I was out the other day and came face to face with some aliens. Really! They were walking around the village of Dennis as if they owned the place. An invasion fleet, I’m sure. Yep, I came face to face with them, and they didn’t flinch.
And talking faces, they had blue faces. Blue! Can you imagine? I mean, yes, we see blue faces in Sci-Fi, like some of the characters in the original Guardians of the Galaxy movie. But how often do you come across real blue guys here on Earth?
And i think this guy had a trunk or something. I mean, what is that thing? Maybe a huge nose? Here is another picture, hopefully better than the first.
What do you think? An alien? Continue reading
Mild mannered Trent McDonald hears a scream in the night! Well, it is most likely only in his imagination. There was a witness to the crime that he is reading about, but he didn’t mention anything about screaming. Ah-hm, back to the story then. A devious crime has been committed! The calmness of Anytown is broken by the (imagined) late night screams. (The article said the crime took place at noon, but…)
Mild Mannered Trent knows something must be done!
Speeding to his computer, which actually he had been at for the last few hours, reading social media and scanning the news, including the article about the crime, he waves his arm and is suddenly wearing a virtual costume.
Look, it’s Authorman! Continue reading
“He also had a faraway look in his eye, which Elliot always reserved for dunces and dreamers.” – The Fireborn
No matter how suitable you are to receive the ancient sword Excalibur from the Lady of the Lake, the biggest requirement is that you are actually someone who can believe that the possibility exists that the Lady of the Lake will give you the sword Excalibur. That is, you need to be able to see far beyond the mundane (a dreamer) or be so stupid that you can’t understand why it is impossible (a dunce).
Or so goes one of themes I’ve often used in my writing.
Dunces and Dreamers, Dreamers and Dunces. As I look in the mirror, both that reflecting my physical image and that reflecting “the real me”, I wonder if the two are so far apart…
Trent was in his second floor study staring at a blank screen. Not quite blank, for he had brought up a picture for inspiration. After a moment’s hesitation his fingers began to fly across the keyboard. Many of his short stories were created in a similar fashion, looking at a blank screen pushing thoughts and ideas through his mind waiting for something to stick. Usually something did come up and a story would write itself.
After a few minutes Trent stopped and frowned. The story was too stiff, too clichéd. Perhaps a rewrite would fix it. He deleted the story and started again. Nope, not right, so he did it again. Then again. No, it just didn’t work, the story was horrid. It was a cool picture, but no good ideas were emanating from it. He had posted forced ideas in the past, but most of the time after the initial spark the story would grow organically, taking a life of its own. Not this time. It seemed like his mind was caught in some type of vortex, swirling around without hitting any real point. Continue reading
Saturday I did something a little different. I visited most of my favorite places for photos without my camera. Of course, as can be expected, every bit of wildlife living within 100 squares miles congregated on my chosen path to harass and laugh at me. Continue reading
I’ve been thinking about some poems I’ve recently read. Poems much better than the ones on this page. Look at these three fake (joke?/bad?) poems:
The weight of the Universe
Crushes down on me
Every bad thought ever uttered
Are but pebbles
Amongst the boulders
Of negative vibes
That suffocate me
I’m a bad poem
Why was I written?
2. Sun Fun Joy
Oh, the world is glorious Continue reading