searching
as the Infection never ceases to spread
neither shall the doctor of Death quit his Search
for a Cure or a Fix or an Eradication of all that keep it bred
it is all for the good of Life
if they live they can spread and they can die
it is not an obsession it is a Cure it is a help for the Bugs
without Him . who would even try
The honey fungus has such a nice name,
sweet like Honey but Sickly to the trees it infects
they All die
But it wants to Live, how else can it Get what it needs for existence
this Infection is not like a parasite to a tree
it is a parasite to the earth and to the life around it
without the Russula . who would save the poor bugs
from the fate that beheld them
No
there are No lives to save or to Fix
they are all gone and all dead
but the Search for a Cure cannot be stopped
because without him,
None could Live
it is not an Obsession it is a Fix that all the souls would beg for
the souls trapped behind Orange
an Infection
and obsession for a Fix
a Cure
an insatiable need to fix what CanNot be changed
what has existed for centuries
what one Bug what the doctor who now is one of Death cannot change
an Insatiable Search for Knowledge
for a fix not One unalive soul had asked
for insatiability blocks out Life
for the Search only hurts worse than the Infection ever had
Sinnerman, a mind horse, a sky in haiku, anxiety, stigma, and luckier than most.
The satin chalk tone of Nina Simone formed today's intro, and was followed by five pieces authored with the feel only our writers deliver, every line, every time. Led by a new kid on the block, three more add to the lift, with a close by our man of the SoCal streets, to make episode 36 one mean mofo of a show, yo... Yeah, tons of coffee...
Anyway, here's to the week ahead. Summer is officially usurping the west, and the road east is looking really good.
Here's the link to Prose. Radio.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ljZo8mlUCMg
And here are the pieces featured.
https://www.theprose.com/post/815461/mind-horse https://www.theprose.com/post/815448/a-vibrant-blue-sky https://www.theprose.com/post/815436/the-red-man
https://www.theprose.com/post/815376/stigma https://www.theprose.com/post/815402/ayahuasca-death-trip
And.
As always.
Thank you for being here.
-The Prose. team
Tarantino’s, “They,” write like you’re dead, new blood, life, warmth, and seamless beauty.
Quentin Taranatino's good sense inspired today's intro for number 34, and it leads us through a landscape of words and instinct and a whole lot of lovin' goin' on, baby. Some new blood opens the words, and it goes from there, into the places only the writers on this site can create.
Here's the link to the show.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gRD-Y7R4X5E
And here are the featured pieces.
https://www.theprose.com/post/815107/take-off https://www.theprose.com/post/815199/life https://www.theprose.com/post/815120/colonoscopyas-where-you-cope
https://www.theprose.com/post/812774/of-warmth https://www.theprose.com/post/815122/driving-home https://www.theprose.com/post/815121/gone-fishing
And.
As always...
Thank you for being here.
-The Prose. team.
It
It
May 07, 2024
I found something worth finding
Something I have little use for it
Others may politely disagree
One man’s trash is the adage
But this treasure belongs to another
It sits quietly upon my desk
Catching the light of the morning sun
The words, “scintillating” and “iridescent”
Come to mind
As I become transfixed in its aura
My cat discovers this treasure
And assumes it is food
Then assumes it is a toy
Finally assuming that
It is a good time for a nap
If pressed, I would testify
It emits a low frequency hum
Barely audible to humans
But tantalizing
To canines in proximity
The approaching moonlight
Gives it a spiritual glow
As if it were supernatural in origin
Perhaps made of “Star Stuff”
Pronounced best with a Sagan accent
I am reminded of those long ago
Who began quests of epic proportions
To return such an artifact
To its place of origin
Assuaging the Gods that misplaced it
But,
It remains on my desktop
An artifact of lackluster curiosity
Maybe someone will come looking
Maybe it already is looking
“Anonymous was usually a woman”
I've been simmering on this; making my point might be like driving a car in stick shift - I don't know it. I only strive to be the best writer I can be while sharing my story; if a tree falls in the woods and no one is there to hear it, does Prose still have the capacity to hold me?
Coping can look like crying; some might say I do that into the keys - the click of my typing like little tears getting bigger and bigger, a la Alice in Wonderland. Fergie said, "Big girls don't cry", (almost too simple, like a lullaby). If you don't know who that is, it's probably because my age bracket was born at the tail end of the twentieth century. And that's okay, and that's why we're here - to share different perspectives, holding the truth, making the complex clear.
I know I lack drive, that I lack confidence. It's not lost on me that I'm writing into the internet, little nothings that might make someone say oh, me too, or sometimes, that's not the way of the world, sweet girl.
I'm writing for myself, first and foremost, above everything. My nieces play with teddy bears and flower petals, I play with words and feelings. I take screenshots and share the evidence. Perhaps that makes me vain, but isn't that the world we're living in?
Do I make excuses? Absolutely. That's the world we're living in, too. That could just be my generation though - whining about everything. Millennials, am I right? Or maybe I got lost somewhere along the production line. I'm missing a tooth, or a toe. Or maybe just the ability to tell my woes without sounding morose.
I promise that I'm trying not to whine, to complain bitterly about things I have the capacity to change.
I promise I read your message, and if this isn't even close to what you meant, I apologize - sometimes I miss the point entirely.
I wish the best for you, too - the whole world aligns when we write and hold each other up; supporting other artists is what this is all about.
And with that, I sign off, and please remember - I am just a girl, trying to type out what hurts. What my personality lacks, my keyboard pounces like a cat, and attacks. But we're all friends here, we're all trying our best and that's what I love about this website.
A little black dot, balance, decaying leaves, morning dew, and infinite jest.
There's a little black dot on the Sun today... it's the same old thing as yesterday... except for the writers featured on the show. Nothing yesterday about them, until tomorrow, but who puts a timer on art, anyway? In episode 30 on Prose. Radio, the words roll smoothly with the likes of Mariah, area_man, LARGE, The Villaires, and the man of area once more, who closes the show with the complexity of family.
Here's the link to the show.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WYvrATECLOQ
And here are the pieces featured.
ttps://www.theprose.com/post/814482/a-violence-unfamiliar-to-most https://www.theprose.com/post/814486/balancing-the-bar https://www.theprose.com/post/814424
https://www.theprose.com/post/814475/first-words-of-day-in-the-morning-dew https://www.theprose.com/post/814476/infinite-jest
And.
As always.
Thank you for being here.
-The Prose. team