Friday Phrases!

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The Future of Us …

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Well, #FP-verse … here it is. We’ve been waiting for this day for a very long time. On December 5th, 2016, we quietly celebrated our 2nd anniversary with Friday Phrases, which is just amazing. For two years it has been part of our life and it will be for many years more. For two years, we got to be here and share things we honestly never thought we’d share with the world!
A chance of a lifetime, we thought, when we agreed to adopt Friday Phrases.
But chances are not given freely.
And then we almost lost our chance to do to this for many years to come. Because, for a second year, we were in deep financial trouble, and could have lost everything we’d built over that period of time.
I think our level of desperation is hard to describe, because we live for the things we do. And we only know how to do this.
And what the time came, something nothing short of a miracle to us happened and that was Chris Mahan, offering to pay for Friday Phrases hosting fee.
It sounds small to the ear. But it opened doors to new days we didn’t think we’d even see with #FP. It gave us a chance again to finish business that was too long left undone.
This is not a chance that will fade away, ever. I will live and breathe this till the day I die, because I believe in it. I believe in art, in expression, in writing to help change the way we view the world, to illustrate great questions we as a race need to ask, and answers we need to find. It’s a way for us to fight the ills we see threatening it and defending the good that is left. The little things we love to do that keeps us humane and in touch with the rest of us, searching for some stretch of silence upon which to paint the heart.
This is a small thing and yet such an infinite thing saved by one man, when we did not have the facilities to do so.
And this, in his words, is the ode to art we’ll never forget.
And a thank you from us behind Friday Phrases that still seems too small for what the gesture meant to us.
And now, here is Futures, written by Chris Mahan, edited by Zee Southcombe.

Futures

by Chris Mahan

Migomia

 

What does it mean to be a writer, an artist, a poet, in 2017?

What does it mean to write, to express, when the very air we breathe seems to spy on us; suffocate us? Would it not be easier to just be quiet? To go along with the programmed death, in time, we all ascribe to?

Arentha Good saw sheets of parchment on the museum floor. The beam of her LED flashlight swept the abandoned building left to right, looking for clues.
To her left, Chief Explorer Yam Gordon stepped over scattered displays and mangled metal scaffolding.
“What am I looking for?”
Yam looked at her.
“Anything with writings.”
She thought about it for a moment. Not a big chance of that, not since the great digital age had wiped out the written world.
She picked up the parchment. There was writing. A little bit of writing.
Yam came closer.
“Can you read it? What does it say?”
Arentha squinted at the faint letters. “I think so.”
Her finger traced the line of symbols.
“West… Building… “
Yam smiled. “Go on!”
“Not sure about this word. Dinosaur? Yes, that’s right.”
She shifted the parchment. ‘Here, this word is harder. Exib. No. Exhibit.”
“Dinosaur exhibit?”
Arentha kept reading. “Third floor.”

Ungam Tebogo came up from behind. Her tall frame lit in the halo of light. “What has our linguist been able to find?”
Yam turned to Ungam: “Dinosaur Exhibit, third floor.”
Ungam looked at Yam. “What’s a die-nosor?”
“Dinosaur, large reptilian creature, both herbivore and carnivore.”
“Large? How large?”
“Like an elephant, except three… four times bigger?”

Ungam pulled her phone out of her pocket. The glow of the screen lit the worry on her face. “Everybody out now, meet back at the ship.”
She pointed at Yam and Arentha. “You too. Come with me.”

As they ran out Yam asked: “Can’t we just check it out?”

Ungam replied without turning her head. “No, back to the ship!”

Arentha saw Meo, Hiak, and Urgano running to their left.

They arrived at the ship and once inside pilots Gren and Muma took it to 1,000 meters, circling the museum building.

Starship Commander Treek Bloom met them in Dock Assembly.

“Commander Treek, we have to destroy that building.”

“Sharga Ungam, are you sure?” He had used her military title, acknowledging her command status.

Yam was about to speak. Arentha put her hand on his arm and mouthed “No.”

Treek turned to the weapons engineer: “Ylana, vaporize the museum.”

She lifted her phone to her face and tapped with her finger. Within seconds the high-pitched sound of the plasma accelerator resonated through the ship.

“Museum vaporized, Sir.”

Ungam walked closer to Arentha and Yam. She looked at each of them in the eye.

“Yam, I understand you wanted to explore. We all have a thirst for knowledge of this ancient world we come from.”
She paused and her face grew hard. “Remember what happened at the zoo. I could not take a chance with your lives. You’re too valuable.”
An easy smile returned to her face. “We’re the luckiest crew in the fleet. The best linguist and the best explorer.”

Treek Bloom walked back to them showing his phone. “We’ve found another museum, on a hill near the sea. Wanna go in?”
Ungam turned to Yam with a smile. “What do you think?”

“What is it called, commander?”

Treek looked at his phone, zoomed with a pinch-out. “The synthetic voice said: “JP Getty.”

Yam beamed. “The Getty? Yeah!”

Treek tapped his phone. “Sharga Ungam, get your crew ready. We’re going in.”

The story could go on, and you’re welcome to make whatever story you like, dear reader.

The point I tried to make with this story is that the art of writing could someday disappear, along with the corresponding ability to read. The second point is that I wrote a story about a future that implied massive changes, yet one not terribly worse.

This is the most important point: we can, by writing, create visions of where we want to go, of the worlds we want to live in. We are not constrained by the vision of our political leaders, by the doom of religious prophecies, by the cynicism of demagogues. The future is what we want to build, and the first step is to write the story we imagine.

Artists by their art express this yearning for different, better, even if the change we hope for is personal. Sometimes it resonates with others and they find themselves drawn into the fantasy. If enough people embrace this alternate vision, together they can make it become reality.

Artists, to your art. We’re going in.

 

~*~

Chris Mahan can be found at:

Twitter: @chris_mahan

Website: christophermahan.com

 

Zee Southcombe can be found at:

Facebook: @ZRSouthcombe

Instagram: @zrsouthcombe

Twitter: @zrsouthcombe

 

 

A Treasure Beyond Gold With @Dimple969!

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I am honoured to be asked for this interview, but I must confess I am not a writer. I think could describe myself as keen player of prompts I love rising to challenges. I grew up in west part of Turkey surrounded with family and relatives quite happily. Went to University in same town under protective wings of my family. I found university was not challenging enough for me, I always wanted to involve in art and become art teacher but end up as a Geography teacher . I stayed at Uni as research assistant and did my Masters same time.

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My first adventure was going to Istanbul as a master student. Well, a life changing meeting took place, as my now ex husband came to visit to our university as guest speaker and swept me off my feet with sincere lies.
I found myself in UK and quite alone under dark skies my first reaction was to cry, “What have I done!!”
Once I discovered libraries here (we didn’t have any in Turkey and I couldn’t afford to buy books,) I think I must have read all , I buried myself in them until I forgot the reality. Reading for me is a lifeline, a good book is a treasure beyond gold. I love adventurous books that are fast paced and extraordinary things happening in the storyline.
History was my other subject at Uni and I love reading about it and watching documentaries.

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The story how I started writing in twitter is funny, usually I don’t watch X factors but year 2014, I did and one of the contestants became my guilty pleasure. When he came third and disappeared off from TV, I had withdrawal symptoms and seek to find him social media .
Before that I didn’t have Facebook or twitter account and I had to learn how to use them and start writing poems for him, my first muse.
I noticed a short poem in twitter and many helped me to find prompts and since then I am addicted to playing daily. Last year, I was asked to take over powerofmywords prompt game and I ran it for a year until I started my own this May . @Dimpleverse has no rules as I hate rules myself and I send prompts Monday, Wednesday and Friday and extra weekend prompts for haiku sixwords and tenwords optional. I have met amazing talented people from all over the world and feel very lucky to connect easily through twitter.

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I love writing very short poems, shorter the better, six words is one of them, but to be able to cope with many daily prompts, I use them on big combo poems . I love making up stories, and with a friend, I wrote one but I don’t feel I am efficient to use English as much as I wish. My friends here know I make a lot of mistakes with grammar and spelling mistakes.
I think my strong beliefs, God, nature, love, yearning, sorrow influence my writing and current mood so if I am happy you can see it in my poems and when I am gloomy its reflected there, so all I write is real feelings. I find writing gives me freedom to be my naughty self whereas in real life, I am very modest. I grew up in a small town with conservative views hence I sometimes feel guilty when I do racy poems.

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Many times, I felt less than good reading others brilliant poems as mine are very simple, almost childish, full of errors, I wish twitter have edit button! I have no idea why people like my poems. I guess my Mediterranean hot blooded passion must showing up. I am a Gemini and can be two different person, virtuous and sinner, daily battle is reflected in my writing, honesty is very important for me and I am very transparent. I trust very easily followed with disappointments, aftermath is when I try to heal by writing.
So, as I said in the beginning, I am not a professional writer. I do this as a hobby. One thing I really want is to start painting to explore my long wished dream. Maybe one day I might have enough drive to put some kind of poetry book with my own paintings or a collection of short stories but I still feel my English is falls far short to do any of it.
I would give advice any who wants to write is to be true to themselves and do it for enjoyment , get a pleasure out of it, feel the blood sizzling in your veins when words fall perfectly in line … have fun fun fun 😀

 

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S4S: Glorious Goldies by @bobbibowwoman

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“Interview with the Author of Goldfish Diaries”

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Bobbi Bowman here, sitting down with the author of Goldfish Diaries.  Well, I’m sitting and our lovely guest is in her tank.  Many have been curious about her tweets.

Bobbi:  What inspired you to tweet?

Goldfish: I wasn’t tweeting at all. I was journaling.

B: Then how did you come to be on twitter?

G: A friend encouraged me to share my musings with a twitter community #FP (Friday Phrases).  These lovely writers and word lovers come together every Friday to share stories.

B: But, and I don’t mean to be rude, you’re a fish.  How do you post?

G:  It’s not magic or anything.  I simply hand over my diary weekly and my friend tweets it (with the hash tag #FP, of course).

B: I understand there have been changes in your life over the last year.

G: Sadly, two roommates left.  I have no idea where they are at present.

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Home after cleaning day.  Quick loop, then slower.

Roommates…gone

GONE

Alone again.

Tears don’t show under water

B: I am sorry for your loss.  You are presently not alone, am I right?

G:  I have a friend, Snail.  We didn’t hit it off right away, both being snooty with our species prejudices.

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Maybe following the snail/butler to point out places it missed on the glass was not the best way to introduce myself.

G: We can laugh about it now.  It’s great to have a best friend.

B: What are your hopes for the future?

G: A mate.  Oh dear, I said that too quickly.  I should have said something more profound like world peace.  Snail says that without a mate, I can work at being the best goldfish I can be.  That’s what I’m doing.

B: Thanks for talking with me today.

G: My pleasure.  By the way, if anyone is interested in seeing all my tweets in order along with drawings can visit the blog:  bobbibowwoman.com

As I mentioned before, Snail and I got off to a rocky start in the tank.  We both had a lot of learning to do. Below is a short on how it all began:

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I was feeling lucky, believing today a new roomie would break this loneliness.

It came.

Too horrible to speak

A snail.

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A snail!  Unbearable.  I now share the bowl with slime.

Good butlers, okay.  But I want a friend…dare say, a mate.

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The butler/snail will not approach me. Fish always make the first move.

Oh, this is unbearable.

Does it even speak?

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One stupid butler/snail and no weekly cleanings.

They don’t care that my gills ache pushing thin air and grime.

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The snail/butler said it waited to test the complexity of MY language before responding.

Unthinkable. MY language.

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Unthinkable—I’m trapped here with the only snail that thinks it’s better than a fish.

Unless they all do.

Damn.

 

Pictures, interview, and #FPs by @bobbibowwoman

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