i love cheese - and it shows

I've been trying my hand at some short stories. I'm hoping with lots of practice, they will get better. Right now they have all the cheese factor of the Star Trek TNG episode "Up The Long Ladder" or Star Trek Animated Series "Bem" - the idea had great potential ... but, well... maybe you should watch the episodes to understand what I mean, as I'm not posting any of my stories here yet! Other great cheesy shows to watch include "Eerie, Indiana" and anything with William Shatner hehe :)

haha I'm BACK!

I'm back. I haven't really been anywhere that interesting (maybe fun and very addicting though. . . ). I just took a left turn at FarmVille and got lost in CityVille . . . and well, I realized when I hit the level cap in CityVille within a few weeks of it's release (with the help of some GREAT new friends in Facebook, btw!:)) that I had a problem. Yeah, I'm going to admit it here, I love jumping out of reality and getting lost in a virtual world - especially when it is "FREE".

You know what's great about having limited funds? It saves people like me from wonderful, wonderful places like Azeroth, people like myself that *just*can't*stop* . . . /sigh

So here I am, deciding to try to get back out that melodramatic, fabulous, pessimistic (ok maybe not the pessimistic) self that used to attempt to write and occasionally sketch designs. I am letting go of my awesome city at the current level cap of 60, and promising myself that *it*will*be**OKAY** to let go of my farm just six teeny-tiny levels shy of 100. Yeah, I'm bragging. Yeah, I'm having trouble letting go.

I imagine this sounds a bit silly. And just as a disclaimer - I'm not dissing all those fantastic people that play those games on Facebook . . . I'm just over using ellipsis again and really enjoying it!

HELLO WORLD!!!!!!!!!!!!!! DESILOU FREEBUSH IS BACK OUT ENJOYING THE SUNSHINE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

never never land?

I've climbed to the top of these stairs before. They are the same stairs, turning, cold stone stairs climbing a tower, ever climbing, clockwise, clockwise, upward, upward. Never reaching the top of the tower, the final step brings me to the top of a straight, regular staircase, alone, and a dark fogginess covering anything but the stairs ... I've seen this before, the same never getting anywhere feeling. Just when the hard part is done, it turns out that was the easy part. Finally, I know what I'm talking about - wait no, I know I don't. Read back to the childish journal entries of the past, five, ten, fifteen years... wait, it's the same voice, the same soul, the same newness and naivety. Am I trapped in an emotional never never land?

frowny-face

it's not a dislike of fried eggs
it's not a spontaneous dance-off with a five year old
nor Mrs. Peacock, aghast

it's tearing up, watery eyes
traitorous lump in your throat
with a heartache stomach-burn
depressive writing, another page to turn   ...

Reposted ~ Explanation ~

hello there, you, reading this blog. i've decided to repost some of my old, perhaps cryptic, attempts at poetry that i had previously posted under another blog hoping that would help me gain poetic momentum. alas! no go. i've added them into this blog, keeping the original dates and adding "Reposted:" to the beginning of the title and tagging them with reposted also. if you would like (no judgement on my part whether you would or would not), use the tag reposted that i've included on this post as well to bring them up.

wyrd

I started reading  Beowulf again. This time, a translation by Seamus Heaney. AMAZING. So many translations to choose from, so many people are critics of the epic and ignore the translation, or are ignorant of the origins of this masterpiece. I am thoroughly enjoying Beowulf, partly due to it being something I decided to read again rather than be assigned, and partly due to the wonderful translation. If you have any desire to read this ancient poem, I would strongly recommend this version.

On a side note, reading Heaney's introduction to his translation of Beowulf also gave me a quite a bit more appreciation for Katharine Kerr's incredibly detailed Deverry series (fifteen books of interwoven lives and stories). Sometimes we just enjoy a work of art for it's beauty, not being able to fathom the effort and immensity of what the artist did to give us the final version. When we get a hint, it's a glimmer of something incomprehensible in our peripheral vision, so easily dismissed    ---  unless we have been there too, and recognize it in ourself as well.

A moment of reminiscing allows for apprecition of previously unnoted goodness

Dear Professor,

I've been thinking of you, the classes and projects. Thank you for pointing out that a research paper is not the proper context for making up words. Also pointing out that that the average college student can't claim they "coined" a new word was a good thing. Thank goodness for the bloggosphere allowing the decimation of the English language and all the rules that we learned were only acceptable to break in certain ways back in the day. I will always remember that "a lot" is yes, shockingly, TWO WORDS.

I appreciate all the times when you put up with the opinions and vocalizations of people who hadn't lived long enough to experience the ramifications of their opinions with graciousness. You could have belittled, shot down or coldly dismissed. You were frank, you were blunt, you were thought provoking, but never cold hearted and superior.

You have my sympathy, that the campus is now "fresh air" only and you are presumably walking half a mile off campus for a little break from the insanity that is a place of learning. Remember the good old days when one could have an officemate puffing away at a big, fat, cheap cigar while you are trying to concentrate on your papers? Ahh the good old days. That is what started this little note of appreciation to you, it was an afternoon for reminiscing. Continue in all your eccentric goodness, live long, and prosper.

Sincerly,
Desilou Freebush

disclaimer: this was writen while listening to Damien Rice's "The Blower's Daugher"

I'm having a day that feels like everything is picking up on my mood and perpetuating it. I am reletively sure we create our own reality and I am doing it myself... yes, Data is seeing threes everywhere and reality suddenly makes sense.
Last night I dreamed an odd dream (what's new there?) but  through out the dream I was looking for something to drink. I was going through cupboards looking for coffee. I drank cranberry juice, went to the fridge to get some orange pineapple juice, was handed a glass of water, and saw someone making a pitcher (yes, plastic pitcher) of dark coffee with a layer of creamer on top. When it was poured, it gave up just the right amount of coffee and creamer and combined itself. Somewhere in there I realized that choosing to never drink anything would be a slow, painful way to die. I woke up.
My son got out of his pj's this morning. They were a sleeper that I had removed the feet from and cut a little v in the back of the collar so I could put them on him backwards - he'd still be comfy but wouldn't be able to take them off. Ha. Ha. Turns out the little v in the collar was just enough room for him to Houdini out of them and well... we've seen this mess before.
After he had a bath and was settled in the high chair with his breakfast, my (WONDERFUL) hubby cleaned up the crib while I took a shower. Somehow it wasn't as refreshing as I thought it would be, my coffee wasn't as good as I'd been craving in my dream, and my daughter was a grouch when I came back out. Never mind that, I should be in a good mood, or at least not a total grouch, so I got the kids settled, tidied up a bit and then started catching stuff up on the computer.
I'm a product of my noisy, technologically advanced society. I can hardly stand quiet. I love music. I had to have some tunes even if my kiddos were ensuring the house would in no uncertain terms be too quiet. Pandora Internet Radio? Me love it long time. I tuned in and it read my mind. I know that that's not one of the Pandora's creators claims. Yet somehow it read my mind, my mood, and started playing Damien Rice's The Blower's Daughter.... then David Grey, Other Side... then Coldplay, Fix You....
While I'm writing my mind is wandering back to things I usually avoid meditating on. My current thought is that one can learn from the past, mistakes or otherwise, chalk it all up to "experience" and do the best you can from there. What is the point in contemplating the what-ifs if it's beyond your power to actually change what happened? I've heard of people going back and changing a tiny detail of a memory to something better every time they think of it until one day, the memory is golden and comforting and happy and nothing near what really happened. Does this ease the soul? It must, if it's needed. Is there a time when this would be called for? Yes. Do I have anything that calls for that? No, unless I've already suppressed it, and have no idea. What if one needs a firm grip on reality one day in the future but lost it in all th flips and switches and imaginings of the past?

Quote - Lewis Thomas

The great thing about human language is that it prevents us from sticking to the matter at hand.

Lewis Thomas

US author, biologist, physician (1913 - 1993)


An excellent brief bio about Lewis Thomas at this link

Blogger: Random Question Prompt

From my Blogger profile:

Random Question: 

Describe the sound of a moist waffle falling onto a hot griddle.

I'm just going to pick on the question. I mean, it’s called “Random Question” but it’s not even posted as a question. And taking it just as a writing prompt statement, did they write it that way just to twist your brain to all the different ways it could be interpreted? Is the waffle "moist" because it's still in BATTER FORM? Or is there a special waffle trend that I've been completely left out of where you make a waffle, somehow soggify it and then throw it on a hot griddle? Maybe so. Perhaps I shall Google twice cooked waffles. On the other hand, did a moist but cooked waffle somehow get air born and happen to land in a hot griddle? This may or may NOT be the intended waffle landing site. If so, assuming a person was there, it would be a simultaneous dull thud and "OH CRAP!" Of course, if there was no one there to hear the waffle fall in the assumed kitchen, would it actually make any noise?

like mother like daughter... A Five Year Old's Dream: apparently the one where a whale comes up and then turns into a lady

This morning my daughter excitedly tells me: "Mommy! I dreamed last night that Daddy made me a big cool computer and I was playing on it and then it was so awesome and then I had the same dream again that I dream always. There was this giant whale and it came up and then turned into a lady and then turned back into a whale and there was another whale." Apparently that was the end of the dream. From her happy, somewhat thoughtful expression while she told me the tale (hehe hinting at a lame pun) it wasn't a scary dream. Hmmm. She needs to work on her descriptive abilities, as much as I always feel that I do after writing something up or telling someone a story. I'm still wondering what the rest of the details were about the whale turned lady turned whale. Oy vey! Like mother like daughter I suppose.

taking slackerific to a whole new level

I haven't given much time to writing the last couple weeks. If one were to look back at the time frame between the two previous posts, well, there was a bit of a delay. No, I'm not blogging in Java. HAHA. Bad, and probably technically incorrect, attempt at a joke. Yes, living with a geek makes me a pseudo geek - just dorky enough to try to make jokes, not really clued in enough to pull off the punch lines. 


I digress. 


Lately I just haven't been sure what to write out here. There's the group of people that like to make fun of bloggers - do you really think people want to hear about the muffin you had for breakfast and what random thought you are having for the day??  YES, DAMNIT I DO.  Those are the kind of blogs I read... along with a few that are really fantastic about sticking to their theme like clockwork... like Shedworking and The One Minute Writer. My sister-in-law has been writing up "The Random Thought of the Day" emails providing me and select others with humor and something to contemplate for a long time now - definitely blog worthy! She just started a blog: http://rhanebeaux.blogspot.com/. ABOUT TIME!! Yes, I'm almost positive that's rainbow vomit on the banner. Don't let that deter you. Once she starts posting all the randomness, you'll find something that strikes a chord with you. Yes you should click the little FOLLOW button. Yes this is shameless pushing of someone's blog because I want them to get readers and keep posting. Yes I am grinning as I write this. Yes I write because it makes me happy.


I digress.


Perhaps all this blogging isn't the internet litter the critics say it is. It is freeing to put one's thoughts out there for others to share and perhaps discuss. It is like that journal or diary I am boldly assuming you had at some point in your life. You wrote away in it, kept it tucked away, called it private, all the while imagining that somehow, someone (not your parents) would read it. They would read it and be intrigued. Read it all and know you and understand you. They would accept you despite - or because - of all the craziness in the pages. You would be worth reading every word and contemplating while they were off doing their daily things - a good book that can hardly put down for other obligations like work and sleep. Now days we have the internet and your blog can be your journal that can be a little more accessible to the world. You've raised the stakes that someone will stumble across it and be intrigued, click follow, and read your thoughts. YAY for technology!


I just thought I'd add, that while somethings about technology is great, technology has caused pseudo words to be ordained and added to the dictionary. the word thru is just a lazy badly spelled poser for the word through!!! HAVE WE NO SHAME???? This is coming from a person who used "I digress" to avoid creating transitions... but I digress...

hint at what i'm working on for next post

i'm having a hard time describing my latest dream i want to post... some of the description is getting a little awkward ... i mean really, PINK ASPARAGUS? I googled it, it grows in white, green and purple varieties but i didn't find any pictures of it growing pink in hue.

Here's the working title for the post i'm working on:

Dream: the one where i work at a popular lunch place turned classy lunch and dinner fine dining, and we eat pink asparagus before the dinner shift

Reposted: snowy imaginings

think i'm hallucinating

seeing things that are not there

light shining through the window

shining on your hair

i stood bare foot in the dark

i couldn't light a match

light was glaring off the ice

the wind hasn't started blowing yet

you thought i was your angel

i thought we'd fly away

its over but not gone

its over and gone now

imagine we'd find something else to say

there's nothing left to say

Reposted: monster besides the water

We were on the lake, a lake created by a dam, and one of the mountains looked like an enormous beast that had died just steps from a drink. The head of the beast was laying only yards from the current water line. Before though, I imagine without the dam, it would have been a small creek. The dinosaur was huge, lumbering to any water it could find in the desert. What made him wander into the desert, and thus to his death, I don't know. His head pointed to the saving stream, just out of reach. His short neck stretched out from his shoulders, pushed upward by his fall. He was left resting on his chest. The beast must have had stout legs like an elephant, his knees and legs folded up next to him. Over the years, he must have caused a great sad stench as his grand body deteriorated. Eventually, only his bones remained, rather than collapsing, they stayed through storm and flood, becoming skeleton to a new and mighty beast - a mountain.

Quote - Tom Masson

Quote in Print

About Tomas Lansing Masson

Inspiration

There's something about a fresh, clean, high quality, unmarked peice of paper. Something about the texture, the color... it gives me the feeling that I'm about to write something wonderful.

Reposted: once upon a time ... i was cryptic

once upon a time there was a girlchild who imagined herself a woman. She wandered about oblivious to the sheltered nature of her life and thought that everything was going right. much to her awakening and little to her subconscious surprise, nothing was as she'd thought. nothing was as good as she imagined. then one day her body guard and coincidental confidant asked her to run away to where there was a hole in the sky, describing the beauty of the land and the delicacies and the ship she could buy. The girl enjoyed the idea and pleased her vanity with it. It is perfectly fine, her guide told her. Everything reverted back to such untruthful statements in company. The guide always knew the thing to say to try and win her favour while the other knew her thoughts before she. And the prince; we shall fall into a deep sleep...

Reposted: moon

i feel you molding me by your opinion and

my inner personality the real me

pushes back to be

my façade 

i feel nothing without you

i feel something about you

i feel everything falling from

my façade 

i look up to seen a moon in your neighbor's window...

this white white is what i didn't want to see and didnt know it till i did

it's the lights on and the window open

it's one way or the other in my book

this is all façade 

Reposted: english

I want to write

of cold, juicy plumbs,

stolen from the ice box

that taste the sweeter for it.

I want to write

of his last duchess

if anyone wonder what happened

to the faire-one's successor.

I want to write

of tomatoes

taking of a town in June,

and settling on a kitchen sideboard.

I want to write

of a sad, put-away aunt,

who brought with her

away a sweet innocent, drowned.

I want to write

of Désirée's baby,

accepting aweful fate in life

though it is not your own to bear.

I want to write of

the soul cleansing white sun,

freedom in the breath of the llano,

and know the understanding of freedom.

Am I writing yet?