Sunday, July 28, 2013


The swineherd was tired of having to deal with the increasingly frustrating low profits. Intermediaries drove him crazy with inconceivable demands. Before, he sold everything, that’s what was good about pork, no waste. Now, only certain parts were favored. So, he decided to give away “the waste”, roasted and with a “twist”, as a personal gift to the intermediaries, who eagerly took it all. They asked what the “twist” was, but he never gave away the secret to the other tasty bits of meat in the inviting roast, especially when the headlines said “Business man of pork industry vanishes mysteriously”.

Sunday, July 21, 2013



The original was sold for millions to a flamboyant millionaire. It was on the news for days as the biggest sale ever of an artwork piece. Photographers snapped hundreds of photos, journalists wrote dozens of articles, made countless interviews. Everyone wanted to be a part of this extraordinary event. So, thousands of copies were made, numbered and sold as a limited edition. After the whole commotion cooled off, he opened his safe and unrolled the painting. It was his, only his. That millionaire had paid a fortune for the perfect fake and he’d never ever know it, the original loser.

Saturday, July 20, 2013

Why Do You Write?

I write stubbornly and often imprudently, because I must. Writing is like breathing. How could we stop breathing?

You're a Great Writer

Whispering Wind
… when you’re addicted to reading! 

Lazy? Never! Compulsive? Always! Great writers read everything and I do mean everything, books, reports, brochures, political statements, interviews, magazine articles, newspapers, ads, e-zines, anything!

… when you’re annoyingly stubborn! 

You write regularly and feel bad when you skip a day. If you usually write in the morning and your schedule gets messed up, you stress over being late for your writing session. If you write in the evenings and visitors drop by unexpectedly, you feel restless and end up writing till 4am after they leave!

… when you hit your inner editor in the head with a ream of paper, leaving it unconscious for days!

Your inner editor is bossy, intrusive and a control-freak. You, on the other hand, need peace of mind to simply write. When he wakes up, just hit him on the head again, until you’re done. Then you can let him get all hyper!

… when you take the Zen approach! 

Are you done editing and re-editing? Then don’t think about what you wrote anymore. It’s done, finished. It’s time for others to enjoy it! Let go! Move on!

Friday, July 19, 2013

Sotto Voce

Silent Hills

His heart pounded frantically, a cadence of horror, of unending urgency. The others waved at him showing the way, while a storm of eyes chased his will away. He didn’t give up, he wouldn’t give up. He ran at the pace of his heartbeat, one step after the other, relentlessly. Despite his struggle, it seemed his destiny was farther and farther away, the others nothing but a shadow of indistinctive contours. He looked back. They were closer. He made one last effort, one last push forward, one last step, one last thought. The others were no more. He was lost. The snowstorm covered everything. He fell on his knees and made peace with himself, his life a row of smiles and happy recollections. The eyes would reach him and kill him, but he heard his son’s voice murmuring sotto voce a song he used to sing to him when he was a baby, the song his heart needed. He closed his eyes and departed.

Sunday, July 14, 2013


LEA6 Rebeca Bashly (2012)
“All I want is to be anonymous,” was the last line in the short note he left behind. His phone was tapped, his Internet access logged for future reference, the front door barred by police tapes, his windows closed to the curious eyes of unfriendly neighbors. He was the outcast everyone knew, all because he spoke up against the Registry where all details of people’s lives were available publicly. When he terminated his life, an option provided by law to those who refused to follow the Code blindly, he hoped for peace and quiet for his family. That didn’t happen…

Thursday, July 11, 2013

A Vivid Reminder

Cica Ghost - LEA13 - 2013
The cloud of dust settled down around him. The war was over, finally. Many lost their lives. Many lost their homes and families. He was still alive, unharmed. John seemed to have been immune to persecutions, aggression, bullets, and rockets. He was also immune to fear, a paradox that would challenge anyone else’s survival instinct. He looked around, took a deep breath and stood in the middle of the rusted debris. He gave himself the opportunity to think about the future. He put down his weapon and bullet belt, and grabbed a rusted iron chain as thick as his wrist and as long as his arm. He decided he would carry it for as long as there were people who needed to be freed. He became known as the chain man. John didn’t know it yet, but his future had many more cloudy dusty wars ahead when he became the President. On his desk rested that chain, a vivid reminder of his struggling past.

Wednesday, July 10, 2013



They stood motionless, looking at the sun, seriously, attentively, concerned. Desperate, they thought of the children, their futures, their bodies shedding fatally, their skins peeling from the toxic air. Somehow, this critical sacrifice seemed to be their last resort. There they stood in the white water, motionless and waiting, a world of beliefs about to be tested, a perfect sculpture of life, naked, fragile, lonely. They had never felt more alive.
Writer's Dash

Note: The picture (above) that triggered this text was taken during a virtual art performance I took part in organized by Vanessa Blaylock. For more, click VB49:SPF50.

Sunday, July 7, 2013

Yellow Future

Tim's Dreams by Romy Nayar

A yellow line divided the town in two. On one side lived the blue-eyed, on the other the brown-eyed. No one remembered why this division was implemented, yet everyone remembered who had used the yellow paint to draw the line, McAllister. His descendants retouched that line every year, perpetuating its forgotten meaning. One day, yellow was banned from the market due to a toxic component of the color. McAllister’s descendants tried a red line that year, but the result was disastrous. Blue-eyed and brown-eyed crossed the line defiantly, back and forth. The town completely forgot the line. The McAllisters didn’t…

Thursday, July 4, 2013


Betelgeuse 5

“A tomato is the perfect addition to a perfect salad.” He chopped the tomato in half. “Real food, tomatoes. They’re very healthy.” The rookie lawyers who drafted his contract messed up and didn’t state that he had to say the name of the kitchen knives he was selling. So, he never did. This generated a colossal confusion amongst the viewers. Knives or tomatoes? Hundreds of calls flooded the lines bringing the TV station to a halt. No sales whatsoever. He was fired. Well, invited to leave. He asked for a million. “The perfect addition to a perfect life,” he thought.

Wednesday, July 3, 2013


Winter Moon

Summer started after a long, cold and rainy winter, so people were eager to enjoy the sun. All geared up with new swimsuits, they didn’t hesitate to march towards the beach. The sign did say “No Swimming”, but no one paid any attention, after all, sharks were extinct. Suddenly, a woman screamed, horrified. The beach-controller, a new model still being tested, pulverized all the swimmers, leaving a faint smell of blood in the air. The summer joy was quickly gone and the engineer responsible for this particular robot was pulverized as well, later and in private, at the company’s headquarters.