prompt succor
The prompt was: "Radiant screed. After the gold rush." Riddled Twice
Radiant,
she bled
into the morning's blood
orange, carnage best
weathered
from above,
Viekko's dreams still
within her breast.
Time riddled
twice
its awful harangue,
a screed signaled
in the green
flash of day's
end. Withered:
the acres of gold,
the seeming youth,
the dreaming
of the inarticulate
west.
Labels: witherings
posted by murat11 at 9:03 AM
21 Comments:
I love the picture that matches your word pictures. "Radiant, she bled into the morning's blood orange..." while I'm out here "dreaming in the inarticulate west." (with the philosophical surfer bassists :P)
Teresa: I dug the color of the picture, too. An old favorite novelist - John Hawkes - from the 70s had a novel entitled The Blood Oranges. The fruit and the title and the book have stayed with me through the years.
I don't know how inarticulate things are out your way: I was definitely thinking the lunar landscape of west Texas: Cormac McCarthy.
I like this new school of philosophy you're devising. Otto Rank and Brian Wilson?
"Withered the acres of gold". Loved this, I can see a rolling sea of autumnal prairie, pock marked with herds of bison.
Nice prompt, btw. I needed a clearer head sort that one out.
your words:
Radiant,
she bled
into the morning's blood
orange
for me are rich and draw me in...
Miguel: Rolling sea indeed, in this leftover ocean of West Texas and beyond. Cormac McCarthy's Blood Meridian (or The Evening Redness in the West) was in the bloodstream as this was rolling out...
Miz Lee: I'd love to see a blood orange sky captured by your eye.
Definitely Brian Wilson. He's among the founders of the school. And at times very inarticulate--bababababara ann. bleeding orange juice so bad he stuttered her name. but made mucho dinero from his ramblings, nevertheless.
will the waves he once rode soon evaporate under the orange red sun until the LA basin looks like west Texas? Then where will all the surfer bassists go? They say we will have a water shortage this year...
Your blog is quite fun!!
Ah, Ms T, that bleeding orange juice was pure carnelian (have one in my wedding ring). Back when just about any idea could find purchase in my "brain," I read that with the coming "world changes," the west coast would be Idaho. Your bass contingent can just surf right on up. I knows for a fact (personal experience; 6 month Moscow "sabbatical"), they've got Mardi Gras and the Lionel Hampton Jazz Festival. Bassilosophy among the Idaho Vandals: yeah, I'm feelin' it.
I spent a summer in Moscow, Idaho, when my dad did a teaching stint there. I did not see any Mardi Gras or Jazz Festival, just heat. Very boring for a 10 year old.
Teresa: Y'all came too late. They do these two festivities in the dead of winter. Unlike the southern version, their MG involves the colors black and white - and cows.
Perhaps the most glorious spring I ever spent was in the Palouse Empire. Shortly after folks took down their Christmas trees in April.
I take it that's a big N-O on bassilosophy in the Palouse.
Sublime, paschal. This just might be perfect.
Not necessarily, just getting my facts straight and making sure you hadn't gotten too much red orange west Texas sun. I can see surfer bassists at a black and white mardi gras, but not riding cows. I can also see them at a Palouse Jazz festival and then hopping over to wake board at Lake Pend Oreille.
Perhaps I should mention. Here is my entry!
http://whenthemusicsover-michaelo.blogspot.com/2009/06/iron-horse.html
Michael: I'll be right over...
Anno: Thank you. I liked the feel of this one a lot. Maybe it's the orange font.
Teresa: Oh, there's no question that I've gotten too much red orange west Texas sun.
I like where you're going with the bassists: hope they do, too. The world can do with a good half dozen more surfer bassists. At least.
what is this prompt?? is this new? I am stamping my virtual foot LOL
This is, by the way, glorious!
Ms Dee: The prompt was mine. Back story: Over at MichaelO's, I was bitching about how the one minute prompts were slaying me over at One Word. "Sandal" pushed me over the edge. The inimitable Miss Alister (The Duchess of Muchness), knowing my arrogant penchant for bitching about the Sunday Scribbling prompts, pipes up with, "He's always bitching about the prompts. Tell him to come up with his own." Across the proscenium of my fevered brain, these words appeared (not in Italian): Radiant screed. After the gold rush. Duchess sniffed; she was not impressed. I think there was drinking going on, but how this was done via the internet, I've no clue. Miguelito was less dismissive, and came up with his own beauty over in his backyard.
You are welcome to jump on the bandwagon. There's plenty of room...don't fear the Duchess: she likes you, trusts your Austin a lot more than mine.
well I have to admit - toys gave me pause... I jumped. Remodelling Psycho Style
I'm partial to "time['s]...awful harangue." The sound of it, not the truth of it.
San, I'm with you. I just writes 'em: I don't necessarily want to be livin' in 'em.
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