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Tihmmnmmish's Cuddle-Friendly Fireside Threadcast

I once submitted a poem and got praise heaped upon my head from folks reading an entirely different meaning into it so I just thought ah wel c'est la vie, que sera sera and any other hackneyed foreign phrases what you see you see who am I to quibble about it?!
 
I'd be inclined to ask just how important a clear meaning is. For both maker and viewer. What if an idea that fermented for several months is trying to serve up a few goodies, but you forgot you thought about it. Maybe it makes no immediate sense so you forbid it. But it doesn't just appear from nowhere does it? Maybe if you pull it out and work with it a meaning will start to take shape. Or, what's wrong with creating a mood or a feeling? If someone could blow a gentle breeze across my face do I really care what the breeze means? It feels good. That's all that matters. And right now a dog is out there, woofing. Small community, night, quiet, so so quiet. It fits. It's cool. Interpreting the woof is really no concern. At least not now. And now, a car, one car, now it's gone. I could allow myself to wonder who is in the car, where they are going, where they are coming from, what they will do when they get out of the car. Are they drunk, are they sober, are they in love, are they bored... but this time a meaning is not necessary. It's just a sound that goes with the night, and it's good.

It's real easy to get a fret fit going. I do it all the time. It's a constant tussle. Start on one little nibble of a fret fit, knowing it's unhealthy but it's like a bag of chips. One more, one more, one more, then you're full of fret fit chips, and missing so many little joys. Finally get it together, shoo the fret fits all out, and life's good again. And I can listen to the dog out there somewhere and a car going up the hill, and not care if they mean anything. But I've also recorded a mental file of the sound of the dog and the car. And now the quiet. Maybe they'll come in handy for something someday. Maybe.
 
Because everything means something already. Anyway. May mean many meanings. I still recall a poem a couple Fridays ago, and I was going to mention this but the mood didn't seem to raise a curtain, that several of that day's offerings had more than a few typos, like punctuation typos. At least they appeared to be typos to me. But were they really? I recall one that had what looked like a period and then a comma, like the poet overlooked the comma. I think it was at the end of a line. There's a reason it got there like that. Intentional? Make it look like an oversight? Maybe. Simple harmless human error? Probably. Then I might ask why. The poet missed that mistake. Why? That nanosecond, the poet thought of something else, felt something else. Really too many people worry too much about all this. I'm among the most guilty.
 
perhaps the period get's fed up with always having to be the end of the line. Would you like to be always the end of the line? No I wouldn't either so just for once he got comma'd ... wrapped around by that cuddly little old comma (a bit like my blankie) and that made his day so he could go on about his business of being stuck on the end again.
 
UnderYourSpell said:
perhaps the period get's fed up with always having to be the end of the line. Would you like to be always the end of the line? No I wouldn't either so just for once he got comma'd ... wrapped around by that cuddly little old comma (a bit like my blankie) and that made his day so he could go on about his business of being stuck on the end again.
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This could be a tale. An irresistible tale. Scourge of the Period. Or some sort of punctuation drama. Or... suddenly several possibilities are exclaiming.
 
Sometimes everything feels like it's colliding and Lit's become too big in the mind, and you gotta bail for a few days. And you never know when that feeling's gonna come. Weird. But I'm feeling good today.
 
I think the virtual world is more vicious than the real one. Or the virtual is what the real really would be, if the real was less concrete.
 
just stopping in to say hello. I am fielding on hell of a cold right now. fun, fun.
Anyway, I'm looking forward to just spending time with my sons this weekend. Hope you guys have a nice weekend!
 
Looks like for a large chunk of April, I shall have a part of the real world all to myself. Shall stretch out and be messy, so very messy.
 
Am I the only one in all of Lit who is such a profound failure at so much? Am I the only one who is completely absent of any thread of ability to do more than crawl across muck? Am I the only one who sees so many glaring imperfections within and about my self? Or is achievement overrated? Why aspire? Why do people feel it necessary to make themselves appear bigger by belittling the modesties of others whose aspirations are less concretely defined? Why is it that just when you're about to set off on a journey of unbridled fun, someone comes along who feels it is their community duty to slash your masts?

Why o why o why...
 
hmmnmm said:
Am I the only one in all of Lit who is such a profound failure at so much? Am I the only one who is completely absent of any thread of ability to do more than crawl across muck? Am I the only one who sees so many glaring imperfections within and about my self? Or is achievement overrated? Why aspire? Why do people feel it necessary to make themselves appear bigger by belittling the modesties of others whose aspirations are less concretely defined? Why is it that just when you're about to set off on a journey of unbridled fun, someone comes along who feels it is their community duty to slash your masts?

Why o why o why...
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This site could be so much better, bigger than the individual. Only, it is those individuals who beat their chests in self-importance and cries out for attention that destroys this site.

We as writers should shun all those who don't appreciate this site. Perhaps, if we ignored the riff raff, we'd be left with a better site, a writers' site where we could all dream and aspire to do greater things for the common good.

I'm all about that. I've been beating my head against a brick wall since the day I joined this site. I've written several essays on this very subject and have been severely bashed for it.

There are so good people here and some very talented writers. We shouldn't allow the few whackos who have dozens of alts to ruin this site.
 
Actually it is a good site. There's a lot of leeway. I mean, you can try all kinds of stuff: sound, visuals, poetry, prose, prose-poetry, poetic prose, and on and on. I've found that if I can focus on that love, that love of fucking around, that love of life, and try to have as much fun as possible while causing harm to as few people as possible, then the world's good. But if I spend too much time on the Other stuff... if I let what's not so important get in my head... then it's time to back off. Lit is a wonderful world, but it is only one little world. It offers a great platform to show one's wares as it were. In my case, I have a table way on the outskirts, which almost no one comes to check out, but I like the quietude.

Welcome to the Timmnmmish Threadcast
 
hmmnmm said:
Actually it is a good site. There's a lot of leeway. I mean, you can try all kinds of stuff: sound, visuals, poetry, prose, prose-poetry, poetic prose, and on and on. I've found that if I can focus on that love, that love of fucking around, that love of life, and try to have as much fun as possible while causing harm to as few people as possible, then the world's good. But if I spend too much time on the Other stuff... if I let what's not so important get in my head... then it's time to back off. Lit is a wonderful world, but it is only one little world. It offers a great platform to show one's wares as it were. In my case, I have a table way on the outskirts, which almost no one comes to check out, but I like the quietude.

Welcome to the Timmnmmish Threadcast
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Your other post, paired with this one, makes me think that maybe you forgot not to be too serious about the opinions of other people. It's a mistake we all make, sweet. You just have to remember to count and weigh it all, if you're going to pay attention to any of it. For every one who feels the need to tear you down, there are many who will happily keep you afloat and remind you of your worth.

Had a friend ask me recently, when I was struggling, "What are you trying to control here?"

When I realized that I was trying to control other people's perceptions, it reminded me how futile that is, and helped me relax. We have enough of a task shaping our own perceptions, without messing about with those of other people.

Come have some pie, sweetie. That'll remind you what's really important.

(nothing but love, and some nice refined sugar on occasion...)
 
unpredictablebijou said:
Your other post, paired with this one, makes me think that maybe you forgot not to be too serious about the opinions of other people. It's a mistake we all make, sweet. You just have to remember to count and weigh it all, if you're going to pay attention to any of it. For every one who feels the need to tear you down, there are many who will happily keep you afloat and remind you of your worth.

Had a friend ask me recently, when I was struggling, "What are you trying to control here?"

When I realized that I was trying to control other people's perceptions, it reminded me how futile that is, and helped me relax. We have enough of a task shaping our own perceptions, without messing about with those of other people.

Come have some pie, sweetie. That'll remind you what's really important.

(nothing but love, and some nice refined sugar on occasion...)
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Hey:heart:

Well I've been studying some stuff about like, the brain. Mainly, I learned what's old news by now, that when someone hears music that gives them pleasure it's because it's activating the same region of the brain that responds to sex and chocolate, etc. And heroin. Rewards. Which got me to wondering, that approval and praise might have similar effects: makes you feel good. Which is great. But it can get addicting. So there's danger of forgetting to Do Things (poems, prose, music, etc) because you love doing them; doing them because you believe you'll get a cookie. And, if you've become too dependent on the cookies, doing Things for the cookies, if you get a cuff across the chin... well, I guess you see then the extent of your dependence on cookies.

Somethin' like that.

:heart:
 
hmmnmm said:
Hey:heart:

Well I've been studying some stuff about like, the brain. Mainly, I learned what's old news by now, that when someone hears music that gives them pleasure it's because it's activating the same region of the brain that responds to sex and chocolate, etc. And heroin. Rewards. Which got me to wondering, that approval and praise might have similar effects: makes you feel good. Which is great. But it can get addicting. So there's danger of forgetting to Do Things (poems, prose, music, etc) because you love doing them; doing them because you believe you'll get a cookie. And, if you've become too dependent on the cookies, doing Things for the cookies, if you get a cuff across the chin... well, I guess you see then the extent of your dependence on cookies.

Somethin' like that.

:heart:
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You're making perfect sense.

I had to take a break from writing here for that very reason. I forgot that my real audience is God and polar bears and the Fat Lady, and nobody else.

The Fat Lady loves your work. She sees all, approves of all, embraces all and puts everything on her fridge, even your handprint-made-into-a-construction-paper-turkey artwork.

Cookies. mmmm.
 
The Fat Lady's Cookies.

If I was going to open a bakery, that's what I'd call it. Or call something that, The Fat Lady's Cookies.

You know, every time you come in here, and every time we chit chat, I get ideas.

What's in your cookies?
 
hmmnmm said:
The Fat Lady's Cookies.

If I was going to open a bakery, that's what I'd call it. Or call something that, The Fat Lady's Cookies.

You know, every time you come in here, and every time we chit chat, I get ideas.

What's in your cookies?
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Today's cookies are made with finely sifted magnolia flour. Unsalted danish butter is melted over a slow and lusty flame, mixed with Tibetan allspice, rain-scented saffron and the finest violet cinnamon from Bhutan. It's all creamed into a mixture of meadowlark eggs and Peruvian honey.

Drop by copper spoonfuls onto a silver baking sheet lined with egyptian parchment (inscribed, of course, with the appropriate heiroglyphs) and bake at slightly higher than body temperature for about four blissful hours.

I garnish mine with raspberry gumdrops, but you can also use red jujubes. Or just frost them with whipped almond cream.

Have another. They're best fresh.
 
You slay me with your intimate knowledge and expert dispensation of so many colorful, aromatic, ingredients.
 
Then please allow my thorough ignorance of Japanese opera and particle physics to bring you back to life.







.
 
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Oh but I'm in heaven so don't mind the Japanese opera. Yakitori would be fine, though. Oh yeah.
 
hmmnmm said:
Oh but I'm in heaven so don't mind the Japanese opera. Yakitori would be fine, though. Oh yeah.
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Well, I looked round and found this. Very interesting!

Or is it this?

yakitori.jpg



Yum. I do like evocative foods.

In heaven you can get whatever you want, so long as they can figure out what you're asking for...

I must be away now. There are more cookies to make.

keep
the
faith
 
unpredictablebijou said:
Well, I looked round and found this. Very interesting!

Or is it this?

yakitori.jpg



Yum. I do like evocative foods.

In heaven you can get whatever you want, so long as they can figure out what you're asking for...

I must be away now. There are more cookies to make.

keep
the
faith
Click to expand...

Ah! Illumination!

Oh by the way: second skewer from the right. oh yeah.

But the illumination: First of all, that would be a problem or a hindrance, because when asked what I want, that would be tough to get across, because I like it all, but I don't wanna hog it all. So I think I'd say, 'how about just not trying to get anything specific. How about just leaving me free access to the kitchen and the fixings, and I'll go in there when the mood strikes and just mess around. Might come up with something tasty. Might not. If I do, I'm quite willing to share or give. But I suspect it would be much like everything else: not too many would want what I'd fix up. Which would actually be just as well, because one or two would, so that would be more for us. I think it's an across-the-board matter. Not that it so much matters. Except, I imagine there's others out there/here who feel the same and sometimes wonder why or what to do about it if anything. They know they're better off when they're not worrying or even thinking about it, but they do sometimes find themselves thinking about it despite what they know is best judgment.

Maybe it must be that way because of the struggle entailed in getting free of it, again and again, and maybe becoming slightly wiser. Because it's all about space and freedom. Space and freedom to be oneself. Which creates or allows authenticity. Which is something all can do but most fall victim to the deception that they shouldn't.
 
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