by compound complex 730 Replies latest social entertainment
Thanks, Ziddina ...
There's an older version that I viewed. I will look it up.
It intrigues me how a snippet of this or that - from the media, Nature, a conversation, a sight, et cetera - can develop into a short-short or short story or screen play or [are you ready for this?] a NOVEL!
I appreciate your participating in the writer's descent into madness, because mad is precisely what he is ...
CoCo
Madness can be fun... 
Zid 
I have returned to the walls that close in about me, those of my tiny but cozy studio.
It is warm, furnace warm. I do miss the open fire of the rough-hewn fireplace in my childhood home. Inefficient, to be sure, roasting to a near crisp our fronts as our rears froze. Still, it was beautiful and enchanting, those flames dancing upon the grate, their stage, and throwing their blazing kisses out to an adoring, albeit half-baked audience, front row, Living Room, USA.
Piping hot coffee comforts me now. It takes the sting out of the chill too long seeping into my bones. The shiver from snow and fog invigorates, awakens the bearer of vaporous or frozen moisture to a keener sense of awareness. A keener perception of reality.
One could wish as much.
Again, I feel like an intruder on your threads, CC.
But I do so thoroughly enjoy reading your writing!
Thanks, again!
Goodness NO, dearest ! Your reading and responding mean so much to me!
What I write is actually my life: past, PRESENT, future?!?!? I was out in the fog and snow, and I am drinking coffee now, but it's lost its piping hotness ...
Love,
CoCo
It's -41 here today and supposed to be -48 tomorrow.
I am drawn to your descriptions of the snow. Yes, It's horribly cold here, but It has an incredible beauty, too. I'm not a person who likes the cold, and I have to find beauty in it for now. Your story makes me imagine what's going on behind the cold......if that makes sense.
Those temps are in celcius, not fahrenheit, sorry.
I don't know why, but this all reminds me of a true newstory from about 5 (?) years back.
A father went out in a snowstorm in northern Canada with his 2 year old daughter and got lost. They were headed to his mother's house only about a half block away. The father was found in time, but the child was lost to the weather. It took awhile to find her, as the father had no idea where he had wandered....
I'm rambling now. This will all come together later in my brain, but your story brings back those feelings I had from that newsstory.
I don't know. It's not particularly sad, but the power of the weather is awesome, fear-inspiring. I don't think that's the point of this narrative, but it just reminded me of this.
Dear :
Thanks for that intriguing account.
One thought or a series of words so often lead to a memory of times long past. You're not rambling. If you see the thread on The Scariest Snow I've Ever Seen Through the Eyes of Another, I believe you'll find how it ties in with your comments. It does to me - what a coincidence! [?].
I posted that the 1966 film version of Conrad Aiken's short story was filmed in Nyack, NY, where I attended a few meetings. It may have been winter while I was there. I traveled and gave hour talks on Sundays, when they were HOUR talks.
You posts have been very enjoyable reading.
Thanks again!
CoCo
Yes, I'm going back and forth between the two threads and they are melding for me, in my brain.
My dreams are always very vivid and I expect to have interesting ones tonight, thanks to these two threads!! I'm looking forward to it, I love my dreams!
Sweet dreams to us all,
As I drift from a state of hazy perception to one of daylight consciousness - perhaps vice versa; I can make no sense of the last several days - I endeavor to piece together my recollections of childhood with my hallucinations (but they seem so real) and those mental distortions with what I know absolutely to be my day-to-day existence.
Yes, I spent most of my childhood at 248 Hernandez Terrace, and Billy Tobias was my best friend in the world. We played kick-the-can and dodge ball on the street from spring through late fall, my erratic health permitting. As a young man I was intent on saving the world, and someone found me, recruited me and assured me that there was only one way to save humanity - the Boss's Way. I believed and, with missionary zeal, sought out willing souls. Some were not so willing. As I think back on my good intentions and the manner in which I persuaded those heathen islanders to accept unreservedly the One True Way, I wonder in these, my autumn years of careful reflection, if those sweet, open-hearted souls would have been better off left in the unadulterated soil of their simple paganism.
Today I occupy a studio in a mountain community called Miners' Point, not far from what is probably the most famous lake in the US of A. Many of my mother's books and possessions are here, in my sight. Not in a giant box. And that manila envelope ... I can't wrap my head around that one ... I don't want to try. Change of subject coming up NOW!
Everyone's life is a jigsaw puzzle. Some puzzles are composed of few and large, easily assembled pieces. No mystery, no hours passed in fervid pursuit of making it all fit. At a glance you size up the pieces, mentally arrange them and, finally, with what would appear to onlookers as well practiced ease, interlock each piece. On the other hand, some individuals become their complex manner of life, totally identifiable with the external trappings of what it is they do, they think, they influence. They and their life are a puzzle of a thousand pieces of inscrutable design that resist proper assemblage by finite humans.
Where, exactly, do my pieces fit in?
