Front Porch Rambles

I just started writing and this came out, I hadn't planned on going here yet. I kinda like it though, and it opened up the possibility to me of working scenes from the future to inform the writing in the present tense of the story, if that makes any sense. Either way, here's a glimpse of a possible future for one of the Outer Space Adventure Saga boys. I hope you like it. ------- The ravages of time were evident on the old weathered stones. The dull gray winter sky was echoed in the faded granite that jutted from the rippling field of blue grass. Wind whistled and moaned as it rushed past the ruined monument. Axar and Ziva stepped down lightly from their hovercraft. The rustling grass rose to their knees, tickling where it reached past their boots. It was a quiet place, and they hadn't spoken a word since they spotted it across the gently sloping grasslands.  Ziva reached the shattered pillar first, though neither of them was in any hurry. This was their honeymoon after all...

Death of Snow-A Haiku Dripping dying snow Sounds an awful lot like rain Because it is rain

Tracy pushed open the door and stepped inside the dark office. The lights came on automatically, and turned on full. Charles. She grimaced against the false daylight and slammed her palm against the panel on the wall beside the door. The room was dark once more, only the last light of day crept through the blinds. The room was painted in red glow. Tracy was in no mood to appreciate the beauty of the moment. She was on a frustrating case, and it had been a most unproductive day.  She tossed her sling pack onto the floor and slumped into her worn leather chair. Some of its buttons were AWOL, and the leather was faded and cracked by sun and age. She told clients that it had been her father's if they lifted an eyebrow, but the truth was she'd had the chair since she rescued it from the curb when she was sixteen years old, and it had never left her side.  She pulled out her iDesk and unfolded it. It neatly covered the desk calendar she kept meaning to use. She palmed the screen, an...

The continuous roar of the wind through the trees was only muffled by her heavy coat, not silenced. The sheer inescapable noise of it threatened to drive her insane. Even if she could sing now, if her lips weren't cracked and frozen, the howling storm would have buried her song in snow. She didn't know how to go on, but she knew that she must. That old animal instinct was all that was left of her. Keep moving. Survive.  Some part of her wanted to curl up and die here, lost until spring. Let the animals feed their young through the harsh winter with her body. It would only be fair, after all.  She thought of her children. They were all grown to big for the cabin, and had moved out into the world. They'd all be able to say they'd tried. They'd tried to move her to the city, and they'd tried to stop her from her hunting expeditions. None of them expected to succeed though. They knew their mother. She couldn't feel her left arm. Her coat had been torn through in...

E Yaji was born on a boat. Djanni, his mother, could not be stopped from her expeditions. Her mother begged her to stay still and rest, her father forbade her from leaving, and her husband tried to physically stop her. He got a black eye and a lashing of the tongue for his efforts, and still she went. The tiny tempest, the fisher-people of their tribe called her. She was a storm that followed her own course, and any who stood in her path were driftwood in a hurricane. Djinni stormed out of the camp and cast off in her canoe, alone. She knew a place where sweet berries grew, and it was only a few miles upriver. The little woman did not feel alone, for the sky was clear and the winter stars shone above her. Djinni was tired, and her anger had expired. She could always find peace in the constellations that had guided her people for centuries. When the contractions began, she could do nothing but let her canoe drift back towards home as she tried not to tip the vessel in the sudden feirce ...

I have been trying to finish a piece of abstract art for a while, for a friend but also as an experiment for myself.  I didn't have much in mind starting out, just thinking about a palette of colors and how to apply them to canvas. What I got was a bunch of colors on a canvas with an interesting texture that didn't do a lot for me on the whole. I tried a few times, painting over my previous work each time. The trial preceding this one was almost there, but lacked depth and was also very boring. I had fun adding the dark green splashes today, and I think I like it now.

I was attempting to use garage band to turn this into an actual song, but I'm not great at making beautiful music come out of a machine just yet. I prefer to tinker with a piano or harmonica, and most of all sing my improvisations. This one has a tune, but it needs some help, so it's not getting posted. Anyhow, I'm going to write the lyrics as they were when I sent it to my love. It's a cold and snowy day Whenever I'm away You keep my body warm Protect me from all harm The wind it blows, it bites It's a dark and lonely night Whenever I'm not with you My darlin' how I miss you How I long to say, "hey babe, I'm on the way" That time is now approaching The sun will be encroaching on the clouds

When I set out to create art, I usually follow my instincts when I decide what kind of art to create. By that I mean I consider various possibilities until I find one that doesn't disgust me.  Artists, you might know what I mean. Some nights the sketchbook is your best friend, other times you can't even stand to look at it. I was looking at the blog my brother and I used to do, called Fight the Nothing, and I was inspired to make a change here in my writing journal. I need two things, structure and diversity. I have always been principally a visual artist, and I would like to improve my skills on that field as well. Also, as I said above, sometimes I just don't want to write, at least not on the blog. Therefore, I will now be including visual art in my notebook, just as it has been in every class I've ever attended. I think I require some structure to create good art, or at least to start on the path towards it. I know myself to be somewhat defiant, and I love to twist ...

Hugo waited at the barricade. It was crowded, but he was at the front. He had a pass, she'd given it to him the day before out of the blue, but this was his first time at the Mars Rodeo, and he didn't feel like he belonged inside the ring without her. The Rock-Jocks walked around the teams-only area on full strut as the cameras flashed all around. Hugo wasn't like any of them, not like her. He'd kill himself if he tried to hold on to one of those rockets, and he wouldn't even break clouds when he did. The air was thick with rotten egg smoke. He watched the spectacle of the daredevils and their devotees.. He leaned on the poured stone barricade; he had been waiting a while. The paint on the stone was covered in cracks, the blue and white tessagrams chipped here and there by passersby into a beautiful mosaic ruin. He could hear her laugh then, above the roar of the day, and stood up straight. Pinna came around the trailers framed by two broad-shoulder jockeys in gre...