Smells of Sadness

If you’re not following H.R.R. Gorman — well, damn it, you should be…

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I find smoke a familiar scent.  Log fires of old.  Coal of industry.  That Vichy smell of oil and burning flesh.

But it’s different this time.

Made out of stone, I do not fear the flame, but I smell the salt of tears as if I were placed near the sea.  Don’t cry, little people, for time is long and your lives short.  I was made to protect you, to give you comfort, joy, and peace.  Don’t let me haunt your dreams, for I would be better consumed by fire than drowned in the sadness I swore to stave off.


This week, I chose to do my prompt showcase on Thursday so as to make use of a Wednesday prompt!  This was written for Bikurgurl’s 100 Word Wednesday, and I’m thrilled to see that I got to respond to a Parisian tragedy through this prompt.

If you want…

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We Are Warned

Over the course of the last couple of weeks I’ve been enthusiastically studying everything I can on the ‘Mandela Effect.’ That’s the pop culture name given to the phenomenon where by people are seemingly being troubled by ‘false memories.’

This is something I feel compelled to share, as I am one of those people.

It’s the small stuff that threw me for a loop at first. One the very first ‘false memories,’ was learning that C3PO’s right leg is actually silver and not gold like the rest of his body.

Say what?! Yes, worse yet — I was Mark Hamill’s stunt-double and stand-in during the part of ‘Return of the Jedi,’ being filmed in Smith River, California and I swear to you that the plastic costume Anthony Daniels wore back then was all gold at the time.

From the small stuff  like a movie characters mis-colored leg, to what I believe is the huge — a complete change in the written word of God. Don’t tune out now, as what I’m about to point out falls into the realm of fantastical…

As someone who has studied scripture for years, I found myself taken aback to learn that Isaiah 11:6 says nothing about a lion laying down with the lamb. Instead, the verse posits that the ‘wolf will dwell with the lamb.’

Huh? I don’t remember that at all!

A shift in reality, perhaps? Yes, and it’s preordained.

This led me to question my knowledge of the Bible. And worse, I allow this ‘verse change,’ to affect my relationship with Jesus as I began questioning how God could allow Satan to alter His word.

Then I rediscovered this verse, Amos 8:11-12: “The days are coming,” declares the Sovereign Lord,”when I will send a famine through the land — not a famine of food or a thirst for water, but a famine of hearing the words of the Lord. People will stagger from sea to sea and wander from north to east searching for the word of the Lord, but they will not find it.”

Ah-ha! It’s clear to me from that single verse that Satan has been given God’s permission to change the Bible, ‘blinding and dumbing,’ those who rely solely on the word of God and not on Christ for their Christian walk.

Sadly, not a single preacher has spoken of the Mandela Effect, other than to poo-poo it. And worst of all, they act as if the verse in Amos doesn’t exist at all.

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Pro diet tip: Your pants won’t get too tight if you aren’t wearing any.

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Looking out into the back yard, he watched the dogs run back and forth; the younger of the three barking wildly at the dogs on the other side of fence. Tom took a sip of his now luke-warm coffee.

Shaking his head, “Damn – waited to long. Now I gotta go nuke it again.”

A minute later he returned to his seat where he continued struggling to write something — anything meaningful. With a heavy sigh Tom gazed at the photo on his device, realizing that the writing prompt wasn’t doing very much for him.

“But then, they rarely do,” he mumbled.

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The sound told him more than he wanted to know. Kitten was feeding them once more, but he had to ask: “Are you taking pity on those damned strays again?”

His voice was ripe with frustration, so Kitten ignored his query. Instead she reached into their kitchen’s junk drawer and picking out two batteries, she walked to the back door.

Opening it and without a word, she handed the obviously outdated robot the batteries. It beeped, moving away as Kitten quietly closed the door.

“Yes,” she finally responded.

“I ought to call the Recyclers.”

“Then what?” the Sex Kitten 2030 beeped.

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Watercolor and ink, 8 x 11 1/2

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Frying Pan

At first I thought I was hearing things; a flute in a copse of trees. Then I thought I was seeing things; a woman wrapped in furs playing that flute.

Behind her — wild animal’s – each under her flouting influence. It took everything in me not to fall in line and follow.

Then I saw the half-man, half-goat, carrying an iron skillet, bleeding and stumbling as if dazed.  It was then I realized that the woman, whomever she was, had kicked Pan’s ass, duncing him in the head with the frying pan, before stealing his flute.

“Perhaps they’re married,” I smiled.

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