From whiskey river's commonplace book: The poet discovers himself alone on a darkened stage, suffering temporary amnesia. What terror not to be able to remember or to imagine what you wanted to say. A language dysfunction, a disease of imagination's present time. The expectant audience sits unmoving and utterly silent. A small asexual voice offstage prompts the first words of a monologue in whispers, and the poet begins to speak, a time-delayed recitation of the future.

A microfiction inspired by a photo I once took

No invitation's been extended to her -- but then, she's not asking for one

From whiskey river's commonplace book: Around you is a subtle electromagnetic body of energy that is sometimes called the subtle body and is normally unseen by the naked eye. The ancient Greeks called it the etheric body. This is where the real you resides. It's also where your real feelings reside. Imagine it to be a faint energy field, like a colorless mist.

A microfiction prompted by a photo I once took

Whoa! What an informative little clip. Visuals can sometimes tell us a great deal.

Gabriel Naude steps onstage

From whiskey river's commonplace book: Tune: "Thinking of Maiden Chin" I ascend high on the storied pavilion,Below, mountains scatter in disorder;The uncultivated plain extendsFar in the light mist.In the light mist,Crows have returned to their nests;The evening horn is heard in the dusk. Burnt-out incense, left-over wine ---My melancholy heart!The evening wind hastens…

A microfiction inspired by a photo I once took

Easing you into a deeply strange story: "The Propagational Library"

From whiskey river's commonplace book: Everybody has seen an image of enfoldment: You fold up a sheet of paper, turn it into a small packet, make cuts in it, and then unfold it into a pattern. The parts that were close in the cuts unfold to be far away. This is like what happens in a hologram. Enfoldment is really very common in our experience.

Old ideas don't really die; sometimes they don't even fade away.

A microfiction prompted by a photograph I once took

From whiskey river's commonplace book: Writing in the Dark It's not difficult.Anyway, it's necessary. Wait till morning, and you'll forget.And who knows if morning will come. Fumble for the light, and you'll bestark awake, but the visionwill be fading, slippingout of reach. You must have paper at hand,a felt-tip pen---ballpoints don't always flow,

A microfiction prompted by a photo I recently took

From whiskey river's commonplace book (with small differences in translation): I am not I I am not I.I am this onewalking beside me whom I do not see,whom at times I manage to visit,and whom at other times I forget;who remains calm and silent while I talk,who forgives, gently, when I hate,who walks where I am not,

A microfiction prompted by a photo I once took

From whiskey river's commonplace book: When you consider something like death, after which (there being no news flash to the contrary) we may well go out like a candle flame, then it probably doesn't matter if we try too hard, are awkward sometimes, care for one another too deeply, are excessively curious about nature, are too open to experience, enjoy a nonstop expense of the senses in an effort to know life intimately and lovingly.

A microfiction inspired by a photo I once took

From whiskey river's commonplace book: There once lived a great warrior. Though quite old, he still was able to defeat any challenger. His reputation extended far and wide throughout the land and many students gathered to study under him. One day an infamous young warrior arrived at the village, determined to be the first man to defeat the great master.

A microfiction inspired by a photograph I took recently

An incomplete list

From whiskey river's commonplace book: ...you are all original and talented and need to let it out of yourselves; that is to say, you have the creative impulse. But the ardor for it is inhibited and dried up by many things; as I said, by criticism, self-doubt, duty, nervous fear which expresses itself in merely external action like running up and downstairs and scratching items off lists and thinking you are being efficient; by anxiety about making a living, by fear of not excelling.

Note to regular visitors: this has been a week of very interesting travel adventures for me... so interesting, in fact, that I'm posting this Friday entry -- this abbreviated Friday entry, at that -- two days late. Heh. ) From elsewhere: Fado A man reaches close and lifts a quarter from inside a girl’s ear, from her hands takes a dove…