I feel real as it is the only reality I know. A wild theory suggests that we are living in a simulation. Will that change the manner in which we act or react? If we are indeed there, the simulation is a reality for the participants, and an experience for a viewer. A coach tells … Continue reading The ‘Real’ Me
Hosted by Sunday Fiction at https://sundayphotofictioner.wordpress.com/2017/11/19/sunday-photo-fiction-19-november-2017/
GREAT INDIAN BAN PARTY-
Playing at a theatre near you
By Neel Anil Panicker
A ghoonghtaless brave Rajput princess bedecked in mesmerizing regal wear, prancing around in her own magnificent gold bedecked palace courtyard, dancing her heart out in gay abandon, her swirling lehanga swishing wildly in huge concentric circles while her dainty hennaed hands rise up to the skies above, her beautiful kohl-lined eyes sparkling with divine love, her lips a prayer, ever seeking blessings for the earthlings below.
Or, a near desperate woman forced to step out of her home in search of her ‘missing’ husband, overnight losing her moniker Goddess Durga; instead finding herself metamorphosed into a mere object of man’s lascivious predatory instincts.
Still another, bogged down by the vicissitudes of fate, compelled by the dire need to keep body and soul together, sheds her clothes under the harsh…
View original post 306 more words
The circular frames on his living room wall, with a stone-studded circumference and pretty butterflies inside had always attracted attention. He had got them from Rio de Janeiro. “Are they replicas?” “They are real, but not alive.” He saw some people visibly cringe, imagining the ghastly crime of encasing dead butterflies, however beautiful they looked. … Continue reading Creeps
I stand in a whirlpool awestruck, moonstruck feet encircled by storms virgin sand beneath wriggles away the deflowered shore washed by receding tides flaunts scattered, ragtag remains of a fleeting romance wild waves, uncontrolled disintegrate midway reflect weeping stars aftermath of wanderlust https://sammiscribbles.wordpress.com/2017/11/18/weekend-writing-prompt-29-random/
Grandma’s Legacy is a poem that I wrote several years ago in honor of a truly great woman—Elizabeth A. Babcock, born January 1, 1898, died January 1, 1975. Grandma lives on in the hearts and memories of all whose lives she touched. The photo ( circa 1952) of me and Grandma was taken by my dear father, one of Grandma’s eight children. ~ Bette A. Stevens
“A writer inspired by nature and human nature”
“Look Inside” Bette’s books at http://viewauthor.at/BetteAStevens
breathing is unrhythmic, heavy I notice my clenched fists Am I feeling helpless now? rage seething within. This can also be termed as 'silhouette poetry', where a scenario/mental state is described without actually naming it. Saturday Mix- Lucky Dip, 18 November, 2017
“I can take you to the doctor, if needed.” This was his first sentence spoken to her after three months. The marriage was shaky. But, Tisha was not willing to give up so easily. It was an ego battle, more than anything else. She was secretly happy that he had been watching her growing unease … Continue reading Bridging the gap
Welcome to Week 13! Working backwards is a tip and trick we have all employed at some stage in life. It helps us to fix jigsaw puzzles or put your business plans in place. The end goal is clearly defined, and we work towards it. This one Is a little tricky, as it needs you … Continue reading Reena’s Exploration Challenge #Week 13
multiple hues of the evening sky filtering essence of the sun, unreflecting surfaces of dark, concrete structures enhance each other. Horizon witnesses sunrays melt. #writephoto by Sue Vincent
