Let this Christmas Day

and this holiday season

embrace our time together

singing the songs of angels.

May the joy you bestow

to others come back

to you on winged feet.

Let the peace in your hearts

waft into still air as you

cocoon yourself in

warm magic blanket

of Christmas morn.

Absorb childhood fantasies

and pleasures of youth.

May you wave a wand

and transform your existence

into one that is softer and brighter.

May your skies be so high

that you lose sight

of your troubles.

Embrace the genial flickers

of heartfelt charity.

Know that every sunrise

brings a new day.

Glance upward

at gliding clouds

and diamond stars.

May the feelings

of Christmas

live forever within

your heart, filled

with good tidings.

Beware of office

Christmas parties

so you won’t have to

look for a new job!

(I threw that in to see

if you were listening!)

and may you be heir

to peace and goodwill

and a mighty New Year.

Upstairs from the party,

sock feet quiet on hardwood,

wine spilled down the front of my shirt,

peering in doors in a strange house

looking for the bathroom, for cold water.

Precariously drunk and high, I choose

randomly a door, white and brass handled

like all the others and push.

Of course it is not the bathroom.

The nanny looks up, startled,

two children asleep on a large

bean-bag chair under the window.

I fumble an apology, looking around the room,

at the two beds on each wall,

perfectly, nautically ship-shape,

anchored to the wall, floating

on blue carpet.

Side by side, heads so close their yellow hair

looks tangled together,

the brothers sleep on an island.

Backing out, closing the door,

I slide down the wall and sit on the floor

and remember the bedroom I shared

with my brother,

sailing through the night on

opposite sides,

in the morning tucking sheets

under mattresses,

hauling in ropes cast out in the dark,

sunlight new in the sky

shining into my eyes, so I never

see him rise up and leave,

never see into the future where

I sit alone,

wine like blood on my chest.

Automaton

on a wanton

autumn walk down

fourth avenue

was arrested

(oddly enough)

by random Thought.

<font color="red">The Uncles are red-faced and merry, as Grandma is sipping the sherry</font>

<font color="green">The hour's but quarter to seven, and biscuits are starting to leaven</font>

<font color="red">In the tree hangs a cat, quite canny, with tinsel streams from his fanny!

<font color="green">Held in my room I resist, for around my family I musn't exist</font>

<font color="red">Little John tugs the tree to get kitty, sending tinsel en l'air ('tis quite pretty)</font>

<font color="green">And the Christmas tree falls to the ground, sending little sparks all around</font>

<font color="red">Old Aunt Mary with her bad knee, one step, two, she trips over the tree</font>

<font color="green">And sweet Cousin Mini kissed big burly Moe, there they stand under the mistletoe...</font>

<font color="red">Hark, jolly big 'Ma sings merrily, for fallen Aunt & tree isn't sad tragedy!</font>

<font color="green">But there was a box squashed by the tree: a delicate present unfortunately...</font>

<font color="red">The clay owl statue lost its beak; alas, it was an antique.</font>

<font color="green">Pa walks past the tree and grabs a box from the coffee table which holds the rare, precious, unbreakable, identical, triplet-owl-statue from the nearby antique store.</font>

<font color="red">But alas, as good ol'Dad turns around, he falls over Aunt Mary tinsel tangled on the ground.</font>

<font color="green">A gasp escaped from everyone there; on the floor with the owl, Pa's toupee very near!</font>

<font color="red">Till Cousin Brun-Hilda shrieked, "a Rat!" while chucking her heirloom red cloche-hat</font>

<font color="green">And though it was toupee not rat, she struck it quite hard with a bat, and while we looked on, encouraged by song, the owl was purloined by the cat.

<font color="red">Woof! Peewee the dog jumped off the sofa, sniffed and snatched the toupee belongs to ol' Pa</font>

<font color="green">Oh No cried Dad and covered his head, the rest of his face had turned quite red.</font>

<font color="red">Peewee the dog ran out in a flash, burying the toupee with the rest of his stash.</font>

<font color="green">Falling snow on frosty lands, Reflected from the earth below</font>

<font color="red">Arose the fullness of helping hands, bringing joy from where ever they go.</font>

<font color="green">Through freezing ice and burning sand, hearts are bright and all algow.</font>

<font color="red">Young singer's ring Jingle Bells gladly, while chanting out loudly...

<font color="green">Carolers arrive, such a joyous sound, hark what have we here, a man digging up the ground.</font>

<font color="red">In a large hat, Dad mutters and digs, where has that f***ing dog put my wig?</font>

<font color="green">This man needs help, the ground's frozen hard, come on carolers, let's dig up the yard!</font>

<font color="red">The carolers scramble all over the snow, and then one yells "found it!" as she pulls from below...</font>

<font color="green">The carolers clapped and cheered. Then, look! jolly big 'Ma brought them some Christmas treats</font>

<font color="red">Peewee the dog came out of his hiding place behind the wall sheepishly as the carolers began to sing Deck the Halls gracefully</font>

<font color="green">Without noticing the toupe looked worse for wear. Dad plopped it back on his head and presto he had hair.</font>

<font color="red">The yard full of holes, hands like ice, come inside, said Dad, it's warm and nice.</font>

<font color="green">The room filled up with much chat and good cheer, the tree stood askew, the floor had been cleared.</font>

<font color="red">Ahh... well-now, we're ready then perchance, for music and a good-old square-dance?</font>

<font color="green">Square dance sweaty, some romantic winks, food and gifts and loads of drinks.</font>

<font color="red">Everyone danced well into the night, Dad did some breakdancing and gave gran a fright.</font>

<font color="green">After a headspin he was bald once again, but moved into a freeze with a big fat grin.</font>

<font color="red">Then Ma called him into the kitchen, whilst music still made its merry din.</font>

<font color="green">The Uncles on cue began to tease, what should they tell Santa, if you please...?</font>

<font color="red">The kids didn't know what to believe— Bells rang out! and they had to go see.</font>

<font color="green">Outside a figure (much like Pa's), but outfitted in red! It MUST be Santa Claus!!</font>

#HolidayCrambo

I rage and scream over

the darkness within me,

imprisoned within bars,

draining my angst.

I cry for water and air

of my sustenance,

and crawl to daybreak

parading once again

in the marching band

of polished noon,

slowing the bleeding

of my soul,

leaving the window

cracked open

to follow

the breadcrumbs

of my existence

into the sunshine

of my mind.

#LightWins #Challenge

I plucked the following names from the Quantum Consciousness:

01) Kade Coldwell - prickly antihero/badboy*

02) Dartem Magahag - crazy villian/badboy*

03) Wes Gussek - nonchalant antihero/badboy or villian/badboy*

04) Jevin Voaddel - sophisticated antihero/badboy*

05) Zyfen Jox - comedic antihero/badboy*

06) Xayne Lock - unsuspectingly cheeky antihero/badboy*

07) Gattem Skell - dark/brooding antihero/badboy*

08) Tomaj Iilioni (eel-E-on-E) - quietly lethal antihero/badboy*

09) Hexin Quill - no-nonsense antihero/badboy*

10) Payce Reddington - methodical antihero/badboy*

* these descriptions are simply the notions I got with the name.

If anyone reading this wants to use a name or part of a name, please do. I offer them freely. You may also tag me on the post you use a name in, I'll read it and comment.

| another_proser |

A leaf

A word

Two sticks 

with umbrellas

walking below

Crushing 

Sentences

Crushing

Paragraphs

The wind sweeps

the blood

into its arms

So that today's 

sunset

can last longer

(*What timing for this deadline, having just gotten my period… Though that’s not what prompts me to write. My "time-of-the-month" comes and goes…there’s a trail of blood… no one knows… I don’t obsess, I don’t pms… I’m lucky I suppose. The occurrence is of no consequence in the physical realm, though it provides plenty on which to reflect. I am skimming over, in this write, some obvious issues associated with this theme: Is menstruation a curse? Why do “civilized” women particularly suffer it? Why is childbirth easier for “primitive women” than for modern ones? I’m skipping over these questions to examine the strange coupling of male / female inquiries offered in the challenge question itself. I hope no one will interpret it as a personal affront… I take this as it is: an opportunity for further examining various lines of thinking… particularly those appearing to be seeped in misandry/ misogyny.)

The Challenge prompts us to consider extremes of pain, segregated by gender experience. I immediately pause at the psychological aspect of it, the whole context… The incidents proffered have very different bases. While a comparison is not being “asked for,” it is implicitly already drawn! The suggestion being that for each party, the worst possible gender-specific pain is to be imagined… For men, selected is not just an assault against their person, but against “manhood.” For women, the pain is of an internal biological nature. It is not an act of violence in-and-of-itself, but rather forbearance, tied in with considerable social esteem… although the contempt/ sense of punishment, which women tend to attribute to it may make it seem like an assault even though it obviously isn’t one.

Somehow this seemingly non-confrontational challenge manages to irk me terribly, raising the specters of serious underlying problems in our society pertaining to male/female inequity. I note an in-between-the-lines narrative that forms in the framing of the challenge: …Ladies, describe menstruation and/or the Pain of childbirth; Gents describe what it feels like when someone kicks you in the source of that pro-genitive Pain.

Miriam-Victim of Babylon by Sam Antone is historical fiction based on a story told in the Book of Mormon. It is a tale of love kept strong under torture and threat of death. It highlights a family's faith and courage. The biblical tone with rich descriptions kept me interested in this period piece.

Mr. Antone's setting and characters reflect the ancient time before Christ. The dialogue brings you into another time period. This book offers a 'good read' on a plane, train, or bus. It stimulates discussion for any book group.

Don't let the religious basis of this book stop you from reading it. It is a tale woven to teach and entertain. 

It has been suggested in Philosophical texts that Evil must exist in order to “make real” our apparent freedom of choice. (Free will is obviously not truly free if we can not select from a fully stacked deck of cards.) I note that the fundamental limitation of our free will, described in the previous chapter, seems to undermine the statement somewhat. There is an underlying discord—whispered grievances of God “wanting or not wanting this or that,” in relation to our own plight; Burdening us, as it were, with Evil. In my estimation, our fundamental desire is not so much to be extrinsically Free to... as it is to be intrinsically Free from (fear, lack, need, etc.).

…does He/She not want to interfere with our business? I counter this assumption with the notion that it is not Our business vs. God’s; we follow in the same line of work. God goes about God’s business—inventing and reinventing. We are entirely a part of this process. A writerly metaphor begs itself: Each narrative plays itself out... There are endings that we do not like; but we cannot put the book down, being so intrinsically entangled in the plot. Good and Evil are moot if we accept (as I do) that there is only God (as the sum of the light and dark, the full and void; complete, thus completely neutral). One might say that there is no Evil other than that which our social mores, or personal biases, begin to deem as such.

(While not retracting from the previous position that Heaven-Earth-Hell are one, we might still, as an apt illustration, quote from The Bible, Matthew 16:19 “I will give you the keys of the kingdom of heaven. Whatever you bind on earth will be bound in heaven, and whatever you loose on earth will be loosed in heaven.")

That is not to say that there are no wrong in the world, or consequential suffering. Once there is Choice, there is a range of selections; and as we can see full-well not every option provides the “greatest good” in outcome. Accordingly, we are not freed of individual or collective Responsibility. Indeed, I feel that we have tremendous Power, despite the insignificance we justifiably feel in the vast turmoil of Reality. We have Inertia; and that is a devastating force.

On a small scale we dread writer’s block, knowing how difficult it is to get a progressive momentum going! …All the worse of a blockade is formed when any contingent of our-kind (whether one man or a million) refuses to question social custom, and thereby obstructs the free flow of thought, which alone makes possible self-correction, balance, harmony—i.e. the sense of peace that we inherently seek out.

…does Satan and his so-called legion of demons exist? …Is religion just a clever man’s way of making sure we follow a set of rules because we humans are animals…? From the Hebrew, satan literally means “adversary” or “to oppose.” Every other creature on Earth dutifully obeys the laws of Nature, without apparent self-consciousness or resistance in that obeisance. Not so with Man; we know this deeply—through our painful awareness of our dim misleading intuition, lack of reliable instinct, and constant companion of Doubt. We seem to crave rules and guidance, while grappling with our gift of Freedom.

As suggested in the conclusion of the last chapter, only we among animals are granted the potentiality of standing in opposition to God’s propositions. Hence, Humanity is Satan; and it is we who form collectively the legion of demons. …Once again, I find our tendency to apply a displaced psychology. Not unlike when we bruise ourselves against the leg of a table, and curse it stupidly rather than ourselves, knowing acutely that our own inattention has led to the painful incident. We look to allocate some kind of blame beyond; unburden ourselves… It is not a problem of Religion or Sin; but of the hard work that we see in mobilizing and disciplining the flickering spirit within.