i will fly
image: Brooke Shaden
i will fly
image: Brooke Shaden
Time to remember what we have been given, and what is to come…
and to be thankful for it all.
I still #am writing but alas
have lagged behind in NaNoWriMo word counts…
But my story still surges on, which is
ultimately, the most important thing to me.
I am thankful for taking on the challenge.
It has inspired me to write, write, and write more
instead of waiting for another day
(you know, the “tomorrow zone”)
Today = Writing
image: The Wit Continuum
Here in the open cockpit
faceful of breeze
I sniff the winds of change.
Wooden wing struts and guy wires
lend a tentative support. You
look so brave out there, wind
whipped white frock and Florence
Below, the dizzy patchwork map. I
can still hear your courageous last words,
a soft mixture of lisp and postnasal drip
as you step into the nearest available space,
a cloudbank of high hopes
one hand clutching your little nursebag
and the other the ripcord.
~ David Barker
image: Brooke Shaden
“…when I put my brush on paper, this was the first thing that came.” ~ Jean Jullien
Meet the man behind the Eiffel Tower Peace Sign and how love, art and inspiration go hand in hand…
Link: Slate Magazine
The symptoms of Bertha Pappenheim and the explication of memories or “the talking cure” in psychology…
Myomancy…divination by the movements of mice…
The Wit of the Staircase
(post December 28, 2006)
I’ve come to the old echoes again,
know it’s where I’ve been before,
see the same old sun.
But backwards, from all the yesterdays,
it’s still the same way,
who gets and who pays.
I was younger then,
walking along still open,
young and having fun.
But now it’s just a sad walk
to an empty park,
to sit down and wait, wait to get out.
from On Earth
image: gloomy day print by Kristie Bonnewell
+ the intoxicating Kit Harington and a perfect kitten…
Binge watch The Walking Dead episodes starting with episode one, season one, so that you’ll know what to do when zombie hell breaks loose. If possible, when it happens, find one of these guys and never leave him!
Also in preparation, you must have your Zombie Apocalypse theme song. To discover it, go to your mp3 player, ipod or whatever, and hit shuffle on your song files list. Scroll to the third song and hit play… This is mine…
Good luck… ;)
The St. Augustine Lighthouse is known to be haunted…and an amazing tourist attraction besides. My father, who just turned 79, boasted of climbing a few years ago the amazing spiral staircase (a Wit favorite!) within this cool historic tower.
I asked my dad, who has a yen for the creepy stuff as well, if he felt any ghostly specters about after that 100+ step climb… He said he had a strange feeling up there, a chill on his shoulder…but he didn’t see anything. A great shot was taken of a specter peeking over the upper banister, one of many photos of apparitions in this historic dwelling…
Planning through the past few weeks for Na No Wri Mo, National Novel Writing Month, this November. Feels great to finally have the time to focus. For me it’s now or never with stories I have. One in particular has been begging to be written, so I’m focused, I’m ready…
Join me as a buddy, pen name MichelleG-83, if you’d like.
We have not touched the stars
nor are we forgiven.
~Richard Siken, Snow and Dirty Rain
I have no swan song; words desert me now
That I have lost my youthful poet’s soul.
I have no will to sing one anyhow;
My heart’s as empty as a beggar’s bowl.
Such poor unhappy lines as I might pen
Cannot but show the dearth of feeling there,
As they fall flat and fizzle out again
And again, without their former flair.
And though they aptly show my poverty
Of spirit, passion, and creative fire,
This alone does not make poetry,
No more than ashes make a funeral pyre.
No Swan Song by Christopher Courtley,
From Thirteen Black Roses: Gothic Romantic Poetry
Welcome to The Poison Garden! The Alnwick Garden was established in 2005 by the Duchess of Northumberland. This uniquely creepy garden contains over 100 deadly and hallucinogenic plants, enough to put this Wit over the gruesome edge…
“I wondered why so many gardens around the world focused on the healing power of plants rather than their ability to kill…I felt that most children I know would be more interested in hearing how a plant killed, how long it would take you to die if you ate it and how gruesome and painful the death might be.”
~ The Duchess of Northumberland
(A woman after my creepy-side heart…)
Visit The Dead Pinterest board
Suggestion: The Shining by Stephen King. Classically huge volume filled with perfect psychological breakdowns, a kid with psychic abilities, ghosts, and a writer who can’t write. Add isolation and a mega snowstorm and that’s what I’m talking about. (Movie is great too!!)
Every October I try to read something on the creepy side. This year my selection is perfect: a bit scary, gross at times, and heartbreaking as well. This is on the milder side compared to Lindqvist’s Let the Right One In, which had a lot more blood, gore and horrifyingly graffic content…So far…
Get your creep on with An excerpt from John Ajvide Lindqvist’s Handling the Undead…
Scene set up: David is visiting his dead wife after her horrific car accident which involved an elk…
“He stared down at the floor. He did not see the white caterpillar that came in through the ceiling, fell, and landed on the yellow institutional blanket draped over Eva, digging its way in.
“My darling,” he whispered and squeezed her hand. “Nothing was going to come between us, don’t you remember?”
Her hand jerked, squeezed back.
David did not scream, did not make a move. He simply stared at her hand, pressed it. Her hand pressed back. His chin fell, his tongue moved to like his lips. Joy was not the word for what he felt, it was more like the disorganization in the seconds after you wake from a nightmare, and at first his legs did not want to obey him when he pulled himself up so he could look at her.
They had cleaned and prepped her as best they could, but half of her face was a gaping wound. The elk, he supposed. It must have had time to turn its head, or make a final desperate attempt to attack the car. Its head, its antlers had been the first thing through the windshield and on of the points had struck her face before she was crushed under the weight of the beast.
“Eva! Can you hear me?”
No reaction. David pulled his hands across his face, his heart was beating wildly.
It was spasm…She can’t be alive. Look at her.
A large bandage covered the right half of her face, but is was clear that it was…too small. That bones, skin and flesh were missing underneath. They had said that she was in bad shape, but only now did he realize the extent of it.
“Eva? It’s me.”
This time there was no spasm. Her arm jerked, hitting against his legs. She sat up without warning. David instinctively backed up. The blanket slid off her, there was a quiet clinking and…no, he had not realized the full extent of it at all.
Her upper body was naked, the clothes had been cut away. The right side of her chest was a gaping hole bordered by ragged skin and clotted blood. From it came the metallic clanking. For a moment, David could not see Eva, he only saw a monster and wanted to run away. But his legs would not carry him and after several seconds he came to his senses. He stepped up to the bed again.
Now he saw what was making the sound. Clamps. A number of metal clamps suspended from broken veins inside her chest cavity. They swayed and hit against each other as she moved. He swallowed dryly. “Eva?”
She turned her head toward the sound of his voice and opened her one eye.
Then he screamed.”
~The Picture of Dorian Gray~
Time to embrace your darker side… Due to September’s timely demise I have now awoken and feel inspired during this October, my favorite month of the year. Join me for pre-Samhain bits on the creepier wit and beauty side, full of Art, poetry, words and images to make the tummy twinge and the nickers moist, in more ways than one, along with the eternal desires October brings every year. May this be a magical, mysterious month for all the Wit children….
Art = Guardian by Pat Kochakji
A high moment listening to Ima Sumac. The voice has all the richness, beauty, and range of a mythical woman. It does not seem humanly credible. She sings like a siren, a bird, an angel, some seductive chant never heard before, high and low, fragile and strong. With all that, she has the exotic beauty of a legendary figure. I could imagine her in Peru, but not accept that she is married to a composer and now sings his Hollywood-type arrangements in a night club.
~ Anais Nin, Fall 1952, The Diary of Anais Nin Volume 5
seeing how the app for WordPress is working…
Unfortunately this is the third try uploading a picture from my iPad …
And it shut off again… Anyone with advice on why this fucking thing isn’t working will be appreciated. I reloaded app which has helped. At least WordPress opens and I can view notifications etc.
Ps: need the stick it to the front page option on app!
Style is the answer to everything.
A fresh way to approach a dull or dangerous thing.
To do a dull thing with style is preferable to doing a dangerous thing without style.
To do a dangerous thing with style is what I call art.
Bullfighting can be an art.
Boxing can be an art.
Loving can be an art.
Opening a can of sardines can be an art.
Not many have style.
Not many can keep style.
I have seen dogs with more style than men,
although not many dogs have style.
Cats have it with abundance.
When Hemingway put his brain to the wall with a shotgun, that was style.
Or sometimes people give you style.
Joan of Arc had style.
John the Baptist.
I have met men in jail with style.
I have met more men in jail with style than men out of jail.
Style is the difference, a way of dong, a way of being done.
Six herons standing quietly in the pool of water,
or you, naked, walking out of the bathroom without seeing me.
~Charles Bukowski, Tale of Ordinary Madness
Baseball fan I don’t claim to be…I won’t even try, though I’ve enjoyed a game or two in my time…
In need of a laugh (and while perusing Alphabet Juice by Roy Blount Jr.) I open to the word “malapropism” which isn’t really defined but can be rendered as a “wit-icism” quite naturally…or not… It is essentially an incorrect word used in place of a word, resulting in an utterance that makes no sense (yet does) in a humorous way. Thanks Wikipedia…
Yogi Berra, of baseball fame, is listed in Blount’s book as a classic candidate for having perfected the art of creating malapropisms…
“If you come to a fork in the road, take it.”
The next time you talk with somebody, try to listen with every part of your body, not just your intellect. Let you breath be slow and full as you take in whatever that person has to say, however she needs to say it. Try not to compete, to prove wrong, to dominate, or to redirect. Savor the person’s unique pitch and rhythm. Listen for what’s being revealed and for what’s being veiled.
~ Jeff Davis, The Journey from the Center of the Page
Love Jane and Serge…
Originally posted on Just Under the Surface:
“My mother was right: When you’ve got nothing left, all you can do is get into silk underwear and start reading Proust.” ~Jane Birkin
Lovely, spirited, bohemian Jane Birkin (with Serge Gainsbourg)
FRANCE – CIRCA 1960: Portrait of Jane Birkin, taken in the Sixties. (Photo by REPORTERS ASSOCIES/Gamma-Keystone via Getty Images)
and time for love.
That leaves no other time.
~ Coco Chanel
A whole week. Barely.
My feet take me around
but I forget why.
Mouth’s been to the dentist.
Hands don’t read my head.
Ears ring the telephone.
Moon’s knocked to one side
and I choke in fluids.
Eventually, they tell me,
The yelling quiets down
inside, but it takes
a while. It takes a while.
Words – Vi Gale
Image – thenletitbe.tumblr.com
Questions that currently remain: Will Daenerys ever get off that dragon? What’s Jon Snow going to fucking do with all those Wildling people ( like, feed them how? Where will they sleep tonight? Etc. ) Will that wicked queen remain in her perfect accommodations? And will someone, someone!, just finally kill that red haired priestess witch before she kills another innocent person to serve her lord of light? (Perfect example of why religious fanatics shouldn’t run countries, wars, or anything for that matter…)
Winter is Coming…
This being human is a guest house.
Every morning a new arrival.
A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor.
– The Guest House, Rumi
Thank you to all new followers. I love you all. 991 as of this moment. So grateful to all. Thank you.
The Wit Continuum
Painting by Rothko
Natalie Dormer, Lena Headey, Carice van Houten, Emilia Clarke, Sophie Turner, Maisey Williams, Gwendoline Christie
Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing,
There is a field. I’ll meet you there.
When the soul lies down in that grass,
The world is too full to talk about.
Ideas, language, even the phrase each other
Doesn’t make sense.
Daylight, full of small dancing particles
And the one great turning, our souls
Are dancing with you, without feet, they dance.
Can you see them when I whisper in your ear?
~~from A Great Wagon by Rumi