Tag Archives: #fowc

I was once wild…

I was once wild…

I was once wild…

Roaming across
vast open plains.
At times hungry, waiting
for my harem’s return.

Sunbaked beneath
Endless captive skies,
I ruled my domain
with absolute authority.

My young apprentice
watching me through light,
distorted in the heat
rising from her scorched skin.

Motionless amongst
the tall grasses
bend to her will in the
slight Saharan breeze.

Not hidden…
For I am aware
of his full intention,
transfer through succession

The next generation,
patient, in youthful impatience,
waiting for the sun to
rise on a new King.

To you, that cages my freedom,
we are not different!
Protecting one’s pride to
precariously hold onto power.

Our moment is fleeting,
the sun rising and setting
on a conclusion as inevitable
as the rhythms of home.

Kingdoms rise and fall, but
Mother’s hands remain steady,
continually reshaping, and
redefining balance.

It is a fool’s errand
to push against her nature,
for her ever-shifting moods
recognize it’s part of nature too.

Once, we were all wild…

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Body Swap

Body Swap

Sawyer awoke in a room strewn with naked bodies. Head pounding from sex and hard drugs. There was a snafu, this meat sack was breaking down. The last two, both the hard option, were overdose emergencies and barely viable.

The next would be soft and healthy, possibly untouched with perfect skin and long flowing hair. Sawyer watched as any trace was erased from the shell and blushed thinking of the pleasure it would bring. An empty vessel waiting for download to commence.

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Flaw In the Equation

Flaw In the Equation

Humanity had landed men on the moon and sent spacecraft on missions through the solar system but deep space remained elusive, an expanse too vast for life to traverse. In spite of every effort, no viable options had emerged allowing interstellar travel. Naturally, the human ego determined the physics of space travel impossible. Never stopping to think that maybe humans were the flaw in the equation, not mentally complex enough to comprehend the science required to open a door to the stars.

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The Point of No Return

The Point of No Return

Jimmy stood six foot two and was handsome with long flowing sandy brown hair. He was already the star quarterback of the Greenville High football team in his junior year. The kind of kid the boys envy and the girls swoon over. Driving an old Ford that he and his father had nursed back to life. Jimmy pulled up to the curb just as I was stepping out the front door.

Me, I’m Bobbi-Jo and I was a sophomore cheerleader with above-average academic ability. My sister insists I was already the frontrunner for Homecoming Queen come senior year. I’d never make it there to find out.

First, we hit the local Sonic outlet for a romantic dashboard dinner. It was where all the boys with licenses took their girls. It may sound all Jack and Diane but no one was suckin’ on no John Cougar chili dogs. After a bite, we headed to the Greenville 3 (because it had three screens) drive-in for the Friday night double feature. I don’t remember what movies were playing but I can still picture the spot where Jimmy parked that Mustang along the back row fence.

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The Scapegoat

The Scapegoat

It didn’t matter if this tinpot dictatorship trampled on the rights of its citizens or those sharing a border. He was the President’s guest, and as such smiled while flippant comments about war crimes and human rights violations flew around the table.

Back home, blame for the Ambassador’s cozy relationship fell squarely on the Prime Minister. Like a good civil servant, he tendered his resignation to conceal the government’s secret support for the regime.

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End of the Roll

Back in the day, Bushboy’s Last on the Card challenge may have been called Last on the Roll. Film cameras and the silver halide strips we put in them are pretty much relics from a bygone era. I have a huge collection of both negative and positive (aka slide) film packed away along with two Minolta and one Pentax cameras. The task of converting the volume of film into digital files will be monumental should I ever get around to it.

Today we take pictures from our phones, by the hundreds. All of today’s camera systems take images using a charge-coupled device (CCD). Believe it or not, this terrific device led to Eastman-Kodak’s Steve Sasson inventing the first digital camera in the early 1970s. The images were stored on magnetic cassette and would be available to view on any television screen. When he presented the technology to the company they were less than impressed. Sasson discussed management’s reaction to the invention in a New York Times interview years later:

“They were convinced that no one would ever want to look at their pictures on a television set. Print had been with us for over 100 years, no one was complaining about prints, they were very inexpensive, and so why would anyone want to look at their picture on a television set?”

Kodak was the dominant U.S. photography brand and they didn’t want to cannibalize their own film business. A shortsighted decision that prevented them from filing patents and when they did make the switch to digital eighteen years later it was too little, too late.

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Red Mist

Red Mist

Terryl felt ill, a gnawing in his stomach that had started in the hours following his return from Orion Prime’s surface.

The mission was uneventful, a ride through the red tide mist to the Orion-Beta mine site where the landing party deployed new communications boosters and completed routine software updates on the mining bots.  

No one else from the team was reporting anomalies but several days later Terryl sat in sickbay awaiting his fourth assessment; his previous scans had come back normal, but he was certain something was eating away at his insides.

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Blood Sacrifice

Blood Sacrifice

Beaver Springs was vernacular in every sense. Every detail focused on making the homes of this community intuitively functional, yet unmemorable. An architectural achievement rarely seen in cookie-cutter neighbourhoods.

Despite its utilitarian appeal, there was something deeper, sinister at play. The residents congregated at nightfall, like lions, tense as they waited. Their prey, almost always a woman, plucked from the dirty forgotten streets across town.

When she was too weak to fight back, the sun fixing to rise in the east, they would share in a communion of blood sacrifice.

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Been a Long Time…

Been a Long Time…

A hypothetical conversation between old Rockers in rockers; a typical day at the Association of Retired Rock and Rollers (ARRR) Seniors’ Center.

“The business has changed so much” Plant lamented. “Back in the day, we needed to record start to finish.”

“Could you imagine all the spliced tape if we recorded like they do today?” Jimmy shot back laughing.

“I know, we laid down tracks and layered them on top of each other. The new artist builds loops and mixes it all together in segments on a computer.” John Paul continued, “Shit for some tracks I could pound out six notes on my bass and be done. Let the mixer do the rest.”

“The nuance of a song is lost because every drum beat, every riff, every hook, and every chorus is recorded once and used again and again, reuseable and replaceable across multiple tracks on the same record. Identical in every way. The human element is lost.” Page postulated. “Not to mention the shit that stolen, I mean sampled from other people’s works.”

“What’s worse, auto-tune makes any pretty-faced Frankenstein sound like Fitzgerald. Imagine how pitch-perfect I could have sounded on Stairway. 🎶And she’s buying a…” Plant finished by singing the final line badly out of tune.

“You know what I miss the most, besides John smashing away on drums, jamming together in the studio. Now we can record the parts in our basement studios and email it in. I guess there is one positive though, I never have to see any of your ugly faces!”

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