AAAAHH

by heytherewildflower

QUESTION POSED TO THE UNIVERSE:

who doesn’t think of sex and the movie CRUEL INTENTIONS whenever they see one of these babies around:

Isn’t it a rule that you must giggle just a little bit whenever you see one of these??

moving along…

Whenever I go to a poetry reading, or an event where there is poetry, I remember why anything is worth anything in my life. Pure fucking joy.

I didn’t always experience readings the same way I do now, it took a bit of time to fully appreciate the awe-some power of the perfect poetry reading….but now,  for me, attending a reading is the equivalent of going to a rock concert. The only difference being, you can’t dance to the poems. Well…I am sure you could if you wanted to. You could even whoop and holler and yell at a poetry reading as in rock concerts. but thats a different story.

I experience poetry readings the same way I experience rock concerts and heres some reasons why. the most important reason is: I GO WITH THE SAME OPEN-NESS AND WILLINGNESS AND EXPECTATION OF FUN AND ENTERTAINMENT as most people go with to concerts. I stopped thinking of poetry readings as stuffy and silent affairs. Formality never occurs to me anymore.  SECOND, if the reader or the audience or the setting is mediocre, then it is mediocre. just like a concert. and the more booze, the wilder. and the greater the combination of the above factors, the more satisfied and adrenaline pumped.

ANYWAY, I mean to say…  I GET SO AMPED on just words. and I cry and laugh til I choke. and the joy is guaranteed! I am so lucky to have something like this. Everything makes sense after a good reading. Every effort and every struggle seems necessary and profound.

I saw four ladies read last night…and got a bit drunk sitting on the floor at the reading. Didnt know ANYONE but had a fucking ball in a jammed packed room filled with drunkie writers. oh my!!

  1. Here’s your prompt:
    1. Read through a few poems you love, out-loud if possible.
    2. Notice what the vowels are up to.
    3. Pick a vowel sound (not just a letter, but a particular sound, like “ee” or “ah”) that you’d like to engage with.  Pick a sound that you feel strongly about — you’d like to fall in love it, or you’d like to pick a fight with it.  Maybe this sound appears right in the middle of your ex-lover’s name.  Maybe it’s a sound that makes you want to go swimming.  Maybe it’s the sound of your childhood church choir.
    4. Set a timer for 10 minutes, and free write using the prompt, “This is the Sound of _____.”  Use the vowel sound you’ve picked as your muse.  You can use other sounds, of course, but come back to this sound for inspiration through-out the ten minutes.
    5. Trust yourself to get as weird or as sing-songy-simple as feels natural on this one.  Read your words outloud to yourself.  Love them hard and true, if only for the shapes they make in your mouth.

PROMPT FROM ELAINA

FLASH FICTION BY ELIZABETH J. COLEN

The Magnetic Virtues

I tore a ligament trying to gut you, wheat flag smut in another neighbor’s field; they said destroy by fire. I pulled some secret bone and then went on to name it: You or some other costliness, some other form of abstinence. Sodden matches drying in the sun. And then a flash like lightning, but it was just that boy again. You will not want. What failed in all the time between, err of rising years, err of growing danger in a small tin cup, in the back of a two-toned Ford. Failed in all the side streets. When everything was quiet: before the dam had split, before the floods. How every line of pavement led to a radiance we couldn’t know, rapid dash between blinds and everything closing, what washes hands of us. What stills blue and locomotive. Locks lost and winter’s tossed east amidst the families. The ways we won’t go home. Places we won’t let in, circling hearts like fan blades. For when the ribbon shreds and splits.