Honest Poem – Pudding

Cliff’s edge bites at my soles
I’m looking for some footing
trying to walk before I dance
Listen for the tick-tick of a clock
to give myself a chance

To steady, steady, thread the needle
to calm the storm, angry black clouds of
“You cannot leave us” and “How could you do this”.

Like a child’s arrhythmic toddle
towards the reassuring cool
of chocolate pudding, the sweet
and the smooth, I stumble towards
peace.

But then I remember what I deserve
And the smooth blankets become unforgiving stone
And the house becomes a cardboard box
And everyone is a specter- especially me.

The forest is no place for a child
Like I have no place in the crowd of
happy chatting people. I can run,
but the cliff will give way
to the gaping maw of my mistakes.

Promise Every Day

I will not be arrogant.

Everything that I am will go into supporting the people I love.

Everything that I am will go into every piece of work that I create.

I will be kind.

I will always put others before myself.

I will not look down on people or think them beneath me.

I will be brave.

I will starve my distractions.

I will feed my focus.

 

 

Evernote, To-Do Lists and Zelda’s Open World (in which I make too many references to explain something that’s really simple)

So, I generally use Evernote to write out a strict schedule for myself- I set goals for myself and I tell myself to achieve them.

Guess how well that works?

https://socialmediaweek.org/wp-content/blogs.dir/1/files/social-fail-940x492.jpg

Nooooooot well at all, as of late.

So change of pace- I’m using Evernote for to-do lists- giving myself objectives and not getting myself a regimen. Rather than a Super Mario “you have 500 seconds to get to the flag” approach, I’m doing a Zelda: Breath of the Wild “open world” approach where as long as the objective gets done at some finite and reasonable point, I’m a bit more free to move around the metaphorical cabin.

I’ll let you all know how that goes.

-D

 

Flash Fiction – Observers

(A/N: This is a very rough, very experimental draft. Descriptions of the child and the aliens are a bit sparing so you, the readers, can build your own images in your heads.)

Above the Earth, two entities reclined in their seats. One taller and thinner leaned back, almost indifferent, while the other, a face unlined with age, leaned forward, as if they were preparing to study what happens next. At the moment, their viewscreen was focusing on one house in an idyllic neighborhood like any other.

Right below them, a young child was trudging up the stairway. While their light feet did not stomp in any kind of angry march, their footsteps couldn’t sound any more heavier. As they finally scaled the staircase, they walked into their room and gently pushed the door closed. As the latch clicked quietly into place, they leaned the door and gently slid down. Holding their knees to their face, tears began streaming down their face, and they cried in earnest. Heaving sighs and wails of grief punctuated the silence of solitude.

The elder looked at his student and said, “Do you understand now, youngling? This is what it means to be human. Sooner or later, the inhabitants of this treacherous world will destroy each other and everything that they ever had. Even those with the purest of intentions will fall.”

“But sir, they were so happy before we interfered…”

“It does not matter- if we had not broken them, someone else would have.”

“You don’t know th-”

“Yes, yes. I do.” The elder’s voice grew steely, “But it’s far too late to show you now. Even I cannot reverse time, and show you all the heartbreak and horrors for this little… thing.” Composing himself, his blank, impassive face smoothed out, the creases of age thinning out. “It is clear that you do not yet understand, youngling. Come, and I shall show you another exa-”

“No.”

“No?”

“You can’t destroy any more lives just to prove a point.”

“Lives,” he scoffed, “These pathetically fragile, corruptible beings hardly count as lives. Their entire time on this mortal coil is barely a hundredth of ours. Their planet is insignificant compared to our smallest colony. They could never-”

“What does that matter? They are still beings like us.”

They couldn’t even begin to be like us.” He stood, grabbing the younger being out of his seat and tossing him to the ground. “And I’m going to show y-”

And that was when a *thwip* of a blaster reverberated through the old man’s body.

“No,” said the student, “Perhaps it is we who are more like them than you think.”

 

Derek Walcott and Creepy Poetry

My Spanish professor may not be the best teacher, but he is one of the sweetest dudes I know.

So naturally, when he walks into class nine minutes late (which isn’t exactly irregular, he’s been late before) with a mournful look on his face (which is irregular, since he’s normally quite chipper), we ask what’s going on.

Chicos,” he tells us, “the world’s greatest poet passed away today.” He goes onto tell us about Derek Walcott and his revolutionary poetry for five minutes before opening up PowerPoint to a listening exercise. His mouse hovers over and threatens to start playing the obnoxious opening to the fictional “Blablabla” podcast, which will spout useless drivel that we’ll parrot back in some way, shape or form.

Yo odio el podcast.” His sneer is tinted with contempt. It’s then that a student chooses to pipe up and ask the professor what his favorite poem is. He then proceeds to spend another ten minutes searching for a readable version of the poem while I just sit and watch him desperately search.

And then- it appears- right in that sweet spot right before one is about to give up and return to classwork and right after the ineptitude stopped being funny.

The Light of the World is about the speaker of the poem encountering (and silently falling in love with) a beautiful woman on a bus. The professor talks about how beautiful and pure the feelings are, and the poem’s well-written.

And yet… it’s kind of creepy.

Because the poem’s admirably descriptive up until it gets kinda weird (from my POV). “Powerful and sweet odours?” Nooooooo thank you, fam.

“Don’t tell me that you haven’t found someone so beautiful that you fell in love at first sight?” The professor implored to our silent (and probably dead inside) class. “That you could see an entire life with them?”

“Daniel, por favor.”

I could only respond with a noncommittal “ehhhhh.”

Because let’s be honest for a second here, friends, I haven’t even planned what my next meal is gonna be, much less my entire life.

At any rate, silly little story for y’all. Cheers!

 

Catching Up On Readings Today! (First Bit)

Hey gaiz- I have a lotta reading to do for my classes today, so I’ll have the Flash Fiction/free-write up later tonight. In the meantime though, I’ll be tweeting and live-blogging my reactions to some of the readings here for your entertainment just for shits and giggles.

See you all soon!

Why I Don’t Write Editorials Anymore

To be clear, things haven’t changed. After all this time, I’m still a very opinionated individual.

It’s true, I don’t write that many editorials anymore- some of the more political “Dear Kath” letters were the closest things to op-ed articles that I’ve written for awhile. But it’s not because I don’t hold opinions on current events (or just in general) anymore.

It’s also not because I’m tired of writing editorials- although admittedly, I’ve grown wary of the single-minded focus with which I immersed myself in opinion articles for several years.

The main reason that I don’t write editorials nowadays is because of the general atmosphere and environment I currently live in. We live in an over-saturation of opinions and misinformation. Everyone talks over one another and drowns each other out. Note too, that this is a world of acidic (and at times toxic) negativity. I feel like that in such an environment, my acerbic, cutting analyses do not serve to be an entirely positive influence. I like to think I’m fighting a good fight and trying to be a voice of reason. However, I think the impact of editorials are still limited.

I look at the streamers and YouTubers- the new media stars and I admire how they help people with their content- by making them laugh and making them feel less alone in the world. Sure, some will say that their content is disposable and silly, but it doesn’t change the impact that they’ve made on thousands or millions of people. And it’s so fucking beautiful.

That is my greatest wish- more than anything else- to bring joy with all my work, no matter what form it may take.

-D

(P.S.- I had to write this editorial though. It was a response to another article that desperately needed to be rebuked. I might write a supplement on this next.)

 

Flash/Fan Fiction – “Everything ends.”

(A/N: Because I started writing fan fiction with a Twelfth Doctor post in the early days of this blog, I thought it fitting with his departure approaching to write him a pre-regeneration scene.)

Everything felt so clean.

He knew that in fact, it was the regeneration healing and cleaning him, burning off any dirt and grime that may have been on him. He knew that soon, the tingles running down his spine would begin to sting. The regeneration energy pumping through his veins would begin to trickle down his skin until it all finally burst in a golden flash. It would radiate off of him and in one golden moment, he would be wiped away.

But until that moment came… The Doctor intended to enjoy his last few moments with this face.

His hands gently rested on the electric black guitar. Plugging in the amp, he began to play through one last time. As the guitar wailed out “Amazing Grace” and Beethoven’s Fifth rang out through the TARDIS, the Doctor smiled at times long past- at the thrills of running and falling out of airplanes and pudding brains. He remembered.

Run, you clever boy, and remember.

He finally settled on strumming out a sad song. He managed to strum out a minute’s worth before her laugh threatened to ring out through his brain and he had to just stop. 

The neural block whined and moaned at him, distracting him, but almost seeming to ask, “How much longer will you try to remember her? How long will you gaze into the empty abyss feeling a loss that isn’t really there?”

Not much longer, it would seem.

Forgetting her had been like regenerating. She had disappeared in a flash of light, taking a piece of him with her. And now here he was, facing down the real deal.

He was done fighting. He had no more azbantium walls to punch, no more Clara to save, no more song left to sing.

He was ready to go.

And the new man was ready to carry on.

Everything ends, and it’s always sad. But everything begins again too, and that’s always happy. Be happy.”

Spring Afresh

Things feel a lot vaguer than they did last October.

See, last October, I bought a shiny new notebook to record my schedules, my ideas and some journal entries. And the priorities there were so clear (I was primarily focused on launching a new blog called “The Citizen’s Compendium”, which would host a series of essays and editorials concerning issues and grievances under the Trump administration.)

The ideas and plans I’m trying to follow now were only vague notions, just as the ideas that I have are now. They’re vague ideas blurred like my eyesight if I’m not wearing glasses or contacts. Slowly, some voice, some words will come forward and speak. Things will slowly become sharper and sharper or just slowly float away.

Hopefully, these plans will sharpen and solidify a bit.

At any rate, the true game plan.

I’m going to be focusing on schoolwork for the most part today, getting things done and trying to work ahead. Some of that involves working on coding for the website, and afterwards, I’ll be watching Photoshop tutorials. Some of that involves writing. Tomorrow, I think I’ll be practicing what I learned.

One last thing I’ll be doing tonight! I’ll be writing one page of fiction every night before I fall asleep. Doesn’t matter how bad it is, but I just want to start on this story idea and build on it, because I feel like although things are unclear right now, they’re not gonna get any clearer unless I start.

I’ve got a lot of other things on my mind, but I think that’s for something slightly better than a progress report.

Until next time!

-D

Flash Fiction: Sandwich of the Demon

Prompt: While putting your favorite condiment on a sandwich, you accidentally make a magical occult symbol and summon a demon.

“RAAAARGH, FEAR ME, MORTAL, FOR I….” The demon stopped, and looked down at the sandwich he had trod upon. “….is that jelly?”

He looked to the housewife trembling in the corner, her tearstained eyes red and as wide as dinner plates. As she shuddered, she managed to give an almost indistinguishable nod.

“Mmmmm, I love jelly,” the demon murmured, taking a bite. “Pulverized organic life? Who could say no to that?” He closed his eyes as he chewed, relishing the sandwich’s taste.

“Oh, by the way, Susan, I’m not going to kill you because you summoned me.”

“You’re- you’re not?”

“Oh no,” the demon smiled, waving his hand nonchalantly, “I’m going to kill you because it is a crime to have dropped such a good sandwich and fucking wasted it.”