Fifteen minutes, this is the countdown: how are you supposed to say everything you want to say in just fifteen minutes? Unprepared too! Sum it all up they said, you have 15 minutes that’s enough to point out the highlights, throw in some messages to loved ones and let them know you were thinking about them when the moment happened. But it’s not enough I said, fifteen minutes is just not enough time to express everything, I can’t press my life down into a nutshell and hope that people will be OK with the way things have turned out. I mean, what if I forget to mention someone? What if this is the most important fifteen minutes of my life and then I forget someone dear to me because of the pressure? How would you feel knowing that you have devoted yourself to helping someone and then in those last final moments you were not on their most important list? What if you were that person?
Look, you get fifteen minutes, same as everyone else!
No, fifteen minutes! He was adamant. So there I was with my rushed list trying desperately to count people’s names on my fingers and run through words in my head desperate to just say the right thing: it was too important to mess up. This was it. My last chance to show the world, to say what I really wanted to say before everything turned black. Just fifteen minutes to say all those things that had held me back through life, to tell people that I loved them or hated them (no I wouldn’t do this, still), but to just imprint a part of me into the hearts of people that I cared for: before the memory of me was lost in entirety, enveloped in the ether. Yes I had fifteen minutes to make an impact and not give way to fear. I had to hold my nerve and speak out, show true courage and then impress them, maybe I could change their minds. Perhaps I could get them to allow me a longer existence, beg them to keep my name on the list longer, help me stay alive. Yet now the end was nearing I couldn’t help but give way to the frog residing in my throat. I reached out for the mike but I could feel my throat squeezing the life from my words.
Here are the rules:
1. Your post must be stream of consciousness writing, meaning no editing, (typos can be fixed) and minimal planning on what you’re going to write.
2. Your post can be as long or as short as you want it to be. One sentence – one thousand words. Fact, fiction, poetry – it doesn’t matter. Just let the words carry you along until you’re ready to stop.
3. There will be a prompt every week. I will post the prompt here on my blog on Friday, along with a reminder for you to join in. The prompt will be one random thing, but it will not be a subject. For instance, I will not say “Write about dogs”; the prompt will be more like, “Make your first sentence a question,” “Begin with the word ‘The’,” or simply a single word to get your started.
4. Ping back! It’s important, so that I and other people can come and read your post! For example, in your post you can write “This post is part of SoCS:” and then copy and paste the URL found in your address bar at the top of this post into yours. Your link will show up in my comments for everyone to see. The most recent pingbacks will be found at the top. NOTE: Pingbacks only work from WordPress sites. If you’re self-hosted or are participating from another host, such as Blogger, please leave a link to your post in the comments below.
5. Read at least one other person’s blog who has linked back their post. Even better, read everyone’s! If you’re the first person to link back, you can check back later, or go to the previous week, by following my category, “Stream of Consciousness Saturday,” which you’ll find right below the “Like” button on my post.
6. Copy and paste the rules (if you’d like to) in your post. The more people who join in, the more new bloggers you’ll meet and the bigger your community will get!
7. As a suggestion, tag your post “SoCS” and/or “#SoCS” for more exposure and more views.
8. Have fun!
My hair is a sprawling nest of endless wires that lashes out in angst but fuzzes and fizzles under pressure. Like me, my hair is wild and unyielding, or at least the person that I want to be. More likely my hair is like me because it is messy and stubborn, not one to be trapped into a style and will break free from restraints even if they are helpful.
I cannot seem to trap my hair, beneath hair slides and bobby pins the way other women can. Those ladies with the luscious locks than can wear sleek styles and look like Audrey Hepburn or the girls that can scrape their hair into a loose pony tail and look classically lovely: why can’t my hair do this? Instead i’m left looking like a severe headmistress or a tomboy.
My mother always told me ‘you are your hair’ and I never really realised while growing up that this was actually a really mean thing to say. I know how she meant it (i think), i guess she was trying to tell me I looked nice with longer hair yet at the same time instilling in a small child that she can only be worth something because of her hair: parents really do fill you with the faults they had eh. Perhaps this also helped with my absolute dread of going to a hair dressers .Which reminds me I really should go get my hair cut, it has after all been a few years now…
Wouldn’t it, wouldn’t it
Wouldn’t it be funny
If a lady had a wooden tit
Wouldn’t it be funny
Ok so that isn’t a particuarly pc rhyme but this was triggered and remembered from an old poetry book I had as a kid (this happened before from a SOC) , though I’m starting to think that this wasn’t exactly a book meant for children, at least not the age I was anyhow. But regardless we are trailed off the subject matter here.
Would or wood? the same sounds yet very different meaning it just gets confusing as so many things in life can do. If only we could see the wood from the trees or perhaps we should be hoping we can see the trees instead of just wood as all I seem to be seeing recently are trees being pulled down to make way for roads and building, and one day soon I worry I will wake up to find that I’m living in a concrete street. Yes it might be easier to maintain with no gardening to worry about etc but surely we should be valuing nature surrounding us at a much higher price.
Recently I saw a blog post which made me smile as it gave me hope that Spring wasn’t too far off and I’m looking forward to the days getting longer and the crisp bright mornings. I’m even looking forward to seeing if I get a new family of starlings in the garden this year, wouldn’t that be grand.
Linda’s prompt for Stream of Consciousness Saturday is: “cash”
It’s a dirty word so they say, and as a product it’s actually dirty if you ask my friend about this who works in a cash office. I guess if you think about it logically it’s true too, all those places that money seems to go that we never really think about. Notes they get scrunched up in pockets, rolled up for drugs, left in old socks under mattress for paranoid people saving for a rainy day. They get folded and slipped into bra’s by girls out dancing but are too young to carry a bag (ah I remember those days fondly), or folded into the back of a travel pass – that emergency money we all desire to have available.
Then of course we still have the coins to think about, covered in ridges ready to hold the dirt and grime of everyday life. Clammy metal that attracts all manner of bacteria from sticky fingers eager to by sweets, or coins placed in mouths by bored children which then get put back into purses. Coins that drop on to pavements or roll through the grass . We even used to have a game of monies when we were young (after marbles got banned in our school) which meant we were actually just throwing money around on the floor yet we never questioned the germs: and you can bet the tuck shop never did either.
Even now I will always find dusty coins while cleaning, hidden in handbags and pockets of coats, or simply coins that have been dropped and rolled out of sight. I have containers of pennies that get put into tubs with the idea that one day I will pour them into the cash counting machine yet this never actually happens so instead I just end up with a big coin mountain.
Maybe one day soon I will get around to actually doing this, I could be rich! Or at least have enough for a bottle of wine to reward myself for the next batch of cleaning
Books and poetry are both things which make me happy so this is my ‘book spine’ poem
From Fear to Happiness
What if, I
Daughter of smoke and bone
Walked hand in hand
With the Gargoyle
In the rose labyrinth
Where he cast off the helmet of horror
Put aside his dark reign
And gave me his heartstone
As the last wish
to the mirror of the Gods
And in the beating of his wings
I let you go
Welkom op de blog van Discobar Bizar. Druk gerust wat op de andere knoppen ook, of lees het aangrijpende verhaal van Hurricane Willem nu je hier bent. Welcome to the blog of Discobar Bizar, feel free to push some of the other buttons, or to read the gripping story of Hurricane Willem whilst you are here!