And Here is an Excerpt from The Literature called, “Little Men,” and The “Thanksgiving Song,” which is also found in that Literature: “Summer days are over, Summer work is done; Harvests have been gathered [. . .] Now the feast is eaten, Finished is the play; But one rite remains for Our Thanksgiving-day. Best of all the harvest[,] In the dear God’s sight, Are the happy children[,] In the home to-night; And we come to offer Thanks where thanks are due, With grateful hearts and voices, Father, mother, unto you.”

10 years ago I used to do a very bad thing and it is time to fess up and take responsibility.

I used to go after work to a 24 hour internet cafe in Los Angeles. I had to wait a few hours for my train home, so I would bide my time there. There were an eclectic group of customers that would wander in and out during the late night hours (they definitely weren't church going Republicans, if you must know). Occasionally, the cops would come by and roust people outside for no apparent reason but to look like they were doing something. One time I took a cigarette break during one of these "shows of farce-uh, force". I stood a bit away, minding my own business when a backup cruiser pulled in. A female cop was driving with a caffeine jacked white cop in the passenger seat. He looks at me and I look him square in the eyes. He didn't like that. Now, I'm a 6'1" medium build white guy, but I dress down, kinda bummy, when traveling with cash in L.A. I have no criminal record, so I have nothing to be nervous about. The cop confronts me, "Where do I know you from?", trying to get a reaction from me. I say, " I don't know, I stopped going to gay bars years ago". For a second, I thought I might have gone too far, but his partner lost it, choking on her laugh, " Ah, he got you good!" I looked him in the eyes, until he released his glare, finished my cigarette and went back inside.

Now typically, when you check in for a computer there, all manner of screens are left open from previous customers, even email accounts. Here's where I come to my mea culpa. One night there happened to be an account open for a Craigslist escort! I sat there reading that ad and my devious mind went into play. Hmm. It was a week night, I think the rate was too high. So I edited one add to read $24.99 per hour discount if you "had a bright, red apple for your "naughty teacher". Another add, I titled "Farmer's Wife" and described her, 'with an ass as big as a barn" and suggested "let's make hay". I imagined the call taker thinking that their might be a full moon, because all the callers were nuts that night or a sudden rush of customers at 7/11 buying red apples.

I did this off and on for a month, but I think they figured out why the ads were being edited, for I stopped finding open email accounts.

I regret what I did now and if I get hit in the head with an apple or two, I'll understand that I probably deserve it. And to the girl I advertised as a "fat ass", I apologise, it wasn't that large, maybe only as big as a tractor.

Current date- 11/23/2311. I remember it like it was just yesterday, the day that I stumbled upon the greatest threat to humans right now- the clones.

Back to November 23, 2017....

I was in my third year of cloning research at The Secret Government Location of Sector IV somewhere in the middle central desert land area. The main head of the project told the team that whoever came with a breakthrough would be changing lives of human life for all time.

As a crazy determined female scientist, I wanted to be the one to find the best way to go about cloning humans. My name would go down in history. Little did I know that my great passion would lead to a devastating threat of the same lives of humans for good.

I stayed up late a lot of nights trying to create a cloning machine, but my first vegetable cloning experiment went horribly wrong. It came out of the machine too rotten to be eaten by any human. Not even my pet pigs at my great-grandparents house would be able to stomach such an atrocity.

One night as I walked down the laboratory corridors- I found a door that was labeled as the genetics lab 1.0.Q.C. Hmmm, I wondered what was in the room.... How did I never see this door before?

I tried the door of the room and just my luck- it was open.

When I walked into the room I noticed a giant white sheet covering something enormous. My heart was beating out of control. I pulled the sheet and could not believe my eyes. There was a cloning machine right before my very eyes.

I ran like a thief to my lab an moved my work to the cloning machinee. I pressed the green button and waited to see if anything happened. There was a beeping noise and the machine shook like a washing machine. Then it spoke: I am the cloning machine 1.0.Q.C. Please, place your object to be cloned right in the cloning chamber.

I laughed so loud that I even heard an echo of it a few seconds later.

My hands were shaking as I placed yet another vegetable in the cloning device. The machine chamber door closed and there was a bright flashing red light.

For some reason, the machine gave me an error. Then I had an idea- it might only clone humans. Obviously. Hahah.

I took one step and a giant leap into the machine. Then the door shut and I closed my eyes. And hoped that I woud be alive to see this cloning machine work.

I stepped out and touched my face and checked to see if my whole body was still intact. Okay. Great. I looked behind me and what I saw nearly gave me a fright. It was like looking right in a mirror- except my clone seemed to not be alive. Untill I saw it blink. It reached out it's hand and grabbed my by the neck. I started choking and I thought that was how I was going to die.

Later, I found myself strapped to a chair and still in the same old lab with no one else in sight. I felt like my cloning experiment was planning something. But what?

I screamed for help. Seconds passed, then minutes turned into hours. The entire block was dead silent. I was uneasy and started wiggling & shaking myself out of my seat.

I was able to free my hands out of the tight rope grip, and then I untied my feet and chest as well. I ran towards the door and looked for everyone in the secret land base.

As I drew closer towards the main dining area- I spotted my clone. It looked like it was upto no good. I had a gut feeling that there was something it was planning for sure.

Then I saw what I, I mean it, was doing. It was pushing a load of unconscious bodies to the cloning machine. "Oh no!" I exclaimed. I think I knew exactly what it was doing.

I followed it to make sure my hunch was dead wrong. But as I saw it place all bodies one after another into the machine, and a clone later took the real person's place. How was I going to stop this madness?

I dashed to the communication room and made an alert call to the other sections of the base. I almost screamed as I heard a response call that said: "Everything was all under control."

It must have been the clones. They had taken over the entire base.

The clones kept me as their hostage, but I escaped in an army van all across the desert base and luckily found myself back in the city.

I warned people in the city about the clones- most people thought I was out of my mind. To my worst nightmare, the clones started replacing people in the city with identical clones. I could hardly tell anymore if all other humans were destroyed, or a clone now.

And right in our present moment in time, 11/23/2311- I found a resistance of humans and some good clones. We try our best everyday to fight the clones from taking over the entire planet Earth.

#Clones

#TheCloningMachine

In one of My Writing, The Man asked, “Do You think that is another Fake News? And do You think that those are Some More Fake News? And do You think that is another Fake News item? And do You think that those are Some More Fake News items? And do You think that is another Fake News Article? And do You think that those are Some More Fake News Articles? And do You think that is another example of Fake News? And do You think that those are Some More examples of Fake News?”

About that Subject (ATS). About those Subjects (ATS). Not about that Subject (NATS). Not about those Subjects (NATS).

This piece was written on September 26, 2017. It is the first of many writing pieces from a "1,000 Words a Day" challenge. Participants are instructed not to judge what they are writing or make edits, so pardon the errors in structure, etc. When I wrote this, I was in my final days of teaching before my contract ended and feeling a bit uneasy about what the future would hold for me, especially in terms of career. Stay tuned to see the developments in my life since I wrote this.

My life the past few weeks has not been what I imagined it would be. This, of course, is a standard law of the universe, but sometimes, things are at least slightly predictable. I would never have guessed at age 28 I would be changing careers, single, and living with people I never met.

Listen, it’s not all bad; I am glad to be making a career change, don’t totally mind my living situation, and would rather be single than settling. I understand where my fears and uncertainties are rooted; Societal pressures, stigmas, and growing up in suburbia are all contributing factors. At the same time, it is interesting when you consider how there is no definitive “norm” in life.

Yes, I grew up in Suburban New Jersey, but I won’t lie and say it was easy. The little bubble of a town I was raised in was not impenetrable and had no protection to offer from the bitch that is life. In a little over two decades, I experienced the divorce of my parents, watching my brother battle substance abuse, sexual assault, and the unique, untimely death of my estranged, transgendered and mentally disturbed father to AIDS. For the majority of my adult life, I was emotionally paralyzed. The only “norms” I knew were trauma, having zero control over my life, and that I could trust no one. As a result, I found it difficult to trust even myself.

I’ve always known deep down I am destined for greatness. I’ve always known how talented I am, how unique I am, how brilliant I am, how beautiful I am, and how unbelievable I am. Have I always believed it? Absolutely not. How could I believe in anything positive, light, or honest when all I knew for so many years was negativity, darkness, and deceit? How could I possibly be successful and achieve my dreams when I felt crushed by the universe?

It only makes sense I settled for “safe.” I pursued a career in teaching because to me, it was comfortable. My mother and a number of relatives are teachers. I got a job out of college as an aide in my mother’s school, which is also the same school I attended as a middle school student. It was something I had already experienced, and I associated it with my life before all the trauma began. There was little mystery attached to it. People I had known for years and already established trusting relationships with surrounded me there. I was enticed by the comfort and homeliness this environment provided me with, and the profession itself holds little mystery in terms of expectations.

I have finally dealt with the demons of my past and can see a bit more clearly. I am still afraid of the unknown, as most humans are, but it does not frighten me enough to run from it or settle for something I know I don’t want in my heart. Life is definitely still a bitch, but I no longer believe she is evil. I have learned life does not play favorites. She doesn’t make it easy or protect anyone from the wrath she is capable of unleashing. In a way, I consider myself lucky for the experiences I have had. They have softened me, helping me to be the empathetic healer and friend I am to so many. I now know how to handle what she throws at me in stride, and not let it completely derail me from doing what I need to do to feel happy and satisfied. It took a lot of hard times for me to figure out how to conduct a sound relationship with life and realize she wants the best for us all, even if she has a funny way of showing it. It is my mission to use the hardships of the past, present, and future as fuel to learn and grow.

While covering physics with my students, we discussed Newton’s Laws of Motion. According to the third law, every action has an equal and opposite reaction. The word for this in the spiritual world is, of course, “karma.” Most things in life are binary, and there are two sides to every coin. I use these cliche expressions because what I have learned is, although my life experiences lead me to distrust and believe everything was dark and negative, trust, light, and positivity are always accessible if you look for them. I no longer feel ashamed of my past, and know there are people in my life I can lean on when the demons start creeping in. Again, life has our best interests in mind, and it is up to us to be open to her lessons so we can better understand both her and ourselves.

It took me 28 years to open myself up to life and let her teach me vital lessons. I am learning to listen to my heart and to trust in others and in myself. Even though I am not where I “should” be in the hard eyes of society, I feel I am exactly where I should be in my life. Too many people get lost to the demons, whatever theirs may be, and settle for the comfortable, the familiar, and the known. I have done this already in my life, and I have decided I can’t live a lie any longer. I took a huge risk leaving teaching, but I think an even greater risk would have been sacrificing my potential, my happiness and my life’s truth for comfort. Being single and living with strangers are the unintended results of the decisions I made out of comfort and fear, but I know they are short-term and are more lessons life is giving me to fuel my growth. Nothing is a death sentence, and every seemingly destructive and painful circumstance only has a constructive and alleviating life lesson attached to it. All we can do is accept this and be willing to believe the dust will settle.

#selfgrowth #careerchange #whatsnormalanyway #lifelessons #thereisnodarkness #onlylight #transformation #metamorphosis #1000wordsaday

I love to sing. In the bathroom. And is interesting, i cant hear anything because of my shower. Faraway on the window I look a cross of the street. It is a lot of mud. The crows near my house, staring at the old mans who return from church. It is a November day. Rain almost all the time. Everything smell fresh. A poor man pass under my window. It is old and shake at every step. It provokes me mercy. For few seconds I think I can understand him, and give him a imaginary embrace. But I am superficial. No one cant understand the real life of a poor man in a few seconds. It is more complicated than this. I am satisfied only to smoke a cigarette. The glass is full of sweat, maybe it starving like me. Yesterday was a hard day. Was at office and working nine hours without a brake time. Now, regret this. I am in the wrong mood for everything. I hate myself. I feel in love with my well. It is old and red. On that well in the past time, used to climb with my girlfriend, the well is not working, it is closed, and told her stories all night. Nights was bright on the last summer. Full of stars and comets. Near us was White. A Labrador between white and yellow, nice dog but stubborn. I forgot my girlfriend name. I think is not important. We felt good, only that. Talking time to time on the phone, few minutes about casual things. Nothing more. Knew that she like me much more than a sex friend. But I am a difficult man. I get bored fast and nobody cant help me. Can involved fast but as quickly as possible get out from the game. Not because fear or something like this. The reason are of another nature. More complicated and more painful. Last one, was a beautiful girl, with dark hair, dark eyes, and I think her name was Olga, if I struggle to remember. Talk fast and smiling all the time. A good girl with straight legs. The reason why left me was that I bit her chest. Was not a ordinary bite like a dog bite, was a sensual bite, with passion and noise. Knowing each others from a short time and that was the real problem, she is not trust me. From her chest has run a lot of blood. And blood excite me. I am not a vampire or something like this. But blood is my aphrodisiac. For a few moments, a clear silence floated in the room. A rare moment. Cant find this moments everywhere, maybe only in the woods, on a morning July. ...

A robust desire is in progress, to initiate a progressive plan for divine restoration. Peace, by way of serendipity, is a wonder for the consciousness. Stella has been in great need to pursue such restoration. There’s a lot of mush in her mind, and it needs de-cluttering. It’s been advised by her closest friends that she take a road trip. “Go anywhere,” one friend said. “Go and clear your head. It will do you some good.”

Her car is about four years old, with only about 35,000 miles. It is a prevailing vehicular device that is up to the challenge of any elected destination, she just knows she needs to go somewhere…. anywhere.

Life is too much right now. Her recent break-up with her boyfriend of four years was a lot harder on her emotions than she ever imagined. Her career as an Administrative Assistant was going backward, not forward. This became evident when her supervisor claimed he was trying to “save” her job when he offered a receptionist position. In her mind, it was a demeaning downgrade of her current role as Legal Administrative Assistant. Though the pay would have stayed the same, she opted out of the downgrade and left the company. The definitive downfall of the nerves occurred with the demise her cat, Bree Wee, age 20, who Stella had since Bree Wee was newly weened at six weeks old. With all these events occurring in a short matter of time, it became conspicuous she needed to go on a trip of this ilk. She needed to be alone and cry with the tears to be taken away along with the autumn breeze.

She packs a small suitcase of overnight items. A thorough and prepared woman, she hinges on the what-ifs. After all, she has no definite destination, what if her car breaks down somewhere along the way? What if she needs to stay overnight somewhere? What if something so brazen occurred where a change of clothes is necessary? All the common worries of travel invaded her mind, so a better way to evade them is preparation.

Stella is already feeling relaxed while packing her suitcase, as she didn’t have to worry about choosing the perfect outfit. She wasn’t worried about colors clashing, patterns conflicting, or even worry about smell. It was just going to be Stella and the car. Stella found great comfort in this rumination alone. It was going to be a weekend of impressing no one.

She packs the necessities: a pair of dark blue skinny jeans, a cotton pink graphic tee, a black tank top with spaghetti straps (to wear in lieu of a bra since she was flat chested); two pairs of undergarments and socks, and ankle boots. She peruses various playlists on her iPhone to subconsciously select the winning playlist, making sure the list was no less than an hour in length. Unspoken congratulations were in order, as she was about to embark on a journey that would conquer both the road and her spiritual dynamic.

Stella places the suitcase near the front door as a reminder of her healing expedition. She retreats to the kitchen to prepare a consoling cup of chamomile tea. She grabs the tea and a book on her way to the bedroom, where she would become lost in another person’s chronicle. Mildly irked by the eyelids stubbornness to remain light in weight, she reads a few sentences over, and again, so her mind can stay in pace with the story. Finally, she gave in to the bolshie demeanor of the eyelids, and fell asleep losing her place in page.

Stella wakes up with the closed book on her lap. The dimly lit indigo sky denotes that it must be early in the morning, so she uses this time to make herself coffee without bothering to look at the clock. One sip of strong and bold-flavored coffee is enough to set her on her way. She concocts a “to-go” cup of the caffeine, grabs the suitcase, and heads for the door as if she has settled on a destination.

Stella is two hours into her journey, and a long line of grey cement and assemblage of vibrant and lush foliage greets her. By now, the indigo sky she woke up to is now placated with lightened hues of blues and greys. The scenery greets her like an old friend, along with the pre-selected playlist of soothing piano music. Scareltt’s Walk was deemed one of the winners. Clouds started to emerge to its melodies, and they seem to drift along its majestic delights. Stella was always intrigued with the chords of piano, as it encompasses both melancholy and idyllic attributes. While Stella’s focus remained on the road, she couldn’t help but be caught in a momentary period of serene enchantment. When it comes to auditory rapture, she favors the piano, because it can be interpreted different ways, even without lyrics.

The road to nowhere continued, and so did Stella’s thoughts. The most noticeable color is red, and her mind transcends toward the realm of obscurities.

That time she dyed her hair. She went from dark brown to strawberry red, and her boyfriend didn’t approve. A big fight ensued, all because he was lost in a delusional state and insisted she was a different person. Stella assumed most men like that sort of change, but he turned out to be the exception. He became irate over a change in hair color. Red. Red flag. Stella should have known then that moment was a red flag, but she stayed in the relationship unconvinced there was no other match for her.

Red. The color of blood when exposed to air. Stella wondered about blood as her mother suffered from internal bleeding. Flashbacks of her mother lying on the floor when she came home from school one day. The expression on her father’s face the moment he saw his spiritual better half on the floor is etched in Stella’s mind forever. Recollections of a dreary hospital setting and “Code Red” blaring on the loudspeakers was mindfully on repeat, and visions of doctors and nurses that rushed to her mother’s hospital room because the patient went under cardiac arrest. She was pronounced dead.

Red. The red lipstick the mortician applied on her mother. She really did look like she was sleeping. The mortician did a good enough job; lips were full, the hair tightly curled with a bit of silver, and the skin looked smooth like the texture of cold cream. Stella wanted to hold her hand and feel a squeeze in return. That never happened, because she is gone. Red and dead.

Orange. Orange is also amok. Orange, as in the “Orange One,” a moniker that is responsible for the brutal schisms happening everywhere in the social media realm. The “Orange One,” a tireless and mundane precept used by comedians everywhere as if it will propel them to instant fame. The comedians she favored emitted jokes that morphed into a potpourri of picayune cackles, and no longer found them funny. The divide that took over the social newsfeed was not informative in the slightest, but saw them as signs of a rancor way of thinking. Rows of posts surfaced with photoshopped memes to advance the message of the perpetuator. Stella finds herself in disbelief that she associates with people like this, and a mass purging of the friend list soon followed.

Orange. That horrible acidic fruit with the intrusive odor. She can smell them just by thinking about it, and the very thought has made her queasy. She pulls over to do a mass purge of her own.

Green, the dominant color. Also, the color of money, and that she has none of it. Large portions of money have already been designated to pay back student loans. A constant worry since graduating from college, the recent job loss makes the payback more challenging. She shakes her head in disbelief, and the eyes become blurry with dejected fluidity.

Disappointment looms toward her confidantes for suggesting such things like a car run as the recollections of hard times and bad memories came to sudden fruition. She wondered how could this be possibly therapeutic if she is under constant attack by ugly ruminations. She sustained a mental road age, as if the mind wanted to focus on nothing except for the long line of cement and surrounding tinges of melancholy. The hues were the assailants in every direction, reminding her of memories she had deeply stored away. A bit of color was enough to accuse her of wrongdoing; to serve as a reminder of an invented persona of superiority; to shatter her mind with memories of her dead mother, a horrible fight with her ex-boyfriend, and an alarming collective of sheepish demeanors on her social media feed. The weapon of choice lies within the pigment of the slumbering leaves.

After the bodily purge, Stella walks around to the back of the car and reaches for her suitcase. She finds a washcloth and bottled water, which she uses to clean off any remnants. She takes in a deep inhale and discharges any toxins she might have incurred.

Stella thought it would be best not to antagonize the mental road rage further, so she decides to return home. She selects another playlist, this time something techno with some heavy bass. Skrillex. That’s about as good as it’s going to get, as any song played by this artist is the best depiction of her brain right now: loud, noisy, and confusing.

An hour and a half into the drive, and not too far from home, Stella settles on a break. The clouds gently glide along the sun, and she takes advantage of the sporadic warmth and parks her car on the shoulder. Beyond the shoulder is a huge lake catching the sparkles of the sun. Her plan is to stay for just a few minutes, just long enough to stretch her limbs and enamor the small talk of the cool, intermittent breeze.

After ten minutes, she returns to the car, and on her way, she notices a fluttering leaf dancing along with the breeze. She takes notice of the leaf as it inches closer, and is immersed in a sentimental gaze. It finally lands on a small rock situated with a family of nature’s stonework and tall vegetation. Stella initiates a descend toward the earth to take a closer look, and sees two long black threads protruding from the front. It was a Monarch butterfly, the police to her mental road rage.

She whispers, as to not startle the tiny creature, “Hey, little one. You must be on your way to Mexico.”

The whisper was enough to startle the creature, and it flew away far off into the grey blue skies toward the sun.

Stella saw this as a spiritual sign to denote things have a way of working out in the end. She thanks the butterfly in silence for policing her own road rage, and says a brief and silent prayer that the butterfly reaches its warm housing for the winter.

When Stella arrived home, she was greeted by Connie, a neighbor who were among those who suggested the trip. She was surprised by Stella’s quick return.

“Back so soon? That was quick! I hope everything is okay?” Connie asks with a bit of concern.

“Hello Connie. Yes, everything is fine. I decided against going on the road trip of my dreams.” Stella replies with an innuendo of humor. “The drive allowed me to clear out my mind, but not in the way I expected. I thought about my ex-boyfriend. And my mom.”

“Oh, I’m sorry hon. Your mom is always with you, no matter where you are.”

That night, as Stella was settling for the night, she had thought about the butterfly. It’s been said that butterflies are the beloved souls of the deceased. If that’s true, her mom made an appearance earlier that day. Stella was comforted by the very thought her mom was in disguise and came to her in a troublesome moment. Each tiny flutter relayed these ponderings: Don’t be afraid of the beauty that surrounds you. Don’t turn the good into bad. Don’t succumb to the dangers of this road rage, for it is a waste in time and energy. There are no winners, you gain nothing but sorrow. With these notes of contentment, Stella’s eyelids fluttered in the way of the butterfly, and fell asleep.

Copyright © 2017 by Judie Lynne / JCLynne

therealjudielynne@gmail.com

Writers,  

     Seattle Refined did a remarkable spot on us. From a bar in West Seattle to the downtown offices of Prose., this three-minute piece came out nice and clean. Link is below.

     We hope your sentences are hitting the page lean and mean, and to see more of your work across this spectrum words. Thanks for being here. 

Go to minute 14:00. 

https://youtube.com/watch?v=fm-uquSrxSI&

this fuckin swing

it goes back and forth

it mocks me with its

symbolism of innocence.

I am not innocent.

The metal screech

of the forwards motion

echoes the terrified

screams of my insides

when I try to give of myself

and let people in.

when I get scared

I swing back

and dig my feet in dirt.

Sometimes I get tired

I get tired of trying

The second-

the fuckin second

I leave myself vulnerable

You take a shit

on my insecurities.

There is nothing more

scary than letting new

people in your life.

Judging you.

Your name comes

out of their mouth

like word vomit

and leaves the chunks

on your reputation.

I care.

I fuckin care.

I fuckin cared about you.

Hate comes from

misunderstandings

so I figured,

if you understood

where I came from

how deeply I feel

and the things that

make me tick

we could learn to mesh.

Instead,

it made me hate you.

And myself.

Fuck me for

trying to be

a human being.

I might try again-

I might cut open

the same naive wound-

but I’ll never compromise

my honesty

for your fuckin comfort.