Hello everyone On Fri, Jul 15, 2011 at 11:20 PM, 118 <[email protected]> wrote: > > While I turned away to spare him any shame, the hands of God grabbed > me deep within and made me turn around and visualize him one more > time. The old man still sat there with his head down, tears dry, > silent now,. The church door behind where he sat suddenly opened and > a small child appeared, running into the man's arms, calling out > "Grandpapa! There you are! Let's go down the hill" That could have > been me. I guess God answered his prayers after all. > > Uncle Alamo died two days later. I remember a cold wind blew the day > we buried him on the lonely cemetery hilltop behind where sat the > church; him and Auntie Virginia use to take me there when I was but a > boy. > > No one came to his funeral but the preacher and me. The rest are > already there on the hilltop, waiting. Waiting with the GrandMamas > and GrandPapas. Perhaps Alamo was accepted, he certainly did not come > back. And Thomas knows that he was in a good place. My bones will > someday lie there too. Daddy will join his brother, and then be there > with Mamma waiting for me. But I have a road to walk, yet; do them > proud. > > -Anonymous
Hi Mark It is good to pick an author who we admire and make their words our own. I do it all the time to the myriad authors I've read over the past fifty odd years. Actually, it is the first time anyone (that I know of) has used my words to make their own. Pretty cool... Thank you, Dan > > On Thu, Jul 14, 2011 at 11:01 PM, Dan Glover <[email protected]> wrote: >> What's your name? She asked the question late one night when they were >> closing up. He'd been too shy to approach Lisa but he knew her name; >> he couldn't quite understand why she didn't know his name as well. >> They'd been working together nearly a month now. But then in between >> the space of her speaking and him answering, he reasoned (to himself) >> that she did know his name... it was her way of starting a >> conversation that he himself didn't quite know how to start. >> >> Billy. Billy Austin. >> >> I'm Lisa. >> >> Yes, I know, he stammered the I know slightly, not wanting to seem too >> familiar. She didn't seem to notice, or if she did, she didn't let on. >> >> Where you from, Billy Austin? >> >> Oklahoma. >> >> Your skin looks so dark! she said, touching his arm, running her >> fingers over his skin ever so lightly, just brushing the hair that >> grew there curly and abundantly. >> >> I'm quarter Cherokee, or so my daddy told me, he said. He didn't move >> his arm. He liked her touch. He liked it a lot. >> >> Your daddy? >> >> He's dead now. So's my momma. >> >> Yeah, mine too, she said, taking her hand away from his arm and >> drawing herself a glass of beer from the spigot, tilting it expertly >> to avoid a foamy head. So you're all alone, Billy Austin? >> >> Yes. I live upstairs. His eyes went automatically to the ceiling. >> >> Really! Her eyes followed his to the ceiling. She lit a cigarette and >> drank the glass of beer down in a gulp. Plunking it down on the bar, >> she said, Can I see? >> >> Sure, come on. He led her outside, carefully remembering to lock the >> door behind them, and she followed him up the side set of stairs >> leading to his apartment. He unlocked the door and kicked it at the >> bottom where it stuck sometimes, especially when it rained. And it >> smelled like rain tonight. >> >> You ever been with a woman, Billy Austin? she asked, as she settled >> herself on the worn-out sofa adorning the living room. It was mossy >> green and sagged in the middle and its felt-like hide looked all >> matted down like it had been deep down under the ocean for a thousand >> years. >> >> I was married once, he told her, watching her eyes, gauging her >> reaction. A long time ago. >> >> Yeah, me too, she said. A distant look came into her eyes. Didn't work out? >> >> No, I guess it didn't. >> >> Well, don't feel bad, she said, finishing her cigarette and stabbing >> it out in the overflowing ashtray that rocked back and forth on the >> cardboard box he used for a coffee table. It didn't work out for me >> either, Billy Austin. Got anything to drink? >> >> Beer. I got beer. That's about it. >> >> Get me one? >> >> He went to the kitchen and took two cold bottles of Budweiser from the >> refrigerator. He liked the taste of beer in bottles better than cans >> even though they cost more. Walking back to the living room, half >> expecting her to be gone, he twisted off one of the caps. She was >> still there though, sitting on the sofa, waiting for him, so he handed >> her the beer. >> >> I see you watching me when you're working, she said, after taking a >> long pull from the bottle and shaking her long dirty-blond hair out of >> her eyes the way she did. >> >> Oh, he said, standing there feeling flummoxed and not knowing what >> else to say. He felt his face grow red, red like the neon bar sign >> that glowed off and on all night long outside the living room window, >> shouting out Nick's Place, Nick's Place, Nick's Place. He always >> blushed easy; momma used to say indian blood runs quick and hot. He >> lit a cigarette in an effort to hide his embarrassment and twisted the >> cap off his bottle of Bud, leaning over and dropping it into the >> ashtray. >> >> It's okay, she said, looking up into his face with big brown eyes that >> he could drown in and be happy doing it. I like it when you watch me. >> Come on over here and sit by me, Billy Austin. >> >> On Thu, Jul 14, 2011 at 11:00 PM, 118 <[email protected]> wrote: >>> Yeah, I can see it now >>> The distant red neon shivered in the heat >>> I was feeling like a stranger in a strange land >>> You know where people play games with the night >>> God, it was too hot to sleep >>> I followed the sound of a jukebox coming from up the levee >>> All of a sudden I could hear somebody whistling >>> From right behind me >>> I turned around and she said >>> "Why do you always end up down at Nick's Cafe?" >>> I said "I don't know, the wind just kind of pushed me this way." >>> She said "Hang the rich." >>> >>> Catch the blue train >>> To places never been before >>> Look for me >>> Somewhere down the crazy river >>> Somewhere down the crazy river >>> Catch the blue train >>> All the way to Kokomo >>> You can find me >>> Somewhere down the crazy river >>> Somewhere down the crazy river >>> >>> -Robbie Robertson: "Somewhere Down That Crazy River" >>> >>> "Here's looking at you kid" >>> -H.B. in Casablanca >>> (as time flows by in Rick's cafe). >>> >>> >>> The ghost was her father's parting gift, presented by a black-clad >>> secretary in >>> a departure lounge at Narita. >>> For the first two hours of the flight to London it lay forgotten in >>> her >>> purse, a smooth dark oblong, one side impressed with the ubiquitous >>> Maas-Neotek >>> logo, the other gently curved to fit the user's palm. >>> She sat up very straight in her seat in the first-class cabin, her >>> features composed in a small cold mask modeled after her dead mother's most >>> characteristic expression. The surrounding seats were empty; her father had >>> purchased the space. She refused the meal the nervous steward offered. The >>> vacant seats frightened him, evidence of her father's wealth and power. The >>> man >>> hesitated, then bowed and withdrew. Very briefly, she allowed the mask her >>> mother's smile. >>> Ghosts, she thought later, somewhere over Germany, staring at the >>> upholstery of the seat beside her. How well her father treated his ghosts. >>> >>> -William Gibson: "Mona Lisa Overdrive" >>> (a father's lasting gift) >>> >>> >>> >>> On Tue, Jul 12, 2011 at 10:42 PM, Dan Glover <[email protected]> wrote: >>>> They locked him up... told him he was crazy. After enough time had >>>> passed, he knew it too. He must be crazy. He could see it in >>>> everyone's eyes. He heard it in the way they talked to him. He felt it >>>> in the way they kept their distance. Like they were afraid. Not of >>>> him, but of what he'd become. Or maybe it was him they were afraid of. >>>> After all, he was crazy so how would he know, how could he know for >>>> sure of where the madness ended and he started? >>>> >>>> They asked him questions and fed him pills. Blue pills, green pills, >>>> red pills... they all went down the same so it didn't much matter. A >>>> cup of water, drink, now, lift your tongue. How do we feel today? Do >>>> we want to hurt our self today? Do we want to hurt anyone today? After >>>> enough time had passed he began to sense the correct answers, the >>>> answers that would set him free. Not just free to wander the grounds, >>>> but free to go... out there... into the world. >>>> >>>> The answers didn't work right away, the correct answers. But after >>>> enough time had passed, they didn't seem as afraid when they looked at >>>> him. A light in their eyes had replaced the fear. He noticed now that >>>> everyone had that light in their eyes but the light wasn't always the >>>> same light... the sane light. The light that said: I am okay. Now, >>>> when he looked into a mirror, he saw that light in his own eyes. It >>>> made him feel better. >>>> >>>> One day they came and told him that he was indeed better now... that >>>> he could go home. It'd been so long though that he no longer had a >>>> home to go to. Four years in an institution will do that. Everything >>>> was gone. Family, friends, wife, money... like he'd been to war. They >>>> gave him a hundred dollars and a bus ticket anywhere. So he rode that >>>> dog all the way west until the sea stopped it; he could go no further. >>>> >>>> He rented a cheap room above a tavern by the ocean. The sounds of the >>>> waves and the people below lulled him to sleep at night. He got a job >>>> in the tavern below doing the only thing he knew how to do: cleaning >>>> up after others. He noticed the light in their eyes changing as they >>>> grew drunk with liquor, meaner, uglier. They made messes on purpose >>>> just to see him clean it up. But he never grew angry. He just did what >>>> he did and he did it with a smile on his face. A smile only an insane >>>> man could wear properly. >>>> >>>> She worked as a bar maid and her name was Lisa. All the men called her >>>> Mona, though, especially after they'd had a few, and they laughed >>>> about it and slapped their knees as they did so like it was the >>>> funniest thing. He didn't get the joke but then again he'd never been >>>> to a museum and he'd forgotten all the art he'd ever been taught. Lisa >>>> didn't like it. But, like him, she never let on. She just smiled and >>>> did what she did. He noticed that it was a smile a lot like his. >>>> >>>> >>>> >>>> >>>> On Tue, Jul 12, 2011 at 10:17 PM, 118 <[email protected]> wrote: >>>>> Once he had lived with his new awareness and gotten used to it, he >>>>> wished to share it with others. When the breakdown first happened, he >>>>> was left without ability to share what he saw. Gradually, he had >>>>> recovered from the original shock, and spent time with his new >>>>> awareness trying to understand it. Now he fully understood it, >>>>> although not with words, but did not know how to communicate it. >>>>> >>>>> There was a wide divide between his personal understanding and its >>>>> agreement in the Social Layer, which is where he wanted to place it. >>>>> He felt alone, and wanted it discussed between other people. Every >>>>> word that he thought of as part of a description was insufficient, and >>>>> just plain wrong. He read how others had done it, but did not have >>>>> the patience for all the questions that would spring forth. However, >>>>> he also did not want to remain alone with his new understanding. >>>>> >>>>> He sat in front of the computer and surfed around. He found a nice >>>>> slide show that kind of was in tune with his awareness. A little more >>>>> surfing brought forth the perfect music to expand upon the slide show. >>>>> Visual and auditory, was that enough? He was feeling something >>>>> similar but much much more intense. He opened the window a bit to let >>>>> the night air in. Yes! That was it, that cool breeze fit right in. >>>>> Not only that but the night blooming jasmine was expressing itself >>>>> fully at that time. But how many people know about that breeze and >>>>> that smell. >>>>> >>>>> He decided that he could not share it over the computer. He would >>>>> have to wander the lands and find people who he could show directly. >>>>> An while such a journey seemed long, he knew that by doing it that >>>>> way, he would no longer feel alone. >>>>> >>>>> >>>>> >>>>> On Tue, Jun 14, 2011 at 12:37 PM, 118 <[email protected]> wrote: >>>>>> Hi All, >>>>>> It has been said that communication through writing lies within the >>>>>> realm of static quality. Certainly it can be said that it is based on >>>>>> Subject/Object grammar. How then do we point to dynamic quality, >>>>>> without getting stuck in these circular discussions which only point >>>>>> towards themselves? >>>>>> >>>>>> I propose that there is a method in writing which is based on Dynamic >>>>>> Quality. In fact there are many methods being used today with such a >>>>>> basis. Train of thought, or automatic writing is one of those. Often >>>>>> I have to read my posts after I have written them to see what I said. >>>>>> In this way writing is more like talking in the present tense, in the >>>>>> moment. >>>>>> >>>>>> So, what does this look like when we are relating something that >>>>>> happened in the past? Well, we must remember that things that >>>>>> happened in the past were happening in the present at one time. By >>>>>> present I mean that infinitesimal (non-existent) fraction of time that >>>>>> we live in. In order to explain this, I will use an example that has >>>>>> nothing to do with MoQ, since that is much more difficult. I will >>>>>> choose the following sentence written in standard past-tense grammar, >>>>>> and convert it to dynamic quality format. >>>>>> >>>>>> "The lovestruck man swam across the cold river to be with his expectant >>>>>> lover." >>>>>> >>>>>> OK with that? Now here is the Dynamic Quality Format: >>>>>> >>>>>> "Feeling alone and despondent, the intensity of desire was building. >>>>>> Each step brought him closer to that object of his desire until he was >>>>>> met by a cold river which presented a barrier. Yet, his wanting >>>>>> pushed him forward. As he entered, the cold began to travel up his >>>>>> body until he was completely free of suffocating heat. Arm over arm >>>>>> he entered into a mesmerized state where each moment was unique and >>>>>> separate from the previous. He had no idea how long he was in this >>>>>> state, but found himself surfacing at the shore, and the spellbinding >>>>>> cold was replaced slowly with heat once more. This much closer, he >>>>>> moved slowly towards that which he sought in order to satisfy the >>>>>> longing which had held him for so long. This was the woman who was >>>>>> expecting him." >>>>>> >>>>>> So, why do I call this "writing in Dynamic Quality format"? It is >>>>>> simply because as one read this, everything is opening up to the >>>>>> reader as happening in the moment. The subjects and objects are >>>>>> revealed as they happen. It is not until the end of the sentence that >>>>>> the beginning is defined. This is the way life works if we live in >>>>>> the dynamic moment. Each moment defines those that occurred >>>>>> previously. >>>>>> >>>>>> Give it a try and see what you guys come up with! >>>>>> >>>>>> Cheers, >>>>>> Mark >>>>>> >>>>> Moq_Discuss mailing list >>>>> Listinfo, Unsubscribing etc. >>>>> http://lists.moqtalk.org/listinfo.cgi/moq_discuss-moqtalk.org >>>>> Archives: >>>>> http://lists.moqtalk.org/pipermail/moq_discuss-moqtalk.org/ >>>>> http://moq.org/md/archives.html >>>>> >>>> Moq_Discuss mailing list >>>> Listinfo, Unsubscribing etc. >>>> http://lists.moqtalk.org/listinfo.cgi/moq_discuss-moqtalk.org >>>> Archives: >>>> http://lists.moqtalk.org/pipermail/moq_discuss-moqtalk.org/ >>>> http://moq.org/md/archives.html >>>> >>> Moq_Discuss mailing list >>> Listinfo, Unsubscribing etc. >>> http://lists.moqtalk.org/listinfo.cgi/moq_discuss-moqtalk.org >>> Archives: >>> http://lists.moqtalk.org/pipermail/moq_discuss-moqtalk.org/ >>> http://moq.org/md/archives.html >>> >> Moq_Discuss mailing list >> Listinfo, Unsubscribing etc. >> http://lists.moqtalk.org/listinfo.cgi/moq_discuss-moqtalk.org >> Archives: >> http://lists.moqtalk.org/pipermail/moq_discuss-moqtalk.org/ >> http://moq.org/md/archives.html >> > Moq_Discuss mailing list > Listinfo, Unsubscribing etc. > http://lists.moqtalk.org/listinfo.cgi/moq_discuss-moqtalk.org > Archives: > http://lists.moqtalk.org/pipermail/moq_discuss-moqtalk.org/ > http://moq.org/md/archives.html > Moq_Discuss mailing list Listinfo, Unsubscribing etc. http://lists.moqtalk.org/listinfo.cgi/moq_discuss-moqtalk.org Archives: http://lists.moqtalk.org/pipermail/moq_discuss-moqtalk.org/ http://moq.org/md/archives.html
