timeMaster, timeMaster

by  shaun lawton 

descr.  of  the  comet Rosetta   /67P
timeMaker, timeTaker
     [listening to free salamander exhibit  undestroyed 
on the 45RPM 2LP vinyl released recently]

the Rosetta Comet remains my favorite
case of pareidolia--writ large. Now that I've mapped
just about all of the hyperlit surface in my mind
to its corresponding points, I can dedicate
a more in-depth examination
of the mountainous terrain
of melded plateaux toward
cheekily pointing out
'the bridge of tongues'
for example (extruding out
from under the shadow beneath
the left cheekbone) could possibly be

the landing stone to an eroded stairwell
lashing up through the nose to the final
three steps of the eyelid--beyond which
lies the uppermost ledge of sculptured hair

This titanic Promethean bust tumbles
through our system on its own gravitational course
projected on a pathway that has intersected with our own
while we're ever probing farther from our home planet
with jet fuel propelled space probes we reach out to
draw tight a wire loop about the targets, examine them
and even land remote mini spacecraft like the Philae
whose trajectories course arrive plotted
to land upon the topmost cratered area
comprising the right rearmost spot
on top of the chimerical skull
depicted below:

Swamp Poem

by  shaun lawton 

I am the revolution, my blood's spiked in sickness
I'm an extremophile thriving in a toxic valley with a withered soul 
Only replenished by poetry, art and music of unhinged expression. 
I am grateful to the fungal network of mycelium that created us. 
I worship the ocean's flesh and I howl toward the blood of the wind. 
The snowflake remains one link in my armor woven into a blizzard
Of pure retribution set to erase religious and political institutions. 
I am a complicated time bomb ticking away until comes the day 
I go off in an ever-softening acceptance of universal love, because 
When push comes to shove there's not even a contest betrayed 
Since hatred's really just die hard love dressed in purest black. 
We can't hide all the colors bursting from our Rainbow Eyes. 
Let's take a deeper look inside so we can each see our reflections 
As the opposite of whatever hollow idols may be the target
of our genuflections. The chaos we praise now will transmute into 
The order of fallen rubble left to be polished by the tempest of time. 
We evolved from nematodes and will sink back into slime.

Character Rhythms

Samshasa mana mana Samshasa mana mana
Samshasa mana mana Samshasa mana mana
Doomdukuh toodle Leedoo doomdukuh thud
Doomdukuh toodle Leedoo doomdukuh thump

Writing Tips 101

Okay some writing tips here.  Give up on exclamation points and adverbs.  Cull the excessive multiplicity of redundancies, give it to the reader straight. Get to the point.  Remember the narrative flow. Don't get lost down the river of deceit. I don't know, it's tough. A lot of us write in superconducive bursts of varying intensity, and are as likely spending too much time on tangential lines as not spending enough time on basics.   So what are the basics.   Less is more.

Notice the most stripped down stories are merely a transcription of dialogue. Everything the characters say to each other conveys the story. This is story telling in its purest form. Where expository description reverts to null. With the barest of observations or commentary, a dialogue rich narrative then achieves both characterization and ideal storytelling, what else is there? Indeed.

I can say nothing else on the matter at this time for I am supposed to be working on my story now.

I have no idea what I'm writing about.  That's the way it should be.  Just let your fingers fly. Later spiders you ate can normally squeeze blood in or out of a rock in a lot of hard other places stuffed up in there so it gets flat different.   Don't ask the haters.  Direct your questions at the sky. Empty them from your mind. The answer always arrives within the dawning by the following morning.


+  +  + 


Wrestle with your desire to write the best story. Let your desire win.  The first version, re-read it in disgust and shred it. Start over in desperation writing anything that comes to mind, later read that and realize half of it works. Honestly it has to do with the oldest rule in the book, show don't tell.  That's what good fiction comes down to.  The best prose describes something in such detail it's rendered in the reader's mind's eye in resplendence. Simply the act of reading itself becomes the sought after experience.  That's my goal as a writer that I'm focused on. Describing something so fascinating it holds the reader's attention right through the story, as if having experienced a fully realized dream or something. I can't quite put my finger on it, but it has to do with showing and not telling.  As soon as you go into telling mode, you are no longer in the realm of novel. I think the best novel will describe what's going on in the scene with sufficient brush strokes to highlight the sensations in the reader's mind of almost being transported to another time and place.  We should admit to ourselves what a powerful time machine such a story would spell out for those with ears to listen.  As for time itself, this is the essential quality of life, for me.  Time being of the essence.  Time is the medium we slipped into. When our galaxy is viewed in terms of time alone, one views it as it really is. This starry spectacle we've photographed and captured in pixels isn't it.

  

SAVED AS WE GO

by   shaun lawton 

                                                  photo    by shasta lawton

We're all works in progress, no one disputes that.
What few seem to understand, we're saved as we go.
Like documents in a computer program just in case
the whole thing crashes down around us, it's alright.
We are the back-up copies, ourselves, it's just that
a long time ago one of our ancestors made a choice.
They chose to break away and declare themselves
as being unique and in their own right a new breed.
This meant the backup system was working well.
For you see, what's copied is only the originality.