ying_ko_4

Prompt: Write a brief bit of fiction involving running.
For OneMinuteWriter

The water was making gurgling sounds as it ran down the drain, but Beth didn't really notice. She was frozen, unfocused. She was watching him leave, his leather satchel slung over his shoulder, that lopsided smile on his lips. She was tasting the cinnamon of his gum as she kissed him farewell, pulled him back, kissed him again just before he faded down the terminal to his plane.

And then there was the sudden panic. A deep tightness in her chest, and at some point she was convinced that she could feel the door of the plane seal shut. She saw his plane burning, falling through the sky, sharp and vivid as a premonition.

She had wanted to chase through the terminal after him, slamming past security. To find him surprised at her appearance, startled, then understanding as he eased into her arms, so grateful that she had has the will to pull him back from the edge of this great abyss.

But she had quashed the idea, pushed it down. He would laugh at her, perhaps be angry. He always said that she fed too much into her fear. She let fear come alive and swallow her whole, he said, let it creep inside and rule her roost. Or something like that. So she had turned and walked slowly out of the terminal.

Right now he was over Nevada, or Utah, or one of those other dim interior states. Right now carried aloft with such a fragile mechanics, so heavy over the great expanse of air. Right now, already, he could be falling.

Coming home, Beth had meant to console herself with mundane tasks -- writing, laundry, sweeping, dishes. She got as far as turning on the water in the sink, then froze. The fear rose up again, and brought with it despair. She had to stand still, so still. If she moved they would see her, and then they would devour her, her and him both. She knew believing in the thing she feared would make it true. So she slowed her breathing, let her mind empty, and kept quiet and still.

The water was running down the drain, splattering the sides of the sink as it fell, and all she could do was be still. Be still and wait.

I just got the following email from my representative in Congress, Jay Inslee (Jay.Inslee@mail.house.gov). Frankly, I have no idea how this will play out. It sounds good, at least at first glance. But you never know. Anybody know more about this?

The email:

Inslee Update: Internet Radio Preservation

July 10, 2009

Dear --

This week, after a long fight, internet radio broadcasters are finally safe from being forced to pay the impossibly high royalty rates that had threatened to destroy this new and promising media platform. This dispute has affected hundreds of thousands of Washington State residents, and millions more across the country who listen to streaming audio broadcasts on internet sites like Pandora.com and home-grown Washington broadcasters Hollow Earth Radio.

In the last few years, 40 million Americans have come to depend on the growing number of internet radio broadcasts of music and independent news programming. But until this week, an unfortunate ruling by a government panel has threatened this potentially revolutionary technology. In 2007, the Copyright Royalty Board (CRB) raised proposed music royalty rates to an impossibly high level - even higher than the rates that artists and music labels had requested. The CRB arbitrarily set the cost to play songs and other copy-written content so high that even artists and copyright holders feared it would put this potential new revenue stream out of business! Under the ruling, some small webcaster estimated royalties could cost them the equivalent of 300 percent of their revenue.

For several years, I have worked to facilitate an agreement between webcasters, copyright holders, and the CRB. For many months, a coalition of webcasters has been in negotiations with SoundExchange, the clearinghouse that represents artists and labels to collect internet music royalties from webcasters. However, the problematic ruling by the CRB had to stand until an act of Congress could overturn it. That is why, in this Congress and in the last one, I introduced the Webcaster Settlement Act and got it passed into law. The bill gave broadcasters and copyright holders the key to their own destiny, effectively allowing an agreement they reach between themselves to override the two-year-old ruling of the CRB.

Now, the Webcasters Settlement Act is working as it was designed. On Tuesday, the first three webcasting companies announced they have struck a landmark deal with SoundExchange to share a maximum of 25 percent of their total revenue in the form of royalties to artists. The deal also gives favorable rates to small webcasters like Hollow Earth and Seattle's temporarily dormant Oseao.com. Webcasters and copyright holders needed the freedom to negotiate and craft a royalty rate structure that's fair for all impacted parties. I'm happy to see that these parties have taken that opportunity granted by the Webcaster Settlement Act and reached an agreement which will benefit both sides as well as the public, who can now expect reliable webcasts as an important alternative to traditional broadcast radio.

It is a great indication of the flexibility and strength of digital commerce that copyright holders and new media professionals have come together to their mutual benefit and the benefit of internet radio users. This cacophony of unique voices and sounds strengthens our culture and civil discourse, even as independently-run traditional media outlets are on the verge of becoming endangered species. I believe strongly that Congress has a role to protect and promote media diversity, including local radio broadcasting as well as web-based broadcasting.

A couple of early evenings ago I was out on my porch, six stories up, when a dragonfly came by! She (probably, though you never know) hovered by the blossoms on my tomato plants while I held my breath, not wanting to frighten her away. After maybe five minutes, she turned and went zooming on to the next porch, or wherever it was. She was so lovely, with a beautiful, slim sky-blue/cyan body trimmed in touches of gold.

This afternoon, I was down by the landscaping at the back of my building, looking at the hydrangeas, which are just gorgeous, when another cyan dragonfly came by, checking out the plants. That wasn't as much of a surprise as the one who visited my porch, becauise of the lake nearby. The lake is edged with plenty of dragonfly-friendly habitats, and it's possible both dragonflies came from there, and maybe returned there when the day was done.

They're like iridescent flying jewels in a host of colors, depending on the species.

“Power tends to corrupt, and absolute power corrupts absolutely.”

– John Emerich Edward Dalberg-Acton, Lord Acton, in a letter to Bishop Mandell Creighton,1887


“‘ –the resurrection and the life; he that believeth in me, though were dead, yet shall he live: and whosoever liveth and believeth in me shall never die. Amen.’” Quietly the priest closed his Bible. Looking up, he saw that the hands of the old-fashioned institutional clock that hung high on the cinder-block southern wall of the room stood at 25 minutes of 13 o’clock. From the grilled window beside it, nearly as high on the wall, putrescent, curdled early-afternoon light poured into the room, almost bile-colored from the pollutants that made the air over the San Francisco Bay megalopolis a deadly, toxic, mutagenic stew. He looked back at the young girl who trembled like a terrified rabbit in the restraints binding her tightly to the high-backed metal chair, cutting cruelly into her wrists and ankles. Pity clouded his eyes; he turned away, stifling a sob, and looked instead at the Governor, all too aware of the AK-47s carried by the guards in the corridor. He could do nothing whatsoever to help the girl. anything he tried would be utterly wasted effort, simple suicide without even the saving grace of the sacrifice of self for the good of another. “Governor Montrose, please, please – in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ, and the pity of his Holy Mother, can’t you –?”
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She had never liked traveling by railroad, anyway; this journey was a nightmare, and to compound her misery, it went via the slowest, most run-down of rail “services” imaginable. As one of her traveling companions – however accidental that companionship may have been – had joked earlier, “It’s a proper road to Hell, it is – but where are all the good intentions it was supposed to be paved with? I can’t believe it ever had any good intentions!”

Ha. And ha. Very funny, Kate. Wish I had your sense of humor . . . can’t see anything funny in it at all, myself, though.
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(Previously published in Palace Corbie # 5 (vol 3, no 1, 1994); published by Merrimack Books)

Every night, behind my sickly, tireless eyes I see again
Some poor devil crawling over slimy, blood-soaked dirt,
Drooling out his lungs from his nose and shattered mouth
In gurgling whimpers of stringy yellow snot --
Take your bellowing, smugly pious, patriotic preachers home, Jack;
They aren’t welcome here.
Sherman was right: war is Hell;
It’s cruel enough to drag us off to slaughter
And be slaughtered for you aristocratic monsters.
Don’t expect us, as well, to believe your fucking lies
About Honor, Duty, Country, Faith and Glory.
I’ve seen too many faces reconstructed
In green and waxy, reeking, maggoty pus --
Too much of entrails dragging ink-blue on the ground,
Tripping up their crawling owners --
And black-marketeers growing fat and smiling
Over the mewling agony that once was living men --
Laughing, laughing at our folly
Of obeying princes who never gave a damn
About the evil cost in lives and pain and flesh
Of the wars that clothe them in their silks and lace
And fill their fucking coffers with fucking bloody gold.

Update, and good news!

Kevin called. Here is what happened, according to a Hospital That Doesn't Suck.

When his step-dad got bitten, the venom went through his body. It attacked his red blood cells, and killed off almost all of them. When most of your blood is dead, the body processes the waste by sending it all through the kidneys. Well, when the kidneys found out they had to process an entire body's-worth of blood, they were like DUDE WTF! They were working overtime with no extra pay, processing a load that probably should have been done by many more than two kidneys with no outsourcing options available. The work-load started backing up. This was the source of the jaundiced skin (they told me he was as yellow as a fire-hose).

The white blood cells, having marched out at first mention of an invader, had done their best but were unable to meet the foe adequately. Desperately calling in for back-up, the usually 11,000 strong force was buffed up to 58,000. This had caused the extremely high fever.

Kevin's dad has been given a blood transfusion. He will be getting another tomorrow, and is now in stable condition, as opposed to critical.

I found a website that sells 18" unfinished display bats. (I paid through Paypal, as I'm not sure how reputable the site is.) I have three in the mail on their way to me, one of which will bear the following label:

"Spider Repellant
Directions for Use: 1. Weild bat, 2. Apply forcefully to spider, 3. Repeat as necessary"

And then I'll have two extras, for similar projects as requested. :D

In trying to explain the coolness of the EPCOT attraction Mission: SPACE, I came across some visual aids that I have to put here just to entice. There are some wonderful things to experience there but this was really one of our favorites. First, this is a static picture to help you more easily identify the setting.


Once you are seated and strapped in, the controls to the left tip towards you. It is no exaggeration to say that once the ride starts you are inches from those controls and other than the flashing/blinking, it's dark.

So, setting all that up for you, here is a video of the entire ride. Bear in mind, that the ride is built to give you motion to simulate exactly what you are seeing. When your rocket is ready to launch, you are on your back and when the motors fire 2.5 Gs slams you into your seat.

Woke up this morning and got dressed and went down to Viola's.
Went to the store and picked us up a couple of ham & cheese sandwiches from Nicosia's.
Watched Y&R and pondered when catwoman and Adam would finally be busted. It's getting close now.
Went to drop off some smokes and money for Tina (For Viola).
Went to project paul and picked up some free food.
Put the food away and jumped online and answered an email to nick.
Chatted breifly with my aunt Lia this morning who wanted to go to the beach.

Now I'm bored. It's hot outside. I just called nancy and she said she's hangin out outside, so I guess I'll go do the same.

http://mattstratton.com/2009/07/10/curiousillusion/

http://mattstratton.com/?p=5446

For those of you not familiar…Fussy Follow Friday is based upon the concept that instead of a glut of Twitter follow recommendations, I will make one, and ONLY ONE, follow recommendation per Friday. For more information, the Library of Congress recommends this blog post.

This week, we’re going to rock out on Fussy Follow Friday with the co-founder of #3F…@curiousillusion!

A fellow Flickr addict, photog, and blogger, Ari is one of my favorite people in the Twitterverse. Her tweets are personal but engaging. Despite the fact that we differ on the meaning of the term “rawr” (she interprets it as a growl of anger, while I see it as a sexy, cat-sound of appreciation), we still manage to be friends.

Ari is the one who inspired me to fire up Project 365 (okay, well, so did Jason, but he’s not on Twitter so he doesn’t count for this post). Her own P-365 is amazing – she performs some truly incredible photography with limited gear. We’re all waiting impatiently for the day that she finally gets her dSLR and blows all of us out of the water.

So why should you follow @curiousillusion? One simple reason – she’s quite frankly, one of the more awesome people on Twitter. She will make your Twitter experience amusing, personal, and make you smile. Except when she uses the word “rawr” incorrectly. But maybe that’s just me. Also, she’s really trying to get to 500 followers today…good, quality followers, that is. And if you read my blog, you’ve GOT to be quality. Follow @curiousillusion – and tell her @mattstratton sent ya!

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 "It's not possible to advise a young writer because every young writer is so different. You might say, 'Read,' but a writer can read too much and be paralyzed. Or, 'Don't read, don't think, just write,' and the result could be a mountain of drivel. If you're going to be a writer you'll probably take a lot of wrong turns and then one day just end up writing something you have to write, then getting it better and better just because you want it to be better, and even when you get old and think 'There must be something else people do,' you won't quite be able to quit."

-Ann Monroe (winner of the Man Booker International Prize)

"Creative people create.  You write!"
 
-Arthur Fowler (My father - in response to me sorting through what  I might choose to do with my life after he passed.)

"I wake up each morning, reach to God, and then sit down to write. I would not know how else to begin my day.  I breathe. I write. It means the same thing to me."

-Beth NoLastName

It has been my experience that expenditures made by other family members are almost painless to cut. I always like to start the reduction process there. This is very similar to congress retaining their health care plans while crafting a new one for us. When goring oxen one should always look to distant fields.

Come to me at evendark,
Wrapped in flame and night;
Cover me in your cloak of fire
And set my soul alight
With blazing rage of culmination,
In revenge and hope and sorrow,
Then stand with me, by my side,
In the dawn of an alien tomorrow.

Life is cradled in a chalice
Of bone and blood and dream;
Death is Hades’ draining pull
At its fiery wine.
Come to me in Samhein dusk
With thy Staff incarnadine;
Then ride with me in midnight joy
Down Tartaros’ sorrowing stream
That dreams in ash and myrrh and musk
Through hells of Neptune and Mars,
Across the blazing desert of Time
And out to an Ocean of Stars.

Drift with me on the Sea of Night
To the crêpe-hung halls of Persephone;
On a bed of skulls and a cushion of wraiths,
Two screams embracing in Fire and Death,
Silver crushed by iron and gold,
Lace draggled through wet clay,
Moonlight shattered by trumpets and bombs,
Perfume over a ghoul’s breath.

Old man at evening,
Rocking slow, crowned in red light;
Beneath him – bodies.

Once upon a time, there was a very neurotic young caterpillar named Alexander, called “Alec” by everyone who knew him. Immature and divorced from the realities of the world, he lived in a fantasy world much of the time. As the lovely, warm days of Summer went by, and June and July were succeeded by August and September, instead of going industriously to work and then relaxing at tennis or golf the way that all his well-adjusted friends and relatives did, Alec began to spend most of his time in bed, dreaming his life away. After a couple of months of this, more and more often he was heard to declare he wished that he had never left the womb.
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Meat. I can supplement with cheese as well as bean-&-rice dishes.