Today’s prompt is “mask.” Masks are not only fun for Halloween, I think they are a great symbol for this week’s contradictory abstraction: finding the fiction in truth and the truth in fiction. Humans use masks to both hide the truth and create a truth they want others to believe.
magnified imperfections amplified by rejection scaled to infinite knives, carving slicing, and dicing character and courage honest appearance for accepted alterations normalized through farce glamorized falsification eclipses objective reality fantasy-focused manipulation altering perceptions of beauty-truth creating masks upon masks eviscerating will and sight past shape and skin
As we climbed up the jagged rocks to the side of the enormous steps, approaching the giant doors carved into the mountainside, Alex lost his footing and cut his knee. When we collapsed on the top slab, the blood from Alex’s wound began to pool. I pulled a belt from my pack and cinched it around his thigh, trying to slow the flow. The red puddle wasn’t growing, so my dread subsided. Then the ground beneath me rumbled. The blood sank into the slab, as the doors slid apart into the rock on each side. Rosen had already scrambled to the far corner and behind a stone. I pulled Alex under his shoulders and dragged him to the corner near Rosen. He yowled in pain, but it was a powerful, angry sound which gave me relief that he wasn’t as bad off as I had feared. Alex’s eyes went wide and his mouth dropped open. I followed his gaze and froze horrified as monstrous, gigantic humanoid fingers clawed through the crack in the door. As if we had been shrunk to the size of flies, I suddenly knew the fear of being swatted. I imagined my bones crunching, pinched between a thumb and a forefinger. I covered my mouth with both hands to stifle a scream. Alex’s head lolled on his chest in a faint. More and more unbelievably enormous hands and forearms reached through the opening as if trying to escape. I began to imagine that all of the hands belonged to one multi-armed god. And not the benevolent, forgiving kind. Rosen’s voice quivered behind me, “Are, are, you, see-ee-ing this? Tell me you’re not seeing this.”
Today’s prompt for some stream of consciousness writing is “happy place.”
My happy place is filled with stinky smoke. Frustrating sunny days full of sharp, acrid haze make me long for rain. This time of year, here, wishing for rain feels so wrong. My happy place all summer has been at an old picnic table on the porch, writing, pausing to stare out at the lake, hearing the splash of jumping fish, the scream of eagles, and brisk clicks of the kingfisher. Today it is in my room with the fan; even the living room smells of smoke. And yet, this is such a happy place, far from the fires threatening lives and homes. I sit comfortably in safety reading, writing, and watching Arachnophobia. So today, this is my happy place.
Today’s prompt is Spider. After capturing a macro image of one of the local spiders at work, I tried out some of my new filters with the light glinting off the webs.
Spooktacular Spider by Maria L. BergStrix in a Web by Maria L. Berg 2022
The sun through smoky haze drips red as blood in early defeat to the powers of darkness the sun through smoky haze drips red as blood
shadows of trees smooth and barkless branching fingers reaching toward the moon in early defeat to the powers of darkness
fears distort like faces in shiny spoons songs of loons to cries of demon flight branching fingers reaching toward the moon
to battle fright, flood this world with light fleeing shadows revert to rational mind songs of loons from cries of demon flight
in surrendering illusion truth will find real fears are warnings of survival’s pain fleeing shadows, revert to rational mind
and until the fires are quenched with cleansing rain The sun through smoky haze drips red as blood Real fears are warnings of survival’s pain The sun through smoky haze drips red as blood
Today’s inspiration is “Shaman Concept” by Fanny Poulain. This very creepy creature looks like Hellraiser II concept art by Guillermo del Toro.
When we went through the broken gate into the overgrown churchyard, I expected a stream of costumed people ahead of us, but we were alone. “Are we early?” I asked Dahlia, suddenly chilled. Dahlia hooked my elbow and tugged me forward. “We’re right on time.” On the steps, I heard fluttering above us, and saw large crows pecking at the bell in the bell tower. I dropped Dahlia’s arm, and hurried to the door. It didn’t matter if some people thought getting shit on by birds was good luck, I did not agree. Dahlia laughed behind me. The large arched doors were open, and the huge room glowed with more candles than I had ever seen. My eyes had to adjust, but I still didn’t see the other party-goers. “Dahlia, what’s going on? Where is everybody?” “They’re here, silly. They probably found the treats. Go on.”
When light slants through cracks and color hides Where the dark is dank and sparkle dies While spiders weave, cawing murders fly Who creeps in shadows with creaking reply? What snarls cold shivers to quivering spines? How spooky every corner of haunted mind
Today’s image is “Serpentarium” by Diana Dihaze. Here’s the start of my idea for “The Creeping Vines:”
It had been a while since I slept through the night, and when I did sleep long enough to dream, I had terrible nightmares. One of the many books I read for advice, recommended plants in my bedroom to oxygenate the air. It specified a type of ivy. I didn’t have money for plants, so I dug up some of the ivy growing wild on the bank between my house and the abandoned property nextdoor. The leaves had light-green veins leading to three dark points like talons. At first the vine didn’t take to the transplant. Though I watered carefully, and opened the blinds to let the sun in, it browned and wilted Then, after giving up and forgetting about it in a dark corner for about a week, I noticed it was growing up the wall, and behind the bookcase. After another week, it was crawling across the ceiling. I began sleeping through the night, but my dreams were even more disturbing than before. Colorful, vivid images of people I knew bursting open with ivy vines growing out of them, or ivy vines encircling and consuming them like boa constrictors.
It’s Open Link Night at dVerse Poets Pub, so I’m adding this poem to the line-up.
As Seen by Glowing Eyes
Prowling the shimmering line hunting truth in fiction flowing through time’s cyclical rhymes, he stalks the sweetest blades, scrapes and claws at prey unseen, suckles and shivers in rhythmic breaths of dreams
Glowing caught in a flash reflected exposes life in the void of night appearing still but verily amid slow-motion pounce, the unsuspecting skitter and scratch the starlight admiring the shimmer until too late
Today’s image is “Nightmare” by Nakanoart (Nana). I really like the creature in this image. Here’s an excerpt from “A World of Nightmares:”
“So Raya, headed to your usual tonight? It must be great having a consistent gig. Not having to do the daily research and worry about the smell and feel of new people and places each night. I gotta say, sounds like the life to me.” Golik’s tongue slithered to the viewing screen and flickered near the top right corner. “This looks like fun. Bunch of kids filling up on candy, oil and salt and watching adult horror movies. Nothing like an unsupervised slumber party.” Raya looked at the screen, the pre-teens in pajamas on couches and cushions, hands from bowls to mouths to bowls, shoveling popcorn, chips, and candy as if they were breath itself. The germs squirming around in those bowls were the real nightmares, and the future stomach aches and line for the bathroom were the real threats. She shivered. “Raya, you okay?”Half of Golik’s eyes turned to Raya with concern. “I guess you haven’t heard. Beth couldn’t stand the nightmares anymore. She’s been self-medicating, waking herself up every hours to interrupt REM sleep. I lost her, Golik. She would rather not sleep at all. She’d rather always be exhausted and be totally unhealthy than spend her nights with me anymore.” “Wow. That’s tough. What are you going to do?” Golik’s eyes returned to the screen. “Hey, this one looks promising.”
I didn’t see a prompt today, so I’ll write a ghosts poem.
That Shiver Out of Nowhere
Specters flow through time and space like chilled memories arriving uninvited These ghosts come and go growing from ethereal umbra to fully encompass and fill with fear Spirits haunt the shattered, creeping along flesh and spine searching warmth Like moth to flame the spooks will come again wailing their sorrows through the midnight hours
Today’s image is “Scary Forest” by Victor Titov. It shows a very tall, stretched, tree-like young woman at a distance among the trees. From the Monstrum video, this could be a Baba Yaga on her long bone legs.
It was only supposed to be a day trip, a nice walk in the woods, but somehow I lost Trisha when I stopped to tie my boot laces. Now, I’m all turned around and it’s getting dark. I swear I’ve seen that stump before, with that thick white mushroom growing out of it like a wart. And there’s that rock with the jagged crack. I’m walking in circles. Trisha never responded to my calls. Now, my throat is scratchy. I plop down on the stump in frustration and feel the tears pushing behind my eyes. Just as I’m giving up, I see someone among the trees in the distance. A young woman, I think, but she must be standing on a branch because she’s impossibly tall. “Trish?” I yell, but it comes out as a shriek. I rub my throat to try to sooth it. The strange figure doesn’t move., but I feel her staring at me.
Diving into the question, What is Truth? for this week’s contradictory abstract nouns, I came across this interesting video on Truth vs. Reality with Donald Hoffman from Big Think.
Today’s prompt is Frog. I really like the filter I cut for last year, so I thought I would try some of my transparency filters to add some color and texture.
Rainbow Frog Emergence by Maria L. Berg 2022Pretty Poison by Maria L. Berg 2022
Today’s poetics prompt is fermentation. I really like this prompt. I’m thinking about creating poetry as fermentation: a process of undergoing an effervescent change, and a state of agitation or excitement.
Loves Lost Sonnet
lips touch like sugar feeding fruit to wine of frenzied sparks afire heart’s lost mind voluptuous new body two entwined embracing, giving fully one will find lays bare the nerves to raw emotion feel eternal bliss in every glance or touch to burst with fermentation’s zeal such effervescing could become too much how quickly burns a passion-fire to ash unusual behaviors soon subside responding to demands of hunger’s tasks tenderness forgotten with the tide indignant cracks will rend to gaping wounds not patched in time reality intrudes
Today’s image could also represent a Leshy, but the artist, SigneRJArts says it is a take on “The Beast” from Over the Garden Wall. Here’s the beginning of “Telling Tales:”
Randy clicked on his flashlight, and swept the trees around them, as if making sure they were alone. He stared into the fire, and cleared his throat. “Afoot in the unknown— “Afoot? Really? Where’d you get that?” Calvin said. “Do you want me to tell the story, or what?” “Yeah, whatever, I’m just sayin’ . . .” “Okay then. Afoot in the unknown, the beast haunts the deep woods in search of lost souls.” Randy lifted his flashlight under his chin, casting dark shadows under his nose and eyes. “Ooo,” he said, wiggling the fingers of his right hand toward the fire. “What beast? You can’t just say the beast. You have to describe it.” Calvin said. “Fine.” Randy said, throwing a pine cone in the fire which crackled and sparked. “A demonic beast that disguises itself as a tree, covered in bark, but if you look closely, you can see the faces of the souls it has collected in the texture of its bark.” “That’s better,” said Calvin. “So how’s it collect souls?” “Will you shut up with your commentary, and just listen?” said Randy. He took off his baseball cap and ran his hand through his long black bangs before replacing it. Calvin finished carving the end of a stick to a point with his Swiss Army knife, closed his knife and put it in his back pocket. He poked the stick in the coals. “The beast had eternal patience. It could stay hidden in its tree-like state for years, waiting for its prey to come near. It only awoke to gather a guilty soul, a soul guilty of betrayal.” Calvin’s head snapped up to look at Randy’s face. Randy didn’t look at him. He continued to stare into the fire.
This week I’m finishing out what I named “The Big 5” abstract nouns. This week is a study of Truth and it’s contradiction “Fiction.” Finding the truth in fiction and the fiction in truth this week should be inspiring. This week’s contradictory abstract nouns made me think of the great Will Ferrell movie, Stranger Than Fiction. I haven’t watched that in a long time. I think I’ll watch it to inspire my research.
Today’s word is “Night.” Is night only a question of sunlight and darkness, a passage of time to a certain hour? Or does night have its own quality? What is night? What is it other than dark? How do I capture the essence of night during the day? I like what I did last year with my stars. I especially like the sonic surrender cascade poem, but I want to find something completely different in the prompt this year.
For today’s image, I put semi-sheer black fabric over the lens. I used a seam-ripper to poke some holes in the fabric in shapes of constellations, but the shapes didn’t come out. However, the holes made the light separate producing a neat effect.
Exhaustion from a sleepless night taints every aspect of day the prism of easy, adaptable energy has grayed yet heavy lids bring rejuvenant naps of day-glo visions
Today’s image is “They Came at Night” by Eric Wemhoener aka Mortanius88 on Deviant Art. At first, I thought it was a monsters-in-the-closet image, but upon closer examination, I think these glowing toothy grins have slid back a wall and hold up a curtain, perhaps between realms. Here’s the beginning of “In His Bedroom Wall:”
It started with a scratching sound in his bedroom wall. Tanner didn’t think much of it. It had happened at the old house, too. It turned out a squirrel had found its way into the walls and couldn’t get out. He told his mom who called the exterminator, but he didn’t find any squirrels, or mice, or anything. He said Tanner was probably hearing a branch scratching the window pane. Mom trimmed the tree. Tanner only heard the sound at night. It was getting louder, and kept him awake. One night he heard a hissing, sliding sound. The next morning, there was a crack in the wall. Not really a crack, like the drywall was damaged, more like an opening, a straight separation from ceiling to floor. Each night, Tanner heard the hissing and sliding, and every morning, the opening in the was looked a little wider. When Tanner put his ear to the gap he heard growls and whispers like many voices gathering in excitement. He started getting headaches and his stomach hurt.
Finding the Wisdom in Naivete and Naivete in Wisdom by Maria L. Berg 2022
This week, being the first week of all the fun challenges of Writober, I didn’t write much about this week’s study of contradictory abstract nouns. This week I was looking at the naivete in wisdom and the wisdom of naivete. Yesterday, I came across a Proverb (in my daily gratitude journal: Proverbs journal from Ellie Claire) that took my thoughts in a new direction.
Know also that wisdom is like honey for you: If you find it, there is a future hope for you, and your hope will not be cut off.
Proverbs 24:14
Not only did this interesting Proverb connect wisdom to honey, it also connects wisdom to hope which is where this whole contradictory abstract nouns study evolved (Find the despair in hope and the hope in despair). In the context of finding the naivete in wisdom and the wisdom of naivete, honey got me thinking about Winnie the Pooh, and the book The Tao of Pooh by Benjamin Hoff. I hadn’t looked at my copy in a while, so I pulled the cute book off the shelf and began to read. I quickly found some interesting quotes I enjoyed:
“earth was in essence a reflection of heaven”
“The more forcing the more trouble.”
“Whether heavy or light, wet or dry, fast or slow, everything had its own nature already within it.”
But those quotes have to do with Lao-tse, not a bear with a head full of stuffing, and honey.
Benjamin Hoff goes on to compare Pooh to P’u, the Uncarved Block in his original simplicity, unspoiled or changed: natural, simple, plain, honest. These are all the positive qualities of naivete as I understand it.
In discussion, my cousin also brought up Forrest Gump as an example of naive wisdom. The table was split two to two if that type of simple-minded action that leads to “success” is wisdom.
So if Winnie the Pooh is naive wisdom, is the bee making the honey wise naivete? I found a couple of fun articles about the wisdom of bees:
The point of these studies is not only because I find it a fun mental exercise, but also to come up with an image that joins both conflicting abstract nouns. For the naivete in wisdom and the wisdom in naivete, I think the honeycomb is an excellent symbol.
Today’s prompt is Owl. It’s interesting that in The Tao of Pooh, Owl is seen as the opposite of wise. Lao-Tse wrote, “The wise are not learned; the learned are not wise.” And Owl is the scholar in Pooh’s stories. However, he’s also not scary or Halloweeny, so I’ll move on.
Strix Searching for Unattended Babes by Maria L. Berg 2022
While reading an article about how owls can teach us about silent flight, I came across a reference to strix—man-eating owls that were described in a poem called “Fasti: the Roman Book of Days” by Ovid. Book VI: June 1: Kalends begins “Carna, the first day’s yours. Goddess of the hinge: She opens the closed, by her power, closes the open.” That sounds like a goddess of wisdom to me, but the goddess of wisdom (and war, handicraft, and practical reason) is Minerva. Carna was a nymph. Further along in the story it says she was given a white thorn to drive away evil from the threshold. This evil is then described as greedy birds, with large heads, eyes that stick out, gray feathers, hooked claws, and beaks fit for tearing. These “Strix” attack children with absent nurses, and drink blood. I like this line of the poem:
“Whether they’re born as birds, or whether they’re made so By spells, old women transformed to birds by Marsian magic, They still entered Proca’s bedroom.”
Ovid
Creating Mythical Wisdom by Maria L. Berg 2022
This gets me thinking that owls are considered wise because they are actually wise old women magically turned into birds. Owls are also associated with Minerva (Athena in Greek myth), the goddess of wisdom. In Ovid’s Metamorphoses, Minerva appears to Arachne:
“To warn the girl against such insolence, Minerva took the form of an old woman” the goddess put false gray hair on her temples; to prop her tottering limbs, she gripped a staff and, in that guise, approached the girl and said: ‘Not all that old age offers is mere chaff: for one, the years bestow experience. . .’ “
The filter I cut for the owl prompt last year was too cartoonish to be at all scary, so I’ll try to make a strix filter this year.
Today’s prompt is Magic in the Now. It’s fun that the link in the prompt leads to a post about incorporating myth into your poem since all of today’s prompts have me talking about myths.
The Poetic Bloomings prompt today is about prepositions. Actually, it’s about the ups and downs of life, but then says, “Or an in and out poem if you so choose” which got me thinking about a conversation I had with my mother yesterday about how to diagram prepositions in a sentence. If anyone is interested, here’s the answer: Diagramming the Prepositional Phrase. I was never much of a sentence diagrammer, but it’s an interesting way to get to the heart of a sentence, the subject noun and its action verb.
So looking at both prompts, and the conclusion of my study of the naivete in wisdom and the wisdom of naivete, I have mindfulness of the ups and downs and ins and outs of the now. Let’s see:
Wise Interiors
Another faux-summer sunny day, full of smoke I want to write outside, but can’t stand the smell not of burning wood: acrid, electric, distance-collected Tempted by the glistening water, I lock the glass door Yearning for what could be the last swim, before the refreshing water is too cold for my skin, and receded further than I can dive in—timing and body deny me the pleasure
In this room now, I am fan-cooled, comfortable-couched: content But the water’s out there, in the smoke-air the light is out there, glistening smoke-colors possibility is out there smothered and yet I can head up or down, to find an In to wisdom—of body and mind, and spirit, and herb, and bee and use light to figure it all out
Today’s inspiration is a digital painting by Austrian artist Stefan Koidl. From my new found knowledge from watching Monstrum, I believe the creature in our image is a Leshy. Here’s the beginning of “Levi and the Leshy:”
During an oddly-warm late fall, when the dry leaves falling on the concrete were loud and surprising, my cat—who wasn’t really my cat, but spent all his time on my porch, or following me around—changed his routine, and started heading into the woods instead of a little cuddle in the morning.
I don’t know if I was jealous or curious, but I needed to know what he was doing. It became my imperative after I found a strangely artistic, unnatural sculpture of mud, twigs, feathers, and bones on the mat where he normally left me a bird or parts of a squirrel.
Today’s prompt for some stream of consciousness writing is “back of the fridge.” At first I thought of the space behind the fridge: dark, collecting dust and cobwebs that are impossible to get to. I wasn’t going to have a lot to say about that back of the fridge. But then I thought of the decomposed cucumber turned to liquid in a baggie at the back of the inside of the fridge, and the prompt made more sense. It inspired me to pull out some old an drying condiments to see if they looked like blood. That reminded me of the time I was working on a local movie as an assistant designer. One morning, I was part of a conversation about how to make a dried blood stain out of the condiments we had available at the cafe where we were drinking coffee. Everyone had ideas about how to make the right color, viscosity and texture. There was ketchup, hot sauce, honey and I offered the idea of coffee grounds to darken the color, but also for the crusty texture when blood dries. Amazing what comes up when an independent film crew forgot they needed fake blood for a scene.
Today’s prompt is Blood. Last year I used color filters and camera effects to turn the lake to blood, and create a river of blood. This year inspired by the Stream of Consciousness Saturday prompt, “back of the fridge,” I made inkblots with ketchup and Tabasco (salsa did not work).
Blood Inkblot Two by Maria L. Berg
So what do you think? Could those inkblots have been painted in blood? I also made a plastic filter inkblot using ketchup. It actually worked. And unlike the other inkblots so far, the shape appeared in the orange light.
wilderness of strange fears secretive wood between blur and wise wander free—but the frightening must appear suddenly chasing the known from sight
majestic forest wild, ancient and dark, I roam your giant infamous escape encounter evidence of legend in silent watch understand story in every track I make
Today’s creepy image is by Michael Glooh. A young woman, holding an open umbrella inside as if she has dashed in out of the rain, crouches against a wall. She appears unaware that menacing hands reach down out of her umbrella. Here’s an excerpt from “Those Horrible Hands:”
Ever since that horrible night, which she can’t really remember, it’s been raining. She’s been seeing strange things just out of view in her peripheral vision, that spot in the corner of her eye where images disappear when she turns her head. It makes her think that something is about to clasp her shoulder, or jump out of the shadows. It’s as if menacing, demonic hands are trying to grab her from every direction and take her to a dark and evil place. The rain doesn’t help, collecting in pools, making every surface reflective. The reaching hands haunt her dreams, so she can’t sleep. It could be her own tired, anxious face that haunts her everywhere she goes. And she feels vulnerable, her hands unable to push or punch while clutching an umbrella. Her hands shake, and she jumps at every noise. But she refuses to give in to her terror. She grabs her umbrella and her galoshes and braves the night.
Today’s word is “Fog” which immediately made me think of the movie “The Fog.” I first watched The Fog thinking it was the movie that inspired the Simpsons Treehouse of Horror V in which a fog made their bodies turn inside out, so I was surprised that the movie was about ghost pirates and not people turning inside out.
So last night I did a little searching and found a movie from 1979 called Screamers that advertised men turned inside out, but after reading about it, it turns out that like The Fog, it does not have people turning inside out. Finally I found the actual inspiration for the Simpsons sketch which was an episode of the Lights Out radio show called The Dark (1937).
The fog was so thick yesterday morning, I thought today’s images would be easy. But, no, of course there was no fog this morning, so I had to be creative. I came up with the idea to use hairspray on my plastic filters to create a misty fog. I made two filters: one I crumpled up before spraying and one I left flat and sprayed. The hairspray didn’t want to dry, so I tried my hairdryer. I thought it might melt the plastic in an interesting way, but the plastic wasn’t affected.
It turned out that the crumpled one made a fog effect in reality, and the plain one made a foggy effect in the mirrorworld.
Fogging Up a Sunny Morning by Maria L. Berg 2022Kitty in a Fog by Maria L. Berg 2022
Today’s prompt is finding the courage to persevere. The suggested forms are Villanelle or Cascade. I haven’t played with either in a while. I’m feeling a Cascade today.
Facing Day
This morning is a joy of possibilities scattered with barriers and disappointments, challenges with the potential to deter or discourage, but there’s light I want to capture, so I persevere.
As if gratitude asks for trouble, each tool soon breaks from obsolescence, but I release the need and adapt, knowing each morning is a joy of possibilities.
It’s not in my nature to see failure as opportunity to fail better—I try to fight the perfectionist, but she disapproves scattering conflicts, barriers and disappointments.
However, starting each day in creative action fills me with such complete satisfaction even slow progress armors me against challenges with the potential to deter or discourage.
I have to fight a dark fear of complete loss, of the coming change that will rearrange my view, values, and purpose, but there’s light I want to capture, so I persevere.
Today’s image is “Self Exposed” by Thomas Barbèy. Click on the link to go to his gallery. The site states that he is now retired and no longer selling prints. He created his surrealist images by combining negatives in the dark room. The image shows a woman’s face being draped aside to reveal a town on the other side of a bridge on which a couple is kissing. Here’s an excerpt from my story “Her Face a Veil:”
A black streak near her eye caught my attention. I reached out to brush it away; that is how comfortable I felt with her, as if we had known each other intimately, though we just met. She didn’t flinch from my touch, but moved into it, or should I say through it? Her skin was not solid, but fluid, like a high-thread-count cotton sheet. And the black spot that I thought to wipe away turned out to be a slight gap at the edge of the fabric. I wiped my hand across her face and it draped into soft waves and revealed a bridge leading to a city European design, that appeared trapped in time.
I yanked my hand back, and her face returned, appearing complete and alluring. She smiled coyly as if letting me glimpse the truth behind the facade was a normal form of flirting. The cafe blurred and whirled.
Experience Writing 