The following is a bunch of unfiltered, multi-threaded nonsense. It is also shifting beneath its readers’ reading and responses.
I’m trying a thing.
It goes like this:
I start some Things, out in the drafty open air,
with warts and bumps and typos all, and unafeared of who might see any which or all of them.
In great and tiny increments, it inching ever onward,
A simple study and practice in bloom.
Open-air drafting! Sharing of personal process! Vulnerability! Risk! Experimentation! Courage of sorts?! And all the varied and interesting Etceteras…
The Wimsel Loop
Miscellaneous & Unfinished Some
Nonsense Edition, Vol 1
All of the above and below, like all of these other Below & Aboves, are each and all open source
Then she read these words:
In the Secret and Quiet of the Night,
We-each held us-both close,
Secure and Tight.
In our Under-we-theres,
Our never-wearied comforts,
Entwined and Enclosed.
…and so Meave’s Mother Ani’s old and over-metered poem went, and also then immediately The Ended.
What had Mother Ani meant when she wrote this poem? Why was it left unfinished? Was it even unfinished? Maeve had never understood the rules of fiction (and all poetry in her estimation was fiction, given that real things did not happen in rhyme, except by accident).
Maeve had found this, and several other of her mother’s poems, among the boxes in Aunt Bee’s rambling old attic. The place was piled high with things – generations of personal sediments left by children from the past – her past. Her Mom. Her Uncle. Her Aunt whom she had never met, but had often hated.
Three living children whose ghosts nonetheless dwelled heavily within and about the Old Grey Lady – the house her Grand Aunt Bee had built with her own two hands, and the weathered old hands of another, who commonly went unnamed, or misnamed.
Uncle Normand’s stuff consisted of games, comics, and toys he would never part with, but could never take with him either, from one cheap apartment to another. His things were too valuable to him to risk removing them from the house where they had helped him grow up (or, as Maeve liked to call it, “sideways”).
Mother Ani’s items were all of them about the written word – purchased, purloined, or produced. Boxes of papers of thoughts, feelings, and things to consider.
Aunty Emi had left no things behind. None except one empty metal box, unpainted, awaiting perhaps its things to return. What things had Maeve’s only aunt taken from it when she finally and fully moved from the house, at an age roughly close to what Meavis was now? Maevis was almost seventeen. She was searching her past so she could understand what her future held.
Was it clinical depression? ADHD? Spectrum disorder? Historical trauma, or rage, or guilt? Where had her Aunty always gone, and why had her Mother always left to go and find her?
And where, if ever, had Normand fit into it all? He routinely disappeared into fantasies and opinions and lackluster complacency.
How could three whole kids not keep themselves collectively together? Maeve had been doing it on her own for her whole damn life.
— Random Passage —
Things had always… always just happened; all arround-and-about her.
About her, always.
She had had many a collateral friendship, by the time she was seventy one.
The 4/3rds Party of All of the Peoples had been a bad idea from the beginning.
Make certain to write: Mother Ani’s Unsent-and-sendable Letters to Author, Jeff Lynne
Guess Stats About Friends’ Opinions: some sort of game.
Data Collector: the Data Science Game for All Ages!!
- Pick a question
- Pick an audience
- Review and Choose tools
- Design your Collector
- Create your Collector
- Test your Collector
- Tweak your Collector
- Deploy your Collector
- Connect your Collector
- Observe your Collector
- Manage your Collector
Cartoons for Elder People Challenge
“Pleade Don’t Hand Grandma the Internet!” Was not a polite thing for young Maeve to have said.
The Super-400-Penny Arcade (ntm)!!
(He was into Open-Source, so what could she say?)
… and sundry and additional ideas, etc., Inc.
This has been
A blind and most hasty