Tag: art

Posted in flash fiction, friday fictioneers

That’s What She Said

Posted on by Kelley Farrell

“Why is it so big?”
“It’s a tribute to our robot overlords.”
Dan adjusted the stainless steel colander on his head. A walkie talkie clipped to his buckle emitted a stream of white noise.
“Well it is impressive in size.” Leslie marked the boxes along her checklist.
“That’s what she said.”
“Oh, oh please don’t.”
“No, that is what she said.” Dan pointed to clouds dotting the horizon. For a split second Leslie could see a glint of something more than vapor in the sky. The white noise shrieked, spewed unintelligible words then fell silent. “They’re happy with my tribute.”

PHOTO PROMPT © Dale Rogerson

Word Count: 100
For Friday Fictioneers, to read more about the prompt and other stories click the link

Posted in Word Prompt

Demon in Disguise

Posted on by Kelley Farrell

Here we stand, on precipices of stars and skies. One step, a small breath, a slight breeze to tousle my hair. A lovers hand, gently swaying strands. Will he pull? Will he strike? Will he push me? Leave me to the night?

Not today it seems as we step away, a dance of carefully crafted precision. Dangerous games we play here on the ledge. Yet there’s a piece of me, rising again, demon in disguise.

She charges again and again, wild in her being, eyes chasing the sand. Determined and unsteadying she demands control of the wind. Throw me down she will so she can stand here too. Plucking the stars from their branches, shoving her hungry mouth full, she’ll devour the light within you.

Posted in Word Prompt

Blissfully Unaware

Posted on by Kelley Farrell

I can’t think of anything to write … I just finished round 1 of 10 weeks of econometrics (with a B!). I was certain I would fail and I’d be crying in a dark corner over being kicked out of my program. But that combined with the insanely busy work load I’ve had for months means now that I have a few moments for my brain to not go 1000 miles a minute I’ve completely crashed on the creativity front.

This was originally published on The Perfectly Imperfect Bunch last year.

Today is a weird day.
Everyone is skipping down the street …
There’s a lady selling flowers.
Except she’s tossing them in the air
As she makes flying ballet leaps.
The homeless guy on the corner
Is pawning a frog
Dressed like James Dean
And singing a Sinatra beat.
“Come one, come all!”
He screams
“This frog is just like me!”
The buses are floating,
The cars are skidding
To a hip hop tune.
What is happening here?
The sidewalk leads me away
With a tantalizing figure
In a red dress and a cane.
Like smoke she floats
Through the veins
Infecting this weird day.
Into a hole she beckons,
A dark room on the other side
Of all we know.
Picasso paintings play cards
With dogs in dapper vests,
And there’s my siren
In a red dress.
Weaving through the liquor,
Dancing by the stairs,
We’re blissfully unaware.

Maybe we’re blissfully unaware of our weirdness?

Maybe we just don’t care?

Posted in Word Prompt

C’Mon Baby, Put Your Records On

Posted on by Kelley Farrell

It’s record store day so I’m going to talk about my other love, music! Yay!

But instead of talk about it ….

Here’s some music …

Enjoy (or don’t, either way I still love you guys).

Note: This is all over, I’ve just been pasting links as I’ve been working on school stuff over the past few days. Proceed with caution, I did not arrange this for your ears to have gradual transitions

Another note, I originally did this with Spotify but then realized it would only play a few seconds of each song if you didn’t open the Spotify app so that’s why it’s all videos, sorry if it loads slowly

Note for Jimi down here, there’s a song out there called Cherokee Mist, it’s included in the recordings on Both Sides of the Sky which was released recently. I really wanted to include that song but can’t find it so we’re going to settle with Voodoo Chile/Child (I kept the Spotify link for Cherokee Mist if you have the app or want to hear like 25 seconds of it).

 

Posted in Word Prompt

Pity Party

Posted on by Kelley Farrell

She awoke one fine cupcake morning,
Blue skies and nary a cloud in sight.
Village windows remained shuttered,
Terrific beasts tethered to the night.
It was a fine day indeed.
She had the invitations,
Colloquial and drawn in invisible ink.
Balloons of her favorite shades,
Faded blues and washed out grays,
Floated about the room;
Specters all their own.
Nine thirty and a quarter past second five.
She clasped her hands,
Breathing anticipation,
When only a strangers shadow
Fell upon the door.
“Am I late?”
An echo from empty marble halls.
“I do love parties after all.”
She tugged at cotton candy curls
And a dress of a more bland sort.
“Of course, of course.
Just lay your grievances down here.
After all, isn’t that what pity parties are for?”

Explore – As in this is a bigger idea but this a little silly poem to explore it some.

Go check out The Perfectly Imperfect Bunch

Posted in Photo

22-34/365 Magic Lives Here

Posted on by Kelley Farrell

You know the picture dump I promised somewhere around the mid-end of January. It’s here! Silent hurrahs all around.

These are a mixture of pictures from my camera and from my phone taken while I was wandering around the French Quarter and Jackson Square on a Sunday.

I first set foot in New Orleans when I was around 13 years old and I’ve had a continuous love affair with the city since.

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Posted in stream of consciousness

Chase Them Away

Posted on by Kelley Farrell

It’s Sunday, I’m still working out a good opening here.

Prompt – Congregate

Music – Pink Floyd – Meddle

*Started writing, forgot to start timer, delete, start timer*

Congregate

Congregation.

I don’t go to church.

It shouldn’t come as a surprise.

When I was 15 my parents moved from a city area to a much more rural area.

I went from a performing arts high school to an agricultural one

I didn’t even know that was a thing …

One day I was on the bus

I took my headphones out at the request of a boy who was wearing a fish hook on his hat and had a clump of dip in his lip

I can’t remember what he asked but the subject turned to religion

To which I responded “I don’t know, I’m not Christian, I don’t go to church.”

At the time, if I had to put a name to some idea of religious practices, then I’d say I was Pagan.

Poor guy was floored.

“I thought you were a good Christian girl!”

I congregate in a different way.

I go to concerts.

One time I went because I thought maybe the music would be loud enough to drown the bullshit in my head.

Now I can’t always understand what you’re saying in normal settings and I go to shows to drown myself under the sound.

Let it wash over me and take away all the self hate that can settle in my mind.

This morning I woke up and something just hit me, straight to my core.

I found myself thinking in terms of self hate, “pathetic piece of …”

I push those things away and congregate in big, or sometimes not big, raucous, sometimes not raucous, groups

To let loud melodies chase them away.

Go check out The Perfectly Imperfect Bunch

Posted in stream of consciousness

Here We Are

Posted on by Kelley Farrell

Stream of thought writing, I guess this is going to be a weekly thing now –

Prompt – Inkling

Music – Steve Reich – Works 1965-1995

Inkling.

It starts with a drop, a spot of ink infecting, spreading in the water.

It was all so clear

Until

You loosed the ink composed of your fear.

Now it’s here, spreading, floating, clouding

A situation we thought was through.

Tied up and tossed aside

Like a neatly composed pile of trash.

But here we are

Lost in each others eyes.

At least I am.

I have a feeling

You are too but we can’t, can we?

Inklings aren’t enough

They don’t spread through the veins,

Becoming all we are.

Do they?

Be still, they say, let it be.

Let it disperse, the way ink should

Eventually the floods will carry it away.

Except I’ve been waiting

And it’s still here

Floating and spreading

Infecting all we’re becoming.

But of course

They say

There was never another way.

The inkling was always there

Just hidden away by fear.

You’re not scared

And I’m no longer afraid …

So what is this inkling that remains?

Time inches by

Sand through the hole we’ll never hold again.

Spread by the wind like the ink in water.

How many seconds has it been?

How long until this dam breaks

And our infested waters overflow

Carrying away everything we know,

Our fears?

Our belief?

Time’s up.

Check out The Perfectly Imperfect Bunch