“A Rainy Night In Georgia”

It’s raining; it seems like it rains all the time. I tend to believe, partially facetiously, that Georgia is now part of the Tropics. We have a dry season, and then we have a rainy season. It was not this way when I grew up. I seem to remember, though my memory has compartments, that there used to be dew on the grass every morning. Mostly rain was at night. Understand the assumption might be fanciful. I have notions. At any rate, this drift into tropical seasons has escalated over the years.

Alex lived in Nevada for a while, near or in the desert. It rarely rains. We both tend to think and imagine better in motion, walking. He told me, “Thanks so much,” for bequeathing that anomaly to him. This evening, Alex went out in the pouring rain to listen to the novel Armada, and his writing block broke, so he began listening to music and continued walking.

He is moving back to Georgia after traveling the world since he graduated from Alexander High School in 2006. I assure you all his adventuring was not for pleasure. He has been far from a vagabond. Since he has been home, the rain has been pervasive. Rain in Georgia tends to be cold, and there is always high humidity, even when it is dry.

I walk, it is how I lost a significant amount of weight, which I have begun to regain to my chagrin. I do it mostly indoors.

Alex came back in totally soaked, and shivery. He brewed coffee, which we got at Kroger, and has been working on his novel with his headphones on.

Every time I tried to work with “The Dell from Hell” (pardon me, this is the only accurate description of the computer), it was slow as a sloth. I intended to do this post on it, but found, as I suspected that it wanted to update, so I pulled out the keyboard for my tablet and am finishing this on it. I have my headphones on and am listening to YouTube. The tablet/keyboard combination works reasonably well, but I keep wanting a mouse.

You should listen to the song, “A Rainy Night In Georgia.” Had things not become obnoxious with The Dell, I would have linked it. I do not trust myself to do it on this sweet tablet. I have never even used the keyboard with it before, but desperation breeds courage.

Many are the times I have wanted to chunk the Dell against a wall, or shoot it, (I have no gun for secret reasons), but the money invested in the piece of junk does not permit it. When it ate all my files made over two years, I had to talk to Jesus for a while to ameliorate my rage. I still do not have those files, that is why it has the unusual sobriquet.

I have been drinking coffee, even though I got up on Thursday morning and have not slept since, I am probably up as long as Alex is, and he is drinking coffee too. I finally left that lethargic state behind.

I am currently reading, The Ten Thousand Doors of January by Alix E. Harrow, and am enjoying it immensely. The cover is gorgeous, and covers can get me every time. This book is about Words, and I adore words.

I would write a poem, but it seems Shift+Enter does not make single line spaces on this device combination, so that will wait.

It looks as though I am rambling a bit. Often happens when under coffee’s influence. So I shall bid you adieu and find something else to entertain me.

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© Jo Ann J. A. Jordan

Casting Cooking Spells

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Those of you who know, and hey, if you don’t here is the news: Fact – I hate to cook. I “cast the spell” and prayed for aid in making spaghetti tonight after not having done it in a while.

When I said a while, it is over two maybe even three years since I have done my hybrid-homemade spaghetti. Mom always said mine was the best she ever ate, but she helped with cutting fresh veggies because I am a disaster with knives as pertains to cooking. She also advised on timing and such.

Tonight I had to do it on my own, with Prego base and frozen veggies, and my unknowable, magical mix of spices.

I gave Alex, my son, a large plate. It came back empty, and there were no complaints. My mouth, on the other hand, was on fire, but yeah, I shall survive.

The prayers and “spell-casting” must have worked. If you saw the way I handle spices, you might think I was conjuring things.

I am a past Dungeon Master and played some Advanced Dungeons & Dragons magic users, all pretend my dears, creativity unleashed. So I mix it up a bit.

© Jo Ann J. A. Jordan

 

Nein, But Oui

Change, ubiquitous,
Given growing, overcoming,
Leading, restoring,
Yet, distressing as a tarn
Under the watchful feral
Eyes of Stygian night.
Vigilant, excitable, we
Swallow anxiety, disquiet,
Mumble, “Nein,” press forward,
Soldiers awed by the possibility,
Opportunity, potential, contained
In every moment, every day.
The mundane becomes a vehicle
Shiny, sparkling new, blessing
Us with the incredible, indescribable
Longing to be more becoming,
Creativity growing restless
Done with rehearsing, prepared.
Others the heartbeat of love
Within our hearts, minds, souls;
Transcendent, completely smitten
With a passion for nurturing
The best in every individual.
If we never embrace the changes
We cannot find the grace, love, peace,
Offered, a very priceless treasure,
Reserved for the courageous, bold,
Those who test the boundaries
Of who we are destined to be;
If we choose to will. Grow!

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This was taken earlier today with my phone, on the way back home from Chick-Fil-A. I cannot resist editing on my phone, so things may not be quite as they appear.

I am aware I mixed German, English, and French, it will be okay, I promise.

I hope all goes well for you today and every day. Be you, you are precious. Create. Make the vision real.

© Jo Ann J. A. Jordan

Poem: Hunted/Hunter

Well, here now, bet you did not expect me back. I took a nap. It is the best way to reset my destructive urges when I am being pursued by suicidal thoughts. Trust me, depression is no ally. However, in my crenelated state, mania also sets about to usher me away, over-taking walls that can never fence me in. Always a battle, forever a war, victory nevermore. Anyway…

Hunted/Hunter

There is a dichotomy
Built into our lives,
A perceived separation
More akin to a lie.
We are every one
A hunted, running
For survival and to
Be claimed a trophy
To ornament some
People’s idea of who
We should become.
Also, each a hunter,
Aching for forever love
Chasing illusions, dreams,
Whatever seems a goal,
Thinking accomplishment,
Wealth, reputation, will
Finally, make us whole.
Reality is our hearts
Are vessels circulating love,
What we wish to attain
Lies within us to share,
Give away, making love
All of the world
And throughout
Every moment of history.
The hunted/hunter is
A celebration of creation
Begun with a word,
To continue for eternity
The Beloved we serve,
The Beloved we are.

Yeah, that just came like a hurricane out of nowhere, the only thing I had was the words, Hunted/Hunter. Oh, dears, that is the first draft. I usually only write first drafts of poems. 

As a prompt: Create something about a dichotomy you feel presents itself in life.

I am safe, by the way. I just get agitated. The damnable disease is a horrible thing, but it has its gifts too. I am not sure I would be so wildly creative did I not face the struggle.

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© Jo Ann J. A. Jordan

Elsewhere

The novel I should be writing, because I have many pages, is titled Otherwise Entertained. Should you have an interest, you can visit, Chronicles, and find most of it. I do not recall the exact locations at this moment, but I think it is mostly in 2012’s NaNoWriMo month, and then scattered about a bit. I was doing my first Creativity Project around then, a whole year and a half.

My novel presents a scene that is elsewhere, and yet, a part of that story at the same time. It is a problem. I know what to write, I just know it will stretch beyond plausibility, and I know the story cannot move without it. Plus, I procrastinate, I am the best at it.

Elsewhere

It is where I go
When the world becomes too hard
For my tired desire,
I wrap myself in mysteries,
Fancy creativity;
Search within for love
Enough to carry me on
Into cruel hard times,
When my mind becomes a pool
All dangerous, dark, obscure.
Impossible now,
Escape an imaginative
Dream, when I am lost
To whoever I may be,
But I come winning again.
Steal me sweet Elsewhere,
Take me wherever then set
Me firm so I can succeed
In this, every reality,
Let Love minister to me,
Healing this wounded soul as
Freedom becomes, Elsewhere, mine.

© Jo Ann J. A. Jordan

By the way, these entries, unless denoted differently, are being written in real-time on the date of appearance. The goal of the Creativity Project is to make things each day, not present pre-created works. Some of the photos are, however, from other times.

As a prompt: What is your elsewhere, where do you find strength? Create something that shows it or what it does.

I am grateful to be done proofing, although I could use more funds. I think tomorrow I may take some time away from here.

All you be careful, create, love, celebrate the pure joy of life. Thank you for visiting Haphazard Creative. I hope you found something that inspired you. Follow the site or come back when you can. God Bless and Keep You, Always, and Forever.

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