Archive for category writing

How to Create Artisic Expressiveness

I love the very idea of artistic expressiveness – whether it be writing, music, color, sound, silence, scent, emptiness, saturation or physical – they are amalgamated as one. I want to share with you the way my existence works. Yes. My existence. Not the way I hear, taste, see, smell, feel or psychically interpret. It’s the way I combine all six senses as one. That one also has an opposite as all things do.

I tend to think visually and it is combined with the other five senses. Also, the most important idea, is that I think or encompass the contradictory or reflective manifestation inherent to the whole of reality. Some of you may believe that there are only five senses. You may not believe people have souls or psychic ability – that is fine with me; however, please read forward and have an open mind.

In order to have a sixth sense, you must believe in the idea! It is a manifestation of belief. I would argue that there are not just six senses, there are twelve. All six have an opposite. I would argue that there are even more than twelve; the physical six and the spiritual six are one. That one has an opposite and so forth – on and on, forming multitudinous and endless layers. It never ends. This forms the basis of my expressiveness. This is what I build my artistic ideas from. It is the theater upon which my ideas are built and flourish – devoid of dry, unimaginative thought.

All these things I describe equate to artistic expressiveness. To express oneself is art. The more powerful your belief is, the more expressive your art is. All human action can and should be artistically expressed. It makes life beautiful. It gives us the ability to create.

Perhaps you are one who thinks logically: There is no proof that humans have more than five senses. There is no proof of God. You need scientific evidence before you can accept any idea’s validity. You don’t believe people have souls. You don’t believe that the pineal gland is the third eye. You don’t believe that the spirit exists. I cannot convince you of any thing without proof. In my artistic world, nothing requires proof.

Does that mean logic cripples one’s ability to be artistic? No it doesn’t; however, if you think in new ways, your imagination will explode. It will overflow in color, texture, scent, flavor, depth, meaning, order and chaos. Why would you, as an artist, limit yourself to thinking logically? That’s what this article is all about anyway. It’s about removing all limitations – to free yourself from from the shackles of pure logic – to think in every possible way and of course, their reflective opposites.

jessica-enwrapped.png

I like to apply adjectives to my thoughts. I like to to think in terms of angularity. I like to swim through visions, taste sound, smell feeling, feel color and so on. I place no limitations on my genesis of art. Sometimes, just for new and powerful mindscapes, I do place limitations. I strangle ideas. I let color suffocate. I poison visual architecture, allowing it to suffer – plunging into pools of electrical chaos. Sometimes, I nurture deliquescence and then vaporize it’s flavor. I simply create and destroy. I am a writer and nothing is off limits. I immolate all barriers and then build new ones – all on purpose – sometimes by accident. Everything I do is my expression. I let whatever happens naturally, occur naturally. It is the true meaning of all things artistic.

Perhaps these ideas seem abstract. Perhaps you are beyond their practicability. It is only my hope that you will open your mind to be limitless – smashing all boundaries. Go…soar across infinite possibilities and create ideas. More importantly, express your ideas. Most important of all, never let anyone kill your dreams.

While you’re at it, have a beautiful day! :smile:

The picture is a modified photo I created entitled “Jessica Enwrapped”.

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Blog Marketing – Methods Versus Concepts

Blog Marketing Ourselves

I have discussed how we market ourselves no matter what type of blog we have. You are getting your name out there and building your reputation in every post you write. One thing I want to point out is what you want out of blogging now maybe different next year.

It’s just like that super hot girl I couldn’t stop thinking about until a month after I started dating her. I thought she had what I needed, wanted and got all excited over until I found out I couldn’t wait to get away from her! Maybe I should start dating girls over the age of twenty-one…LOL! Just kidding of course!

Blog marketing is big business. Keep in mind that your blog represents you! Above all, be honest about who you are. Be sure to use good blogging ethics in all of your work!

Read the rest of this entry »

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Rain of Love

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I have had this repeating dream for several nights and upon awakening I feel like I was in a real place, but it is just a dream. I walk through what seems an ancient city filled with beautiful marble sculptures, cobblestone streets but completely empty. I walk along reflecting all the failed love I have experienced throughout my years on this wondrous planet.

I look across a majestic horizon of tangerine skies and pink clouds while a beautiful thunderstorm approaches dividing the sky in half. I inhale the distinct scent of jasmine in the air and feel the rumbling screams of thunder from the east. A drizzle of sweet rain begins to fall, and I see her standing there. She is an absolute vision of beauty. The kind of of beauty and sweetness that would drop any man to his knees.

She stares into me so deeply I feel weakened, but dare not turn away. She already knows the intense love I have for her and now, I feel the love from her pour into me as we both face each other, trembling. She takes my hand placing it on her tender cheek, and I am lost in her eyes.

Lightning strikes the ground all around us, it’s tentacles form a kaleidoscopic shield, protecting rather than harming. We embrace each other in an inferno of explosive love. I am lost in her delicious scent, and dreamy stare. We kiss, melting into eachother.

That’s when I awaken. I usually try to fall back asleep hoping for a continuation but it doesn’t happen. I feel a little embarrassed to share this with everyone but I am always telling other bloggers to let it all hang out, so I must practice what I preach. I wrote this three days ago, but because I have had the exact same dream, I had to go ahead and post it. I have never had a repeating dream before; I hope this one never ends:)

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August 28, 2005: A Day To Remember

My weekly short story this week is the true account of my experience in Hurricane Katrina:

August 28rd 2005 (the actual landfall was August 29th though it all seemed like one long day) was a day I will never forget as long as I live. The day before, I made the decision to stay at my Mother’s house because of the impending doom. The doom I speak of was the day Hurricane Katrina hit the Mississippi gulf coast. I have been asked many times, “Why on Earth did you stay?”

Well, we have been through many hurricanes and we made a poor choice deciding to ride the storm out that day. I remember watching the the weather reports show Katrina cross Florida into the Gulf of Mexico. I then saw world renown meteorologist Jim Cantore from The Weather Channel standing on the the beach 10 miles from my Mothers house reporting, “I have a horrible feeling in my stomach about this storm. I’ve seen many come and go, but I have never had a feeling like this before.”

hurricane katrina

I’m thinking please shut up Jim, you are not supposed to guess the weather! I thought, as many coast residents that it wouldn’t be that bad.

A few hours later I noticed the storm had been upgraded to a category 3. Category 3 is nothing for people from here, but I started getting a sick feeling in my stomach also. Gee, thanks Jim. I had most of the windows boarded up and my Mother was more nervous by the minute; I tried my best to hide my fear but felt the same. We knew we couldn’t leave at that point so all we had was each other.

Then, that point in the storm where things start to get scary had arrived. We lost power and turned on the battery powered radio. The wind started howling and rain was beating hard on the windows. We heard on the radio that the storm was staring to hit land and had been upgraded to a category 5.

I have to be honest here, this was the most afraid I have ever felt my entire life. My poor mother was a nervous wreck, pacing the floor smoking cigarettes like she was in a smoking contest. It became almost pitch black outside and the wind became so loud we could barely hear each other talking. I heard one of the windows break in the back of the house. I ran to the back to make a quick repair and my heart was pounding; I knew I had to take care of my Mom so I carried on.

Loud explosive noises kept coming from the structure of our house as the wind only grew more powerful. I was sweating, scared and we thought the house was about to be blown apart. Then the scariest thing I have ever felt occurred. The side entrance door to the car port blew open ripping the entire door frame apart.

At this point I couldn’t hear a word my mother said no matter how loud she screamed. I placed the door back in it’s position, (It was in one piece though the door frame was missing) squatted down low and simply held it closed. I knew I had to hold it in place because we, along with everything in the house would be sucked out.

I have no idea where I got the strength to hold that door in place, but I did. I know I love my mom and I saved her life, but her being there gave me equal strength which enabled me to save us both. I held the door closed for eight long, grueling hours. Finally, the wind subsided enough to allow me the golden opportunity to nail it shut. After that, I could barely walk. I hugged my mom and we both cried – we were still alive.

I checked out the house and noticed that in the den, there was a giant hole around fifteen feet across peering directly to the sky. I stood being rained on inside the house for the first time in my life. Mom and I were safe. It was a mistake to stay for this storm, and this was a lesson never to be forgotten.

It was several days before we were able to see the actual damage to the entire area. We live by an elementary school where the U.S. military delivered food, water and ice. We were very lucky to be so close to the resource. I know that many people were not.

I took a job after the storm working as a quality control safety inspector for the Army Core of Engineers to aid in storm recovery. I saw firsthand the effects of this storm. To put it mildly, there was simply nothing left. I have never seen damage like that before. Everywhere we went, we just shook our heads in disbelief. The power of Mother Nature is something I will never take for granted again. I love you Mom!

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When Little Timmy Laughed


I had always had the ability to sense a persons intentions, to feel sadness or dislike even if they weren’t there. When just a boy I learned how someone could act one way yet actually feel another even if there were no reason at all to want to. I knew every white lie told by my parents, no matter how small. I kept it all to myself though. I just started working at a new job in Phoenix and was starting a new life, away from everyone I have ever known. This was exactly what I needed.

I began feeling settled in at my new job and things were great. They let us off early one Thursday afternoon so I ran home to change so I could enjoy some daylight for a change. As I approached my apartment door I heard a woman crying in great pain upstairs. I heard a child say, “Please mommy, where’s daddy? Where did daddy go?”
I took it upon my self to make sure everything was alright. Their door was open, and if anything I could ask them to close it if no problems were too serious.
“Hello! Are you alright?” I said as I knocked on the door.
“Yes. I suppose. Please come in.” said the teary eyed woman sitting at the kitchen table with her son. They pulled a chair out for me and asked me to sit.
I said, “Actually, I don’t have a lot of time. I heard the crying and thought . . .”
Then I was uncomfortably stuck listening to a story I didn’t really want to hear. All I know is that her husband left earlier that day. I didn’t want to seem insensitive but I did the best I could. Soon I was back at home and relaxed watching a little TV and fell asleep soon after.

After work the following day I arrived home as usual and noticed my heartbroken neighbor’s door was closed; no psychiatric treatment today – I’m not really wanting to be involved in it anyway. I notice that the little red light is blinking rapidly on my answering machine. I relaxed and pounded down a cold one – now it’s time for my messages.
*beep* “Hello? Mr. Holden? It’s me Roxanne – the girl upstairs. I hope you don’t mind me calling you but I was just kinda wondering what you were gonna do today. Anyway. . .talk to you later.”

How did she get my phone number, I thought. Then another message.
*beep* “Hey Jack, hope you don’t mind me calling you by your first name. Anyway, I was cooking lunch and hoped you would come by. Call me!”
I pressed pause on my messages noticing the count was thirty-seven. Thirty-seven messages from her? Today had been bad enough already. Earlier at work I was scolded by a co-worker because I didn’t want to go on a second date with her friend Sharon, whom she had set me up with the previous week. Sharon and I had nothing in common and I just wasn’t attracted to her. Now I have this to deal with and I only wanted to relax. I was intrigued though, at what could possibly have been said on all those messages. So I press play.

*beep* “Hey Jack, guess you couldn’t make it. I’ll save some dinner for you so you can eat without having fast food. My son Timmy really likes you and he wants you to come play Monopoly with him. You wouldn’t want to let a needy child go without attention would you? We will be waiting for you, bye now!”

*beep* “Jack, I just went and bought a new bathing suit and you need to come rub suntan lotion on me. I’m down by the pool, I know you want me and I may just eat you up Mr. so get down here!”

*beep* “Jack. I don’t know if I said something – or done something to make you mad. I would REALLY APPRECIATE it if you come to the pool. We really need to talk about us!”
I stop the machine again. It was 5:30 pm and I kept wondering when this psycho-bitch was going to knock on my door. Right at that exact moment came a loud knock at the door.
She screamed, “Jack! Are you in there? Your truck is outside but I didn’t here you come up. Timmy really needs to see you. Jack?”

I am stunned at this point, wondering how in the hell does craziness like this happen to me? I couldn’t decide if I should call the police or what I should do. I decided just to be very quiet. I couldn’t resist the temptation-
*beep* “Look Jack, I don’t know what your problem is but you have some SERIOUS EXPLAINING to do. My husband leaves and now you – Mr. I’m so concerned about you – better not pull one over on me. I thought we had something special!”

*beep* “I’m sorry. I don’t want to bitch, I know you had a long day at work. It’s just that me and Timmy can’t hold up under another disappointment.” BAM! A thunderous knock at my door.
I press pause and she starts yelling – the phone starts ringing – the answering machine just starts playing her messages as I am on the verge of a psychotic meltdown. I answer the phone and it’s Sharon, the other woman I didn’t want to talk to.
“Hello?” I miraculously retain a polite tone.
“Jack? It’s Sharon. I think we need to talk. Me and my momma talked and I need a man like you. I’m coming over right now!” I hear nothing but the symphonies of Leviathan playing a tritone based death march rippling with diminished chromaticism – guiding me to my hellish crypt of never ending agony. Then it all settled to one fiendish chord sheathed in perverse wickedness. Suddenly I couldn’t see – blinding whiteness, scorching my retinas. Aqueous and vitreous humour fluids began bubbling, frothing searing madness vomited from my occipital pits as all I hear is the knocking and the screaming. Little Timmy is heart broken and I am the vile, wretched human leech that doth suckle the goodness from their hearts.

I wondered if I had died just realizing there’s pure silence. Things remained quiet, still my anxiety just waited for the climactic finish to this night. After pacing nervously for a while I peeked out through the blinds into the parking lot. I was shocked to see the woman I was set up with but didn’t like sitting on the hood of my car next to Roxanne; they sat drinking liquor straight from the bottle while laughing and comparing stories of why they both were snubbed by that uncaring guy in apartment B-6. Suddenly I heard a light tap on my door and I knew right away who it was. I opened it and let little Timmy in.
He revealed a look of disgust on his face, rolled his eye’s back saying, “I guess you can guess why my Daddy left huh Mr.Jack?”
I fought to keep from laughing aloud when Timmy unstressed all of my tension, exploding in hysterical chuckles – I joined in and we both had a great time.

The following Morning I went to check my mail and noticed Roxanne’s car was gone. The gas grill outside her apartment door also went missing. A neighbor told me they moved just before sunrise because I didn’t want her and her son. Of course my neighbor, a silver haired eighty-six year old retired sex therapist looked at me and said, “Men, you’re all just alike.”

Bobby Revell

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Revellian’s Expressive linguistics 101 #2

Revellian’s Expressive linguistics 101:Philology and psycho-linguistically descriptive dialectology

This week I introduce a fresh batch of cool words to add to your vocabulary, unless of course you already know these and use them regularly in your everyday posts!

  1. avarice
  2. indefatigable
  3. extravasate
  4. raucous
  5. tenebrous
  • Avarice- An excessive desire of gain, greediness after wealth, covetousness, cupidity.

example: The store owner displayed a disgusting avariciousness when asking his employees to donate $100.00 to his birthday fund!

  • indefatigable- Incapable of being fatigued, not readily exhausted, untiring

example: The woman looked to her friends after listening to their sob stories of sexual dissatisfaction and said, “I never have that problem. I know some of you asked about my walking with a limp and I tell you, it’s not from injury but from my husbands carnal indefatigableness!

  • extravasate- to force out, to pass into surrounding tissue

example: Like a torturous hernia splitting an abdominal wall I was extravasated from the party. I thought I was on the invited list!

  • raucous- Unpleasantly loud and harsh

example: The woman sported a wicked scowl after hearing the man scream at the children. She said in a most raucous tone, “They are deaf you disgusting ruffian!”

  • tenebrous- shut off from the light, dark, murky, hard to understand, causing gloom

example: After four hours of the tenebrous literature seminar on using new words effectively, I was ready to extravasate myself from the room before I let off a raucous scream!

I like to use words in ways that seem out of place but add that special explosive quality needed for expressiveness.
example: I was engulfed in a scorching inferno of nuclear despisement when failing to make a timely comment on my girlfriends new hairstyle.
Next time be sure to immediately notice as you may be burned at the stake. I actually had a girl dump me years ago because of this exact situation.

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Thus Spoke Love

~Derrik Walker was twenty-nine years old and drifted through this world a very unfulfilled man who seemed to never have the simple things in life he wanted. He didn’t want money or nice things. He wanted to be in love with a woman that returned the same love. He wanted to know what it was like yet never took the actions necessary to find it~
Every day I saw her across the street in the window, both of us on the second floor – her window always open. I never really meant to look – and she did discreetly notice. She looked into my eyes when we passed taking clothes to the laundry until her owner arrived home each night. It was a beautiful spring and people were out jogging, walking dogs and living normal lives. The pristine greenery and sweet air seemed a cloak placed by Satan himself to hide the sickening abuse from view; not from me though. I witnessed the explosive rage of that man and the hammering fists pound her frail being. I know I might induce the resemblance of a coward but in no way am such.

She and her assaulter walked by one afternoon as her face revealed blackened eyes, covered well beneath a varnish of makeup – still I noticed. He was a vicious lawman always discharging a foul grimace, incessantly showcasing his hatred. As they passed she turned saying silently, “please help me. It is you that I love. . .” In my imagination of course – though I know she said it in her heart.

Perhaps I was foolish for dreaming of such a love. Certainly I could be killed by this monster of a man. I was witness to his killing a puppy before the eyes of a little girl last week. He also backhanded the innocent child across the face while asking the woman I secretly desired – if she loved him. She was aware I had seen the whole situation yet ran into back into his arms, though fearing for her life. Why was I such a craven? I fantasized of pulverizing his skull with a lead pipe or stabbing him repetitively until my arm cramped from exhaustion. None the less, it was I who felt like dying. My friends thought I was insane for many reasons, one being my break up with my fiance Rachel. She told me that she did not love me and if I needed love, I needed to go move back in with my mother. In my way of thinking, what better reason could I have for a breakup?

Ray, my best friend from high-school came by the following afternoon, despite my disturbing thirst – it was a needed break. I began, “So, how’s your mother?”
“My mother? Derrik, you know damn well were talking about you. You are out of work, you live in some freaky fantasy world with . . .well, damn – I don’t know how to help you. These delusions you have about your neighbors – I mean, you need some professional help.”
I dig words from from the meat of my soul, “Have you ever loved someone that you just know, you know in your heart is the one – but you can’t change it?”
“Who are you talking about? That girl across the street? She’s MARRIED Derrik – to a U.S. Marshall. Not to mention that he could make you disappear. I told you before – nobody gets to have their dream girl. You just settle for whichever one will stay with you. Love is dead.”
“What?” I grunt. “I want to to something daring, taking a huge chance. I will get this woman;
I love her.”
“You don’t even know her damn name you freaking moron!”
I began feeling intensely vexed and said, “Just because you think love is dead, and God is dead, and you and your wife in that theater of misery you call marriage – don’t know anything about love! I know you base your life on Nietzsche’s “Thus Spoke Zarathustra” and you don’t even know what it’s about.”
Blood rushes to his head as a sickened scowl engraved his emotions in crimson anger. Ten deep breaths later he mutters, “I teach existentialism to our university’s finest! Don’t ever think you understand anything that I haven’t already learned as child – my boy. I’m leaving, I can’t stand listening to all this corny love nonsense – goodnight Derrik.”

Weeks passed as I pace the floors having learned that she and her nefarious husband are moving away. I believed that indeed I was falling apart – I just can’t seem to actually do anything to change it. Then – a light knock on the door. I make my way from the couch to see who it could be. I don’t believe my eyes; I cannot breathe – my vision is going. . .
“Hello Derrik. I know your name is Derrik.” She smiles, “I finally have a chance to see you! I’m Veronica, Veronica Hanson.”
“I’m so sorry. . .so sorry I didn’t help you.” I said, beginning to cry.
She wraps her arms around me and yes, this is love. “Derrik, We’ve been passing one another for three years without ever once talking. As sad as that is, it’s all that kept me going.”
I could hear her heart beating as we gently kissed. Her sugared scent released a part of me
I have never before known – I felt for the first time – like a man. A blistering inferno of passion ignited and we made love for hours, never did I remember falling asleep – that magical night.

A thundering percussion of explosive impact snatched us from our dreams. I was jolted to find Veronica gone. A scream from the den, “You filthy slut!” her husband was in my apartment.
He’s pinned her to the floor punching her repetitively. Blood spurted from every laceration, a whimper followed every blow. She was gurgling vomit and blood, unable to breathe – there’s a knock at the door while I run to end this piece of human garbage. I kick him in the face punting his skull as a football. I throat an echoic cry of pain, “Veronica!”
As I now stare into the barrel of a .44 Magnum he says, “I’d like to introduce my self – I’m
Stan. I’m Veronica’s husband.”

The front door is ripped from it’s frame as Ray has arrived. “What the hell is going on here?”
“Back off” instructs Stan. He turns to me. . . raises his weapon – I see a mangled slab of bloody meat blast from my chest leaving a scorched gouge where my lungs used to be. The smell of gun powder and cooked flesh permeates my senses. I hear a struggle and more gun fire. I convulse in tears. Ray and Veronica lean over me. She lies on me shivering in fear. “I love you, Derrik! Please don’t die!” I see a look of insane disbelief inscribed in Ray’s face.
I feel cold. . . I ask Ray, “Is God dead? He’s in tears holding my hand.
“No, Derrik.” He is shaken, “God is here buddy. God is here.”

I barely can breathe, “Go love your wife Ray. I think now – now you know what love is.”
I look in Veronica’s soothing green eyes. They just stared at me so sadly – so I smiled.
“I love you Veronica. I really love you. . .”
I am no longer breathing, but still know that I felt love. I knew at least for a moment, I had truly lived, and truly been loved.

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Learn Serious Writing

This is just a small post as tomorrow I will publish a short story. I have tried the Writers Cafe and it is a good place to read and review authors, and have your work reviewed in return. I have to say however that the web-2.0 site Urbis is the best place on earth to hone your skills as a

This is just a small post as tomorrow I will publish a short story. I have tried the Writers Cafe and it is a good place to read and review authors, and have your work reviewed in return. I have to say however that the web-2.0 site Urbis is the best place on earth to hone your skills as a writer. It’s not as social as Writers Cafe but it is all business. You have to review a lot to get reviewed and there are some incredible writers there. It is not always a fun site, but if you want a serious challenge and want to become a better writer; it is the site to join. It is like writers college but better. I would love to see some of my friends try it out. It has been extremely rewarding. Go check it out!

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