. Gratitude got me here. Being thankful for every sign, message, messenger, challenge (gallstone), fear, insecurity, hope and surprise.
And of course for my intuition. That inner bestie, my Soul, who has gently and carefully guided me to stay the course and just.keep.going. And with it “those upstairs” who have facilitated the manifestation process and continue to work with not just me but the space itself.
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