Damn it’s been so long!
Maybe my skills are gone.
Maybe my mind’s gone dumb.
Maybe the future’s done.
But man, I haven’t tried.
But what is it to try?
I’ve fucking tried to try;
To try to try to try…
Maybe I ain’t built for that –
Pushing, I get pushed down
And just fall down flat.
It’s time to learn the lute
To strive less and shoot
Not far for the stars or moon
But for my mind; to get in tune
With now.
A couple people from a writers’ group I’m in invited me to do a blog tour. I was a little confused about the whole thing and didn’t get back to them about that… They’re both excellent writers and have very interesting blogs. If you’re reading this post, check them out!
Mary Lou Rigdon writes great Regency fiction, among other things:
http://historyfanforever.wordpress.com/
And Rachel has written some fascinating multi-generational stories set in the American South:
http://www.rachelsroberts.com/
Enjoy!
لا مكان للخوف وكبت الشوق
فالحياة منادية تلبية غائبة
that is all
fight the current and be torn asunder;
yield and surrender and be pulled under;
or tread with care and watch with wonder.
some say he’s a smoocher ‘cause in their culture
only the lazy don’t work for money
and only the crazy have no home.
but others who’ve chosen to keep their minds open
see a saint who shares wisdom with all;
a free spirit not afraid to fall.
| Two milky mountains rise above
These peaceful little towns, And to the left it seems as if Snow floats above the clouds; As if a wise man stands on guard Whose whitened hair extends Down from the clear blue sky, down from His proud head that ascends Nine thousand feet into the air, And just a little more Away from two majestic lands Of bloody strife and war. I feel this scene’s serenity And wonder silently- What do the war-torn villagers Across these ridges see? A chain of graceful, virgin peaks To gaze at and adore? Or cold, strategic battlegrounds For settling their scores?
|
يعلو جبلان من اللبن فوق هذه الضيعات الهادئة
وعلى اليسارتطفو الثلوج فوق الغيوم كأن شيخاً ينهض واقفاً وحارساً وشعره المُبيَضُّ ينحدر من السماء الزرقاء الصافية، من رأسه الفاخر الذي يرتقي تسعة آلاف قدما في الهواء فوق أرضين من المجد لطّختهما دماء الفتنة والحرب. أحسُّ بسكون هذا المشهد وأتساءلُ ماذا يرى أهالي القرى ما بعد هذه الجبال؟ سلسلةً من القمم العذراء والبهية؟ أم ساحاتٍ للقتال, باردةً واستراتيجية؟ |
I’ve decided to write a novel, and I’ll share the highs and lows of my journey here. I’ll also post some other stuff I write (or have previously written) along the way. I’ll start off with a few words I wrote years ago during a sleepless night:
The night. It floats along on the wings of fantastic dreams and absurd fantasies. The mind wanders, trying to find the place where the strangest things become as vivid as the solitary light in that familiar room. Soothing sounds emanate from that same direction, sometimes dancing along with the light, the thoughts, and the dreams. I wait for these to blend together into a blissful harmony. I long for them to coalesce into nothingness and emerge again in a different world. The lights and sounds grow distant as the fantasies come into focus. They can still be heard and felt, however, as they form the drum to which the imagination beats. But something is wrong. The beat is off. The noises become distinct, dragging the mind back to reality.
I’ve always wanted to share that piece, and now I have. That feels good 🙂
Hopefully writing this book will be a good experience. Feel free to follow along if you like!
WiltedJasmine 