Furiously Fast and Bad (Write or Die!)

Ok, I guess what I have to do is write write write. Right? All righty then what am i going to write about? I don't know. Whatever comes to mind I guess. I look out my window. Gravel. Same rel jeep with white cover. It's convertible of course, you can take the top off , presumably in summer and enjoy the fresh air, the rain, cool and refreshing, or whatever. I don't know about the red though. It's maroonm sort of. I like to see that ok forget it Here's the thing don't worry about sentences. Ok then sentences are evil sentences. evil red jeep. maroon jeep, clouds of apricot pink fluffy no not too fluffy wisps of apricot pinkies floating in the sky their sole purpose to reflect light from the dying sun why do dying suns have light how is it that dying suns can awe people even more than living suns well dying suns and birthing suns ie suns being born die sun, so that i can receive your light so that i can see your birth  after the cold night sunrise how can hope not live with  how can hope not be born with new day's sun and yet hope does not die with setting sun but still there is form many people a lessening of hope that comes with darkness it's because for them hope lives outside themselves perhaps like wayne, like waldo hope lives forever in the human heart or it doesn't live at all well that's plain bullshit of course of course it lives - and lives
even when it seems gone forever the sunset colours the moonlight shedding eerie light on the landscape the moonlit landscape springs hope from its prison why is it so difficult to see that that hope resides within? it's not outside the self the sunset is not hope it's just a sunset the moonlight is not hope or even romance it's just what it is romance is just what it is hope is just what it is why do we rise and fall to a word, like the beautiful rise and fall of foxtrot to the right music why can't we just rise gracefully, fall gracefully. where did this idea come from that rising is good falling is


Falling. Rising. Falling is rising is falling is… Dying. Birthing.
Dying to self is birthing the soul.
I saw this.
A seagull falls, you see it separating from the leaden sky. Where was it before you saw it? Was it plastered to the sky, like Moses in Michelangelo’s ceiling? What if Moses came down again? Would there be another clapping together of tablets holding the hand of God? Would this time the God-words fail to survive? Ancient wisdom that they were? Would there be a further destruction of idols. Look here! I am God’s messenger. I am the one chosen to convey his words to you, his humble people, and you have elected your false idols, you have chosen to turn your back on God. The seagull. Was it plastered to the leaden ceiling of the sky? Or was it already falling? Did it fall through the ceiling from the heavens beyond? Is it a messenger from God, a god itself, like the coca cola bottle in the movie?
I saw this. Leaden bay mirrors dead sky.
I saw this. White sails against grey backdrop, dark shape beneath hold multi-coloured moving stick figures. Narrow white lace fronds emerge behind, dying into the stillness of the bay.
I saw this. Dead bay mirrors leaden sky.
I saw this. Narrow white lace fronds lapping gently at shore.
I saw this. Broad lace frothing madly onto shore.
I saw this. Live bay mirrors dead sky.
I saw this. Grey seagull separates from sky, falling to earth, dropping into bay, carried on the shoulders of breakers, tossed at my feet.

Re: Furiously Fast and Bad (Write or Die!)

wow.
Dying to self is birthing the soul.
This line seems to describe best my experience of this piece, Ruth.

As if a letting go, an untangling, somehow happened during the first section, giving 'birth' to the second, and as I finish reading my heart is in my mouth, just listening, seeing, feeling those words. The repetition of the ceiling / leaden / sky image is very powerful, as are so the other images and indeed the very architecture of the language.

Wonderful.

Love,

Sandra

Re: Furiously Fast and Bad (Write or Die!)

Sandra: As if a letting go, an untangling, somehow happened during the first section, giving 'birth' to the second,

Here's what happened. I had forgotten to reset Write or Die to 15 minutes for this exercise, so I got cut off after 10 (I favour 10-minute stints). I reset and started again, and in the split second between being stopped and resuming my writing, something happened—not exactly a shift in focus but a narrowing of it. I don't know. The two parts are very different, but the difference was not contrived. The second just naturally took on form, sentences, caps and all—I was seeing something in my mind's (?) inner eye—whereas the first was a little bit like morning pages, getting to the place where you can focus.

My feeling is that the cutoff acted like that space between the inbreath and the outbreath where, I have heard said, everything (transformation?) happens.

Thanks, and love.

Ruth

Re: Furiously Fast and Bad (Write or Die!)

really good to hear the process, Ruth! When I do freefall it's very similar, often the first couple of paragraphs are morning pages like - and then something goes 'click' just as you describe.

That place before inbreath and out… my favourite place actually… really does feel like the place of eternity, for me. I hadn't thought of it with regards to writing. Feels like something to invite more in my own work, thanks!

Love,
Sandra
p.s. I just saw that this is the TBW board. NOT.
!

Re: Furiously Fast and Bad (Write or Die!)

Sandra: p.s. I just saw that this is the TBW board. NOT.
!

Well, I had never posted to TBW and thought it was about time I did. As it turned out the piece exhibits some of my worst nightmares about writing — disjointed, rambling, repetition ad nauseam, etc, etc. Not to mention the big one: failure to adhere to rules of grammar (don't forget I'm an editor).

Re: Furiously Fast and Bad (Write or Die!)

Dear Ruth,

Certainly, your perception turns that window of yours into a portal accessing pure consciousness, where falling is rising is falling and dying (to self) is birthing (the soul).

And the words you use to paint your story are colorful, poetic, provocative, musical, nurturing and fragrant.

If your seeing “I” is a magazine, or an e-zine, I am a subscriber.

Thank you!

Love,
Nell ;-o

Re: Furiously Fast and Bad (Write or Die!)

Thanks, Nell.

If your seeing “I” is a magazine, or an e-zine, I am a subscriber.

I wish. At the moment, it feels too much like rambling to me. Not focused enough.

Love,
Ruth

Re: Furiously Fast and Bad (Write or Die!)

Ah, focus!

Just put your hocus focus cap on and see for yourself. Have a wish, make a commitment and the money (the right people, the opportunities, etc!) will come. Always does.

B e l i e v e

I  d o

I n   y o u

Love,
Nell ;-)

Re: Furiously Fast and Bad (Write or Die!)

Hi Ruth,

this was so lovely - I am sorry I have not been able to comment sooner. I especially like this question:

where did this idea come from that rising is good falling

it's such a good question.

there are many gems here, like shafts of light for me, I don't know what else to pick out. I really liked the details that you painted in a short period of time.. this was just beautiful:

clouds of apricot pink fluffy no not too fluffy wisps of apricot pinkies floating in the sky their sole purpose to reflect light from the dying sun

anyway, lovely writing - I want more please!

xo
la

Re: Furiously Fast and Bad (Write or Die!)

Rudyan,

I so loved this piece, and I so understand about having trouble letting go of grammar and punctuation. I mean, it has been ingrained for so long it is like second nature to me, and what if one of my students read a non-sentence and called me on it? Do what I say and not as I do!?
I see why you posted here, but it is truly good in-the-moment writing which would give your 6th grade literature teacher a heart attack. That's all.

 OK, so I pulled an entire paragraph out of here because it just struck me as being absolutely phenomenal and powerful, and one of those, “Darn, how did she ever think of that?” moments that leaves you in awe of a writer.

I wanted to comment earlier, but have been running against the gun, so I didn't, and yesterday, there was a seagull that had fallen from the sky on my way to Kinko's. So, wow, am I connected.


A seagull falls, you see it separating from the leaden sky. Where was it before you saw it? Was it plastered to the sky, like Moses in Michelangelo’s ceiling? What if Moses came down again? Would there be another clapping together of tablets holding the hand of God? Would this time the God-words fail to survive? Ancient wisdom that they were? Would there be a further destruction of idols. Look here! I am God’s messenger. I am the one chosen to convey his words to you, his humble people, and you have elected your false idols, you have chosen to turn your back on God. The seagull. Was it plastered to the leaden ceiling of the sky? Or was it already falling? Did it fall through the ceiling from the heavens beyond? Is it a messenger from God, a god itself, like the coca cola bottle in the movie?

I love questioning, and there is so much of it in this piece. The questioning by an author represents so much - the struggle to understand both individually and collectively - and serves as a pathway to compare - do I feel like others do? So ditto to what everyone else said, plus just loving this questioning process that so suddenly turns to fact in the end of the piece. I saw is so concrete, but the language is anything but. Waves of frothing lace, how beautiful.

Andrea