Luck has Uck in it, too

I'm busy with prying my ass from the muck of suckitude. I had been humming along for months but have recently fallen into the bog of eternal stench. As a perk, I tell myself I'll quit writing forever as soon as I get my degree. So, like, you know, nurturing the usual delusions.

In September, my friends

In September, my friends

drink deep the dregs of summer, the honey

light and backlit leaves.

Let your bones be wild

strawberries beneath the waning awning.

Let summer rise

away like dust around hooves

heading home.

Let your hands shed their tan

finger by finger

like velvet gloves after the masque.

Let these weeks like rivers

glide past as though buoyed by an inkling of oil.

Then, when frost creeps in on green grass

you may glimpse your beloved's hair

suddenly white.

In September, my friends by Monica Meneghetti is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.
Permissions beyond the scope of this license may be available at www.monicameneghetti.com.

Pink King

Imagine it's 1988. Michael Jackson is King of Pop. He's still black and no one's wondering if he's wacko. You're a writer in Disneyland, pregnant with her third child.  On your way out of seeing Captain Eo, you're handed a visor with flashing lights.

Flash forward to 2011. MJ is dead. You've published four books in five years. You're sitting by the banks of a mountain river with another writer, no books and no kids. You hand her the visor. Two severed wires, black and red, protrude like antennae from the flaccid elastic headband. Small yet significant feelers of support.

She takes the visor. Ignores it for weeks as she rides a creative roller-coaster and wants to get off, pukes over the rail.

Eventually, she remembers - the visor. Holds and examines the silver plastic. Is that the scent of make-up lingering on the cloth lining? Who is Captain Eo, anyway?

Googles. Okay. A male superhero played by a man who moves like a sentient ocean. Whose emblem is the inverted pink triangle...

And not for the first time she wonders about the King of Pop. What happened?

-35 Celsius at 51°10'N, 115°34'W

...and the pachyderm jumped over the natural upward projection of the earth's surface...

Sunlight emerging onto mountains outside my window. Conscious breathing. Hot cocoa from scratch. Mary Oliver's poetry. I'm re-creating my morning ritual, one dawn at a time. Sunrise dawdles in the winter at this latitude. 7:30 is early enough. I'm grateful.

snapshot challenged

Glee cozy of the week! Taken during a morning ski on the Bow River.

I'm snapshot challenged. I detest short-circuiting my lived moment to step away and deal with a machine. Also, my appearance displeases me in 99% of photos. But I do like wandering around with the express purpose of looking at the world. The digital camera I got for Christmas made me remember a fascination with textures and things that can look extraterrestrial when taken out of context.

Meanwhile...I'm developing a screenplay that involves human clones and emancipation.

gathers moss

Guess I should have kept the stones rolling...look what grew on my head during the break!

On to feature film now...Three ideas pitched and awaiting feedback. Overwhelmed by the notion of developing one into a script. Don't think about it. Just keep rolling.