A Study in Color and Composition

I was playing around with color and placement of objects, without really going for a specific meaning, at least consciously. I incorporated various different types of media I just had lying around. It’s the first in a series of sketches I’m planning on doing daily. If you’re interested, I was listening to alternative rock on Pandora at the time (can’t you tell?)

I like the inverted button effect that I (accidentally) achieved by scanning the document.

(Scanned in lower resolution than the actual picture.)

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Enough is Enough

 

by Megan Blaney

 

Enough! of the negativity

Self hatred

Self pity

Sitting on the cracked tile floor

reflections spearing flesh from scattered droplets

 

Enough! wallowing in darkness

Self created

Self initiated

Lurking in the crevice of a musty attic

eyes peering beneath blankets tossed over mirrors

 

Enough! looking to others for approval

Self love

Self appreciation

Emerging from the soil a changed creation

spine curving in new directions

 

Enough! losing yourself in mindless renewal

Self commitment

Self preservation

Stretching for the sunlight released from twisted bark

new growth fluttering in the wind

 

Enough! is enough

 

*PS – thank you to ismycameradrunk for the gorgeous picture, much more beautiful than the mediocre poetry accompaniment. Check out his blog, it’s amazing and entertaining.

Springboard

Written 2/25/2016 by Megan Blaney aka wiedienacht

Springboard
I launch off you to achieve my own unhappiness
Thank you for the inspiration

It means so much not to be alone in this world
I’ll show my appreciation by
Insulting your cooking in all sincerity

To what do you owe your success I’ll smile
While planning in darkness to use your answers
Against you in clever ways

Volley
You have no need to do the same
But find other ways to play

Your scorecard is kept in your back pocket, next to your phone
That you pull out when I’m telling you
This story about our future

I love this modern game of love, don’t you?

Note: “I usually like my poems to stand alone but I feel like this one needs an addendum, only if because it’s not ready to stand alone. It’s the first one I’ve written in a while, freeform as most of my poetry is. It just spills onto the page without much direction from me. After a while, I get better at it. Forgive my floundering efforts (like this one) while I struggle again to find my rhythm.”

I guess I’m back.. Or Today’s Random Thought.

After hitting a low point, clawing myself out for a few months into the light of the “real world” only to detonate myself and a few innocent people around me (not literally for those that might be frowning or gasping in a concerned way), I’m back here “blogging” and reading other people’s “blogs.” Melodramatic opening, I know. Sorry, not sorry. I’m at the bottom looking up again and wondering how the hell do “normal” people do it? (Begin “Appeasing Statement.” No offense to serious bloggers. I’m not implying that the blogging sphere is necessarily “the bottom.” Just that I end up here when I personally hit “the bottom” emotionally. End of “Appeasing Statement.”)

Time for some self reflection, poetry and art to cheer me up, bolster me for the next big failure of my life. Haha. Damn is it hard not to be self-depreciating. Maybe I should take one of those courses that help you suppress your “id” and become one with the world around you. Hard not to see that as willfully guzzling the poison that up until recently you’ve only been sipping. Do I sound like I’m whining? Don’t answer that, I might be forced to come through the screen and slap you.

Some random thoughts I had to get out. I’ll post some poems over the next few weeks if anyone cares to read them, doubt they’ll be much good but they are, shall we say, therapeutic.

Sorry you read this thinking it might be entertaining, but then feeling as hollow and disappointed as a child leaving a cut rate amusement park with nothing more than sticky hands and a ragged teddy bear missing an eye to show for your efforts when you reached the last few sentences without even uttering a single amused grunt.

Cheers,

Megan

Anything Please, a (Horror?) Short

DISCLAIMER: Graphic violence, some may find disturbing. Please keep this in mind if you chose to continue reading, though I doubt it’s any worse than your average TV show. (Walking Dead anyone? Num num.)

This is a short story that I started working on 9 months ago and rediscovered just today. The ending is cheap I know, it’s still a WOP… mostly because I have no idea where to take it from here, especially after losing it for so long. Anyway, hope you enjoy regardless, and as always, I welcome comments.


“Anything please.”

“Fine. We’ll go with the broken finger, let’s say.. the sixth one from the left, counting from your pinky.”

“Fantastic.” I spread out my hands in front of me. They rested like miniature pink sausages on the chilly metal counter top. The spindly veins fascinated me.

“One, two, three,” he made a show of counting each digit starting from my left pinky, touching lightly, “four, five,” the blue plastic gloves he wore left traces of fine white power, dusted like ash on the fine hairs of my fingers, “six.”

“Ah, here we are. Ready?” He grinned at me. I couldn’t see his eyes behind the dark round glasses he wore.

I shivered with excitement. “Ready.” My shoulders tensed. My fingers spread further apart. Tendons jumped up from their fleshy beds.

Bending from the waist, he reached below the desk separating us. His hand explored an area I could not see, his chin hovering near the edge of the desk. His nostrils left damp circles that appeared and receded with every breath. After a moment he withdrew a hammer, made of the same shimmering metal as the surface my pale hands now flexed upon. He examined it momentarily, testing the weight, feeling what texture he could behind the gloves and opaque glasses.

Satisfied, he rose up, over six feet in height, muscles coiling, hammer high above his head- and brought the instrument savagely down upon my finger, sixth from the left, counting from my pinky.

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Green and Golden Snake

written 6/26/2015

by Megan Blaney aka wiedienacht

eye closed

The green and golden snake is hanging

Upon the basement stairs

It whispers to me softly

I can take away your cares

I’m the end you’re seeking

The hollowness you’re feeling

Can’t affect you here

Underneath the stair case

Between the spider’s webs

Near empty cans of paint and

Forgotten dolls with no heads

I push away the whispers every time I go

Down into the basement

To stow or fetch my clothes

But the wear begins to show

Perhaps I should relocate

The green and golden snake

So he no longer bothers me

But that would be like losing

My best company

Ode to California, Our Sinking Garden

written 06/26/2015

by Megan Blaney aka wiedienacht

I stand on the fence posts
Splitting ties with ignorance
Reckless hope for what I don’t know
Brought me here, but won’t let go
Chokes desire instead, with harsh fingers
Wrapped ‘round my throat

Tongue twisted, mind muddled
Eyes clamped shut, still light hisses through
The fringes of soiled eye lashes
Fingers clasped tightly together
Afraid to peel away and discover
The emptiness they hold in one another

Crows caw caw craw
Single notes of haughty reproach
Chasing me further down this hole
I’ve dug out for myself, overnight
Pushing aside the roots and moles
Dirt mixes with blood

Under my nails and clumps
In my hair, I’ll never get it out

The fence posts above my head now
Rot away against an indifferent sky
Beside abandoned soil skimmed fields
Belonging only now to sticks and
Drought hardy, hardened bugs
Feral dogs and guilty cats

Stalk amid the long dried stalks
Hunt starving snakes and
Worm riddled mangled rats

This Week in Fake News

AWPYD7 Elderly woman raising eyebrow and looking at camera, portrait, close-up

Photo Credit: AWPYD7

I got bored and wrote a fake news article after browsing the internet and reading a bunch of real ones. Of course, I don’t really condone a shooting gallery/ kid’s playhouse. That sort of goes without saying… This is satire.

There may be six fewer houses on Low Street by the end of August as town officials find a way to improve visibility for traffic entering High Street from Low Street.

The plan, which is being proposed to accommodate the expected increase of traffic from the new multi-million dollar shooting gallery and kid’s fun-house, Shoots N Tots, includes making the base of Low Street into a water slide that will empty directly into the fun-house.

A public hearing will be held on Thursday, December 24 at 1:30 am, near the end of a Christmas selectman’s ball to discuss the changes that by then will already be under way. RSVP is required, BYOB (bring your own bananas.)

The proposed plan would allow the DOT to issue a traffic flow permit for the new shooting gallery and kid’s fun-house that is under construction. This should have been done before construction began, but who has time for foresight? Rhetorical question, of course.

The building is expected to open next March. The water slide will open shortly there-after, and employ at least four and a half school age children to satisfy the state’s strict right to work laws.

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A Single Day in Any Cafe, A Short Story

written 6/2015 First Draft. Still trying to find the proper “voice” for this character, so please be forgiving of the eye-rolling “noir” bits. (They will eventually be edited out.) As always, I welcome your thoughts.

by Megan Blaney aka wiedienacht

Lip syncing to a popular song doesn’t make you hip. Just like posturing doesn’t get you noticed. Yet, I found myself watching her as she worked. The sway of her hip as she nonchalantly cleared a table for the next customers, the rhythm of her lips as she mouthed “We Will Rock You,” the way she kept glancing in my general direction. I noticed her blue cap, knit with a red M, clashing with the frilly white and yellow skirt she wore over plaid shorts (a lesson in hipster outfitting 101.) She seemed too tall for natural grace, yet she could still glide through the room.

I sipped my coffee and watched her for a while- when she paused to pick up a book, dust a table, or check her phone. I looked away only when she looked my way, and one other time when she bent to dust the railings. I was curious, not leching.

My wrap was bland. While I’d been finishing it, she had retreated up the short steps to the other side of the building, where I couldn’t watch her anymore.

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You know you’ve hit a low point when… (Or Today’s Random Thought)

You write “I am worth it” all over a blank piece of paper in order to convince yourself of that fact. Twenty minutes later you have a cramp in your wrist and a very desperate and sad looking piece of paper. The worst part is, this isn’t even a suggestion from your therapist. It was your idea. Hahaha. Funny.

Anyway, here’s to hoping everyone else is having a better day.

Cheers