indigowolfe

[indigowolfe]

// Blind Willow, Sleeping Woman ...

[indigowolfe]

// The black swan ...

In his less educated days, he referred to it as a "Black Duck," and he became fond of using that name, even up until today, when he reminded himself of himself by using it. The correct name for this bird is the "Black Swan," but he called it a "Black Duck." Even now, the majority of the time, he can be heard laughing about it. Perhaps the joke is telling the truth when it describes how he works really hard to prove that he is right, only to discover that he was wrong, and that the majority of the time, he is almost certainly wrong. It is possible that, after some time, it will become intimidating and discouraging. He started to have second thoughts about his abilities. To be by himself, he withdrew into his cocoon and shut himself off from the world. It is preferable to have this happen rather than be embarrassed. There is never a bad time to give something a shot. It is from experiences like these that we gain the wisdom to move forward and do what is right. The key is to formulate the appropriate inquiry, and in order for him to do that, he needs to have a clear idea of what it is that he wants out of his own life. When we are young, the vast majority of us don't have a clear idea of what we want; all we care about is participating in activities and becoming skilled at them. Therefore, in order to deal with the challenges that life presented him, he would attempt everything from breaking to bending. Soon after, he came to the realisation that in order to break or bend the rules, he first needed to have a solid understanding of what those rules were. If this is not the case, how in the world is he going to know what to break and what to bend? It's not hard to understand, but he just can't wrap his head around it. It is common knowledge that one plus one equals two. On the other hand, if you add one to another one, the sum that you get is actually two instances of the number one, which, when viewed from a different perspective, can also be interpreted as the number eleven. The first line of thinking needs to be changed or thrown out in order to make room for the second.

[indigowolfe]

// Oddly ...

There were those who recommended that I read further. Do you think I don't read back over what I've written almost every time I sit down to write? When someone asks me to read more, the request strikes me as rather peculiar. In all candour, I find it odd. "Read more," people would tell me, to which I would respond, "What?" should be reading essays, fiction, non-fiction, and literature, and how would they be able to help a person in his or her understanding of writing? websites to road signs, billboards, text messages, news portals, books, and blogs, and that's just the general activity that a person engages in throughout the day. According to the teacher who instructed me in the language when I was much younger, reading is the single most effective activity for enhancing one's command of the English language. As a result, I was given the directive to check out the latest headlines published in the newspaper each day. In its most fundamental form, journalism can be thought of as writing that presents the facts in an objective manner. It can be summed up in a single word: boring. Reading more isn't the only way to improve your English skills, and I don't think I'd recommend that strategy to anyone today. You need to practise reading, but you also need to practise writing. Both of these need to go hand in hand; the best way to learn how to write well is through practise and through making mistakes. One should also think about whether they are more interested in writing fiction or nonfiction, as both have their place in the writing world. The next step is to find a writer or writers whose work piques your interest and start reading in order to familiarise yourself with their bodies of work and engage in consistent, repeated practise. It is a really lame and lazy idea to advise other people to "Read more," and this is especially true when the person giving the advice has a high literacy standard.

[indigowolfe]

// Care less ...

Jamie came to the conclusion that nothing could possibly mean anything when it was put in writing. It is wonderful to be able to write something worthwhile at all times, but she does not always find that this is the case in her life. There are times when she needs to simply allow her natural flow to serve as the guiding force behind those written words. Keep them easy to understand, and make sure they are brief enough that she won't feel uncomfortable. She began with one hundred words and eventually increased her word count to two hundred, allowing them to come about as they normally would, just like how she is doing here. Her thoughts are only repeating themselves to herself. These were ideas that were supposed to be written down somewhere else, but they never got the chance. She told herself to stop worrying about the people who read her work because it was more important for her to develop the ability to let her thoughts flow freely without any unnecessary obstructions. When she finally masters the art of thought capture, she'll be able to express herself verbally in the same way that a writer would. She is aware that this does not imply that she is currently working on the next greatest novel written in the history of the United States, but she also understands that she will never know if she does not take the first step. Every teeny, weeny step brings her one step closer to an exciting new adventure; a different way. On any road trip, you're sure to encounter both good and bad times, but the important thing is to keep moving forward. The need to move quickly is not a factor in determining whether one is successful. There is always going to be a lesson to be learned at each turn, and when she successfully navigates each turn after the last while maintaining a good flow, she will feel very proud of herself.

[indigowolfe]

// Freedom ...

Kimmy reflected on his past experiences and looked back on his life. When time is not an option these days, he assumes that a lot of things have to be thrown away. Nobody has the luxury of being able to live forever with an unbounded amount of time. It is not possible to squander one's time on activities that are not necessary, particularly when those activities do nothing to aid, serve, or improve one's wellbeing. Kimmy had the strong conviction that one must take responsibility for one's own actions; one's life could not be dependent on the approval of others in order to be meaningful. This may sound extremely self-centered, but Kimmy was adamant about this belief. The term "self-help" comes from the fact that individuals can help themselves. He never stopped looking at things from a positive perspective, because otherwise, in his view, a person's life will be dominated by the absurdities of other people, which will, in the long run, prevent that person from making any further advancements. The freedom to consider one's options, make an informed decision, and then move on to other things is one of the most beautiful aspects of life. Kimmy is able to envision a variety of circumstances in which a person's life will take a certain turn, and it would be unfortunate if those circumstances prevented them from acting in a certain way. This person has a fundamental misunderstanding of what freedom entails and believes it does not exist. The most central tenet of Kimmy's worldview is that one should avoid getting entangled in situations from which they cannot extricate themselves. If there is something that you can't walk away from within the span of five minutes, you should make sure that you lose it for good, because it will end up costing you your freedom in the long run. That is one aspect of life that you definitely don't want to find itself in your path.

[indigowolfe]

There lives an old mice.

Eating up the farmer's rice.

It will pay the price.

[indigowolfe]

// Life and death ...

I have no prior experience with passing away, not the same as everyone I know who has experienced it before as a normal part of life. They shrivel up and die right in front of my eyes, wilting away like a flower in the winter's harsh weather. There is no such thing as something living forever, except me. You will one day not remember this story I spoke of, though it was told to you. A man of the highest status can be forgotten, and a nation of great power can be brought to its knees, but there was something I hid from death himself in order to prevent it from being discovered. It’s my one and only heart, which is bursting at the seams with love. People who knew me before often wondered how a monster like me could have acquired something so beautiful, given that humans can sometimes go through their entire lives without ever experiencing love, even after they die. This is a moment that is bringing me to my senses in every sense of the word. This is just one of the many stories about monsters that would willingly sacrifice themselves to be with the person they loved for all of eternity. I have experimented with a variety of different methods for ending my life, but I keep finding myself back here. Both God and the Devil would look the other way at me and ignore my existence. For the rest of my life, I'll be stuck in this room, which they collectively refer to as a prison, because of the many things that they call life. It's possible that they won't realise it's a prison until they've lived there for an eternity, just like I have. You might think that I have limitless potential to take pleasure in everything that this life has to offer for an infinite amount of time. The unfortunate reality is that nothing or anyone in your immediate environment can. They will no longer be there for you, leaving you to languish in isolation while you are confined. It's only after you've had a brush with mortality that you can truly appreciate and become aware of everything that you have in life. This may sound self-centered, but it's the only way to put things into perspective. Ironically, knowing that you have ownership of something until the day you die is the only way to truly have the satisfaction of having achieved that goal. Because of this, life always results in death, but not in my particular circumstance. I never knew death, and not ever, forever.

[indigowolfe]

// Glow - Meltt ...

[indigowolfe]

// Mr. Bee and Me ...

It was a sweltering day outside, and my sister and I decided to cool off by taking a bath in the rubber pool that we had set up on the grass in the backyard. While our mother was in the kitchen washing dishes, she kept a watchful eye on us through the window that faced the kitchen. Our backs were turned toward the window. It was business as usual when Mr. Bee landed on my teeny nose, and I greeted him with a "Hi, Mr. Bee." "Hi," was the response I received from Mr. Bee after I greeted him. I wanted to know if I could bother you with a question, so I asked, "May I?" "Sure, shoot whatever's in your young mind, lad," Mr. Bee confirmed in a cheery note. Consequently, I asked, "From Where Do Children Come?" and "Ohhhhh?" When I asked Mr. Bee "the big question of the birds and the bees," he buzzed up to my right ear and whispered the answer to me. I looked at whatever was going on in that awkward space between my sister and me. I didn't pay much attention to the fact that we were unique to one another. After that, I relayed everything that Mr. Bee had said to me to my sister in a hushed whisper. She had a giddy laugh. When I asked Mr. Bee how he knew that, he responded by saying, "Most adults didn't take notice of us looking at them doing it through their bedroom windows, but you and your sister must not be going around doing that." He then cautioned us not to do it ourselves. I made a commitment to him that both my sister and I would refrain from doing it. Our mother yelled for us to "Come back into the house!" as we were outside. When my mother saw me chatting with someone outside while she was there, she immediately demanded to know who it was. When I told her what Mr. Bee had said, she responded with eyes and a mouth that were wide open, indicating that she was both surprised and concerned by what he had said. "Oh dear, there must be a pervert in our backyard!" she exclaimed in alarm. She opened the curtain that was covering the window in the kitchen and looked out over the grass in the backyard, but she didn't see anyone. Today, my son came to ask me where he came from, and I told him the story of Mr. Bee and Me. After that, he made a beeline for the kitchen and immediately informed his mother of what I had just told him. She fixed a stern gaze on my sister, who had just so happened to be there to assist her with the cleanup following dinner. "Don't worry," she told her to instil some calming confidence in her. My sister chortled as she explained that it was merely a story that the two of us used to tell each other when we were children. "Just a story of Mr. Bee, eh?" I said to myself.

[indigowolfe]

// Genie and a boy ...

Coins of varying types have been falling into my lap as I go about my daily activities. At this point, I have enough money to fill up a large piggy bank. Since I was a child, my grandmother has always told me, "Look here, if you ever find a penny along the way of your life, always pick it up and keep it. Never spend it because it's not yours. It's good luck." One day, I came across a silver penny that was unlike any other. I had never before seen a piece of such exceptional quality. I gave it a good scrub with my sleeve in order to clean it, and then I saw her. What materialised in front of me was a female version of the Genie. "Oh dear, it's so early in the week, and I am called to grant you, a young master, a wish," she said. "So be it. What's your wish? Only one!" I requested my wish, which was for her to tell me a story, and she did exactly that. She proceeded to tell me about the boy and his story, as well as the genie that came from the coin. This is it.

[indigowolfe]

// Dance devil dance ...

When those dancing shoes started moving, the night was just getting started. They came up with those moves on their own. It wasn't me, despite the fact that many insane people in that room who were watching me dance on the floor would certainly believe that it was. There is no point in trying to explain something to other people if they do not believe what I say. Some people believe that the only way to truly understand something is to put oneself in another person's shoes. You could say that the devil himself is in my dancing shoes tonight.

[indigowolfe]

"You won't be able to hear my thoughts until I speak them here in these written words.

Indigo Wolfe

[indigowolfe]

// Married to him ...

The moment Wilda's husband entered the house through the front door, he immediately loosened his tie, set down his briefcase, and made his way straight for the kitchen. Just in the nick of time, she had prepared their evening meal for them. He then leaned forward and planted a passionate kiss on her rosy cheek before taking his seat at the dinner table. Wilda was dissatisfied that he didn't even notice the elaborate table setting that had been prepared for their meal. The two of them are supposed to be celebrating their wedding anniversary right now. They had been married for thirty years at the time, but everything shifted after she gave birth to their first child. Previously, nothing had changed. Before that happened, they had more of a romantic relationship. The entire night was spent listening to her husband ramble on and on about his day job and various political issues around the world. She has figured out a way to drown out his voice whenever he begins his inane babbling, but Wilda swore to herself that night that she would be the very last person to put up with his self-centered relationship. After dinner, Wilda made his customary gin and tonic drink for the evening, but he added a little bit more than he would have expected to include in the mixture. That evening, in order for him to get a good night's sleep, she had to assist him in getting ready for bed. He deserves to be allowed to die in a state of peace, so let's hope that can happen. When Wilda finally opened her eyes the following morning, there was a profound hush in the room. Even before dawn broke, she was able to make out the birds singing their melodious songs to welcome the new day. Her husband was sleeping next to her, and for the very first time in her entire life, he did not snore while they were together in bed. He gave off the impression of being completely content in his own skin. It must come as a great relief to her to realise that from this point forward, she will never again have to worry about anyone disturbing her while she is trying to enjoy the morning. Wilda bolted out of bed as soon as she heard a rumbling sound coming from the basement, and she quickly made her way down the stairs, through the kitchen, and into the basement. Before going downstairs to the basement, Wilda goes into the kitchen and takes a hammer out of one of the cabinet drawers there. At the bottom of the wooden stairs, Wilda saw that the old washing machine was still on, spinning and rumbling against the cement floor with her husband's dirty clothes inside of it. The light coming in through the small window was dim, and the sunrise was just beginning to illuminate the room. Wilda was once again brought back to the grating ramblings of her husband, which consisted of gibberish, when the laundry machine began to ratter. In addition to that, this was not the first time that her husband, who was prone to forgetting things, had accidentally left the machine running forever. She yelled at the clamorous washing machine while clenching the handle of the hammer in her hand and staring at it. "You'll be next!" she threatened.

[indigowolfe]

// What’s to be ...

My writing’s not right.

Many say it’s blind sight.

They come to bite.

Oh, my hurting pride.

[indigowolfe]

// Roll Mary Jane, Roll em’

I am not holding my pen; I do not feel it; it is weightless, rocking me around, as though I were in a boat or in a chair, and every word that came to my mind dripped out onto the tip of my senseless pen, having a life of its own on the white sheet of paper that someone, whom I can't make out that it was me, put there for my convenience to write on with these heavy eyes, closing by themselves, and my head was dropping onto them, my breathing became more laboured as I tried to stay awake and read those words, and they grew larger with each repetition; I was hoping to spin some sort of truth in those words about this world I am messing in, as messed up as I am, whether it be right side up or upside down; while watching those humans merry-go-round me, staring at me, as if I were an alien to them; to whom I think I am the only human being here and now; who’s for real — there’s my Mary Jane rolling em’ for another tripping.

[indigowolfe]

First, I write a word.

I then look at it again and again.

My voice needs to be heard.

I can feel its struggle and pain.

[indigowolfe]

There's no right or wrong to write. All writing is thinking.

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