Hello, Writers and Dear Readers.

In today's video, we feature a first on Prose. A three-way tie for the CotW! We also announce the winners of last month's CotM, and announce the prompt for number 39, along with a look at a challenge from one of our greats! Here's that video link.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IyGAyxTeb-M

And here's the new Challenge of the Month.

https://theprose.com/challenge/14000

And.

As always.

Thank you for being here.

-The Prose. team

Upon the crest of dawn's embrace, I yearn,

For moments past, in twilight's sweet respite,

And in the sun's descent, my thoughts return,

To love's lament, that doth the day ignite.

Where shadows dance, and sweet refrains arise,

My heart, entwined, doth find its solace true,

In silent echoes of thy tender sighs,

Enraptured, lost, in dreams of love's debut.

Yet, Fate, that cruel mistress, doth conspire,

To sever our entangled hearts asunder,

With bitter winds, her tempestuous ire,

Threatens to tear our love apart, and plunder.

But in the end, our love shall rise above,

And conquer all, for naught can quell true love.

Instead of cucumbers

I place pickles over my eyes

because I prefer to think that self-induced agony

makes me stronger and more resilient.

I am a glutton for punishment,

so, I lay back and let the brine work its way in.

Never wincing—Never offering a single reaction to its burn,

but my retinas are on fire.

The cohesion of pickle juice and natural saline

works its way toward my brain

like a starving parasite eating its last meal.

I welcome this torture

because I find comfort in pain

and already know the sting will fade away in time,

or, I’ll just become too numb to feel it.

After all, pain is more familiar than love,

which for me is like love,

because it’s always there for me even when I never need it.

I deeply appreciate its loyalty and commitment,

and though it’s not reciprocated, it’s unconditional.

I light a candle to unwind.

A flickering flame soothes my unrest.

Lavender releases from the wax prison it was held in,

but still, I prefer the Sulphur of a match

over a deceased flower’s final excrement

because the aroma of hell is how I relax.

Dead Flowers and hell. They’re both the same anyways, right?

Everything revolves around death and ends in death.

Even while the oil bleeds out of an unsuspecting aromatic herb,

its beautiful aroma is squeezed from its last breath.

So, everything is resolved in death.

There is only one place for us in the end. For me, it’s hell.

So, I decided to get there sooner by living in one.

I wonder if they can make a candle that smells like hell.

Do you think they can extract the essence of a decaying body

and place it in a wax jar like they did that Lavandula?

I flip on a tune,

to set the mood with my favorite soundscape—

A waterfall crashing into a rainforest.

Now that’s a sound I can drown myself in.

It spills down from three thousand feet above

and smothers me like I'm being waterboarded by nature.

How interesting that water gives life, yet can so easily take it away.

Angel Falls is not my guardian protector,

but it is a fallen angel I must protect and guard

because she lifts me up closer to heaven than I’ve ever been,

then drops me back down to earth where I guess I belong. For now.

I place a warm rag over my face to simulate the Amazonian climate,

Then turn on the faucet to full blast

so, I can practice how to breathe.

No gills mean there is a struggle,

but a struggle is what I crave.

With every gulp of oxygen I lose, my existence fades,

and I start to appreciate all the small things a little more.

Who knew being closer to death,

helps you love life a little better?

Why can’t I just get there on my own instead of forcing it?

Am I fucked up for living this way,

or is living this way how I fuck?

The timer blares a turbulent cry,

and my deprivation is complete.

While the tank opens to birth me back into reality,

I can’t help but wonder,

If I am reflecting on thoughts of death because I want it,

or if it’s how I cope with knowing the fate of humanity.

The salty bath I floated in slides off me like water repels oil,

like cheaters repel love.

and like humans repel humans.

I rinse off my secret thoughts in the shower,

dry off self-hatred with a towel,

then put on a costume of lies so I may enter the world,

and on the way out I schedule another visit

to my torture spa.

I can’t wait to live again,

next month.

Hello, Writers and Dear Readers.

In today's video, a couple of our favorites help welcome in some new blood from around the globe. Here's the link.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NbiNjQA3DM8

And.

As always.

Thank you for being here.

-The Prose. team

is you, plural us

we think they

can make one

say this or that

but can not

make [us] believe

nor "feel it for real"

internally to paraphrase

the Great George O,

but shoot--

they can and do,

they've gotten us

Good

from an early age

the agent of censor

my friend

is you--

you

who won't stop to think

who won't press pause

or hesitate to admit

you who eats

and drinks

who consumes

heap loads

of IT

the whatever

that is served as

the Word---

the kingpin of the moment

the left of the Over

(That which is no-longer,

seen nor heard)

because

we are busy,

with our smoke

and our screens

of mosquito netting

that keep us

from feeling

the itch and the burn

of the hemorrhoid

that's forming

in the most

polite social circles

of global assholes

who talk

about people

in terms of

engagement

as shrimps

and prawns

of escrow

and makeup

moves in cheap

hotel mirror

restrooms,

playing Chinese

checkers upon

the back market

of civilizations

convinced we're

already in

the red,

so what difference

is little or more,

blood shed?

Humiliating

our men in

the triangle

as "cunt" is

the worst name

to be dread,

because Mother

Earth is Whore

of the Universe,

having lost track

of the number

of bastard births

that turn on her

and on God

with vengeance

and spite

for coming

into this world

burdened

by conscience

and nuclear choice,

the surviving

patient

individual,

feeling he'd rather

have choked

on the apple

and iPod,

than leave

progeny this

Paradise loss

I wish you were here

In front of me now

While my heart is humble

And I'm willing to say

I'm sorry

I wish I could go back

And undo what I did

Take back what I said

And start that day over

When we were still friends

I wish that regret

Could buy your forgiveness

Your cup would run over

There would be no end

To your riches

Please forgive me

And let your forgiveness

Be complete

A washing away

Of all my offenses

Make for me please

A place in your heart

Where your love can embrace me

Even knowing I can fail you

Let your forgiveness heal me

Let your forgiveness protect me

Let your forgiveness change me

Let your forgiveness be…as God's

without exception, every word, whisper, shout or whistle, and any other act come from THE WITHIN.

It is a mysterious , opaque place of which nothing is known and many dangers abound.

Consequently every echo of that distant place is of value, yet it may be hurtful, disgusting and ugly.

we are capable of expressing disagreeable things- disagreeable to ourselves and others, and yet they are still, a product of transition from the internal obscurity of that misty land to the light of day.

Even if it is a lie , or a thought antithetical to our being, yet we are able to express it and do so, and by doing so, express something of THE WITHIN.

it is necessary to be able to bring those echos outward. communication of experiences and queries, and the expression of emotions and thoughts is beneficial.

Consider how advantageous it is to ask others an innocent question: "can peanut butter be used instead of butter for frying an egg on a pan?" receiving an answer could save a great deal of effort and help avoid an awful smell, should one try things for themselves. Yet what was gleamed of the within from the question? An intention to cook eggs? An interest in the use of peanut butter or other peanut-related products? A sense of ennui , or merely a boredom of the way eggs are made? What of the advice given? Was it made with great malice, “egging” the curious on, or was it an honest appraisal of the inevitable doom?

in as such we can imagine, that every expression by one person may contain some benefit to another, even if they are separated by time and space. And even if the use made, was different from the intended outcome.

For most, the caveman's drawing on the walls, was  mostly bad. It was uninteresting , childish amateurish art. it sucked. yet it helps those who care to learn of the imbecility of those distant times and the obvious long way to be traversed go,  as far as technique was concerned , before getting a commission for a portrait, or anything worthy of public display.

Such are expressions. Useful to some, useless to others.

Now we come to the part where you may ask, dear reader, what if the expression of one causes injury to another? What if the distasteful expression passes a point where it is no longer unwholesome, but injurious to certain party.

What if a man goes to the park on a nice, breezy day with a new design for a kite. he constructs the kite and it catches the wind magnificently. yet people are soon enraged that the kite bears the image and details of a  vagina? some would complain that though the aerodynamic features demonstrated were quite impressive, it would be obscene to expose children who are also in attendance, to such a sight, not to mention those of a strong conservative values, who may even be experiencing physical discomfort, were they to look up! they shall point out the use of colors in the depiction of pubic hairs and the labia to be particularly offensive, even though the the central  slit-like opening allows for better control during turbulence and an over superb handling in sudden directional changes of the wind.

Should the venal kite-builder be asked to curtail his long-planned excursion, and retreat to a secluded spot, where his work shall offend none?

What if he can find no breezy clearings that are also unoccupied by those who can potentially be hurt?

Must he sacrifice the giant leap in aerodynamic design that this kite represents , only to accommodate the other?

Much offense can be given, out of malice or accident.

Yet the REACTION to this is a greater question. Should others take offense? Should steps taken to prevent such unhappy product from ever emerging from THE WITHIN?

What effect would restraint have upon the THE WITHIN? Would an individual best resort to his own sense of decency, aesthetics, and his awareness of the possible effect it might have upon others when choosing a means of expression or details entailed?

Or should the offender be persecuted for the damages he had caused?

What condition would be THE WITHIN , if such outward restrictions were made apparent?

In truth, if ever there was a desire to act with malice, that desire could be fulfilled with ease. If a word be outlawed, a new word shall stand its place. If speaker be silenced, another shall rise up. The more more restrictive the outer world becomes, the more creative or violent the output that would be produced. Because THE WITHIN can tolerate much, yet it can not be dammed or damned.

And so, to the benefit of all, we must live in a world where THE WITHIN is cultivated to sympathy, yet seldom restrained with any outward device.

Such manifestations of  freedom may undoubtedly result in much that is wrong and bad. Yet THE WITHIN is also resilient and should be able to absorb or deflect those expressions that it encounters, yet grow strong and unhurt by them.

Interference causes greater harm in its use AND ABUSE, than the benefit it brings. yet there are times, where the expression of THE WITHIN may bring danger to others. while growing within an environment of freedom entails developing some detachment from hurtful expressions, there are still risks that can be cause by others. fraudulent misdirection, abusive or predatory exploitation, and of course the instigation of physical violence by enticement, are examples of such danger. no amount of acquired emotional resilience could protect an individual from physical harm, and no degree of caution could unveil the true intentions of others. it is therefore at times, needful for humans, as a collective to forgo some degree of this freedom to reveal the within, when it can be demonstrated that the intention of an individual was not merely to express THE WITHIN, but to willfully cause a harm that is so great, that it could not be reasonably overcome personally.

we might look at all restriction and all enforcement as "a thing protecting its own". a protection from and prosecution of murder is meant to preserve life. a limit to speed on the road is meant to allow for all in transit to reach their destination.

in that case the rare occasion where the expression of THE WITHIN must be restricted, in order that THE WITHIN itself is preserved. if in expression, one causes another to be diminished , hurt or made unable to express any longer THE WITHIN, it is then justifiable to restrict that expression of that individual. the more damaging the expression made by one and suffered by the many, the more of THE WITHIN must be protected.

though this article could be viewed as sheer insanity, as indeed it very likely is, know that it, too was a product of THE WITHIN. despite the inherent obfuscation and tendency to depravity of the author, it is not written with any intent to cause harm, distress or otherwise provoke that restrictive instrument of enforcement, neither was it intended to reduce THE WITHIN or diminish its expression in others.

T'was the future held me back

Searching for true love

In the lie of romanticism

I sought the impossible

The more I searched, bullet lists extended

Until all life was eliminated

Reality spoke to me:

I wanted me!

Myself--no one else

But I wasn't enough

I searched for that someone

Who wasn't me

I searched for all the checked boxes

A search miserable and senseless delay

Of important things

A large, ugly toad

Leapfrogging ahead

Postponements I might never catch

Then, at long last

My search distracted by someone

Beautiful inside and out

Soft and kind and

Good to me

Were all boxes checked?

Alas, no

Should I await perfection

The perfect list? or settle?

My epiphany:

The obstacle holding me back

Lifted and making way

Communion with another

A lifelong process, the future reaching back

Into the past, out of order

As if it had always been

Timelines are irrelevant

When ascending above it

A new contender

Conceived in raw material

Tweaked and refined

Melded into a third being

Altogether

A Holy Trinity

If God is love

I turned from Him

Insisting on all of the assinine boxes

Boxes with as much

Relevance to the future

As unicorns

Love--

Between two hermaphroditic beings

--A time to interdigitate

I look back now on my choice back then

One of the great choices of history

Destiny recognized only when destiny realized

The future tethered to a past

Just as loving

Dragged into the present

Forever in the future

Where a priori countered by deja vu

Adds a loving dash of que sera sera