April Fool?

It was a fine summer morning in July when I found out I was Death.

The first clue was when I opened my cupboard and found an unusually large collection of black robes. Most were worn, a few had been patched, and there was a brand new one on the far right with a hefty price tag from Zara. I blinked, and dismissed it. My brother had probably replaced my closet while I was asleep.
My second clue came from the garden shed. Someone had removed all my spades and replaced them with heavy scythes. I was reasonably upset—my garden had never required such drastic weed-removing measures. The lawnmower was also missing. Still, it could be one of my brother’s pranks.

I went through the day rather routinely. I hacked at the weeds with the scythe (hey! I improvised!), did my chores, and even fixed that old grandfather clock that sits near the stairs.

The clues melded into a revelation of epic proportions after I discovered I could walk through walls.

It was all rather surreal, until I found myself in a black robe and scythe, wandering around in a hospital looking for a Mr. R. Creevy. I found him in Room 101, looking rather distraught.

‘Excuse me,’ he said huffily. ‘Do you know what’s happening?’

‘Er,’ I ventured, before clearing my throat. PERHAPS YOU ARE HAVING AN OUT OF BODY EXPERIENCE?<
He dug his ear. ‘Don’t shout.’
SORRY. I checked the mysterious hourglass on my wrist. MR ROBERT CREEVY?
‘Yes? Didn’t I tell you not to shout? My, you youngsters have no manners these days…’
I THINK YOU HAD BETTER COME WITH ME.
‘Allright,’ he said grumpily. ‘But I’m having a word with your boss, I am.’ The scythe leaned forward and the monitor beside Mr. R. Creevy showed a flat line.
I blinked. Perhaps I was Death after all. Naturally, I was quite puzzled by the entire affair. Perhaps I needed to see a psychiatrist, so that was where I went next.
EXCUSE ME, I said to the receptionist. CAN YOU TELL ME WHERE I CAN FIND A DR. I checked the name card.DR. BENSON?

‘Down the hall,’ said the receptionist idly. ‘Would you like a cough drop? You sound hoarse.’

I’M FINE, THANKS. HAVE A NICE DAY.
I wandered down the corridor and knocked on the good doctor’s door. ‘Come in!’ I walked through the door and surveyed the room. It was minimally decorated, and the couch was a horrible shade of pink.
EXCUSE ME, DOCTOR?

‘Yes,’ he gestured impatiently to the nauseating sofa. ‘What seems to be the problem?’

I’M DEATH, I said, matter-of-factly.

‘Yes, we’ve established that,’ he continued, still gesturing for me to sit down. ‘Would you like to tell me when you found out?’

THIS MORNING.
‘And how does this make you feel?’
I pondered. A LITTLE STRANGE, I SUPPOSE.
‘And would you like to tell me why this disturbs you?’
MY GUIDANCE COUNSELLOR SAID NOTHING OF THIS SORT OF VOCATION.
-Azuire//lastfactor&c.

Untitled 3

I.
I went looking for Peace,
in all the wrong places,
under the bridge
where Freedom lurked.
(She was busy with a spray can,
and she ran when I approached her.)

I asked Madam Justice,
on her pedestal, preening her
limestone mascara.
(She was still depressed over OJ.
I left her alone.)

So I wandered through,
New York and Africa,
London and Asia,
(I got an elephant ride and some tea.
Uncle Sam thought I was a waiter.)

I kept looking.

II.

Say no to drugs.
Say yes to tacos.

III.

I knocked on some doors,
and accidentally walked in
on the Universal Board of Directors.
(The economy’s so bad, the sun was fired.
I think they’ll retrench God next.)

I’m still looking for Peace,
in the right places, I’m sure
because I saw War just now.
(Dude, have you seen how fat that guy is?
He needs a crash diet. Seriously.)

Nobody seems to know
where Peace is,

(I think I’ll check
the men’s washroom.)

-Azuire//lastfactor&c.

Experiments with Form VI: Sestinas

If you, like me, took days of research trying to understand sestinas, you might find this useful.

A sestina (also, sextina, sestine, or sextain) is a highly structured poem consisting of six six-line stanzas followed by a tercet (called its envoy or tornada), for a total of thirty-nine lines. The same set of six words ends the lines of each of the six-line stanzas, but in a different order each time; if we number the first stanza’s lines 123456, then the words ending the second stanza’s lines appear in the order 615243, then 364125, then 532614, then 451362, and finally 246531.

First stanza, ..1 ..2 ..3 ..4 ..5 ..6
Second stanza, ..6 ..1 ..5 .. 2 ..4 ..3
Third stanza, ..3 ..6 ..4 ..1 ..2 ..5
Fourth stanza, ..5 ..3 ..2 ..6 ..1 ..4
Fifth stanza, ..4 ..5 ..1 ..3 ..6 ..2
Sixth stanza, ..2 ..4 ..6 ..5 ..3 ..1

Concluding tercet:

(line) ..2, ( line) ..5
(line) ..4, (line )..3
(line) ..6, (line) ..1

This organization is referred to as retrogradatio cruciata (“retrograde cross”). These six words then appear in the tercet as well, with the tercet’s first line usually containing 1 and 2, its second 3 and 4, and its third 5 and 6 (but other versions exist, described below). English sestinas are usually written in iambic pentameter or another decasyllabic meter.

An alternate form exists using a couplet, instead of a tercet, with the word orders 123 and 456 or 135 and 246.

The sestina was invented in the late 12th century by the Provençal troubadour Arnaut Daniel. Elements of it were quickly imitated by other troubadours, such as Guilhem Peire Cazals de Caortz.

Example I wrote:

dawn brings with it the smell of rain
streaks of yellow light the city
dewdrops lift from their sea of green
snow melts from its fortress of stone
dawn in the call of the mind
as an age rests on the streets forever.

but what makes eternity last forever
entombed in thunder along with rain
lost in the byways of the mind
crisscrossing the avenues of the city
bored holes within their concrete and stone
tufts of moss break grey with green.

dawn swiftly covers ruins with green
that remain a broken monument forever
even lower than plaques carved into stone
eroded now by the torrential rain
blurry memories of a forgotten city
that serve existence only in men’s minds.

what calls whence and wherefore, the mind
it dwells in its haven of blue and green
tripping, soaring above its dream city
will it cease to fly forever
should it encounter the rain
and lose itself in the solitude of stone?

dawn brings illumination to stone
towers that rise in the chasms of the mind
grey clouds gather to fling down the rain
covering and nourishing  hidden green
it pours down joy and tears, forever
upon the makeshift name of “city”.

soft yellow melts the cold, merciless city,
with its buildings in quiet, blissful stone
they resolve to stand forever
fragments of an unyielding mind
dawn brings the promise of green
and relief from the enduring rain.

if there was a city, if there was such a mind,
that still sought stone consumed by green
let it rust in peace forever, beneath the algid rain.

-Azuire//lastfactor&c.

Just a Thought

If the Rohirrim, the Narnians, and the Jedi all met on a field of battle…

The Rohirrim would have, ‘Forth Eorlingas!‘

High King Peter would shout, ‘Narnia and the North!‘

What would the Jedi have? ‘Go midichlorians?’

Experiments with Form V: Triolets

A triolet is a one stanza poem of eight lines. Its rhyme scheme is ABaAabAB. Alllines are in iambic tetrameter (however this is not a hard and fast rule): the first, fourth and seventh lines are identical, as are the second and final lines, thereby making the initial and final couplets identical as well.  It began in France and is usually about love. (Just in time for Valentine’s, huh?) So get cracking.

Example 1:

You have to write a triolet
If you would make your name immortal.
To get a form that’s fit and set.
You have to write a triolet.
From free verse all you ever get
Is just another yawn or chortle.
You have to write a triolet
If you would make your name immortal.

Example 2: Birds at Winter by Thomas Hardy

Around the house the flakes fly faster,
And all the berries now are gone’
From holly and cotoneaster
Around the house. The flakes fly! – faster
Shutting indoors the crumb-outcaster
We used to see upon the lawn
Around the house. The Flakes fly faster
And all the berries now are gone!

-Azuire//lastfactor&c.

Experiments with Form IV: Cento

A cento is a patchwork poem, of sorts, it’s verse composed entirely of lines or phrases from other authors. It can be rhymed or unrhymed; it can be assembled with emphasis on lines, or because of a specific word. It’s not enough to choose random lines and jam them together, the poem should make some sort of sense. The trick is to create new verse while saying true to the original lines.

The best known English cento is called “Familiar Lines”, google it.

Here’s one I wrote in the group, it makes no sense:

PV=nRT

In the beginning, God made man,
(noble gases are an exception)
wobble-wobble on the walls,
dropped from a zenith like a falling star.
To the left of the reactant arrow,
please allow 2 weeks for processing.

The material girl look is back,
(oh my stars, it’s full of gods!)
Dream, you pea-brained idiot,
awake, arise or be forever fallen,
You know you’re not supposed to terrorise innocent people on Thursdays,
you should be looking for a golden bottle with a diamond stopper,
just as there are no ideal students, there are no ideal gases,
each one is a barcode.

SOURCES (in order of appearance):
The Sandman: Book of Dreams
5 Steps to a 5: AP Chemistry
Lewis Caroll
Paradise Lost
Elle magazine
DBS Bank brochure
Stargate SG-1.
-Azuire//lastfactor&c.

9 Things Every Writer Needs

9 Things Every Writer Needs To Do Every Day
by Scott Ginsberg

1. Morning pages. Sets the creative stage for your entire day.

2. Making lots of lists. The ultimate (scientific) practice for organizing your ideas.

3. Reading for at least 15 minutes. Because writers are readers. Period.

4. Writing down ideas, scraps, quotes, one-liners and other notes. Because if you don’t write it down, it never happened.

5. Journaling in some way, shape or form. You MUST capture your thoughts.

6. Have a daily appointment with yourself. It’s the most important appointment you’ll have all day!

7. Create some form of art, first thing in the morning. Doesn’t have to be good, it just has to get done.

8. Exercise. It’s called “Solvitas Perambulatorum,” and scientifically, it WILL increase your creative output.

9. Interact. With other creative people, that is. Whether it’s on the phone, online or in person, creative people need to be around other creative people. They’re the only other people who will understand what you’re going through.

© 2008 All Rights Reserved.Scott Ginsberg, aka “The Nametag Guy,” is the author of seven books, an award-winning blogger and the creator of NametagTV. He’s the only person in the world who wears a nametag 24-7 and teaches businesspeople worldwide about approachability. For more info about books, speaking engagements or customized online training programs, call 314/256-1800 or email scott@hellomynameisscott.com.

Writer’s Block

Writer’s Block

inspiration tends
to fall out of the sky and
land rather hard

(thud).

-Azuire//lastfactor&c.

Quotes Galore?

Cyberman: Daleks, be warned. You have declared war upon the Cybermen.
Dalek Sec: This is not war. This is pest control!
Cyberman: We have five million Cybermen. How many are you?
Dalek Sec: Four.
Cyberman: You would destroy the Cybermen with four Daleks?
Dalek Sec: We would destroy the Cybermen with one Dalek! You are superior in only one respect–
Cyberman: What is that?
Dalek Sec: You are better at dying.
-Doctor Who, “Doomsday”

Auld Lang Syne

10,

9,

8,

7,

6,

5,

4,

3,

2,

1.

Goodbye 2008, welcome 2009.

A happy new year from both of us at lastfactor&c.