Don’t wait until it’s perfect. It never will be. Intentional blog 03

Reading Time: 2 minutes

If perfection is your goal, you wil wait forever.

In other words; don’t do what I do.

I had it in my mind to write something every day. Mostly to get into the habit of writing something every day and to make myself accountable for it. I would publish something. Not something quick and hurried. No, nothing silly and lacking of substance; I wouldn’t sink that low. It has to be something I wouldn’t mind reading. I was aiming for something like a chain of thought or a little something I’ve discovered about myself, my blogging, or the world in general. Not revolutionary stuff maybe, but interesting to me in my journey of finding my focus. Well, that was the plan.

But what happened in the couple of days after my last blog was that I started to think. I thought about a subject that instantly felt like an interesting idea or perspective on this intentional blogging challenge. I basically had the blog for the day ready to type, develop, edit, and publish. Then I started thinking’ Nah, it has to be better than that! That’s not enough. And it fizzled out and I didn’t get around to writing anything. So, I didn’t get my daily practice done, I started doubting myself and my abilities, and my path through blogging jungle grew just a little bit tighter and more inpenetrable.

I wanted it to be perfect so it became nothing.

Why is that.?

One answer is that I’m a perfectionist with absolutely no organizational skills.

I don’t think that’s it. Hm. Just writing that sentence made me wonder. Yes, I am a perfectionist. I find it hard to schedule my time because that means following a rule, a deadline, a should would aught to have to must state of things. Obviously that is what I don’t like. Because I love organizing things. Sorting stuff, making order out of chaos and all that. I dig it; Strange as it may seem.

So, it seems simple; I don’t like following rules that I myself setup for my own benefit. Really? I really need to think about that.

Now it’s getting complicated and I really think I need to abandon this chain of thought as it is not all that constructive. Sounds more like an abstract type of excuse for some inner resistance I can’t express. Quit your belly-aching JennyK!

So now what?

Back to it I guess. The plan is the same. I stumbled but avoided a head on collision by writing this very blog. Phew! So I’m back at it.

Catch me tomorrow for “Reasons not to blog.”

Sandelina – A children’s story for grown up kids

Reading Time: 11 minutes

Sandelina
By
Jenny K Brennan
Copyright 2013 Jenny K Brennan

Sandelina

She wasn’t there. That’s just the way it was. Sandelina was not on the bed. She was not even under the bed. Old Grumbler was there, and the really old Teddy. Teddy was kind of broken though, a little bit blind and deaf and hairless. He had been a good teddy for the longest time, until he started loosing bits and pieces of himself. After that, he started looking at Chrissie a bit loopy-eared and squinty-eyed. Teddies can look a little bit mean when they drop pieces of themselves. But Teddy never looked mean even after losing one eye and other bits. He looked sad. Chrissie didn’t like sad toys.

Anyways, old Teddy could stay under the bed where he couldn’t look at her so squinty-eyed and sad. And Grumbler could stay there too. They could sit under the bed with Chrissies busted up book about blue balls and green houses. Because houses weren’t green, not for real, and Chrissie was too old for baby books anyways. Grumbler and Old Teddy could learn about green houses and purple buckets; what a silly thing, buckets weren’t purple. She guessed that maybe they could be; there were red buckets and blue buckets after all. But Chrissie had never seen a purple bucket so she didn’t quite believe there were any. There were bunnies under the bed too. That was another silly thing. They were just pieces of hair and soft stuff, sometimes little pieces of other things like paper or dirt and grass, but Chrissie knew that real bunnies had legs and a head and a tiny fluffy tail. No dust bunny Chrissie had ever picked apart had any of those. They were just kind of long and almost round, made up of all the things the vacuum cleaner didn’t find.

Dust bunnies. Mommy really was silly sometimes.

But she still couldn’t find Sandelina. Not in the plastic toy box, not under the blankets. She was definitely not on the window sill chatting away with Porky, Tuft-tuft, or Tiny Evelina-Bob. Sometimes Sandelina crawled into the corner behind the big closet, but she wasn’t there either.

Chrissie thought hard and long. After looking through everything she could think of, even inside the closet although Sandelina would never go there, she went out on the landing outside her room and even looked on the floor there. No Sandelina. Chrissie scrunched up her face and scratched her head with one stiff finger.

“Hm.” She stepped over to the table where the upstairs phone stood, surrounded by all kinds of letters, and papers, and pads and pens, and all that stuff that Chrissie wasn’t allowed to even think about thinking about drawing on with her crayons. But no one could stop Chrissie from thinking about something. A little bit of thinking never hurt. She didn’t always have to do what she was thinking about doing, right? Well, she wouldn’t draw on the important papers and letters. Again.

She dropped down on her knees and looked under the table. There was a space there, a dark little corner between the table and a big plant that Chrissie wasn’t allowed to touch. Or eat. She wouldn’t do that either. Not ever again. Sandelina was not in the dark space where she could have been. Sandelina was really good at hiding.

“Hm.”

She scratched her head again and shrugged. It couldn’t be helped; this was a problem she couldn’t fix. She bounded down the stairs with one hand hovering above the round wooden railing. She didn’t need to hold it anymore, Chrissie had good balance. Mommy even said so. She bypassed the last step at the bottom with an elegant hop and pin wheeled only a little at landing. She walked through the hall and into the living room.

Mommy sat on the big sofa with papers all over her legs, a pen in her mouth and the sparkling new glasses almost all the way down on the tip of her nose. The pen wiggled back and forth and papers rustled. Mom took the pen out of her mouth and scribbled something on one of the papers, and then she put the pen back and started moving papers around again.

“Mommy?” Chrissie knew that mommy was working and didn’t really have time to talk. But it was an emergency. And if anyone had answers to everything… well, almost everything, it would be mommy.

“Uh huh.” Mommy didn’t look up, but she was listening, kind of.

“I can’t find Sandelina. I think she ran away.” Chrissie stated her case decidedly and made sure to speak every word carefully, putting just a little bit of emphasis on the running away part. She nodded slowly and wrinkled her forehead to emphasize the seriousness of the situation.

“Again?” Mommy mumbled in that far away way that meant she wasn’t quite listening.

She still didn’t look up, so Chrissie dropped the frown and stepped in front of the paper shuffling mommy. It wasn’t as easy as it may seem. The table and the couch stood close together, and between them, were mommy’s knees and briefcase. Once in position, Chrissie placed her hands on mommy’s knees, bent forward and tilted her head. Her nose almost touched mommy’s nose. She waited. She could see mommy’s eyes move back and forth, looking at a paper lying on the sofa next to her leg. Chrissie leaned that way, and down a bit more, until she could look up into mommy’s eyes. She waited. Mommy’s eyes twitch, blinked, tried to look through Chrissies head and at the paper with all those important things written on them. But Chrissie also saw one corner of mommy’s mouth move a little. Chrissie smiled. “Mommy, can I have a minute of your time?”

Mommy straightened up and laughed. She sat back and looked at her daughter for a long moment. “Where did you learn that, Chrissie?” Resigned but still smiling, she continued. “Oh, don’t answer that. Now, Sweetie-pie, how can I assist you?”

“Sandelina is gone. Really gone. She is nowhere. I looked everywhere. Even under the bed, and in the closet, and on the bed, and the hall table.”

“You didn’t move anything on the table did you?”

“No mommy, just listen. Not in the toy box and not on the floor.”

“Did you look under your clothes?” Chrissie nodded. “Under your pillow?” Chrissie nodded again.” Mommy frowned a little bit. “Well, honey, I can’t really help you look right now.” She sighed and shuffled papers around for a bit. Then she looked at Chrissie again. “Don’t pout. I’ll help you look when I’m done this…” She sighed and didn’t look happy one bit. “It’s a nightmare. It needs to be done tomorrow. But I’m almost ready. We’ll look together when I’m done ok?”

Chrissie nodded but it would feel like forever. It wasn’t like Sandelina to be gone just like that.

“I’ll tell you what sweetie; while I finish this, I want you to look in your room one more time, do it for me. Maybe she came back already, who knows. And you can see if she is hiding in my bedroom if you don’t touch anything. She might have crawled up in my bed. You know she comes with you sometimes right. So my bedroom, your room, and she might even be in the kitchen. Do that, and if you still can’t find Sandelina, I’ll help you when I’m done.”

Chrissie sighed but looking for Sandelina was better than not looking for Sandelina.

She started with the closest room, the kitchen. But there was no way Sandelina would go there. Maybe she had followed Chrissie there for breakfast. She dropped down on all fours and crawled under the kitchen table. She didn’t really have to do that, but making sure Sandelina wasn’t on any of the chairs was easier that way. There were no dust bunnies under the kitchen table, but she found three dried macaroni spirals, a pink hair band, a piece of Barbie, and only one chair had anything sitting on it; a big crooked pile of more papers. She put the little piece of Barbie in a pocket along with the hair band and the three macaroni spirals. She flopped down on her tummy and looked out from under the table, through all the chairs. She could count all the chairs, if they weren’t more than ten, but she thought there were more than ten legs, almost like a cage, but she could escape. It was easy. She crawled out on the floor proper and looked back at the wicked cage that had tried to catch her and maybe eat her too. She looked around the entire floor by way of sliding around on her tummy, head up, kicking feet and pulling with flat palms until she had made a full circle. She made another circle just to be sure, but Sandelina was not on the kitchen floor.

Chrissie stood up and scanned all the counters and flipped the lid up on the garbage bin. “Ew!” Whatever was in the garbage made her nose crinkle up and tickle. She pinched her nose and peeked down at the nasty. “Ew!” She said again. No Sandelina, but why was there a pink sock in there? It lay jammed under an empty jar of icky stuff. She tilted her head and leaned a little bit closer. There was nothing wrong with that sock. She put a finger on the fluffy pink fabric, and then she saw another one. It was one of Daddy’s; black and not soft at all, not like Chrissie’s socks, and it had holes everywhere. She giggled and let go of her nose. “Ew! Extra eeeew!” She said and closed the garbage bin.

She looked around one last time before returning upstairs. She bypassed the door to her room and pushed open the next one. She stepped through and looked around. It smelled a bit funny in there; something that kind of tickled her nostrils but not quite. More like burning. Like when mommy cleaned windows. She looked at the little table next to mommy’s big mirror. “Don’t touch anything.” She remembered mommy saying. With a final longing look at all the different bottles and pretty boxes, she looked away from the crowded table. There wasn’t any room for Sandelina to sit there anyways. And Sandelina was definitely not allowed to look in the drawer either. Absolutely no way. Chrissie sighed.

“Hm.” Sandelina was absolutely positively not on mommy’s bed. It wasn’t very hard to see, because there was nothing at all on it. Mommy and Daddy’s big fat bed was naked. It really was naked. The big fluffy comforter was gone. So were the sheets. The mattress was still on the bed, but it didn’t look comfortable at all. The pillows were gone too, but she found them piled up on the fancy dresser in the corner. They were naked too. They were all white, but they had been blue, Chrissie thought. Blue and silky, with ribbons all around the edges. Chrissie liked the ribbons and picked on them sometimes when nobody watched. But the blue silky pillow cases were all gone.

But if Sandelina wasn’t in the bed… She dropped to her knees and looked under the bed. Funny. Mommy didn’t have any pretend bunnies under her bed. None at all. No Sandelina. She lay down on her back and slid under the bed. She looked up at the wooden boards that held the mattress up. They looked naked too. She slid around on her back, watching the world turn all wrong. It felt funny, so she made another sliding turn and giggled and sneezed. She slid around another half turn and wriggled her way out head first.

She lay absolutely still on the floor, turned her head this way and that; maybe Sandelina was under the dresser. Nope, clearly not there. Her searching gaze fell on the pile of pillows on top of the dresser. Was Sandelina stacked with the pillows and lost?

The pillows; three big and two small. That made five. One by one, Chrissie moved them to the floor. She turned them and patted them to make sure there was nothing hiding in or between them. When all the pillows had been searched and lined up on the floor next to the dresser, Chrissie flopped down on top of them to think for a minute or two.

Where was Sandelina? When had she last seen her? It was so hard to remember. Mommy always told her to think and to concentrate; then it would come to her. But that was so silly. Things didn’t just come to her when she thought about them. That was kind of magic, and Chrissie had tried, actually tried really really hard. Magic wasn’t real at all.

Chrissie hated to try to remember when there wasn’t anything to remember. But maybe she could figure it out if she thought really really hard.

But the only thing she could think of was Sandelina’s soft pretty face, flexible arms, and real plastic shoes with real Velcro. The pretty dress with buttons that mommy had put back on a mega million times at least. They always fell off in the laundry Mommy said

Chrissie frowned. Laundry? She looked at the naked bed, dug the back of her head into one of the naked pillows, and looked up at a very naked window. Chrissie climbed out of the mountain of fluffy nakedness and strolled out of mommy’s bedroom and down the stairs. She avoided the last step again and made a marvelous landing in almost perfect balanced fashion. But instead of turning left after the stairs, she turned right and spent a few moments in the laundry room.

She hop-skipped to the living-room and flopped down on the couch next to mommy, humming under her breath. It was a melody she and Sandelina had made up yesterday. It was just before Chrissies doll tried to dance on the kitchen table, tripped, and fell face first into Daddy’s macaroni spirals.

Sandelina had looked funny with cheese sauce all over her face, but Daddy hadn’t laughed at all. Mommy had given her that look; she remembered now, that look that only a really tired mommy gave to Chrissie after a long day. Chrissie knew what that look meant. So she had picked up Sandelina and held her out to mommy. “I think Sandelina needs a bath Mommy.”

So Mommy had sighed and taken the sticky doll by the hair and said. “I think Sandelina can help me wash curtains and pillowcases tomorrow then. It will do her good.” Sandelina had been gone ever since. Chrissie had forgotten, but now she knew. Sandelina was nice and clean now and had finished tumbling around and around, maybe she was still a little bit warm and dizzy.

Mommy was almost done moving papers around. She was stacking them on the table, and had taken off the glasses. She had put the pen away and now she turned all of her to Chrissie, not just a little bit, and looked at her. “I bet you found Sandelina already.”

Chrissie shook her head. Then she nodded and said. “Kind of found her a little bit almost.”

“What on earth do you mean? Well, where is she then? I know you can remember where you put your things if you just try. So, how can you kind of find Sandelina? Where is she?” Mommy frowned and narrowed her eyes at Chrissie’s widening smile. “What are you not telling me?”

Chrissie shrugged and squinted hard, smiling. She folded forward and rested her head on her knees, peered up at mommy. “It’s ok Mommy. If you think really really hard, you can remember too.”

Mommy went very still and said. “Don’t be bold little missy.”

Chrissie cringed a little. It didn’t go quite the way she had thought it would. But it was alright. Mommy wasn’t angry, even if she had that way of wrinkling her forehead and not blink for a long, long time.

Chrissie sat up on the couch. Sit straight, mommy always said. “Here’s a deal mommy.” She said. “I did a lot of thinking. Very lots of thinking. I looked everywhere. Just like you said.” She continued and looked mommy straight in the eye. But she couldn’t quite stop the giggle. Not until mommy frowned even more. She hurried to finish. “Well mommy can you think a bit too just for me can you? I want you to remember what I remember.”

Mommy curled up her eyebrows and twitched her lips a little as she considered the deal. Finally she sighed, shuffled her important papers a little bit, and looked back at her daughter.

Ok, Chrissie, tell me what I should think about.”

“Sandelina, silly.” Chrissie said quickly.

“Yes. I understand that it’s Sandelina we are talking about. Could you give me a hint?” She held up a hand and measured a tiny space between thumb and forefinger. “Mommy is not as good at thinking as you, Chrissie. So help me out. A little.”

Chrissie giggled for real and pulled her feet up on the couch, hugging her knees. “Think about supper, and daddy, and then you can remember.”

“Supper?” If possible, mommy’s face crinkled up even more.

Chrissie nodded. “Yep. Supper yesterday.“ She pressed her lips together and zipped them shut with a finger. It was hard to giggle with the mouth closed though. Really hard. And mommy looked so funny the giggle would explode any second. She squirmed and rocked back and forth, swallowing giggle after giggle until her tummy felt all wobbly and warm. And mommy’s body didn’t move at all when her eyes and mouth went here and there, and she chewed her lip so hard Chrissie was afraid mommy would bite it off.

“Oh sh—” Mommy’s eyes flew wide open and she clapped a hand over her mouth. Then she hopped off the couch and disappeared into the laundry room. When mommy came back a moment later, she smiled that pretty mommy smile. “Sandelina,” she said to the doll, “I’m sorry I forgot you in the dryer.” Sandelina just smiled as she lay in mommy’s arms. Chrissie reached and Sandelina came to her.

When Sandelina found her place in Chrissies lap, a little bit warm and very tumbled and clean, mommy leaned over and kissed Chrissie on the forehead. She sat down next to her and straightened Sandelina’s hair a little before saying. “Chrissie, you know what?”

“Chrissie returned mommy’s gaze, hugging Sandelina. “What mommy?”

“I think Sandelina has the best mommy ever, ever, ever. I think we could all learn something from her.”

Why blog? Continued weed whacking in search of specifics.

Reading Time: 2 minutes

Why blog – Continued.

In my previous blog I talked about entering the intentional blogging challenge posted by Jeff Goins – Writer. I still ask myself the same questions and have the same doubts about my own purpose for blogging. My conclusion was that I needed to find my path and narrow the field where I search aimlessly for specifics. Today’s lesson from Jeff talked about focus. And I have given this some thought today. This was my intention; to really figure out what I want to say, how I want to say it, and to whom.
I’m not quite there yet. What I have promised myself and also talked about in a recent podcast is a promise to spend some time on this every day. This is not at all a condition for this blogging challenge but I believe that writing something every day, even if it is just a rant of random thoughts like this very post seems to become, it will loosen up my thought processes and with each pointless blog I will come closer to finding that purpose. I had one thought today that I think brought me a little bit closer. Just one little step closer to finding the overall subject. What I haven’t quite come to terms with is that it brings me back to my original problem of being a non-specific blogger. I will tell you what my thought was.

What do I want to say?

Q: What do I want to talk about?
A: The small things, the personal tiny struggles, the beautiful little details.
Q: Who do I want to say this too?
A: Anyone. It’s not educational per se. It can be motivational by proxy. It could raise questions and emotions that encourages anything from a mild smile to a philosophical puzzlement. Or simply silly, childish, naive, or just dumb. It’s not for someone expecting easy fast hitting entertainment. It will take some thinking.

Q: How do I want to say it?
A: It needs to be entertaining. Hopefully funny. Possibly sarcastic. Told in the guise of a story, a poem, a strange essay.

Those were three of the questions in today’s lesson and I decided to focus on those now and as I’m writing this I’m feeling it coming together. I am going to leave it at that for this time. I have already done much weeding on my endless field. I’m deciding what not to blog about. I’m figuring out who I don’t want to speak to. And I’m slowly learning what implied blogging rules I will end up ignoring.

Tomorrow I will continue this and pick apart the reasons why I should not blog. I do believe that if the motivation is flawed, the end result will be broken even before it’s finished.

And it goes on. See you tomorrow!

Jenny

Intentional blogging – I’m in. Just need to find the map, a compass, and a weed-eater

Reading Time: 2 minutes

The blog

There is just so much; I don’t know where to start!

And that is the problem in my mind. I hear that blogging is great for many reasons and I agree. But I have reservations and somehow I’m still wondering if I have anything to say. Let’s look at this issue a little bit closer.

Why blog?

The main arguments I hear can be summed up into the following statement:

There is a voice, a story, a perspective that the rest of the world want and need to hear.

I say: Fair enough. I think I can go with that in general. But let’s dissect this further.

1. I have a voice. Yup. But from my perspective I think of my voice as three octaves of emotion tuned to a musical arrangement or loudly arguing some silly point with a pretend co-host Imp. That makes it either music production or pod-casting, right? Which I do anyways. Does that make it an audio blog? Now, that is a different issue altogether that I won’t get into in this post.
So, scrap that. “A voice”, is too wide a definition for me.

2. I have a story. Yeah, I suppose.
But a story is to me a fictional characters journey through enemy territories, alien landscapes, love intrigues, and complicated plot points. If I blog those stories, which I do, it is web published literature. No?
So where can I take that?

Hmm.

It seems to me that what is left on my impromptu list is perspective.

3. Perspective. Okay, I can go with that. A blog should have perspective, and opinion, a view on the world. And to spread my perspective on things I will need to use my voice and maybe tell a story.

and around and around it goes.

And then?

I have entered this intentional blogging challenge because I need to find my focus. The field of self expression that I wander each and every day is too vast and I get lost among all the pretty shapes and vistas. I want to go there, I want to go over there, I want to do this. This field needs narrowing, a focus.

And that is my goal for the end of this challenge. I consider this a preliminary blog to prepare for all the blogs to come. In the end I will use my voice to tell a story from my perspective. I just need to move from this endless field of opportunities to a well organized managed garden of purposeful blogging Eden.

Sounds so simple huh?

Wish me luck. Come back tomorrow and check out the next offering along the overgrown JennyK blogging path.

House of Imp 15 – October madness

Reading Time: 2 minutes

There is just something strange about October.

Play

Windy, rainy, the days are growing darker, and life switch gears. That’s what it feels like for me anyways. Here is another somewhat eklectic podcast episode for you.

We hear Imp going a bit mad no thanks to yours truly. We hear a new flash fiction piece narrated by Billy a.k.a Sriracha with music by neil a.k.a Rolf from Kompoz.com.

I give you the word of the month to ponder and learn something about.
“Gaslighting”. I’ll give you a hint; Gaslighting does not require flatulence and a bic lighter. 😀

And there is a new song that is not yet finalized. My pumpkin was written by joey a.k.a JoeyAlomar who added bass, guitar and drums along with motivation and encouragement. There’s additional guitar by Tony a.k.a StratCas, and the rest is my creation; stuff like even more guitars, piano, sax, lyrics, vocals and production. You will hear the very first sneak preview right here as the collaboration is still private and under highest secrecy. 🙂 There is a reason why I don’t add a link to this collaboration as this song will go public in time for Halloween and no sooner.
This recording is licensed as all rights reserved. Listen all you want, comment please, and you do have special permission to share this all you want. Spread the weird. 😀

Let’s not forget to wish a fantastic

happy birthday Dan Savage

who is the coolest sex columnist ever. Let us all wish him lots of cake and a great year!

Enjoy this October madness. Just consider it priming for Halloween.

404


Read the story here.

My pumkin lyrics

By Jenny K Brennan 2014

There’s a bird on a branch in a tree in a forest not far from me.
It serenades me and I know the type.
And there’s a man on a chair with a feather in his hair.
He says with this we can all fly.
He says with this we can all fly forever more.

Don’t burst my bubble I believe there’s a genie in my bottle.
A genie in my bottle.
Don’t tease my pumpkin.
I believe there’s a fairy and a gnome making babies on my lawn.

There’s a cat on a shelf with a glassy stare.
Watching me watching you.
This is what it’s saying.
There’s a place over there where
the stars and the sky and the ghosts gather round.
For tea on your patio.

Once upon a time we all believed.

Don’t burst my bubble I believe there’s a genie in my bottle.
A genie in my bottle.
Don’t tease my pumpkin.
I believe there’s a fairy and a gnome making babies on my lawn.

Glass slippers fit
Hans and gretel came home.
Trolls are misunderstood
Of course it is so.
Glass slippers fit
Tales are never too tall.
heroes will never fall.
Of course it is so

They’re building houses out of shrooms.
I’ll make you believe
This is for real.
They’re making babies on my lawn

don’t burst my bubble…

Jenny K Brennan
Oct 7 2014
Ontario Canada

404 – A piece of morbid flash fiction

Reading Time: 3 minutes

404

A piece of morbid flash fiction.

By Jenny K Brennan 2014

Listen to Billy tell the story in the October madness episode of the Studio Chaotic podcast Released October 7th 2014.

Is it dead yet?
You consider lying. You try on a couple of words that might fit. Puffing your lips, rolling your eyes skyward as you think about it. You consider googling for synonyms of “no” that would make it feel like less of a lie. A quick googling for things that could possibly but more likely never be of any use was a good practice. Such a wonderful way to procrastinate. Procrastinate? Adjourn, postpone, reschedule. Is that all there is? You google “procrastinate” and defer the delaying of putting off the suspension of life any further.

No, lying wouldn’t do it. The thing is truly dying. Or already dead. Who knows these things anyways.

But as realizations go, it couldn’t be any more immediate. It was in fact a knowledge that had come to you over time through endless suffocating spans of expectant seconds, minutes, maybe even years of swimming through sludge. Pile after pile of the stuff, come to think of it. You always knew the day would come. Hoping it would pass by; the reality of the end.

The thing that is going to die flail’s and thrashes in a bloody puddle on the floor. It can’t get air despite so much oxygen lying all around it in exhausted heaps. As things go, of course they are just perfectly placed out of reach. Fancy that. When failing to beseech the machine, the thing crawls through the slippery dirty muck that used to be its life, falls over on its side and starts scraping at its face with hands that are sometimes deformed claws and sometimes little more than ghostly tendrils of sickly bitter smoke. Again and again, ripping old scabs, fresh white scarring, shredding them open. If it could just die. Just die already.

Violent seizures grip the thing. They let up and then attack again with little time for reprieve. The thing lie on its back and seemingly disjointed limbs slam into the hardwood floor. Bone barely covered by raw flesh pound the unyielding wood, never missing a beat all through the spastic measures. In-between spasms, a chattering and a breathless sizzle filled the throbbing silence.

That beat actually has a rhythm. You think dreamily and try to find it with the side of one thumb and a #2 pencil.

The thing gasps. Immediately it sucks in all the air in greedy gulps harmonized with whimpers of relief. Harsh ragged breaths calm the body and the thing rolls over on its other side, panting slowly. It extends a trembling hand towards the machine and clicks. And clicks. It will be alright now. Wide hopeful eyes search the machine for solace, for a reaction, for something. But the machine heaves a forgetful sigh and turns away. Without pity it chokes its connections, breaks its workflow, and allows connected bits to come as they please. What does it care? The machine doesn’t worry over whether the thing has time to find what it needs before cutting off the world once more. Maybe the broken thing on the floor is already dead, pallid and panting in a growing slippery stain of its exposed viscera. Guts and organs glistening while cooling quickly in the glimmering light of the screen. Yes, it is dead, had been a slowly rotting corpse for a long time now. And that realization, as realizations go, is a mother fucker of a kick in the head. It had been there for some time. But denial is a powerful thing.

Powerful indeed, you ponder with your finger hovering over the faded keys. You google the word “Cat” along with the word “viscera” and immediately regret it. The thing on the floor moans and coughs up pieces of broken glass, a used condom, and a couple of four gig SD memory cards.

You quickly forget the dead thing on the floor with its unsavory chucking up of gore and other artifacts. It was after all just a thing. A thing that comes and goes, leaving its sticky handprints all over you in the moments when it has the strength to rise and approach you. Probing gently, viciously groping at unborn fancies. Its comforting caress a teasing fleeting whisper of chaos and quietly constructed melodies that has never been there before. It leaves its morbid taint of colors and words with no clear chain of command. It leaves its sprinkling of jumbled instructions.

Assemble this. Make of it what you will.

But dead things don’t provide feedback. Nor does it speak of the manner in which it would help if it could.

Because at this moment; perhaps not ad infinitum, perhaps not for a moment longer than it takes for that breath of yours to settle down, the thing is very much dead.

The machine killed the muse.

With a prompt to check your connection, and with cold disregard for assured efficiency, it will kill again.

And again. And again, and again.