Fuzzy Wuzzy Brown

Fuzzy Wuzzy Brown was the name on the tag, but his face was wiser than that. His outstretched arms and welcoming smile had me at first glance and I insisted to my mother that I absolutely must have him. I mean, he couldn’t be destined to live his life as a “Fuzzy Wuzzy Brown,” I had to save him and give him the life he deserved. My mother looked at me exasperatedly and did a little sigh.. which was always a good thing for me. When she said “Okay, fine” I jumped in the air with all the power of a high jumper shouting “YES!” at the top of my lungs.

I reached up to the shelf he was sitting on and gently pulled him down. I gave him a squeezy hug, a kiss on his little teddy bear face, and I swear his smile got bigger. I whispered in his little ear “Welcome to the family, Bosley,” and off we went from the toy store, to the car, to our little apartment, for our first of many adventures.

 

 


From the 2017 Color Your World Prompt

Jan 2; Fuzzy Wuzzy Brown

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Work In Progress

There are so many times where my mind is running so fast that my thoughts get jumbled and I’m no longer able to handle life.

One of the things that calms me is crocheting. Weird, but the more I think about it, the more I realize that my jumbled thoughts are now concentrating on specific rows,

and counting,

and stitches,

and the feel of yarn as it slides through my fingers,

and the cold aluminum hook with the smooth bamboo handle.

Sometimes I crochet in silence although not for that long. I prefer a movie or some kind of musical background like tonight. Listening to 80’s pop on Pandora my hands just sc,ch2,sc on their own and my mind no longer follows the pattern because my fingers do it for me while I Shout along with Tears for Fears. Rows 10-15 are a blur and I can’t believe I’ve done five more rows without even really thinking about it.

Singing my heart out with Cyndi during Time After Time, stitch after stitch, yarn over, pull through.

Billy Idol, White Wedding  which I never understood as a kid, but still knew all the words, three more rows down and I’m grooving too much I can tell because I’m starting to mess up. My neat little ch5’s are beginning to get loose as I lose tension. Rip out/re-do.

Back on track for the moment with Joan Jett, my mind slowly drifts to the repetition once more…specific rows,

and counting,
and stitches,
and the feel of yarn as it slides through my fingers,
and the cold aluminum hook with the smooth bamboo handle.

Here And Now I Stand

HERE AND NOW I STAND.

My black magic edifying to those around me who accept and encourage it,

             and alarmingly unclear to those who don’t.

Their disquietude written on faces and seen in body language so rigid

             their confederate flag waves ever so slightly with each tremble of clenched fists.

Before me, these men, women, and children in white, pointy hats and spidery tattoos shrieking abrasive words all the while trying to make me relinquish my power.

             As if I would do such a thing.

 

HERE AND NOW I STAND.

Behind me and beside me I am joined by others:

             Those with melanin in various tints and tones

             Those with power as strong as my own

             Those whose stories may or may not have been tragic

             Those who are radiant with their own brown and black magic

We have taught, and will continue to teach, our children, and our brother’s and sister’s that we cannot be silent. We will not slip quietly into the background as our humanity is questioned.

 

HERE AND NOW WE STAND.

I’m Stuck! Time to Surf.

Ok so I’ve been stuck in this poem I’m writing and I was putzing around on the internet for a bit. When lo and behold, I came across an article written 6 months ago that mentions a sadistic writing app. Well I couldn’t resist. It’s called The Most Dangerous Writing App. Basically, you choose your time anywhere from 3 minutes to 60 minutes and just type. The catch is if you stop writing for 5 seconds, the whole thing DELETES! It’s crazy and stressful and fanfreakingtastic. At like 1 second of not typing, the edges of the page start turning red and at 5 seconds.. it’s all red and gone.

Here’s the app: http://www.themostdangerouswritingapp.com/

Here’s the original article I read: https://www.wired.com/2016/03/sadistic-writing-app-deletes-work-stop-typing/

 

Here’s what I ended up writing: mdwa

I’m at work and I was just going to type a few words to see how it went. Then I got all involved haha.

It ended up answering my question about saving when I was done. Love it.

Did it help me solve my poem issue? Not at the moment, but I was still writing right? Right. And that’s basically the point.

 

Now back to that poem… Or better yet, back to work for my last 34 minutes THEN back to the poem 😉

Goddess

The problem, some would say, with unshaven legs is that spidery feeling you eventually get. I mean…you might wince every now and then as you begin to notice the accumulation of hair that you only rid yourself of three days ago, but all in all, it’s not such a horrible thing really.

Right?

That little sapling of a hair that will grow up with its brothers and sisters being shoved into the rictus of work pants and yoga pants and when you’re brave enough and finally just don’t give a shit.. into fishnets. Ignoring those pithy comments from people who happen to notice the little hairs sticking straight out every which way within that glorious netting.

 I’m no caitiff though. I. Am. A. Damn. Warrior.

A warrior riding this dump-truck smelling subway, but a warrior nonetheless.

 

 


(I love these!)

From the prompt below:

1. Problem

2. Pithy (brief, forceful, and meaningful in expression; full of vigor, substance,or meaning; terse; forcible)

3. Scuttle

4. Accumulate

5. Wince

6. Truck

7. Unshaven

8. Rictus (the gaping or opening of the mouth)

9. Caitiff (base, despicable person)

10. Flotsam

11. Sapling

12. Dump

Use at least 10 of the words to create a story or poem

The words can appear in an alternate form

Use the words in any order that you like.

“Once you’ve completed your post, please tag: Mindlovesmisery’s MenagerieandWordle.  Ping us back or put you post’s address into the comments and add your info to the Mr. Linky! Thanks and ciao, Bastet.”

Public Speaking; Meh…

The idea of public speaking makes me sick to my stomach. It actually makes me want to cry. I don’t really know why this is…it just is. I’ve always been that way, for as long as I can remember, now that I think about it.

Although it turns my stomach and I have to fight back the tears, there have been many times that I’ve had to just suck it up to get the job done. (yay me)

Like when I have to conduct trainings at my job. I do the new hire group training sometimes and also brief specific people on specific jobs they’ll be doing. So that in itself makes me speak in front of at least 10-12 people at a time. I HATE it. I feel like everyone’s staring at me, which of course is exactly what’s happening because I’m the one speaking, but somehow, I keep moving.

When my daughter was a competitive Rhythmic Gymnast and our gym hosted a meet, I was the announcer for crying out loud! Which not only meant I had to use a microphone, it meant that the entire gym, the competitors, coaches, judges, parents and anyone else I missed, was listening to me. AND I had to announce who was on the floor and who was on deck. Now, I don’t know if you’ve ever been to a rhythmic gymnastics event, but the young ladies that compete are coming from all over the place and have all different backgrounds and names. OMG the names! Some of them were Russian, Armenian, Asian, Lithuanian, and more… and I had to pronounce them correctly because goddess forbid I say it wrong so then I’d have a gymnast with hurt feelings, a pissed off parent, an annoyed coach etc etc… So I did my best. I am not, contrary to popular belief, perfect. So yes I made a few mistakes, but all in all, it was cool knowing that everyone was paying very close attention to me. And on top of that, I had fun! And my daughter won first place.. but that’s besides the point. 😉

 

 


 

Naked with Black Socks prompt

 

Untitled (for now) Wordle #91“December 28, 2015”

The awful tobacco aftertaste was pulsating on my tongue, attacking my taste-buds. I had tried to admonish him from smoking, but of course, when it came down to it, I was the one who shoved the cigarette in my mouth to avoid detection.

It almost worked too…

We realized too late that there was a filament minefield made of rigid purple lasers just above us. The smoke and cigarette that I was trying not to ingest, became increasingly leaden in my mouth and as soon as I exhaled, all hope was lost.

The floor began to move upwards towards the lasers and we realized we’d have no choice but to try and avoid them by moving this way and that, contorting our bodies like one of those Japanese game shows where it’s impossible to win.

His mind is a place where entropy reigns supreme, and at that infinitesimal moment in time where the smoke I’d exhaled caressed one of the lasers, he lost his composure. He never made it; pieces of him were like Scotch-tape to paper. The adhesion was incredible to see…and a bit stomach turning.

With my acquaintance beside me like silt from a flood, he had somehow managed to save me after all. Sliding into the crevice between the false floor and the wall we had begun to ascend, it slowed the process enough for me to make it through the lasers. Just barely though. I could smell the burning hair, lymph, and freshly cauterized wound from my forearm where I’d gotten too close to one of them.

Once at the top of the elevator-like shaft from hell, I found myself in a white room. It was so completely white it was almost blinding. I noticed that the room was round. There was no seam where the floor would typically meet the wall, it curved upward towards the ceiling where it was met again with another silky curve. Looking back at the space I had vacated, I realized I couldn’t find it in this stark white space. It had seemingly disappeared.

I took a step forward and that’s when I heard the water. From the other side of this, for lack of a better word, egg room, there was water coming in from somewhere. After a moment, it began to rush, and soon I found that it was up to my calves. The room was filling and I began to panic.

What began as a rush, quickly became a torrent of water and as I was treading water, freaking out, and getting closer and closer to the domed ceiling, my arm began to throb and just before I went under, I noticed the water burned my skin…

 


 

I tried! Not my usual type of writing and I felt like I was rambling there at the end haha.

Here’s the original prompt

Week 91

 

Check One Box Only

I’ve always had to battle while filling out forms. I’m Multi-Racial and that’s been an issue….for them.

How could I possibly choose just one box? By choosing one, you’re asking me to choose one race over another – denying one half of my ancestry. Choosing “other” is just as unsatisfying.

I’ve always chosen all boxes that apply and I will continue to do so. It’s your issue now…you deal with it.

My freedom of choice is multiple boxes. #idareyoutomakemechoose

 

Graffiti

Existing since ancient times from simple words to elaborate paintings

these works of art, though publicly illicit and mostly considered

defacement

of certain properties

glow white-hot and

burn with the fire of underlying social and political messages and that

sometimes they don’t. 

Sometimes

they are

just simply

art.


Writing101 Day 8; Graffiti