Category Archives: Writing Free Form

Free Form Writing, Poems, Essays non novella

Editor Finally!

Finally someone said they would edit my stories and actually followed through!!!

Watch for the Divergent Journal series to be reposted with the editing done. A great example would be ‘The Van’ to the van… sorry LL…. ūüėČ

For the next few days though I am still moving and selling off my business equipment, so forgive the wait time.

ps.. the last free form poem~writing, sparked a lot of private email, be brave and leave you message on the page!

For the meantime watch my latest video in the Disasters of Prep Cooking Series.. well not a series, but since I go from memory instead of directions for food cooking… well !!


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Existence into Nothings

Existence into Nothings

(I wrote this a while ago, hope you enjoy this writing freeform)

Today I saw my possible future, the future that is not far off now. An existence that is so close and so dark that I fear being sucked into this void like a giant black hole reaching for me to draw me in, devour me.

While I was helping someone today, they needed a vehicle and a driver why else would I be with someone, they need something. There was a tall thin man, hunched over, ambling slowly along the little strip malls store fronts. Hunched over, walking in pain, I sensed him before seeing him, sensed a void close to me. Looking around, my mind first, then eyes sought out the source of this rift close to me, close in many many ways.

This tall man, head hunched downwards from shoulders that were hunched over, showing signs of that bending disease, showing pain with every step, pain with every breath he took. This man so obviously in pain, raised his face up from his forward path, his eyes normally only watching just in front of his shoes as he walked, these sad and vacant eyes quickly found mine. There was no searching around, no hesitant looks, no questing about with his gaze, eyes straight to mine.

Eyes are the reflection of the soul and heart, reflection of the mind within, eyes that speak volumes eyes that reflect the world around them. His eyes, had pain, and nothing else. There was no emotion, no joy, no sadness, no happiness, no anger, his eyes reflected his world, there was nothing. A void, darkness a place of nothings, nothing lives there anymore, no hope, no future, no peace. Nothings and nothing else is like it, no danger, no badness the heart and soul have ceased to live, only the body keeps moving, keeps breathing, keeps living long after life is over.

Eyes, these eyes beyond sadness and joy found mine, recognition of another one so similar, eyes meeting eyes a quick nod of the head, then back down to the path the body wants to go. His aura, gone there was a nothingness around him so much loneliness or just plain darkness that this void pulsated within and without.

Crossing the roadway, careful steps, steps watched out for hazards, picking and choosing the next step for surely he could not see more than a few feet in front of him, so hunched over were his shoulders. Shoulders bearing the weight of nothingness shoulders bearing the weight of the void, a walking black hole of despair to one whom is beyond despair. The weight of his world, his past, his present all weighing down on his sadly hunched shoulders, a walking void.

Returning to my task at hand I was soon busy again helping this person who would not ever call me unless they needed something. Someone that you know, someone so lonely that they will drive people around doing groceries and shopping, just to have company. Nothingness.

I am ON, always ON, trained to be ON and aware of everything around me, never taught or trained how to turn off though. Knowing his path and his journey across the roadway and parking lot, knowing his position outside of a closed store. Knowing. Without consciously following his movements, just aware an awareness of my surroundings.

With my tasks at hand, watching my footing, moving a basket I felt the void, the blackness once again settle on me, not searching me out, just knowing where I was. Glancing across the street, looking directly into his eyes, eyes beyond pain and despair, eyes that reflect the void and blackness where there once dwelled a heart and soul. My existence, my being looked directly into his eyes and darkness, again he nodded a slight nod, this time I knew he had sensed me, or remembered me the one so familiar he had passed on his trek just so recently.

Nodding back knowing my existence so close to his, a darkness seeking a darkness. Nodded and continued on with my task, he continued his existence, standing there across the street, watching life, watching others, noting life around him but always on the outside looking in, on the outsider looking across. An invisible.

Standing outside later now, watching my dog play with her stick in the snow, knowing she was having fun, I stood watching. Standing in the dark of the night reflected in the darkness of my soul, reflected in the darkness of my emotions, reflected in the darkness of my heart. Not a darkness of evil just a darkness of despair, beyond sadness the darkness of being broken, not cold, just there an existence.

Turning, eyes watching others drive by, eyes watching others go about their lives in their houses, in the building where I exist. Existence is not living, existence is a form of the void, a form of nothing, watching others live their lives and dreams. A heart not cold to emotion or joy, a heart that is broken, a soul that is broken, nothing more and nothing less just existence.

My existence, watching, observing on the outside looking in, on the outside of living, forever.

In this, in this man there is my future, a nothingness a void. My existence into nothingness….
Nothings, Nothingness unless I am very careful, very lucky where there is no luck. Only the void, the blackness seeking me out constantly close by, I feel it’s pull like a black hole seeking to draw me closer, draw me into its cold lonely embrace.

My existence, watching, observing on the outside looking in, on the outside of living.

In this, in this man there is my future, a nothingness a void. My existence into nothingness….

Into Nothings


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I wrote this a while ago and just found it in my drafts…

What is it that we see, see in life, see in the mirror see ourselves and others? What makes some see greatness, some see themselves succeeding, some see themselves able to become more than what they are?

Could the answer be as simple as what they hear in their minds, hear in their heart or hear in the echoes with each footstep as they travel through this life? How do some overcome the negativity directed towards them, how do some overcome the negativity of situations? How do they overcome, breakthrough, persevere even though life throws every obstacle in their way, their path to greatness or just a path of happiness and joy?

Is it Karma or is the path predestined, agreed to before our very births a path not of what we see or hear or do but a path with the sole purpose of teaching us a lesson or a point? What if our lives are predetermined for good or ill to that end, what if our lives are predestined for a simple chance encounter or long term relationship with someone else whose own destiny is to share a moment with us, perhaps even the briefest of moments for a simple emotional response, lesson or goal?

How do we know if we have fulfilled our destiny, our laid out path for us? When is it enough, why is it so and when will it end? If we end the ride before someone or something else does for us, did we fail in our destiny or checking out early is what is meant for us to teach others around us the lesson? When does this endless plodding through ever thickening air that slows us and entraps us, when does it give away and allow us peace with rest or happiness?

To what end our existence, to what end do we strive ever onwards while we watch others live a life of joy and serenity? Is there a purpose to life, a reason for life an answer to our unspoken thoughts and prayers? Why do some think that only Humans have souls, why do some think that we are spirits or spiritual beings, why do some not look into the eyes of a loving fur companion and think there is no spirit or soul in there? Why do some strive to take or destroy other spirits, souls or godless heathens, those whom are not just like them in their little narrow minded ways of thinking?

To what end is it all for? Is there any meaning or any depth greater than this existence at all? Is the journey alone the reason or is it all just random non design, some luck of fate that we are here at all? Why allow all the suffering, why allow this continued retched existence, why?

What is the purpose of life? I would find the purpose of life very sad indeed if it was only the brief existence at that moment in time with nothing before or after. Hopefully the purpose to life is more than we can comprehend for that would give me some hope, some glimmer of comfort like the slim rays of sunshine slicing through the dark clouds after an extended period of rain. The briefest of slivers of light to shine through the dark illuminating that which is both around me and inside.

I could use that slight sliver of light right now, that briefest of hopes for a better future or purpose, anything.

BarnTextures 012b

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Autistic girl, speaks computer

(written to a friend ps.. I am turning my email into a blog post so don’t be upset with me about it, please!!!)
what a great video and now I understand more about this.
… i know i see what others do not, i can zoom in on objects seeing and seeking where others see just the scene before them or see only wild things or weeks. i see the droplets of dew on the green leaves, i hear the sound of individual insects buzzing near me or can zoom in to hear those close to a particular flower even if it is ten feet away.¬†
people, seem overwhelming to me in groups unless they are in military groups for there is some semblance of order there. malls or large gatherings bother me and i feel emotionally drained, tiring easily. 
me, i am different from most, this girl is similar but different from me in that she has sensory input hundreds of times more acute than i do. 
me, i see the world differently but how differently does she see the world from me, buzzing, humming, covering her ears, taking hundreds of pictures of people’s faces.¬†
me, i see multiple images of people at the same time, not hundreds or thousands
me, i see autistic and autism much better now
me, i thank you Carly for letting me and others learn from you! 
p.s. written this way on purpose fo that others see the small i, a person in a crowd instead of the bigger I that they are used to seeing in sentences or in other writings.
if you see i, perhaps you might see me.
aprl 003
BarnTextures 051


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Forward in Time

Warning; goals, thoughts, emotions, deepest secrets, paths and paths not taken, turns and wrong turns taken, emotions, emotional, sadness and light.


“I would like to thank you all for gathering here to honour me in accepting this Best Writer Award.
Here stand I, humble and thankful for being here for you have become the rock that I lean on, the rock that makes my existence worthwhile and allowed.

Today I will share with you, my writing, a short passage as well as how I write, along with how I came to be here. This is a long twisting tale a tale with some surprising twists actually.

The start, high school I wrote for the joy of it, I wrote from the heart, I wrote from the scenes cascading in my head and struggled to keep up writing with pen and paper. There was the last piece, the short story of the wolf which was an assignment to write using anything involving the moon.

My turn came to read aloud my short story, there was silence a silence which I filled with the imagery that had formed in my mind, the short movie clip that I had captured on paper and now shared with my classmates, my peers.

Self doubt, misunderstandings, anger at what I thought I heard. Besides the praise two voices raised high a girl and the female teacher exclaiming what I misheard as plagiarism. Putting the Wolf Story in a book, I slammed it shut and walked out of the class, out of writing or creativity.

20 plus years later, I found that book and the long forgotten tale that had been written by my younger self. In anger I viewed that paper with shrill female voices accusing me of copying of plagiarism. As I was tossing my story in the trash, it landed face down and spying written words on the reverse side I picked it up and read the notes, 3 times.

What you listen to is not what is heard it is not what sometimes reality of voice but the darkness and self worth or lack of worth, overlaying words in your mind, misshaping words so you think you hear what was said but self doubt and lack of self worth have overlaid the scene with its own darkness tainting your mind, making you believe in the demons within. Self Talk is dangerous.

The words, simply and clearly stated that this was a wonderful piece written in the style of Farley Mowatt, but clearly my own work. Words to that effect, not what I had heard at all.

Round One went to the Demons within!

I do not remember the exact words to that short story though I had laboured over them for a week, I was happy and proud. Though to this day I only remember that the Alpha Wolves had howled at the moon. Into the darkness of time this story is lost.

Daring to allow myself to write again, to jot thoughts, emotions and short stories down again, allowing myself this denied and forbidden creativity to start flowing again. I began to write and create images with photography.

Enter my Ex Mother in Law, the ex demon in law, O what a harpy, a mouth of pure hatred with daggers for breath and vile thoughts spewing forth in my direction, her vexes upon my every deed, thought and work.

The Pen is indeed mightier than the Sword !

Everyday foul messages disguised as ‘Encouragement’ spewed forth from the fax machine, weekly mail brought deliveries of paper clippings with hand scrawled ‘Words of Encouragement’ arrived to drive the black nails deeper and deeper into my labouring heart and mind. Defeat.

Round Two went to the Demons within!

I stopped writing again, moved back to Ontario to start anew, though my mind was reeling from the repeated attacks, I retreated again, away from my creativity, away from joy within. Books and works left untouched, pixels left dangling and imagery left uncaptured, waiting, hoping to be allowed to escape from their self imposed imprisonment, allowed to lie neglected in sadness and darkness.

A few turns in the wrong direction and years again go by.

Round Three went to the Demons within!

Alone again, wishing to fill the void with anything but another woman or drink, images again demanded release onto the paper in the form of images and verse.

Slowly, I started writing then the images finally escaped the boundary’s self imposed, burst forth demanding resolution, demanding fulfilment of creativity, softening the darkness, light slowly filled the dungeon that had become my heart and mind.

Allowing myself to go with it, writing and creating images again were allowed to be my downtime, my alone times, my times of creativity and release. Slowly I struggled to attain not greatness but something else, I struggled to become me again. A worthwhile goal to be sure, though from the nails of darkness and demons howling, the me that was gone or long buried and dead.

Who is the me now? Dare I try to go back and pull that old self from the ashes of my history or tread to the forge creating a new self, hammer the ashes into solid mass, knead the broken steel in the flames of creativity to allow the self to rise from the flames and ashes allow the self to yet again soar.

For a time, it worked though lonesomeness drew me back to my past, I dug up old acquaintances, old passions, old memories allowing my fragile Psyche to believe in a past long gone, in emotions long quenched in the fickle, icy cold fingers of fate.

Round Three. Five went to the Demons within!

Crushed, defeated, deflated, alone, lonely broken heart anew, creativity flown and flung out. Struggling I turned to North American medicine, for my body had also created a prison this time, a prison of pain and sickness rotting the insides as the Demons had in the past rotted the heart, soul and mind.

Forcing myself, pushing myself, making fingers and thoughts mold stories, verse and post, helping others non stop in an effort to find some vestige of self worth, of the broken arrow, the broken sword that was once the warrior poet, the warrior writer, the warrior photographer the warrior of modern arms and tactics. I struggled anew, struggled for the very breath to breath, struggled to await each day the view of the sun rising, another day in this present.

Round Four went to a draw Demons within vs Broken Arrow of external self!

Draw! I stand at the Precipice of the void, the precipice of the long walk as it is known in the circles that I walk within. I stand looking at not one branch to the left and right but to a whole networks of paths, some off to the side, some at 90 degree angles to my bodies forwards direction, some directly ahead and some at right angles.

At war now, The Self at war, the body at war, the creativity at war, the very existence of the being at war, this is the reality of the ‘Draw’ ! A very fine line, a pause from a stagger, toes over the precipice of the void, the long walk enticing, filling the mind and nostrils with its darkness a darkness that pulls from within and out. The Demons push and pull, tugging and whispering in the darkness and light, soft words, angry shouts, cajoling phrases meant to lure and beckon the Broken Arrow, the Shattered Sword whisperings of new beginnings.

Tugging, my big puppy dog, tugs at my mind and heart, come play, come stay, come my pack leader stay here with me, stay and play. Tugging, thoughts of what my parents might feel, if at all of my passing hold my feet gluing me to the spot. Many acquaintances though only a few true friends, their encouragements and fears of disappointing them, glue my feet further into this spot.

Standing still, to make no decision is a decision in itself. For now I stay, the long walk may beckon but that is not a walk for now. Paths, which direction to go, frozen, steel wool headed from the Doctors pills, helping and poison at the same time. With the pills daily the void and darkness are pushed away, forced into a corner, sadly the same can be said of creativity, emotions, laughter, hope and thoughts. All stand in corners, a different void now exists a lack of creativity a lack of anything, I see, I observe, I sit, I stand but alas I do not go, no joining in, no action, nothing, there is nothing now only is there grey. Empty of Emotion is as bad as too much Emotion.

Again, Another Round another draw !

Through the fuzziness, the steel wool headed thoughts, slowly the self asserts itself, slowly. Pills every 3 days now not daily, pain is a friend for at least I feel something, slowly creativity of thought returns.

My mind conjurers up an imagery to lead me forward, down another path.

Sexy vs Sensual

Some people are sexy others are sensual, some thoughts are sexy while some are sensual, some writing is sexy along with the lifestyle, I choose Sensual though. Sensual is awareness of self, sensual is desirable by all. Slowly my mind makes sense of my writing and my creativity, sensual is the path to follow.

Writing begins again, photography begins again, creativity returns all due to a long forgotten image of two Women in a crowd of people. All there know each other, almost all are friends, all are gathered in friendship. There are four women who stand out, two are beauties through and through who are lovely and sexy to behold. Two are nice, sensual and fully desirable, all look at the sexy women, but all including the two sexy women desire the two sensual beings in their midst. Neither fit the norm of beauty, neither are considered gorgeous but surrounded by other women, some beautiful some dumpy, some frumpy looking, some look very similar, the two who stand out are the two Sensual Women of incredible self worth, women who exude confidence and Sensuality from within.

Sexy vs Sensual

Choose, choice for my life, choice for my creativity, choice for my writings, Sensual, memorable. To write as if the dawn broke anew every day in all its golden glory shining onto you and everything around you.

Round One went to the Light, to the Sensual Creative within !

We are all here today, writers, photographers, all creatives, I say choose wisely but choose the Sensual Creative Within. Choosing sensuality is what brought me here today, choosing sensuality is why this award is mine today. Choose wisely and keep the Demons out, the self talk out, push others of negativity away, allow yourself the luxury of sensual creativeness to be your path.

Thank you for taking the time to honour me with this award as well as taking the time to listen to my story.

Walk in Peace, Walk in the Light, Walk the Path of Self, never allowing the Demons from within or others to Darken YOUR Soul and Minds. “

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Editing, but the editing software would not like what I just wrote as it is repetitive!
Also working on learning a program that helps you create books and novels. Complex and simple at the same time is Ywriter and here is to hoping it will help with the finish of this online Journal as well as with my other projects.

Rejoice for I may have found an Editor finally! Finding an editor is like finding someone to publish and print out your work!
There are a lot of steps involved and a lot of work involved, plus O look shiny ! my OCD kicks in and bam.. what was I saying, what was I writing,,, O yah.. Hey Zelda!

Ywriter software


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I feel therefore I am

The old adage, I think therefore I am!

Why do Humans think that they are the only ones who think, that they are the only ones who are self-aware? My Dog loves, my dog thinks, my dog can have her feelings hurt, she loves to give hugs and kisses, just like Human kids do.

Fur Kids have souls/spirits the same as people do !

135cWhy else would she bring her little baby toy out to greet people she likes and loves, to share and to say I like you and trust you. Sounds very Humane if you ask me!

young chimp holds a wild cat close in a hug

nothing more needs to be said about this one

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