Human Condition

Friday Fictioneers for March 24th, 2023

The queen of Friday Fictioneering and purple lane swimming, the lovely Rochelle, has dealt us a prompt photo from the most awesome Liz Young. With an abundance of humor and joking around, the Queen and her King are chiding us into dealing from our own deck to call or raise a story in fewer than 101 words (beginning, middle, and end).

If you want in on the game, a seat is always open for you. Just shuffle on over to Rochelle’s blog by clicking on Liz’s pic. There you will be cut in on the rules according to her Hoyle-ness, and you may drop your ace story with ours in the inlinkz pot using any ante, wager, or whatever photo pleases you.

PHOTO PROMPT © Liz Young

Genre: Memoir
Title: Funny Dad
Word Count: 100

***

Astrid owned the store. I dropped my stuff on a table then went to order.

Her father walked over and told me an Aggie joke.

I glared at him, “Should I laugh now?”

He spewed more insulting chaff. I scowled, “That’s dumber than the first!”

He paid for my order. I insisted she take my money. She refused. Astrid had no choice.

Then he said, “Student loan forgiveness is buying votes.” I dropped my items in the trash and said, “My vote’s not for sale. Don’t quit your day job.”

I haven’t returned. It wasn’t her fault. Dad’s a dick.

***

Look both ways because none of us choose our parents.
Mind the gaps because our DNA is 99% the same as monkeys.
Sometimes we can tell.

Click on the joke book to find more mad-jokery to read.

Sammi’s Weekender #303 (enterprise)

Click graphic for Sammi’s blog where you may play along and/or read more prose or poems.

Sin, according to those in the know
can be committed and then lovingly remitted.

All it takes is a paid remittance for which
said sin remission is granted with indulgence.

By paying my way, so it is that they say,
with remittance my guilt is pardoned
all at once, and thusly,

Religious enterprise thrives,
a consequence of my temporal sinful existence.

Religion only if a god, because of
delusional intoxication being like love.

Look both ways because some god needs your money.
Mind the gaps and the go-betweens, who never seem to have enough.

 

Friday Fictioneers for March 10th, 2023

For International Women’s Day, Rochelle has invited us to receive inspiration from a yummy photo by Jennifer Pendergast. To save your seat at the FF table, click on Jennifer’s inviting dinner pic for a savory trip over to Rochelle’ place for writer’s just desserts. Be sure to thoroughly peruse all the menu has to offer.

For the record, today is also National Organize Your Home Office Day. Since I kind of stay organized, today I will begin changing my office décor. I could probably finish in one day, but Amazon delivers the goods tomorrow. Today is undo. Tomorrow is do-over.

PHOTO PROMPT © Jennifer Pendergast

Genre: Historical Fiction
Title: Talk To Me
Word Count: 100

***

My invitation to the séance arrived via overnight delivery. It was addressed only to Reynolds. My street address had obviously been added by a different hand. I decided to go. My first.

I arrived before the appointed time of 5:00 AM. The door was ajar, so I walked in. The table had only a crystal ball and twelve empty chairs.

I waited. I double checked the invitation. I had the date right, October 7th. But the year said 1849.

As I waited longer, I felt a chill. Then I heard his voice, “Reynolds, Reynolds, Reynolds. Lord. Help my poor soul.”

***

Look both ways when reading Poe.
Mind the gaps for an elusive truth in his biographical history.

Give Edgar a click to mosey on over to where all the other stories are neatly linked up.

Friday Fictioneers for March 3rd, 2023

To christen March, twenty-twenty-three, and to mark this Rosh Chodesh, our own Friday Fictioneer’s fabulous femme de mystère, Rochelle (aka, the lapping lady on the pool deck), drew upon a Miles Rost a photo to motivate our 100 (or fewer)-word story.

If you want to join us in this clean weekly fun cycle, tumble over to Rochelle’s blog and dry your eyes with the bright colors (esp. purple) and get rinsed and dried for a cleverly pressed story of your own. Just touch the start button on Miles’s photo below. We can iron things out later as we fold in our finest fibs.

PHOTO PROMPT © Miles Rost

Genre: Clean Gonzo Fiction
Title: Loaded Laundry
Word Count: 100
***

I was doing laundry and writing when I heard a door slam.

A lady stormed in carrying a full laundry basket. I tried not to stare. She tossed clothes into a dryer and put something else in with them. Then she stormed out, never looking at me or speaking.

Again, a door slammed. I heard several louder noises, like gun shots.

I smelled something. The dryer she used was billowing smoke. Then it exploded.

I woke up with a firefighter leaning over me asking me what happened. There was more to the story, but I only told what I saw.

Look both ways, even doing normal household chores.
Mind the gaps in silent storming ladies.

Click on the firefighters to link-up with more micro-fiction (or non-) stories.

Monday’s Rune: Unconscious Us

Blame it on the Moon

Is that true?
There is a me I don’t know?
One I cannot see,
not of my choosing, but me
nonetheless.

My shadow self,
a midnight me that
neither ends where I begin,
nor begins where I end.

Is there a pronoun for that me?
A he, she, or whatever,
a servile acquiescent person?
A deep and darkly denied secret
which is me
and not me?

Does my shadow me know this me?
Am I influenced by midnight’s shadow
as if possessed by a blind spot,
a truth I can neither deny
nor admit?

Look both ways for the existential self.
Mind the gaps for what is unseen, but real.

 

 

In analytical psychology, the shadow self (aka ego-dystonic complex, repressed id, shadow aspect, or shadow archetype) is an unconscious aspect of the personality that does not correspond with the ego ideal (which is?), leading the ego to resist and project the shadow. In short, the shadow is the self’s emotional blind spot, a trickster.

Monday’s Rune: Into every life…

Privileged Judging

Some cite unfairness, injustices of inequality
when others are born into better but another into less.

Yet both pride and shame rise from elite or proletariat hearts,
be it random common birth, natural placement, or bad seed.

No artist must suffer a lowly soul, in pain from cursed reality or chemical dependence, haunted, as snotty critics bestow their judgement of ironic reverse snobbishness and scorn upon the cleanly washed.

Let demure honestly determine the good in all forms of art and beauty
as critical opine speaks well of all mankind. Let art stand as art.

May wonderous life arise from ashes just as bleak and evil fall from the heavens, the source of rain or shine is not the matter.

Look both ways. Is the artist the art?
Vice-versa?
Do we choose birth circumstances?
Mind the gaps but judge wisely and care deeply.

 

Antique illustration: Cangue, Tcha

Sammi’s Weekender #297 (key)

Click on graphic to go to Sammi’s blog page where more 71-word poetry or prose are key.

 

 

Whispering Cuts

Lost in a familiar sea of grave reality, my dysfunctional heart not yet surrendered, something of which none are certain. Worry descended like a pall over my will. Sadness has taken control of my soul. Well-intentioned, high-riding key influencers are wheedling me into their delusional corner. Life, lies, and what matters: shut down before I hit the ground. I ponder death, or better, conceivably, never to have been born at all.

Look both ways, but in the end, it is just the end.
Nothing more.
Mind the gaps of life’s traps.
Sometimes it’s your fault. Sometimes it’s not.

Monday’s Rune: Just for me

Humble Sigh

She said, “I write
just for me,
not for any reader.”
All for her own pleasure.
So she said.
So she thought.

But, oh, oh, oh,
the smile she had
and the glint in her eye
over the magazine
that published her story.

Tell me that again my friend,
that part about the writer
without ego or desire
to please or to be pleased.

Look both ways and take the pat on the back.
Mind the gaps for feeling denied.

Sammi’s Weekender #296 (apathy)

Click on this graphic to see more 40-word wonders of interest.

The League

I’m their biggest threat,
unaffected by effects of deceptive hype,
bored by hyperbole’s clichés,
mine is no mere apathetic pity.

Their heroes hawk pizza, encourage foolishness,
and elect incoherent babblers as leaders,
roles for which mad dogs are better suited.

Look both ways in the entertainment world.
Mind the gaps in celebrity mentality, or the absence thereof.

Friday Fictioneers for January 27th, 2023

For the final full week of January, our guide to telling stories based on a picture, Rochelle, has tossed up a J Hardy Carroll pic to inspire us. It took a while but my muse, obviously an older woman, set my mind to an inappropriate tale, but not an uncommon one.

To find the how-to of this story telling challenge, click on the J Hardy photo and you’ll be shuffled over to Rochelle’s blog where the situation is made clear. Can you tell a complete story in one-hundred or fewer words?

PHOTO PROMPT © J Hardy Carroll

Genre: Erotic Fiction
Title: Pinch Me, Maggie
Word Count: 100

***

She, much older, married and Julia’s mother. I loved her and suspected she knew. I never expected this.

At her daughter’s birthday party, she told me to meet her in the old abandon building north of the football field. I was to be there about eleven. I was early.

I asked, “Mrs. Robinson, why?”

She smiled, “I can tell what you want. Call me Maggie May here, but Mrs. Robinson in public. If you tell anyone about us, I’ll make your life miserable. It’s your move, young man.”

My heart pounded. I held her. “May I kiss you, Maggie May?”

***

Look both ways because love is ageless and where you find it.
Mind the gaps between May and September.

 

Click on the scene from ‘The Graduate’ movie to read more awesome stories.

And, of course, the story as told by Sir Roderick David Stewart.