In September of 2005, I started this whacky, artsy, and slightly insane blog.  I was flipping through the archives the other day and realised that I have grown up a lot.  There is still much maturing that needs to happen to me and the blog, but who wants to grow up, really?

I used to post intimate relationship matters.  Thankfully for me and the kind readers, I don’t do that anymore.  I’ve learned a great deal about people and the world through this harebrained experiment we call the blogosphere.  I’m grateful that I’ve met so many interesting and inspiring people.

This thing started because I was planning for a trip to Ireland and was searching iTunes for a podcast that might give me some tips.  I happened upon a podcast hosted by two expats living in Belfast, Northern Ireland.  I learned a considerable amount from their show, albeit most of the information was a twisted version of the truth.

The chap producing and hosting the show was inspiring, so I started a wee blog over on blogspot.  I don’t have much use for the guy, but like it or not, his podcast is the reason I started this crazy thing.  It has died and been reborn several times in the last six years.

Blogs are strange things, really.  They are our own personal space filled with our thoughts, dreams, and opinions on whatever subject we choose to discuss on a given day.  It feels private, but it is far from it.  Reading another persons blog is like breaking into their house and reading their diary with their permission.  It’s odd, but the world is odd.  The world is a smaller place because of it and I am very grateful for all of the friends I’ve made.

It is my greatest hope to keep blogging and learning from others.  In 2006, I was in a local pub having a pint and giving the poor sod beside me an earful of my relationship woes, when a nerdy (young version of myself) bloke came running up to me asking if I was the guy on that infamous podcast.  By late 2006, I had started my own podcast, so I was hoping that he was talking about my show.  He was talking about the other show that I was on in June of 2006.  I said that yes it was me and he brought his girlfriend over to meet me.  I told him what really happened on that particular show and he insisted on buying me another pint that I didn’t need.

After that I decided to work hard on the content of the blog and the podcast.  I managed to get the infamous Dr. Don to join the show.  He added hilarity and honesty that you can’t find just anywhere.  In Episode 25, Brian F. made his debut.  He made sure I didn’t go off the deep end with my rants and kept the facts straight.  He also added even more humour to the show.  A few months later Dario Sanchez graced us with his presence.  He’s hilarious and brilliant.  Not long after that, Brian managed to get the smart, funny, and talented Baino to join.  At around the same time, that famous and cantankerous auld fella, Grandad, joined the ranks on episode 44.  And finally, the infamous and hilarious K8 the Gr8 made her entrance and exit on Episode 50, Kilos of Craic.

I thoroughly enjoyed the podcast and would hope to produce one in the future.  There was no money in it, just the joy of getting together with people you know and talking about the craziest topics.  We all knew that we were having some sort of effect on someone somewhere.  When we stopped doing the show, we had several hundred listeners.  Not that many in podcast terms, but enough to encourage us to keep it going.  However, it was taxing on us all.  We had to line up a time to meet across 15 time zones.  It was far from easy but well worth it.

This blog has died off since those pioneering days of blogging and podcasting.  I was going through my own hell and everyone seemed to be going in different directions.  The content started to suffer, so I almost pulled the plug.  Thankfully, I kept it up as more of an archive than anything else.  I started to fall apart like an old stone wall ravaged by storms, but I am gradually rebuilding the wall, one stone at a time.  I can only hope I put them back in the correct order. 

I would not be the man, good or bad, I am today without the lot of you  Thank You all…

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My mind gets on me nerves.  Bits of poems and ideas pop into my head.  I rearrange them into at least one stanza, but by the time I’m able to write them down, they go poof.  Sometimes I wish that I could miniaturise myself and hop into that massive cosmos that is my ego brain.  I’d rearrange the Axon’s so they’d sparked to the proper Dendrites.   I’d beat the Hypothalamus into submission.  It doesn’t work anyhow, so it’d be a win win situation.  If my brain was a hard drive, I’d kick it until it rebooted. 

I just realised what my main problem is.  I’ve received four IT support calls while trying to write this post.  How can anyone concentrate on anything with people calling and asking questions which divert one’s attention from what he or she was trying to accomplish.   Aaarrrgghhhh…

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I talk about me self way too much.  I don’t post enough.  All of this is true.  Yep!  Welcome to my world.  So, who the heck is this Jefferson Davis chap?

Welp, he is a very complicated dude with a simple core.  He has more persona’s than he can name.  Some of which are more active than others.  Sometimes they drive him mad with all the chatter about what to do or what to say.  You’ll find some of them listed below.

Jefferson: This character takes nothing from no one.  He awaits a fight and sometimes initiates them just for the thrill.  He is a born rebel and rails against any sort of rule that he doesn’t agree with.  He knows what he wants and he knows how to get it.  He lets anger rule his world.

Shane: He is just a poor ol’ sod.  He lacks confidence and lets people run all over him.  He’s very charitable and will do anything for anyone.  He’s honest and kind.  He couldn’t lie, if he tried with all of his might.  He’s just trying to find his place in the world.  He’s got two left feet and stumbles a lot.  A quiet and cordial lad if there ever was one.  Shane also likes to poke fun at himself before anyone else has the opportunity to do so.

Sean: This fella is fascinated by the world.  He is extremely artistic.  He doesn’t see people, he envisions an amalgamation of abstract forms and colours.  He doesn’t hear music, he sees swirling notes of every pigment in the rainbow flutter out of wind instruments, twist off of strings, and bounce off of percussion instruments.  He turns picturesque scenes into words and amorous memories into drawings.  Most of his idols were from the Romanticist era.  He is a dreamer.

Sam: Well, this bloke can not be trusted.  He is sneaky.  This is the one you have to watch out for.  He is sly and cunning.  He is a thrill seeker that loves a challenge.  He seems like a simpleton, but that is just what he wants you to think.  Sam is quite nefarious!

Davis: He follows in his fathers foot steps.  He chases after women in the day, night, and everywhere in between.  He’s worse than a rabbit!

In the end, what does Jefferson Davis want in life?  Ah, he wants what ever other decent man wants.  A graceful (insert laughter here) woman that’ll put up with his antics, a good job, a few wee brats, and a chance to grow old gracefully.

So, I’ve made a buffoon of myself.  Now it’s your turn.  That’s right!  It’s meme time, baby!

Take a minute or two and come up with four or five personas within yourself.  We all have a good side, a bad side, a happy side, and a weird side.  Name your characters and tell the world a bit about each of them.  It is good to laugh at yourself from time to time.

This is open to anyone who would like to do it.  Do it when you can and let me know.  Once you’ve done it, I’ll add a link to the bottom of the post.

If you need any inspiration, just watch the video below.  That Lily Allen has a few million characters rolling around in her head.  I’ve been following her for a long time.  I like her because she’s got spunk.  She’s supposed to come out with a new album soon.

au revoir

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Over the past few weeks I’ve been of an ill humour.  My countenance has been riddled with an atrocious scowl.  After much reflection and a bit of intuition, I finally figured out what was wrong.  Like so many of my fellow bloggers, I’m a very creative person.  I have to put my artistic talents to use or pay the consequences.  In the last few weeks, I”ve worked so much that I’ve not had time to write poetry or short stories, take or edit magnificent photos that boggle the senses, or draw the things I love.  It is imperative that I do these things no matter how trivial they seem to others.  I’d lose my sanity without my crative outlets.  My prose would drive me mad!

I’m a dreamer, a fantacist of sorts.  I dream of a better world in which people actually get that which they deserve.  Good or bad.  About halfway through an incredibly boring workday, I caught myself doodling characters from a short story I started writing but never finished.  I had everyone at work laughing at the drawing of the auld witch and the squirrel innocently encamping in the eve of her house.

So, to keep from going mad for the twenty-three days I have left at my job, I’m setting aside time to do what I do best.

Speaking of work, I’ve got to be there in twenty minutes.  Have a grand week all…

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As I sit here in me room waiting for me water to boil, I conjure up the best moments of the day.  It has been a magnificent day here in Dublin.  I walked about 25km today.  My feet are sore but it was worth it. 

The past two days were a bit rough due to jet lag and too much alcohol.  It generally takes me two or three days to get used to a new place. I met the loveliest people today.  Never say that the Irish are not friendly, because that is simply not the case.  Sure, I’ve ran into my share off arses here, but most of them were Poles.  If you don’t mind me enquiring, what’s up with the Poles?  250,000 of them I’m told!  My stepdad is a pole!   

After a glorious Irish Breakfast, I set out on the town.  I went and had a lovely chat with James Joyce and Oscar Wilde.  Whilst walking through council park, where Oscar Wilde’s monument is, I discovered an elderly lady with ashen grey hair.  She asked me if I was okay.  I said yes and thanked her.  She proceed to say that I looked like a lost puppy that had finally found its home whilst smiling.  She then asked where I was from, and I told her.  She didn’t believe me!  She said she’d never met a Yank like me before.  I told her that "The Picture of Dorian Grey", by Mr. Wilde was the starting point for me, and that everything I am today and my love for the arts and for writing started with that book.  We had a lovely chat and I went on about my business. 

After a touching stroll through Phoenix Park, I went to Saint Patrick’s Cathedral.  You cannot help but get in touch with your spiritual side, when you walk through those magnificent doors.  I am a very respectful mate.  I’d never do anything to offend anyone, if I could help it.   I remained silent, as I walked down corridors snapping over fifty shots inside the Cathedral alone.  And, I took some really cool RAW shots that’ll take me a while to compile. 

About an hour after I arrived, they closed so I went on yet another walkabout thinking that I could find my way back to the Temple Bar district.  I was way off base!    I was getting a bit worried whilst moseying down some shady streets, when a lovely chap dressed in yellow stripes and a smile passed me pushing a buggy full of garbage.  So, I said, "Pardon me, sir…Might I ask if you can direct me to the Temple Bar area?". 

He moved his arm around like an old beeping radar machine, and muttered, "Ah, gash, you’re a bit away from temple bar".

"I don’t mind the walk."

"Ah, well then, go down here…about 400 metres and turn right at the light…That should get you there in a brisk ten minutes", he said whilst pointing in the general direction.

"Much obliged, sir..Thank you for the help, I said, as I shook his hand in gratitude.

"Where you from, mate?"

"The states."

"No way, I’ve never met a Yank that sounds like you", he muttered, as he was taken aback a bit.

"Ah, yeah, I’m from the states, all right…Can’t deny that."

"What part?"

"Southern…South Carolina to be exact."

"Carolina, aye…Brilliant….Now you have yourself a lovely time", he said whilst going back to work.

I finally made it to Temple Bar and had a pint of Bulmer’s.  A lovely cider/beer stuff that is excellent!  And then, as I was walking down the cobbled stone streets of the Temple Bar district, my eyes fel upon a gorgeous redhead playing the guitar for a few Euros.  She was playing some American song.  I don’t know which one.  I had other things on my mind.    I asked if I could take a wee picture and she laughed.  She asked if I was a photographer and I said yes.  She playfully still didn’t believe a word I said!  She said I was a typical ‘Merkan and full of it.  I love this woman!    I like a woman with spunk and by god, these women have it!    None of these women believe any of the hyperbole coming out of my mouth, and I really love that. 

I’m going to the Cliffs of Moher on the morrow.   I booked the tour with Paddy Wagon tours.  I’ve heard good things about them from a brilliant blogmatey-ess.  Speaking of blog matey’s, I ran into an Irish blogger on O’Connell Street today.  It was the oddest thing.  There I was passing Eason’s, and I saw this lad taking pictures.  I will not say who he is unless I am given permission to do so, but I walked with him to the bus stop and we talked about cameras, of course. 

Anyway, I’m off to have a pint before or with supper. 

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Yesterday, I went with the Art Club down to the High Museum in Atlanta, Georgia. On the way down, I sat in the window seat on the bus and a pretentious – egotist bloke sat beside me. He blabbered on about different pieces we were going to be observing and buttered up one of the instructors in the seat directly in front of us, while I mutely sat and read the New Yorker. It was a pleasant trip filled with laughter.

After we arrived, all of us entered the Louvre section of the museum. We were all captivated and awe struck by “The Tiber” and other gorgeous sculptures and pieces from France, Roma, Greece, Egypt, Pompeii, Herculaneum, and Babylon. Chills rained down my back, while gazing at clay tablets over four thousand years old. I pondered about the people that crafted the pieces and the lives they lived.

The “Winged Victory of Samothrace” bewitched my spirit. The implied motion – how the fabric of the garment flows over the body of Nike, the goddess of Victory. And, most importantly, the story behind the sculpture. Most of the students put on headphones, which told them about each sculpture, piece, or painting, but I chose to read the plaques and interpret everything in my own way. That is what I love the most about art and literary works. We can each interpret a novel or a painting differently.

Another sculpture that called to me was “Crouching Aphrodite”, from the Roman Imperial period. I kneeled down beside it and glared into her face – a countenance weighed with thought. Sculptures from the Hellenistic period have always captured my imagination, while paintings from the Romanesque era enchant my intellect. Of course, I love all art, regardless of when it was created. However, pop art unnerves me a bit.

Go boil some water for a cuppa because this is long, or you can enjoy the pictures below. I have to write a paper about my visit, so this is good practice…

After exiting the Louvre hall, we entered the contemporary hall. Hanging on the first wall, adjacent to the entrance, were a few silhouette images – black cutouts against a white background – in a row, by Kara Walker. Some of her drawings are quite compelling, but her cutouts are an atrocity. She depicts scenes of slaves in the pre civil war south, being brutalised by their respective owners. She shows white men raping slaves (young men and women) and white women pillaging the wombs of female slaves. She does this to push society’s buttons. That is how she has made a name for herself! It’s not by the quality or composition of the artwork, but the horror it projects. Look, every society at one point, has been enslaved by a more powerful civilisation, so I say, get over it! Did I say I didn’t like her?

Anyway, back to the artsy Californian that I sat beside on the bus. Whilst standing in front of Kara Walker’s pieces, he said, “Isn’t she fantastic”, with hyper glee.

“Yes, she is”, I replied, as glared at the horrific scenes.

“I love how she uses these slavery images”, he uttered, while making hand gestures at the particular way she depicted blood gushing.

I don’t like her, but I was trying to hold back my judgements and be nice to the guy. Heck, I might have learned something from him.

“Yeah, there was about an eight page write up about her in the New Yorker two months ago.

He stopped dead in his tracks, dropped his jaw, and enquired, “You…read the New Yorker?”

“Indeed”, I answered, with a laughing smirk.

He stepped back, put his arms to the side, and muttered, “You must have borrowed it from someone, right?”

“I have a subscription to that along with New York Times, New York Review of Books, and Contemporary Poetry Review”, I muttered, as I tried not to laugh.

“You?”

“Tis true”

“….I never would have thought it, just being honest and all”, he mumbled, as he crossed his arms.

“Ehhmm…Yeah, I’m a photographer, aspiring poet, amateur author (I have much to learn), professional skirt chaser, and I dab in watercolours and pastels from time to time”, while glinting at the young female art student beside me.

He fell back on his heels, and cried, “Wow, that is totally cool…I never would have thunk it…Dude, I’m like…totally blown away. Do you have any of your poetry with you or some photographs?”

There’s no need to go any further into the discussion. He asked if I did architecture, nature, surreal, abstract, impressionistic, or portraits. I gave him my flickr address and the blog address. So, if you are reading this, sir, I’m not trying to imply that you are an idiot or a jerk, just a Californian. Nah, most Californians are cool. Dude is smart. He went to the Art Institute of Chicago. We are all taught at an early age how to view the world, but it is up to us as adults to be open minded and nonjudgmental.

I’ll pick up with part two of The High Museum in a day or two. I have a lot of reading to do.

Kewl…862 words in thirty minutes of casual maundering.

P.S.: The last image is a one of my abstract paintings contorted in photoshop.

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Okay…Well, my honest muse got a hold on me last night and wouldn’t let go, until I released the previous post. Evidently it scared or spooked you all – you know, the truth and all that. I was going to write a long post apologising for it, but I decided against it. If you can’t handle a little truth every now and again from a guy that is just trying to tell you a story that may educate you in some manner, as I hope to be educated by each of you, then maybe you need to reflect on your own insecurities.

Look, I do get a bit long winded about the truth and perhaps I do write stuff that is a bit sad sometimes. But, that is life, with all of its ups and downs. People are like the seasons, for they are constantly in transformation, like myself.

The bullshitting fictional muse is on call from sun up ’til I get home in the evening. By that time, the grand clown of muse is ready for a nap, so I let the non-fictional/honest muse out. That muse knows all ’bout the heart wrenching feelings portrayed in some of my stories. Occasionally, he’ll add a bit more drama or change a name or place to protect the innocent, but in the end, the stories written on this blog are my own. And, you’ll have to admit that I’m one unique abstract individual. We are all unique in our own ways, and we can each express it in different ways.

At present, my muses voices are reminding me of how I laughed out loud at the guy across from me, because of the lying and scheming advances he was making towards a gorgeous blonde. They are also screaming for me to tell you of how bad I wanted to slap the know-it-all attitude out of the artsy hyper bloke sitting next to me on the bus to the museum. But, most of all, they want me to express how exhilarating it was for me to stand and almost touch art that was over four thousand years old, how captivated I was while standing in front of “The Tiber” and the “Statue of Neshor”, and how I reflected on the clay “The Passion of the God Lilu”.

As much as I love the art work itself, I always find myself thinking about the artist behind it. Who was this person? Did they have a family? Was he or she a hard labourer? What inspired them? Who supported them?

Anyhew, I hope you all have a grand weekend. Wish my sheep counting well. Baahh!

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It is a well known fact that American kids test scores are at the bottom of the heap. Even the Slovak Republic out scores us. What does that tell you? Of course, all of this is child dependent. Parents that instill the necessity of a good education, usually have smart kids. But, it is very obvious that we are not doing enough to push a good education. We have some wonderful universities and private schools in this country, but parents should not have to starve in order for their children to have a well rounded education.

My parents sent me to private school, when I was in secondary (7th grade). When I arrived, I had to take an entrance exam, which told the professors that I was three to four years behind the rest of the population. I had to work tirelessly to catch up with the rest of the students that had been in private school all of their lives.

Back then, my parents paid around $400 (200GBP – 294 Euros) a month, and that was many – many years ago. That wasn’t a lot of money for them, but I had several friends whose parents worked two or three jobs, just so their kids could have a good education.

We have a catastrophe on our hands. I met a lad yesterday that is seventeen years old, and doesn’t know how to read. What does that say? It is sad, and downright ignorant for the most powerful country in the world to have nippers that can’t read. I’m so mad, I can’t see straight!

Needless to say, I’ve volunteered to help this guy learn how to read.

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I’ve been inspired lately, so I should (Hopefully) have some
new poems up by the end of the week.  I know my posts are sparse at times,
but that’s how my brain works!    There are days, when all I want
to do is trod around the house in an old tattered T shirt and denims.  On
those particular days, I like to sip hot Earl Grey, read a novel, and most
importantly, not be bothered.

Of course, there are brilliant daybreaks, when my eyes burst
through the bleakness of sleep, and into the light of dawn to write, until my
fingers and wrist ache, while trying to forge the stories hidden, amongst the
useless dribble.

And, there are other days, when I can visualise a grand poem
or story, but it always comes out wrong. I like to think of those days, like looking through a pane of etched
glass. Being able to see an image on the
other side, but not quite able to make it out.

I’m beginning to work with other mediums.  I’ve been sketching/drawing with charcoal for quite some time, but I’m about to start using pastels.  Although, I get a little queasy, when the thought of adding colour to a b&w drawing that has plenty of depth already, passes my psyche.  (I’m only joking, no really)

P.S.:  I never said I was good at anything.  Don’t misunderstand me, for I’ve never insinuated that I was anything but an imbecile. 

Anyhow, I should be back with some good material in a day or
two. Thanks everyone!

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Here’s a little tid bit of Dead Man Walking, sequence two.  I should have it finished by tomorrow morning, but I make no promises, being that it’s St. Patrick’s Day and all.  I’ll probably be sitting in a pub, or doing the podcast for the majority of the day. 

I wrapped my arm around her delicate shoulders, as we turned onto
Main Street. She winked at me, with that
glimmer in her eyes that I know all too well. Leaning in towards me, she whispered, “You want me, don’t you?”

“Oh Woman, you know I do.”

“So, how bad do you want me?”

“Woman, you drive me mad!”

“I’m just a sexual object to you, aren’t I?”

“Woman, you are.”

“Can you wait til we get home?”

“Woman, you know I cannot.”

The echoing of her high
heels, clanking against the paving stones, became a backdrop to her snickering.

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I have a question for all of you kind folks.  I’ve
received quite a few emails, insinuating that I don’t know how to spell.
All of these emails came from the states, where I reside.  The majority of
the population doesn’t understand that there is a difference in orthographies,
between the US and the rest of the English Speaking world.  I prefer
writing in UK English!  I think it has a more romantic tone than the
America version. 

What say you?

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Folks, I have realised something over the past week.  It
should have been obvious to me all along.  Those two and a half months I
spent not writing were downright miserable.  Tis true that I was going
through some hard times, but even underneath all of the emotion, I truly missed
writing.  I must write!  It’s ingrained into every fibre of my
being.  I’ve felt lost and afraid, but now that I’m back on the writing
bandwagon, I feel as though I’m in a constant state of rapture.  My spirit resonates and shudders, with every thrust of pen on paper. 

I feel revitalised and new, like a calf fresh from its mother’s womb, learning
how to walk.  I know what I must do now.  I’m good at all sorts of
things, from working on computers to fishing, but only writing bestills my heart.
There’s something about it that captivates my very soul. 

However, let it be said, that I have an enormous amount of learning to
do.  But, that fits in well with my personality, because I love to be
illuminated.  I’m going back to school this fall, but I will not be taking
any technology classes.  I want to change the world, even in a
insignificant way, and I can’t do that by making Bill Gates richer. 

I pledge to start writing a novel or gather enough of my poems together to make
a small compilation book.  I’m officially giving you the right to beat me
senseless, if I don’t hold to my word.  I apologise to all of you out there
that I’ve made promises to.  I always hold to my word, but I have the bad
habit of taking my sweet time at coming through with the promise! 

Here’s an excerpt, from an upcoming short story.  Yes, it’s sensual.
I’m sorry, when I’m smitten with overwhelming love, my mind resides in
the…well, I think you know where it resides. 

The woman lying in bed beside me bewitches my soul, with her
hourglass silhouette bulging through the silken sheets.  The pallid moonbeams that filter through the bedroom
window, accentuate the outline of her breast, an austere chin, fervid lips, an
elegant nose, and eyes that I desire with an eternal fire.

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This little jewel is a meme of sorts, so you are all invited to take part. 

A word that describes me is:
Daedal

My favourite word is:

smitten

My least favourite word is:

Ain’t – Ain’t is known as common folk language, a basilect.  In other words, when you use a word like "Ain’t, you might as well be throwing your intellect out the window.  I had an English teacher that screamed at me on a regular basis, for using it.  She was a smart lady. 

Use these two words in a sentence:

Ain’t you smitten, when I swoop in for a kiss.  (Linguistic Gods, please forgive thou for using such atrocious language!)

A word I have to think twice about pronouncing is:

moot

Dictionaries. Printed or online?

I use a marvelous little software tool, called WordWeb, while writing short stories and poems.  In addition, I have a large Oxford Dictionary.  I use it, when I am looking for a word to leap out at me.  I was told to copy it word for word, if I really wanted to increase my dialect, but I never got past the "A’s". 

A word whose meaning I cannot seem to retain no matter how many times I look it up is …

conciliate – I don’t know why, but this word never seems to stick, no matter how many times I use it.  You figure that one out! 

Open a dictionary to a random page and find a word you don’t know. Post the word and its meaning.

Elysium – A place or condition of ideal happiness.  What is this word?  I’ve never heard of such a thing. 

Use the word and the word you can never remember in a sentence.

Gazing across the Elysium fields, Jimmy knew he would have to conciliate with the Gods, in order to stay.

One of the most overused words in my area of work/study is

Microsoft – Geez  How many times a day, does a bloke have to read and hear that word?  Why not just say, "Bill Gates, Steve Ballmer, or those A Holes in Redmond, Washington"?

Thankfully, I’m not taking any Microsoft courses, at present.  Breath easily, Jefferson.  In and out…in and out…close your eyes, and just imagine being on a emerald green hillside, with a beautiful redhead with green eyes.  It’ll be okay, I promise. 

Now, down to the real business.  Let’s see, who can I humiliate, with this meme?  Ah, I’ve got it!  Brian, Susan, and…..drum roll please….Dario Sanchez.  Of course, anyone can play, just leave me a comment, and I’ll link to your blog.  Thanks!

Here is Dario’s response.

A word that describes me is:

Stubborn – or JC would prefer ignorant, but I prefer stubborn

My favourite word is:

Paragon – a great way of saying the very best or pinnacle. When you call a person or thing a paragon, there is nothing better.

My least favourite word is:

Guesstimate – this is not a fucking word! It was coined by the same people who use the phrase Work/Life Balance!

Use these two words in a sentence:

People who use the word ‘guesstimate’ are the paragons of idiocy.

A word I have to think twice about pronouncing is:

Protagonist – I often add an ‘r’ in in a Freudian slip – prot-r-agonist.

Dictionaries. Printed or online?

When I’m looking up a word I can’t spell properly – there aren’t
that many but there are still quite a few – I use Wiktionary. It’s
right about 99.99% of the time.

A word whose meaning I cannot seem to retain no matter how many times I look it up is …

Dissemination – I think it means the spreading of something; I can’t be sure.

Open a dictionary to a random page and find a word you don’t know. Post the word and its meaning.

intransigence – the unwillingness to change one’s views or agree.
JD, Elysium is used to describe a state or place of utopia. I think it’s a mythological word.

Use the word and the word you can never remember in a sentence.

The dissemination of intransigence is the reason why young people are considered ignorant.

One of the most overused words in my area of work/study is

Fungi – a lecturer who has a hard-on for the Kingdom Mycota pronounces it ‘fun-guy’ and lichens as ‘like-ins’. Crazy …

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I’m very…very…very busy folks.  Did I say that enough times?  I’ve got finals coming up, so I’ve got to hit the books.  No poetry from me, for at least a week.  Well, I may be able to work in a little, here and there.  Anyhow, I viewed this little game on a writing site, so I thought we could all give it a go.    I’ll give you ten words, and you give me ten responses off the cuff. 

1. Red
2. Cauldron
3. Jaunt
4. Revealed
5. Flagitious
6. Claver
7. Cyprian
8. Rugby
9. Vogue
10. Naif

I may try to develop a short story around these words, if I have the time.  Just leave a comment, with whatever pops into your head.  Yeah, Cyprian popped into my head.   What can I say, except I’m a bad boy!  I’m just kidding. 

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The lines below are examples of some of the rhetoric that flows out of my mouth, when I’m bevvied. 

Love may be beautiful, love may be bliss,
But I only slept with you, cause I was pissed.

I thought that I could love no other,
Until, that is, I met your mother.

I love your smile, your face, and your eyes-
Damn, I’m good at telling lies!

My feelings for you, no words can tell,
Except for maybe "go to hell".  (I would never say that!)

What inspired this amorous rhyme?
Two parts grey goose vodka, one part lime.

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Hi folks, I’ve been mulling over a poem for two days now, but I’ve not worked out the kinks yet.  However, I will publish the poem tonight, whether it is perfect or not.  I’ll be back later, hopefully with a poem worth your time. 

UPDATE:  I’m working on another poem, but I’ll let you folks mull over this one. 

**********

Only a vestige remains of our seraphic
embrace,

fading away into empty space.

Still entrapped by the luminescence,

glittering off of you,

like an overt angel,

with a captivating hue.

 
Still envisioning you,

glowing in the pallid moonlight,

every bead of sweat reflecting little
glints of luminance,

while I smoke another cigarette.

Every valley and mountain I’ve conquered,

is but a testament,

of how I  wish you were near,

my becharming dear.

All fêtes are otiose,

without you in my ending fate.

-Jefferson
Davis-

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I was off work today, so I went for a long
walk.  After treading over loose pine needles, desiccated and lifeless
leaves, rocks (Pebbles, gravel, river rocks, concrete chunks, and the like.),
pavement (You know, the black stuff that we drive on.) of every age and colour,
and concrete paving stones, I realised that I must walk.

You see, I’ve got lazy over the past two months, because of the Holidays, or at
least that’s my excuse.  While at a good pace, I began to get
inspired.  Fragments of poems started entering my nous, like shards of a
glass puzzle, each piece filling a void in the riddle.   

I’m sure that people thought that I was demented, ambling along, whilst
scribbling on a notepad.  I walked everyday during the summer months, and
I was revolutionised everyday, whether it was a passer-by, or a flower.
So, whether it is frigid outside or not, I’ll be continuing my daily
walk.  I hope to edit one of the poems, if I can read my own handwriting,
and have it on the blog tonight.

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Hi folks, I’m composing a really (Yes, Really!) good love story, but I’m having trouble with the shag scene.  Yes, I know a thing or two about such matters (Ha Ha).    How far can I take it, without it being distasteful or breaking folkways?  That is the question I ponder, as I write this passionate tale.  It coincides with a few other stories on the blog, which are all fiction, as this one will be.  I should have it finished by Wednesday evening, but if you have any suggestions or ideas, please let me know.  What say you?

P.S.:  This is a long short story of romance and peril, with an exhilarating ending.  When I say long, I mean about eight to ten pages, if all goes well.  I will be polishing this one up for a while, so you are going to have to wait, I’m afraid. 

P.P.S.:  I will be rewriting the other stories that cooccur with the forthcoming story.  I’ve looked back at these early stories, and I’m quite humiliated. 

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Folks, I was stumbling for
love tonight.  Pardon the pun!    I’m a big gooey chunk of love with
satire hidden in the middle, so I’ve been working on a lovely short
story about love.  How many times can I say love in a sentence?
Anyway, I was looking for some bits and pieces of abstract art to
inspire me, and I fell upon this site, discussing, "why men stop believing in love".  It is a fascinating read, so check it out when you have time. 

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Hi folks, I’m waiting to be inspired, which is unusual for me, because I am always inspired by something or someone.  Anyhow, I should have a new short story up tonight.  Also, I’m working on a review of "The Coven of One", by Kate Bousfield.  I should have it up tomorrow afternoon.  Thanks everyone for the lovely comments.  I’m going to drink some tea (I don’t know which kind yet.), and I’ll be back shortly. 

I’m really not all that serious.  I started laughing uncontrollably, after posing for the picture above.    I’m a wee bit blank at present, so I’m going to dive down into my inner sanctum and pull out a good short story.  Hopefully! 

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