A view out the door of a hotel room on Crete.
Digitally processed photograph posted for “Doors” at Inspire Me Thursday. The photo was split up into its CMYK components, which were individually altered, and finally the channels were combined again to render a Hockney-like color effect.
Maybe he should not have done it – torn the tenderness, the love for her out of his heart. It had been a brutal operation: lie down, make incision, cut, remove, close with suture, get up. No anesthetic.
Would the suture last?
He was human after all, meaning changeable and given to mood swings, and he was going to see her again … and again. Five days a week because she worked in the office next to his. There would be the inevitable hellos, how-are-yous and good-byes, some chitchat – the hell of avoidance of what really went on inside.
Perhaps he should throw caution to the wind? Forget the old wounds, the fact that he was not quite over a recent divorce, was much older and not exactly film star material (she wasn’t either, even though very cute with her petite figure, Central Asian features and big brown eyes between mirth, frown and surprise).
And then what? What if she had never even thought of him that way? How (im)possibly embarrassing!
More self-procured surgery or certainty?
– James Steerforth ( © 2008 )
Written using the words cautious (close enough: caution), human, maybe from 3 Word Wednesday LXXXV.
Having retired at age 52 from a well-paying job in the aeronautics industry, Abner D. Sandington-Elliot decided to realize a life-long dream and follow in the footsteps of Antoine de St. Exupéry, a writer and fellow pilot he greatly admired. Following months of thorough preparation, he had his modified SY X911 shipped to Morocco and soon set out on a trip across the Sahara desert.
A terrible sandstorm forced a disastrous crash landing somewhere in southern Algeria. He himself and the fuselage of his machine survived more or less intact, but the rotors were destroyed and parts of the undercarriage were severely damaged.
Remembering his favorite movie, The Flight of the Phoenix, in vivid detail, he devised a plan to repair what could be repaired and return to civilization in a phoenix of his own making – even though the easy way out would have been to call for help on his satellite phone.
Thank God he had converted his machine to a highly efficient fuel cell drive with energy resources that would last for weeks, and he had sufficient provisions for himself. Flying was out of the question, of course; he was ground-stuck.
Would his fuel cell jet-propelled vehicle take him across the rough terrain to the nearest oasis?
One thing he knew for sure: unlike his famous French idol, he would not vanish without a trace.
– James Steerforth ( © 2008 )
Inspired by Totally Optional Prompts‘ desert call.
Now what was it I needed to get from the store?
Cranberry sauce for the Morning Glory celebration over at the Church of the Eleventh Commandment, where they have that thundering sparrow hawk of a preacher, Elmer Pumpernickle. Always reminds me of Burt Lancaster, who played Elmer Gantry. While he goes on and on with the Lord’s word or his own, I mostly get sidetracked by the light shining in through the stained glass windows, which are the church’s claim to fame – they have been called Chagall Blue.
I quite like the habit and invigorating smell of burning amber at that church (or is it incense?) and the somewhat Jewish “shalom” greeting everyone uses.
Most extraordinary of all, though, are the laundry list everyone’s supposed to write before attending the service – it is to be one’s list of dirty laundry to be washed for the week – and the model A or B coffin one has to order and pay for way in advance.
– James Steerforth
Written using the words cranberry sauce, amber, laundry list, coffin, morning glory, shalom, mystery, sparrow hawk, pumpernickle, stained glass given by Raven.
The day that happened
I sat at my computer
it’s easy to catch me there lots of times
typing away, maybe poetry,
maybe some other shit who knows
and probably was reminded of some movie
I’d never seen but heard about
I now don’t remember its title
but I remember who was in it
That well-known actress
turned aerobics whose father
was a famous actor and whose brother
was in Easy Rider and other movies
Not Jack Nicholson, don’t know if he’s
got a sister or father
And I may have been nursing something
cool and mellow like Wild Turkey
to go with the computer work
and remembrance of things past
Man that used to be my favorite drink
Straight! Nothing added
One time George, Pat and I
went to throw darts somewhere
in downtown Boulder
and I had eight shots while trying
to shoot darts
Wild Turkey made them more accurate
for a while but then less accurate
But why am I getting into this
All I needed was something longish
to shout into a microphone
– James Steerforth ( © 2008 )
Now that was some rambling and a lot longer than the American Sentence I was going to write upon instigation by Mariacristina, where I saw once again that famous picture of Allen Ginsberg taken by Peter Orlovsky that shows Ginsberg typing away in the light from one of those old-fashioned American desk lamps with the heavy iron base, but then got sidetracked because of visiting other blogs, including the one of T. B., in honor of whom I wrote the above. All very inspiring and associative, as you can see.
Written also in honor of Sunday Scribblings # 109 and the extended family of the poets of the blogosphere.
Corinna was
Orrin’s mother.
What he didn’t know was that
Barry was not his
indigenous father.
Rowland had planted his seed,
determined to procreate
conveniently, to only have
one thing to do
with it.
Barry loved Orrin like his own. Orrin
impregnated
Rita when he was fifteen, and boy
did Rowland’s pride swell when he heard about it.
– James Steerforth
Sort of a Jacobean tale of two cowbird men for Totally Optional Prompts. Are certain behavior patterns really hereditary?
The above photo of a giant cowbird is by Tom Davis; it is from his page Photos from Brazil 2006, which has many other excellent bird pictures.
I’ve followed Sunday Scribblings for about half a year and have always been impressed by the responses to the various prompts.
However, I am absolutely amazed by the quality and pertinence of many of the contributions the current The future of the planet prompt has triggered.
Instead of writing something myself, I decided to collect some of my favorite quotes or passages from 12 contributions here, thereby creating a little anthology, so to speak.
1. From the sonnet by Granny Smith
Yet all the while our hope is shining high
above us: Sol, our star, our answer, Sun.
Its flames can turn our turbines. Will earth die?
Not if humans are wise and act as one.
2. From Eccentric Spheres by Tiel Aisha Ansari
We’re all afloat in cosmic seas
of milk or ink or sorrow’s tears,
but always on the move, like spheres
eccentric, crystalline, and full
of music playing in God’s skull.
3. From I remember the world of tomorrow by Rob Kistner
Those who create, manufacture, and distribute technology, as well as those of us who use it — we must all remain mindful of the balance between “can we” and “should we”, and vigilant that we do not tip that scale. If we pay prudent attention to these two questions, take the responsible steps to restore what imbalance we may have created to date, by ceasing the rape of our planet, and taking serious steps to reverse the threat of global warming — our future will be a great era of humankind.
4. From It’s the end of the world as we know it by Mandy de Waal
Then there’s the fact that we’ve basically been treating the earth like absolute shit, and by all accounts she’s pretty pissed at us.
5. From Greenish Lady’s dream from 1973
There would be no poverty, no starving children, there would be no wars. No-one would suffer because they were of a different race, colour or religion than anyone else. We would all have finally realised that we are indeed one people living on one planet; that we each have responsibility for all our brothers and sisters throughout the earth, and no-one would want to have more than their needs filled, while there was anyone who did not have their most basic needs seen to.
6. From How to think green by Anthony North
The first is the ascendancy of Big Biz – huge multi-national corporations which are, in effect, the main polluters of the planet. Big Biz works on a simple philosophy. This is that to continue to hold their power, ‘systems’ must be so big that only they can afford to run them.
A fossil fuel based economy is one such system. And in maintaining it, Big Biz guarantees that no other businesses – using, cleaner, more easily managed tech – can ever challenge them. Hence, their very existence demands that they cannot be eco-friendly. To be so would destroy them.
7. From a comment by murat11 on a comment to his contribution
whatsa a pea-brain like me gonna say to a call for futurism? I barely make it in the moment, but plantains, now plantains…well, truth is, I don’t even know plantains, but I’m sure they’ll make it, as will the mung beans.
8. From Gemma Wiseman’s poem
Mini dreams
Of real estate moghuls
9. From Dressed Rehearsal by Jodi Herman
and the planet earth-
is just a dressed rehearsal,
for the soul??
10. From The Future of the World – A letter to my infant daughter by Matthew
I hope that in my own life I can tread a little more lightly upon this earth and learn to live more in concert with the ebb and flow of life. I will continue to look within and explore the stillness that extends over this mysterious planet. I will do my part to re-member and find inside my heart that connection that binds us all together.
11. From Traveller’s musings by Medhini Seshadri
Man is also a son of God like all of us. Mother Nature shall tame his crude ways. and then he shall learn from the tree to give without asking, he shall learn from the flowers to empty nectar for bees and from the river he shall learn that our ultimate goal is One.
12. From Eternal Gearbox by Niebla
The future of the planet
is rewriting itself
continually
These excerpts simply represent what struck me the most among the contributions I read (I did not read each and every one; I did read around 40 of them). Their selection and numbering sequence are not meant to indicate any kind of judgment or preference.
I hope it’s all right with the authors that I quoted them here. If one of you is unhappy about being “featured” here, please let me know in a comment, and I will remove the quote.
– James Steerforth
( From the Hygiene Times, 26 April 3008 )
Some of the objects found in the underground grave recently discovered near the town of Hygiene, Colorado, have been more fully identified. The plastic sculpture of a deeply tanned overweight nude woman with a pronounced throat in the historical grave from 2099 has been identified as a work by Jeef Kuns (1955-2087) called “Penumbra or Portrait of a Hoarsely Lady”. Apparently it was considered a triumph of American art at its time. The other artefact in the grave, by an unknown 21st century master, is titled “Kermit the Frog Bearing the Burden of a Colander”. It consists of the prostrate cloth doll of a historical television character and a green plastic colander attached to its back. The information on this sculpture’s title was contained in a satchel with mothballs and lavender fastened to the frog’s neck. The perfectly sealed and preserved grave of art collector Gertrude Desperation (1987-2099) was unearthed thanks to a fluky discovery by Alice B. Pleasant last spring.
Reported by James Steerforth from the future
Contains the words pleasant, fluky, desperation, penumbra, hoarsely, triumph, burden, colander, Kermit the Frog, lavender given by Raven.
For Writers Island and its current prompt – outrageous.
There are many things that are outrageous, there have always been and most likely always will be. Without much effort, I could have come up with a sizeable list of solid reasons for outrage; there is plenty going on in the world right now that is outrageous. Instead of writing up such a potentially self-righteous and plaintive list, I decided to look at a hot contemporary Internet medium to find out about the most popular current outrages. What follows is a good sampling of the cream of the crop from Youtube (with repetitive or absolutely boring outrages removed; spelling problems and questionable capitalization left intact):
Student Tasered: Judge Is Outraged!
Fish Fillets Next Generation: Outraged Greenpeace
Muslims Outraged About Mohamed Teddy Bear
AMERICA STILL OUTRAGED AT BARACK OBAMA AFTER RACE SPEECH
Community outraged about quadruple murders
Nancy Grace Outraged – expresses outrage over the reduction of heiress Paris Hilton’s jail sentence
AMERICA OUTRAGED BARACK OBAMA & PASTOR “GOD DAMN AMERICA”
America outraged and disgusted by Obama
HUMAN RIGHTS GROUPS OUTRAGED OVER SAUDI ARABIAN COURT RULING
Outraged by Boeing Tanker Loss
Sewer Proposal has Many Agawam Residents Outraged
Outraged Consumer
OUTRAGED – I may not be as pissed off as updownmostly but that does not mean I dont care
Floridians outraged by un-Democratic primary
What If Reverend Write was White, still outraged?
US Border Agents outraged & offer Alternative Plan
Conservatives Outraged Over Chocolate Jesus Art
Family Outraged after Deputy Shoots Their Dog
Katrina – Outraged and Inspired to Action
Kids Worshipping to George W. Bush Viewers Outraged
Something Awful’s Outraged Mothers
The best outrage I saved for last:
Voting for the 2008 Poet Laureate of the Blogosphere is open now through April 29th.
My own favorites are:
I would encourage everyone to take a good look at their work.
And I confess that I wouldn’t mind getting some votes myself. 
“It’s spring, and you’re late, my love.”
Had she been quicker of mind, she might have asked me what her being late had to do with spring.
She took it as what it was meant – a carefree acknowledgment with the light heart of spring – and smiled…
– James Steerforth ( © 2008 )
A late spring variation for Totally Optional Prompts.
One Single Impression’s color theme immediately reminded me “Colours”, an early song by Donovan from 1965. The colors he sings about are yellow, green, blue, mellow and freedom.
What color do you associate with mellow? Which one with freedom?
Luckily, I found a video of a very young Donovan performing the song on Youtube (lyrics below).
Yellow is the colour of my true love’s hair
In the mornin’ when we rise,
In the mornin’ when we rise,
That’s the time, that’s the time,
I love the best.
Blue’s the colour of the sky
In the mornin’ when we rise,
In the mornin’ when we rise.
in the mornin’ when we rise.
That’s the time, that’s the time
I love the best.
Green’s the colour of the sparklin’ corn
In the mornin’ when we rise,
In the mornin’ when we rise.
in the mornin’ when we rise.
That’s the time, that’s the time
I love the best.
Mellow is the feeling that I get
when I see her, mm hmm,
when I see her, uh huh.
That’s the time, that’s the time
I love the best.
Freedom is a word I rarely use
Without thinkin’, mm hmm,
Without thinkin’, mm hmm,
Of the time, of the time
When I’ve been loved.
(Written by Donovan Leitch)
“So what did you get for me at the store, my blue-eyed son?”
“Nothing, my dear old pony.”
“But didn’t I give you a long list of compositions to get at the store?”
“Yes, you did. You did indeed. And I went to the store.”
“Then what happened to all the compositions, to all the music at the store, my blue-eyed son?”
“Everything they had was decomposed, my dear old pony.”
– James Steerforth ( © 2008 )
A grotesque dialog for Sunday Scribblings #107 – Compose. Unless you’d prefer to call it bizarre, droll, whimsical or odd. All these come close to describe the mood I was in when I wrote it.
Sometimes I
touch beyond
the visible
stage, where
life is really playing,
where the
connection
with the world
is an effortless
flow.
– James Steerforth
This one is for 3WW and today’s three words: touching, visible, stage.
Cadbury Castle, thought by some to have been King Arthur’s Camelot
“No, they spelled it all wrong. It’s not Uther Pendragon, it’s Upper Pentagon, abbreviated U.P., and it’s not my name but my address.”
My visitor in the gingerbread suit remained cordial.
“But I was foretold …”
“What?”
“That in this galaxy, where there is such dearth –”
“Of what?”
“Of offshoot –”
“Offspring you probably mean.”
“Thank you, offspring. Where was I? – Ah yes: I was told that you’d be the one. Especially because you’re wearing the bonnet.”
“This thing here? I put it on to redecorate.”
“What are you redecorating?”
“Myself. And I’m also modifying this delta.”
I showed him.
“I see.”
“If I don’t do anything about it, this river will eventually flood all of England.”
“Sire – it is you, I swear! Such noble intention, the royal bonnet, the map – the prediction is right!”
He fell on his knees and looked at me in a manner I can only describe as sheep-like.
“You will have a son by the name of Arthur, who will save England from the Saxons, who will save the world, will save the holy grail. You will live in beautiful Camelot.”
“You’ve got it all wrong, buddy. You’re roughly 1600 years late. The Saxons came, the holy grail became Mary Magdalene, who’s long dead, nobody knows where Camelot was – if it ever existed –, the world is still in need of being saved, and the England I’m saving here on my computer screen is part of SimWorld Five.”
– James Steerforth ( © 2008 )
A story constructed around the words galaxy, delta, redecorate, dearth, offshoot, Uther Pendragon, cordial, gingerbread, foretold, bonnet given by Raven.
I’m letting Tim Buckley fill in for One Single Impression’s prompt this time. Here’s Morning Glory (lyrics below the video link):
I lit my purest candle close to my
Window, hoping it would catch the eye
Of any vagabond who passed it by,
And I waited in my fleeting house
Before he came I felt him drawing near;
As he neared I felt the ancient fear
That he had come to wound my door and jeer,
And I waited in my fleeting house
“Tell me stories,” I called to the Hobo;
“Stories of cold,” I smiled at the Hobo;
“Stories of old,” I knelt to the Hobo;
And he stood before my fleeting house
“No,” said the Hobo, “No more tales of time;
Don’t ask me now to wash away the grime;
I can’t come in ’cause it’s too high a climb,”
And he walked away from my fleeting house
“Then you be damned!” I screamed to the Hobo;
“Leave me alone,” I wept to the Hobo;
“Turn into stone,” I knelt to the Hobo;
And he walked away from my fleeting house
– Written by Tim Buckley
“It’s going to be a dark flight.”
I looked at the man next to me. He didn’t look like the prophetic kind that would mutter sinister predictions. He didn’t look like a terrorist, either.
Not that one really knows what terrorists look like since they seem to come in all shapes, genders and sizes. Not all of us have the keen terrorist and weapon detecting eye of, let’s say, soon to be ex-President George W. Mass Destruction Bush.
To be on the safe side, I simply said, “Uhuh.”
He got out a paper bag, from which he extracted a pretzel.
My middle-aged freckled neighbor with the short blond hair continued, “There’s hardly a moon in the sky now.” Munch. “That time of the month.” Chew and swallow. “That’s why.” Another bite. “Of course, most people pull their shutters down anyway.” More munch. “Not me.” Swallow. “I can’t sleep on flights.” Bite and chew. “Never have been able to.” Munch. “How about you?”
– James Steerforth
An imaginary, hopefully not too far-fetched and somewhat amusing sketch on flight as prescribed by Writers Island.
At sunset, on the river bank, Krishna
Loved her for the last time and left…
That night in her husband’s arms, Radha felt
So dead that he asked, What is wrong,
Do you mind my kisses, love? and she said,
No, not at all, but thought, What is
It to the corpse if the maggots nip?
– Kamala Das (*1934)
A poem by one of India’s important writers posted for Totally Optional Prompt’s request for poetry inspired by mythology.
When I returned, I found a desolate home I hardly recognized – red carpeting with a diamond pattern I would have never picked, broken glass on the floor, an unknown red chair as the only furniture left. The windows looked different, half boarded up, one thin like an embrasure, and strange blue light seeping in. My plant had grown tremendously and was in motion, playing with a streak of blue light. Had I really lived in this place before? Now that I thought about it, I could not even remember how I’d gotten here and where I’d been. And you were gone. But who had you been? All that was left was longing – as undefined and wavering as the blue light.
– James Steerforth ( © 2008 )
Written for Café Writing’s April project #4, Can you picture that?
Photograph © by L. H. Prior.
My home’s the beach
Strange animals hoot and howl inland at night
I’ve seen airy outlines of humans
in the far distance at times
My nourishment are coconuts
and the occasional fish I catch
(I’ve taught myself the art)
My fears have had the upper hand
I’m stranded
The surf is my steady friend
One day I’ll leave the shore
To venture along
Forget my fears
What have I got to lose
I’ve only got one island
to make friends meet enemies
– James Steerforth ( © 2008 )
Written for One Single Impression.
 | Medhini on His own heart surgeon |
 | mariacristina on His own heart surgeon |
 | TC on His own heart surgeon |
 | spacedlaw on Marooned in the desert |
 | Gemma Wiseman on His own heart surgeon |
