Get your ducks …

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Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

This is the second day in a row for two things, firstly that I started writing my haiku as a tabula rasa … well not entirely … I wanted it to be about dancing, or dancing like no one is watching, because no one would want to watch me dance. You would think a musician would be better, but I’m all arms and legs (and hair) – think of mid-1970’s Michael Jackson, but very uncool and out of control. Secondly, at the last second before posting, I reversed the lines. Again, it makes more sense that way, but artistically … what do you think? I also took a line out, or replaced it, leaving it for a future haiku.

Anyway, here it is: uninhibited

You may remember from one of my streams of consciousness rants, that you might think I sometimes appear to be uninhabited. That’s probably because of the chaos in my brain – so much is going on that everything is getting stirred up in a primordial soup ripening for the next big bang.

BTW, it came without fanfare, the 28th installment of Bathing in the Hot Tub of my Mind (28. UPPERCASE) was posted a few days ago. Many of my devoted followers missed it. Only two more to go before I hit the end, except that the new one (No. 31) is already up in TCoA.

Today’s card:

The Princess of Wands: Brilliant and daring with great energy, sudden and violent in love and anger.

There it is. I was musing today about my inspiration, about sources thereof. I’m in that time of year between semesters, between seasons, when I’m not around many people. There are fewer at the gym. I thrive on communication, discourse, argument, love, and anger. There is nothing satisfying about sitting at home alone twiddling my thumbs. I need to discuss the soup in my brain. It imposes order – or enough order that I can spew it out in my rabid prose or longing verse.

No comment. 

No comment?

Yes, that is one of the disappointing aspects of my blogs: no comments. Yes, I’m bad about giving comments, too, or even likes, but like all narcissists, I like to see that my words have impact on others. (Just like the Narcissist-in-Chief.) I get plenty of hits, likes, and follows, but few comments – almost none. I will try to be better. I promise. I should warn you, though. I will be traveling in the coming weeks, and may not be very social, online, that is.

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7 responses to “Get your ducks …

  1. Quack quack quack quack quack cockadoodledoo! How do Dee do, g’day to you. You complained, I came, and here I am dropping a giant comment blab blob. Whatcha wanna talk about, princess Wanda?

  2. You came, Oh Mystic Mother. Your ears must have been burning (or whatever the Internet equivalent is). I was just surfing your blog. Lots to digest. Can’t hang long. I’m supposed to be somewhere, i.e. not here. I was just getting my knickers in a twist ‘cuz a lot of people have been stopping in lately, but nobody says hello. I’m standing at the bar and nobody’s drinking but me.

    How did a rooster get in with those ducks?

    So is that Wanda the Wanderer? I suppose I’m the wandering sort – a solitary wanderer maybe … Oh wait, the Princess … hmmm … maybe. I can be thick sometimes. Too much soup.

    • My blogs are a mess. Always struggled to put myself together in any comprehensible way. But whatevers, it makes for interesting digging. Even I get a kick out of it. Haha.
      I haven’t drank in ages, but I’ll drink with you! What’re having? Kava? Gin? Lemonade? We could do shots of aqua vitae! Cocktails are amazeballs and my preferred drink. Fruity tooti.

      There are a shit ton of birds where I am. And around bend along the swallows drive they’re all mystical creatures and stuff. A pretty mystical menagerie here in my park of erronous skine.

      Thick or thin, spoon or knife, tridents stir magic soup with tines. I love soup. Brothy ones with meat and veg, like hot and sour soup. Yummy! Sinigang all time favourite soup. Far better to have too much soup than gruel.
      A wandering star, aye? The glorybox of my portishead offers you a biscuit. Worry I let myself be if you continue the lonely path so long solo.

      SHOTS! WE NEED SHOTS! I promise you I come across much more sober when I’m drunk.

  3. Shot? I drank more last night than I have in about 6 months (i.e. cumulative). My shots will have to be sparkling water, or something like that.

    Yes, blogs can turn out that way. I’ve divided mine up by what I post on them, and how I post. The Cult of Anne is where I post my new creative work, usually light erotica, but really anything serious (as in art, as opposed to being serious in character). Eirica Johnstone’s Obsession is where I post creative work (prose) that is more obsessive and impulsive, but not poetry. Annema is where I journal, so I can post anything that pops into my head. (An enema for my thoughts, as it were.) I also post creative work for comment at Writerscafe.org, but the denizens there have gotten younger and younger. The critique has become short and mindless except for a few adults. When I crit there, I give them the full me, and I been told off by a girl’s mother. How was I to know that she was only 11? (The girl requested a crit from me!) I don’t participate much anymore, and most of my friends have left.

    Not many birds here in middle America, unfortunately.

    Anyway, the soup is ready. Stay tuned …

    • You must ensure the replies actually reply to my comments otherwise I won’t get notifications and may miss your words or sentiments.
      I’m a spin doctor, soothsayer, sign writer, siren. Subtle sweet wordsmith of Cybele, speaking or singing something, stuff, songs, sayings and shit. Scaline soundbytes, shout rebel lustre at ease. Silent screams of symphonic syllables as specific or general steps to god. Something something Parkside. Dark knight. Duck wing. Blah. Fuck my head. I don’t know what I’m saying. But it’s fun to shoot the shimmy summer reigns with you again, Anne Martin.

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