Tag Archives: RDP

Karry-no-key

I did karaoke once. That was enough, for me, and for everyone else’s aural health. I think I had conjured up a romantic idea of the experience from movies such as 27 Dresses and How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days. Supposedly, you can impulsively grab a microphone and start belting out a song without any preparation, and even if you don’t have a great voice and are somewhat off-key, you’ll still sound okay and look adorable. 😍

Wrong! You have to start with a decent voice, know the song, especially when to start and stop, and have a sense of music generally. Which I do not. Otherwise you’re just filling the room with a cacophony of noise. It’s not fun for me to remember how awful I must have been. πŸ˜–

Though they don’t even know, I accept the gratitude of all future ears I won’t harass with my terrible “singing.” 🎢😜🎢

The Quiet Life [fiction 325]

“There she is!”

“Oh, my God! She’s really alive.”

“Can you believe it? After all these years!”

The Countess waved gracefully to the crowd gathered on the lawn. She had agreed to answer a few questions and pointed to a reporter near the edge of the stone steps. Two armed guards stood at the bottom of each side of the steps, ostensibly to deter anyone from coming too close.

“Countess Greta,” the reporter said. “It’s so good to see you again. What inspired you to emerge from your solitude?”

Greta smiled and indicated the perfectly maintained grounds. “I wanted a fresh lemon for my afternoon tea.”

Everyone laughed politely. It wasn’t a real answer, for they all knew the Countess could summon a servant to fetch a lemon.

Another reporter asked, “We were used to seeing you dressed in mourning black. Does your more colorful attire signal a change in your lifestyle as well? Will you be entering society again?”

The crowd murmured. It was a bold question, to indirectly refer to the death of the Count. No one really knew what had happened, though of course there were many stories and rumors, some of them bordering on the scandalous and vile.

But Greta appeared unfazed. She touched the lace of her heather pink dress and said, “Oh, thank you for noticing my gown. It is springtime after all. But I do prefer the quiet life of reading poetry and painting watercolors in my studio.”

A few more questions followed regarding her taste in poets and such. One of the guards subtly shifted position, at which point, the Countess said, “It’s been lovely chatting with you all. We shall do it again soon.” With that, she disappeared back into the cavernous castle.

“She has so much class.”

“So ephemeral.

“Such a great beauty, even now.”

“How old is she? Does anyone know?”

“The guards seemed more concerned with keeping her in than keeping us out.”

~*~

Written for The Daily Echo

The Last Firewall

She’d dreamt this moment

Into being, and behold!

His fearsome form appeared

Like an emerald angel,

Launched from the stars.

No angel he, but a vengeful beast,

Intent on destruction, far and wide.

That’s why she’d been hidden here,

Behind the last firewall,

Safe from the dragon’s ire.

They’d built an asbestos tower

To keep her from her prince,

Yet here he was, anger flowing

In molten streams of red and gold,

But accomplishing nothing.

She waited, wondering…

What would be his strategy?

Surely he would rescue her,

Not fail, after coming this far.

But he drank from the moat

Of Hypnos and lay down to sleep.

She cried bitter tears

That turned into a river of ice;

If only he’d known

He could have whispered her name

And the gate

Would have opened.

Keep It Down

Spectators gathered

In the alley.

There seemed to be an

Impromptu play happening

About noise, with a catch–

There were no words.

Mimes conveyed a bitter,

Twisted drama

To an enthralled crowd.

The mimes writhed

And expressed every

Sick, tortured emotion

With their graceful bodies

And supple faces.

Finally, the one killed the other

For gesturing too loudly;

It was not a match

Made in silent heaven.

Every Day is Friyay

When you’re the King of the Castle!

Gatsby here. Like my new pic? It’s properly regal, I thought, except for the campy toy that Mommy insisted on plopping near my face.

She says it’s my first toy, one they sent home with me from the shelter. Mommy just found it in the bottom of a basket and gets sentimental over things like this, but I’m a rebel and will claw it up same as all the other toys. Equality!

Seems like an eternity since I last blogged, but ’twas only Sunday. Busy busy. Must go prowl about and see if anything needs to be killed. Bye for meow! 🐱

Happy 4th! (with bonus rant)

My latest discovery, which I will share, is that everything is ridiculously complicated and costs too damn much.

In my youth, life was simple (although frequently unhappy). My mom did many things herself, but now these projects are out of reach. Take knitting and crocheting and sewing, forex. Loading up on the supplies costs a fortune and the patterns are complicated, wah. Don’t even get me started on scrapbooking (again) or making bead jewelry. Soooo costly! Plus, in my case, I’d have to take classes first, for jewelry, sewing, cooking, etc. I’m not one who can watch a video for twenty minutes and then go mmhmm now I see how to construct a tiny house, easy peasy!

I remember we usually had an aquarium going on. My mom dealt with it, but it could not have been outrageously expensive because we weren’t wealthy and we lived in small apartments for many years. The aquariums were really pretty, but the fish died often, and we were always traipsing off to the pet store for little baggies of new ones. I bet now though aquariums are just another one of those crazy costly and super complex hobbity bobbity things.

I liked watching the bright little neons dart through the water after their specks of food. We had graceful black and white stripey fish and some goldfish varieties too. A few catfish at the bottom keeping things clean. Mom always indulged me and got a teeny pirate treasure chest for decoration in the sand. Haven’t thought about our aquariums for years…

Ah yes, the sands of time, rushing so fast through the hourglass now, piling up at the bottom, waiting to meet that last big wave that will wash them out to the eternal ocean and then… and then what?

Nothing.

*

You know, I feel I’m pretty chill with anyone who comments here unless they’re an obvious spammer or troll. If you’re of a different political persuasion, cool, just keep it civil and don’t insult other peeps or me. I have accepted loads of criticism and disagreements over the years. Don’t mind it at all, and I particularly welcome any comments on my poetry and fiction. I am not thrilled with advice I haven’t solicited, especially about health, but whatever.

But that’s not the case elsewhere. Some bloggers don’t want any disagreement or difference of opinion. I’ve noticed I will be condescended to or explained at if I dare to express a thought contrary to the OP’s. That is unpleasant, FYI, and I will not be visiting these blogs much or at all in the future.

YHBW. πŸ™‚

Have a great weekend! β˜„οΈπŸ’₯πŸ”₯

Time Pieces

She smashed the clocks,

Flung the watches off the dock,

Determined to outwit time.

She covered the windows

So day became night;

Not a ray of sunshine

Found its way inside.

Prowling the quiet halls,

She owned the darkness;

Her face remained unlined,

Her body graceful as a child’s,

As everyone she knew died.

Eventually, her house crumbled,

The walls collapsing to dust,

And she stood alone in the rain.

A new world sputtered to life,

Full of hollow fluttering things,

And she became its cursed ruler.

She stared at the silent lake,

That graveyard of timepieces,

And knew a different kind of chain.

Perhaps she had made a mistake.

~*~

Fandango’s Flash Fiction Challenge

The Right Door [flash 217]

It was supposed to be my vacation. A long overdue break from demands, deadlines, and stress. But I couldn’t relax. During the mornings, I sat on the sand, watching the waves, my stomach a knot of anxiety. In the afternoons, I wandered through the quaint shops, where tourists tried to scramble over each other for bargains, but I walked away, uninterested. Why couldn’t I enjoy myself?

And at night came the dreams, each one more disturbing than the last. The dark corridor, the semi-open doors with a faint glow of light emanating from inside. But I couldn’t see what was happening. A vague sickly sweet odor. Fabric rustling. Moans… of pleasure or pain? I could not tell. I knew I had to choose a room, and once I made my choice, all others would disappear. But each night I awoke drenched in fear just as I stepped over the threshold of the one I’d chosen.

Except this night, the last one of my stay. I walked resolutely down the shadowed hall, the decaying fragrance stronger than ever. I heard fabric tearing, as if someone were ripping a bedsheet with their bare hands. And then in the deepest, most recessed alcove I found the right door. All my worry melted away as I glided into the light.

~*~

The Daily Echo

The Annual Biggleton Boat Race

Rocky the Referee stood on the Biggleton Bridge, where he could oversee the annual boat race. No one else was allowed up here during the race to influence him with their pleas and tears. The winner would be determined by a combination of skill and luck, helped along by the ephemeral hand of fate. If there were any shenanigans, Rocky was in control of the distribution of the proper penalties. Several years ago, someone had tried to rig the race, but Rocky had dealt with them harshly, though fairly, and nothing similar had happened since.

Naturally, it was understandable that people became a little emotional over the annual boat race. The losers were promptly killed and eaten at the Annual Biggleton Barbecue.

~*~

I was tagged by Tao-Talk for this challenge, which originated at Nova Namaste. Hope it’s okay if I don’t tag any more peeps. πŸ™‚

What A Deal [flash 184]

George nodded as Shanna showed him the seashell magnets. “These souvenirs will go like hot cakes now that tourists are flooding the town,” he said. “I’ll take three dozen.”

Shanna smiled. “Thank you, George. We always appreciate your business. I just wish I could unload these pretty silkscreen canoe tee shirts. They only have a slight defect.”

George laughed. “Missy, you have a thing or two to learn about sales! Never point out a defect. Maybe I wouldn’t have noticed. What is it?”

Shanna pointed to the edge of the sleeve. “The printer mistakenly got a droplet of blue right here on every shirt. I can give you twenty cents off each.”

“That doesn’t even look like a mistake!” George said. “But since you think it is, how about thirty cents off each, and I’ll take the whole batch?”

“I guess so,” Shanna said.

“Hah.” George grinned. “You’ll learn. Chalk this deal up to your lack of experience.”

*

The moment he had paid and left, Shanna ran into the back and crowed to her boss, “I just sold all those misspelled canoe shirts, wahoo!”