It’s Language – Must be a story of something

for Friday Fictioneers during cacophony – July 5, 2013

Copyright - David Stewart

Scales, rituals, angles and lines.  Struggling to make sense, instead of staying on the ground.  Design, construct, infer, deduce.  Climb that ladder.  Circle that ring.  Aching for a view.  We’re earthed here.  But we keep on grasping.  Incessantly.  Invent equations, theorems, rules and laws.  Apply to sensation and perceive.  Revise.  Repeat.  Try numbers, letters, words.  Try gesture.  Communicate.  Calibrate.  Be social.  Get everyone to make the hike.  We make sense by making abstractions.  Distractions.  Bastardizing metaphor.  Some things go deeper, some things go out.

N Filbert 2013


The Meticulous Blur

entry for Friday Fictioneers, June 28, 2013

copyright - Indira

How it left my mouth, toward her.  How long I’d ached and labored it.  How meticulously prepared.  From amorphous origins – a preoccupation and urge, a hunch, desire.  Like longing + some desperate attention.  Had I shared this constant process, they’d have named it “obsession.”  A phrase, a statement, a promise, a claim.  How it left my mouth when the moment arrived, arrowing itself toward her.  A chiseled and hair-thin fibre of sound, a core-content-chain of DNA, let free in the matter between us.  How it blurred and whooshed past.  Disintegrative and smeared in possible meanings.  How quickly the resulting compound decomposed and deconstructed.

for Friday Fictioneers – 21 June 2013

copyright -Managua Gunn

As long as nobody moves.  Scenario accomplished.  Sky filled with blues.  Reflected in waters, reassembled by lines – manufactured / emergent.  The breath would come.  Optionally.  A reality could be structured with less than this.  Hold still.  In the beginning – world.  Populous, variegated, intricate with potential.  A setting of pebbles and mimes.  Activities at the ready.  Engine set to whirl.  As long as nobody moves.  Nobody says.  Nobody breathes.  Still-pointed swirl.  Anticipation.  The drawing of the sneeze.  A trickling toward itch.  Hummingbird-eyelid.  A sudden rush of wind.  Transgress.

The Gifted

a pretty obvious take, but in the midst of a nearly impossible week,

it’s what i could do…Friday Fictioneers 6-14-2013

Copyright -John Nixon

The obvious one.  Anyone could tell.  The way he bobbed his head in traffic or nodded slowly in the wind, syncopating steps with the train rails’ click-clack, fingers never still at the table – proverbially whistling as he worked.  Even his breath had a cadence – nary emitting verbal lines without their shaping tones.  Foot bevel harmonizing crossed-legged knee bounce – friends said “he always had it in him.”  Phrasing his rises and his falls.  Ears ever plugged wide open – he tasted and he touched, he heard, saw and smelled the world as sound.  He really was into music.

The Training

Friday Fictioneers – April 5, 2013

From Scott Vanatter with permission-Copyrigh-  Indira

“Train up a child in the way he should go; even when he is old he will not depart from it”

Proverbs 22:6

Now I’m grown up and old I can see the effects of my “training.”  Ingrown here, stunted there, twisted and crooked aslant.  The cells in their leaning away.  Living and dead all over.  No chance of undoing.  I don’t  doubt that the core of me is reaching, but axes and ropes have wounded my way.  I did my damnedest.  Filling up leaves, sending out seeds, but the root was in the sap.  Perhaps I’ll be useful for burning.

N Filbert 2013

Yearn Vulnerable – Friday Fictioneers 2/15/2013

Such a powerful prompt this week – yowza!  Thanks to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields and her continuous work at Friday Fictioneers for providing us with such fare to engage and reflect.  Please join us if you have an urge to translate experience into words.

The prompt:

copyright-David Stewart

(this prompt was so good I’ve included 3 responses in the manner of brainsnorts)


She grasps while he flees.  The horror of everything offered.  He’s reaching all the same.  She clings, and thus submerged, loss becomes attachment.  He yearns.  They’re vulnerable.  Their hold and flight are balance.  A panicking fail like this can require only one thing – somebody’s everything – which she offers, and which frightens him to terror.  She lays it at his feet and pursues – without her he would fall – traumatizing him, for there will come a day.

copyright-David Stewart


Everything depends on it.  Seems to.

This risk, this reach, this grasp.

All has been let go, ripped away for this advance.

She’s nothing left but hope and fear.

Submerged in this suspension.

And he in silent trauma – terrorized.

What would be the gain – of grasping or clasping; a yearn or a vortex; great loss or its threat?

A possible life?  An wholistic vitality?  The “whole hurly-burly”*?


We leave it here.  NOW.   In the reaching.

*Ludwig Wittgenstein’s phrase for the complex background, context of human life

copyright-David Stewart

Alternate 2.

“Do you not get it?” she stressed, “can you seriously not see what I’ve done?”

“EVERYTHING!” she cried, “EVERYTHING I’ve left and abandoned, deserted, let go, in order to offer myself up to you! – to come for, reach out to – YOU!”

“This is unbelievable!” she, exasperated. “I really and truly cannot!” she, bewildered.

And he – silently terrorized, traumatized, afraid.

Trapped in this suspension – the grasping or clasping; the yearn or submersion; the loss or its threat.

And what of the gain –  a possible life?  An wholistic vitality?  What – ?

We leave it here.  NOW.  Reaching.

N Filbert 2013

Points of a Journey

Thank goodness (again) for Friday Fictioneers – fostering the insistence and reprieve of manageable creative work when I’m finding it ever so hard to pull away from endless research.  I always mean to set aside a little time, or “get to it” at a break – and just write awhile…but days have a way of eluding me.  So thank you Rochelle et. al. for the weekly prompt and community that kindly obligates us to create, at least a few paragraphs, 100 words (I borrowed 9 from Doug).  A healthy distraction.

copyright-Rich Voza

            The beginning is filled with arrivals/departures, dogfights of fly-bys and paradise islands.  Ecstasy and remorse, all seeped in the past and aimed toward a future, took place in realms  in-between.  Between a rock and hard place, between the cities we called home, between obligations and accidents, here and there, me and you.

In the long middle we developed mistrust and fostered desire.  Building on distance with dependencies and betrayals.  Which flies faster – a sparrow?  Depends which side the wings are on.  We flew and we crashed.  We survived.

Bringing us to the end, the point at which we always arrive, together.

N Filbert 2013

Found Objects

Greetings all – squishing this in before the homework hits.  As always I highly encourage any and all of you creatives out there to take these generous prompts and craft away, as exercise or effort – The Friday Fictioneers weekly wonderful co-creativity :

Copyright-Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

“Look, the details don’t matter, okay?  It happened, and here’s the proof, and now nothing will ever be the same.”

“As if it were.  As if things could change like that – all over and immediate.  How do we even know what from this collage?”

“Jesus Ralph!  They’re connected by the photograph!  Look!”

“As if the image were the thing itself.  C’mon Rachel, really?”

“God dad!  It’s grandpa, a menorah, a dial-up and some crayons – how obvious does it have to be?”

“I’m gonna need something more than a sign Rachel, something more than a trick of the light.”

N Filbert 2013


Getting back into A swing of things, I’ve missed the past couple of prompts for the wonderful mixed company of creatives that take part in the Friday Fictioneers (yes, please DO join us!).  So here’s to restarting refreshed…

Copyright-Roger Cohen


So this is our journey.  No way out of it.  Bound together, bound apart, bounded in.  We call it “Situation.”  Shared in common.  Held by circumstance.  Anything might bow us, but both will be effected.  The cords behind, some measures of rest, and whatever comes next – it all impacts the song.  Lucky for an other – no sound can be heard if there is only one, if our strings never touch.  Though sometimes cross and crossed over, at others we vibrate one another to the sweetest hum. It happens together in our ever-bordered context – the space of our entanglement.

N Filbert 2013

Brave New World

part of our weekly practice of participation in the lively community prompted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields Friday Fictioneers – I encourage all to join!

Copyright -Douglas M. MacIlroy

Brave New World

Assembling for the task, we began.  Each in our strengths conspiring.  Tristan executed calculations which were pinpoint.  Ida concocted the sounds and the language we could use, boxing up the requisite books and emotions.  We counted on mama for the overall surround, a global view of the society – espousing natural characteristics and roles.  Oliver modeled the world and placed it on a bucket.  Everything was ready – needing only performative passion – a unified desire.  We waited for Aidan, lugging the chains that would keep us on course, to hold back entropy’s risk.  Leaving me to chronicle this family’s brave new world.

N Filbert 2012