Simmer #thedailypost #100words

Simmer

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Below the surface of calm water the next storm is brewing. What it will be, how violent and destructive, no-one knows, nor how far it will reach, nor when it will be unleashed. So we, mere mortals, the next victims, continue to tread, blind and deaf, accepting our fate, carrying our sins, pretending all is well. Has it ever been different, have our ancestors, once, had the knowledge of the future, of what simmers under their lives, hidden from view? Was Nature, once, kinder to us? Did our Creator, once, attempt to warn us? Have we forgotten everything?

Image: Gaia, the Big Mother

 

 

Mystery #thedailypost

Mystery

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I recall the first time I saw You, as through a thin veil of time, a vision of peace, a quiet voice behind which one sensed a deep strength. In the tumult, the chaos that then was, You were reassuring, a calm presence that was not all human, and yet without threat, somehow in and out of this world, an ancient Being who knew all about us, the like of us, in our misery.

Ever since, You appeared when this frail soul was lost, every time an inspiration for hope, for wisdom, for courage. Although I did not, still do not understand, it was plain to see that You knew everything, the small lies, the cowardice, the fear that haunt us. So that there is nothing to hide, and to take the high road ahead, we only have to listen, and to obey.

Image: Deutsche Post stamp, 1979 : Johannes Faust avec Homunculus, Méphistophélès. scanned by NobbiP, Domaine public, Lien

Loop #WritersWednesday #DailyPost

Inspired by today’s Prompt

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The shed stands in a little hollow, surrounded by trees and bushes. The bushes are of a climbing sort, maybe  roses, or jasmin. This place is old, but not decrepit, although as we approach it, I notice someone has removed the small inside lock on the door. It was a kind of light latch, just to allow the occupier to get privacy. My friend has disappeared inside, and I keep watch, to ensure she is not disturbed. I look around the shed, and notice some tools against its walls. My neighbour is working nearby. I mention to him the broken, or vandalised, latch. He’s aware of it, and says he will fix it. Then I remember I have that urgent phone call to give. It seems that all the public phones nearby are either not working, or of a type I cannot use. Is it that I have no change? Yet I have several cards, of a type that looks old and way past their usefulness date.

I quit the shed, with much regret, and walk toward the town hall. I never knew it was so close. I must talk to that councillor. Now there is a puzzle, what councillor, and why? Is this a throwback from that silly TV program we watched last night, where the mayor wants to buy the priory in order to build a casino? The one with the sexy nun who looks like my sister in law…

I take the familiar steps and enter the main hall. I am aware of people around, I hear them talking but cannot see them. I am worried about the friend left behind, a sweet worry tainted of lust. I try to use the hall’s telephone, but of course, do not know the extension. I am afraid of attracting attention: how could I justify my presence here? I recall that my neighbour said I could use his phone at home. I walk there, and follow a well kept path through the woods. His wife welcomes me, explains she’s now much better, and indeed looks even younger than I recall. We chat amiably, and when I try to give this call, I have forgotten what it was about, and to whom. I am now back, walking toward the shed, and found that my friend has gone. There is now, somehow, more light around, I keep looking at those useless bank cards in my wallet: a waste of space. Sometime, finding people we love, in this world, is nigh impossible. One moment they are there, just so close, and the next they are gone, and we cannot reach them.

I know this is dawn, and I have a choice, carry on the search, or pause. I know it may be prudent to pause now.

Image: Magritte Museum, Brussels

Trace #TheDailyPost

Inspired by today’s one word prompt

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In any other city I would probably lose him, as his ability to hide behind others, look like them, or simply disappear, is beyond any other’s. But this is the city of Faust. Among the folks of the night, roaming the quiet streets, haunting the silent parks, he is known as the Prince of Deceit, and easily recognised. So I know where and how to find him, follow his putrescent scent, get the demons of the night to corner him.

He tries to pretend to be someone else, a poor vagrant, a homeless, harmless victim of this harsh life. And I laugh. Through the rictus and the sardonic smile, I see the reality of the shaking Devil.  Confronted, identified, gone the assurance, gone the lies, the pitiful remnant of a fallen angel is just afraid!

Vade retro Satanas!

Picture: Devil Voodoo Figure, Usulutàn Province, El Salvador (courtesy Tucson Museum of Modern Art)

Hesitate #WritersWednesday

Today’s prompt

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“You have to tell the truth,” she said, serious and mocking at the same time, “the truth about me, the person I am, not the one you would wish me to be!”

I was a little peeved about that statement. I thought I was truthful, without hesitation about her qualities and shortcomings, being a cool and objective observer. Now, in the middle of the night, as she looked at me, I was beginning to doubt. Was I writing about her real self, or someone who did not exist? A doppelgänger of sort?

“But,”she continued in her calm voice, “you should know, if you can’t do it naturally, I’ll do it for you. And I won’t hesitate to show to your readers what the truth is about this great author!”

Then I woke up. Her voice was still ringing in my mind. There was a long time to go before dawn. I wished she’d been here, for real, telling me more about herself. My beloved hero, the perfect woman…

Picture: Joanna Pallaris, via  ilpianobis

 

Filter

The Prompt

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So many faces, so many objects, coming to us from the past; some strangely familiar, others, forever enigma, forged by minds we cannot decipher, or from individuals so distant in time that their language is forgotten. We parse, think, and chose, the ones we can retain, remember, the ones that inspire us, or invite us to reflect on our own time, to extend our dreams.

We meet them on the street, in the eyes of passers-by, in the windows of small shops whose purpose is uncertain. Or in museums, already acknowledged by some unknown collector or curator, half-way between celebrities and relics…

From time time, our mind captures one of those that are different: the still vibrant ghost of a powerful spirit, who, perhaps, has not spoken her last words.

Photo: Clocktower, Göttingen

Filthy #DailyPost #WritersWednesday

Today’s prompt

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“Of course, you have to explore their past: those characters of yours have a past, hidden from you, so far. You need to discover it, understand it, get into some of the less palatable truths about them. Don’t just see them squeakily clean on the blank page! Look, look for the filth, the deplorable, the inexcusable.”

She spoke, in this charming but imperative voice my muse has, when the rain falls, and I am stuck in getting the novel back moving again. She’s right, she always is.

“And, by the way, if your discoveries, what they were once up to, the skeletons in their briefcase, lead you to question their virtue, don’t hesitate! The hero is less than perfect! Good! In fact he is a coward, or was, or might be again: lovely! What will attract the attention of a discerning reader is, is precisely what makes her that little better, more adjusted, thus a touch sexier, than that character of yours!”

I will follow her advice, much work in perspective, and maybe, by digging through the filth, I’ll find the gems?

Flames #DailyPrompt

Write a new post in response to today’s one-word prompt.

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The old man turns the pages of his album: they are all there, from tiny five by five black and white photos, already mellowed by age, to the bright shots he took at the height of his, and their, seductive power. Beaches, venerable ruins, busy streets, lonely mountain peaks: so many stages he took them to, willing, sometime a little anxious…

He smiles at them, all those gorgeous girlfriends, and they appear to smile back. But is there some sarcasm in their eyes?

Old fool, are you still kidding yourself?

 

Photo: “We are not mad. We are human. We want to love, and someone must forgive us for the paths we take to love, for the paths are many and dark, and we are ardent and cruel in our journey.” – Leonard Cohen, via                  david-f-locke            

Vegetal #DailyPrompt

Write a new post in response to today’s one-word prompt.

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They surround us, little by little: first on the balcony, an array of dark greens and colourful shoots, but also in the living room – ha what a space for us! – the Peace Lily (Spathiphyllum) and one other (Ficus Ali), all good for the air we breath! Then there are the little ones, squeezed between windows, nesting comfortably against the rigour of the eastern winter. We shall wait for their arrival for Christmas.

We will have more, as we believe in their power. No Triffid, of course, only the friendly and beneficial type!

Image: Peace Lily (Spathiphyllum cochlearispathum), Royal Tasmanian Botanical Gardens, Tasmania, Australia Camera data Camera Canon EOS 400D Lens Tamron EF 180mm f3.5 1:1 Macro Focal length 180 mm Aperture f/8 Exposure time 1/3 s Sensivity ISO 100 ~ By JJ Harrison (jjharrison89@facebook.com) – Own work, CC BY-SA 3.0, Link