Archive for Arts

The Iron Dragon Voice Recognition Project

Posted in adversity, Auto-Correct Speech Recognition, Blogging, Collaboration, Conjured Up Next, Dragon award, Flash Fiction, Fun, Humor, Imp Of The Perverse, Just For Fun, recycling vs. plagerism, Sorcery with tags , , on April 14, 2014 by dreamlanddancing

 

Recently I began attempting to utilize the speech recognition function of my computer to dictate text.

Daily (w)rite had just posted the A to Z Challenge: Flash Fiction, which included a photograph and a prompt “Lately he had been feeling…”.

This is completely new ground for me, and I was fascinated.

I decided to attempt the project using the Speech Recognition function of my computer.

Behold the results; a story within a story, it would seem…or…you be the judge….

Here is the artwork, by Joseph W. Richardson: (with the prompt: …”lately, he had been feeling…”)

josephwrichardson_600x400-42

This is the Iron Dragon Project result:

*****

True on and all,

Too true II be true.

This is going to be eight to two attached

and the howl for the old ones who weren’t.

Iron dragons can be humans

who buy in bulk and buy one another.

Lately he’d been feeling

like an imaginary dinosaur

so out of date that he couldn’t even scare

a five-year old girl.

(Let’s face it…

after Pixar,

how you gonna keep ‘em down on the farm

after they’ve seen

Monsters Inc.?)

Thank you.

***

And you and you might be wrong

if you were among the one

that will allow them believe

this can be done to learn more than one,

or the dragon in the garden may be a man…

is he our own only hope

that can help our town?

Take anything on the day

and it still leaves us poor

and unrecognizable

to my original text

(which is pretty good for a Mayan.)

***

Tensions thee into my mission

and an avid listen

to become one with the machine

which

in their words

might become a bump on a node

in their worlds;

a bogey on the radar

or give a madman time to ship,

were she to tell it all.

***

Dick you.

(that was thank-you, btw)

…mad that really only you

have been equally

compensated

and that early on

you’re more on the money

on the back F.U.N. and Y

(“funny”)

than all the rest

that ever were.

***

And so it goes from where it ends.

Hula room deliveries

and buried on an

old fairgrounds

captured

in a faded photograph.

You don’t know how

to interpret the butt of a joke,

meaning something early on

that makes

me so horney….

And let’s let poor

caveman UG alone,

(let alone the UG woman)

and the older elder too

and that old lady who

laughed

when laugh launched luna.

***

Run one thing on

to

try something on

fun fun fun

as a loan on laughter

in a letter that said

fun is dead

and you can’t play on

fun fun fun alone,

but the challenge to him was that this

…this the…

…this Italian leather dealer

in each letter on a letter

adds up.

…the AIM’s not even close…

but this

intention

could have made a difference,

(…but it didn’t.)

***

I’m not having loved all of this and more.

I’m not loving this.

If you would treat me

as an acute writers group

…maybe God already knew…

if so,

then dial me

but

you have no clue.

No one meant that as a car wreck, children.

No…

I was saying that was a correct assumption…

And by her now this is goodbye for now…

Logo and you finally

get right question.

Goodbye?

(Something there is that does not love auto-correct dictation)

PS: with team Damyani’s permission, I intend to reblog her original post, which I found to be quite a hoot in its own (w)right(e).

 

This Thing We Do with Words

Posted in A Dirty Mind is A Terrible Thing To Waste, Acknowledgement, Appreciation, Celebration, Confessions of a Mad Philosopher, Dirty, Erotic Poetry, Fun, Humor, Imp Of The Perverse, Jantor To The Temple Of The Holy of Holies, Love, Much Too Good For Children, Philosophical Sexuality, Poetry, Possibly Dangerous to Everyone, Primate Romance/Adventure, Sexual Action/Adventure, Share The Love, The Id, The Talking Monkeys, Zen with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on December 21, 2013 by dreamlanddancing

…(This post was inspired by several of my favorite bloggers…I trust you to know whom you are…fellow bloggers who share this love affair with words, thoughts, meanings, and ideas. Chances are if you even think I am referring to you, I probably am, because you have inspired me in one way or another and I want to thank you all for it.)  😉

This thing we do with words.

We build bridges

from island to island

one word, one stone at a time.

We build monuments and temples

to Love and Lust,

Adventure and Power.

We can spin webs of intrigue

like giant subterranean spiders

with words artfully applied

 and patterns beautiful to see

as Love seduces Logic

and Romance beguiles all Reason.

And tell tall tales

of days of old

of arts arcane and esoteric,

from ransom notes to love letters

charters, pacts and treaties.

A poem, a love letter and a plea for rescue,

a note wrapped up in a bottle,

flung into a sea of humanity,

awaiting reply

from my private island of exile

to you.

We can wax eloquently and long,

or we can get write down

and dirty.

Isn’t it such a beautiful thing

that we can do?

…this thing we do with words?

…free to be whatever we wish to be,

or be whatever you wish we were.

(I can be very flexible that way, you know)

Anonymous sex with words

spewed from invisible mouths

by mysterious lips and tongues

in a bathhouse of like-minded

wordsmiths.

When you touch me

I create you

in the most flatteringly imaginative ways

in my own image

and never worry about overstepping either’s bounds

because honey,

If you only knew what things I do

To and With each other with words,

and in our minds,

in real life,

it might be hard

to ever stopping slapping my face.

But in This Life,

trusting in the fact that whatever it is

I will cheer you on,

and vise-versa

Mon Cheri.

You have Carte Blanche

Chez mois….

(And trust me, I doubt that it violates any rules I know…)

but then again,

that pretty much leaves you free

to be with me as you please,

Madame Weasel…

meet Mister Weasel.

In my mind, your bottom is perfect

in your mind, every part is just right.

And everything is exactly the

the way we like it,

In My Perfect World.

While we do this thing we do with each other

with words.

We can touch each other so intimately

in such private places

deep within our psyches

with visions of forbidden acts

too emotionally dangerous

to allow,

except within our deepest

recesses

kept locked away in a dirty basement

beneath a haunted house

inside (y)our soul(s).

It’s Better Than Sex

only because it really isn’t,

but imagining what it Is in each other’s minds

each according to our own inferences

means that at least fifty percent

of what we get

is what we bring to this picnic.

Because there’s always more

inside this thing we do with words.

Mass media meets social networking

begetting Art

in a mad orgy of

words and thoughts

both sacred and profane.

Noble and Lofty

meats

Down and Dirty.

Spiritual and Ethereal

do a minuet

with

Finite and Practical,

making Voyeurs into Voyagers

and Fellow Travelers

of us all.

This thing we do with words,

My F(r))iend

allows us to span continents, universes

and alternate realities

in an instant that is less than an instant

that arrives before it leaves

and never stops coming

(or cumming).

This thing we do with words

spoken with love

will one day

teach us to love our enemies

once we realize

We all are one.

So even if you say

“FUCK YOU!”

I can either take it as a compliment,

an enticement,

or just smile like I do when I watch a

monkey jacking off at the zoo.

We all are One.

So thanks for the handjob.

We can praise or we can criticize,

condone, condom or condemn.

We can teach, touch, (p)reach and multiply

and be bountiful

and all it costs

is the price of baring your soul

and opening your eyes and your mind

and inviting me in,

be I vampire

or Pilgrim

fallen angel,

 or

grateful worshipper,

or referee

for that fight you’ve been having

with yourself in your mind.

I am here for you

my friend

my brother

my sister

my mother

my father

my mentor

my co-conspirator,

fellow prankster

and lover.

I love this thing we do with words…

If I had to do it all over again

I’d do it all over you.

English: Life, the Universe, and Everything Te...

English: Life, the Universe, and Everything Texture… or in other words, 42 (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Completion Haiku

Posted in Liason Between Parties, Poetry, Random Observations, The Home For Wayward Souls, The Wisdom, Zen with tags , , , , , , , , , , on September 13, 2013 by dreamlanddancing

Completion Haiku

A bridge can be crossed

if one has legs or a horse.

First you must make choice.

The Talking Monkeys and The Home for Wayward Souls: The ArchAngels

Posted in Enhanced and Fortified non-fiction, Fun, Long Form, Metaphysical Action/Adventure, Much Too Good For Children, Novel, Novel, Possibly Dangerous to Everyone, The Home For Wayward Souls, The Talking Monkeys with tags , , , , , , , , on July 27, 2013 by dreamlanddancing

The ArchAngels

Most of the members of the ArchAngels were college buddies Ash had known for years. When The Home for Wayward Souls became financially self-sufficient, Ash began contacting them to make arrangements to put them all on salary on a full-time permanent basis. Their talents and skills ranged from “professional” musicians who were proficient sight-readers who fully understood the fundamentals of Harmonization and Theory who had been schooled to players who were strictly “by ear” but who possessed an uncanny knack for keeping up with everyone else who nonetheless provided a great deal of originality and innovation that often took the best skills of the schooled musicians to interpret into charts and arrangements for the entire band.

Although the original ArchAngels rarely ever performed in any configuration larger than about seven members at any one given time, their repertoire was gleaned from over two dozen regulars, some of whom would appear at the last minute and simply “sit in” with the rest of the band who had rehearsed during the week. In similar fashion, the new, improved ArchAngels who performed on a weekly basis and rehearsed on a daily schedule were often augmented by guest players who were not paid who were usually long-time friends of Ash, as well as occasional guest stars who sat in just for “shits and giggles”. The Sanctuary was fast becoming known as a haven for innovative musicians and a prime venue to showcase their talents, as well as to just enjoy playing and exchanging ideas among the Avant-Garde of their field.

Although Ash had studied several semesters of Harmony and Theory in college and was not only a proficient player, but a skilled writer, the ArchAngels were like a comet that Ash had hitchhiked a ride from, and as bandleader, he often referred to himself as The Tail that Wags the Dog. He was as grateful to act as host, (just to be a part of a band that was this good) as his band members were to having a regular gig that paid reasonably well and provided healthcare and retirement benefits in a field where that had been previously unheard. Ash and Kali both considered the ArchAngels to be their family, and they were frequently guests for meals and other occasions. When there were sufficient guest quarters available that were not being used by either guest speakers or out-of-town celebrities, they were often in use by members of the band, who might not even leave the compound for days at a time.

His background singers, the Soul Chorus came from every genre, but all had to be proficient and knowledgeable in Gospel. As long as they could harmonize, improvise, and hit the right notes, they all brought something unique to the mix. One of the sopranos was schooled in opera, and had tremendous range and discipline, but could get funkier than a Baptist minister’s scrotum in July when the occasion and need arose. Most were either rock or jazz vocalists, but with that much talent, there was no room for prima donnas, and as a rule the ladies quickly learned you either had to get along or get out because if it wasn’t fun, and if it didn’t seem effortless, the whole point would have been lost.

The percussion and rhythm section bordered on organized chaos, because they frequently used two complete trap sets, congas, timbales, gongs, marimbas, chimes, vibes, tubular bells, steel drums and just about every other sort of noisemaker or toy that might appeal to a percussionist’s tastes. These “drummers” were by far the most animated, energetic, and childlike members of the band. They could get a little unruly or out of control at times, but they were also the driving force behind almost everything that they performed, and seemed to take it upon themselves to ensure that everyone was having a great time.

They also tended to be practical jokers that favored sight gags and physical comedy, which they often carried out extemporaneously during the performances, especially on Saturday nights. It also was not uncommon for the members of the rhythm section to trade roles, even in the middle of the performances, jumping around and changing instruments or seats without warning. Raphael, the bassist was the unofficial leader of the rhythm section because he was well-liked and good-natured enough to keep up with their shenanigans, but also highly respected as a musician who had an uncommon presence to him that could have been menacing were he not so affable. He made it easy to do what he told you to do, but if you veered off course too far you risked bringing out the gunnery sergeant in him…not a person you would want to piss off.

Neville was a Rastafarian who shared the stage with Grant, a die-hard Metal Rocker who claimed to be somehow related to Aynsley Dunbar, but nobody cared enough about to either refute or verify. The longer Grant was with the ArchAngels, the less he seemed to need to mention it; besides, he was becoming something of a star in his own right. Yoshi was a true master of tuned percussion from vibraphone to every manner of bell or chime, including steel drums, sometimes doing duets with Neville. Grant was the only member of the rhythm section that looked like he was chained to his seat. Neville and Yoshi would practically fly from congas to tympani and back while Grant laid down a backbeat as regular as railroad ties. Sometimes Neville would play counter rhythms on his trap set giving certain original pieces they had written a decidedly jazz polyrhythmic feel. It was also not unusual for them to press other members of the band into service if they were not actively playing their assigned instrument at the time.

The keyboardists were more like orchestra conductors, given the fact that they not only coordinated pianos, organs, synthesizers, and string ensembles, but they generally wrote the charts for the reeds and woodwinds. Karan also played viola and cello, as well as flute, and on occasion even performed on trombone, making you think of Glenn Miller (but only if you were either old enough, or happened to be a musicologist). She had what is sometimes called perfect relative pitch, because she had a very keen ear for intervals and could almost instantly identify which instrument…or voice was sharp or flat, but could still reference all the pitches, even to an out-of-tune piano if necessary. Ian was her perfect co-conspirator, and an understudy of hers who had been taking piano lessons from her since he was eight years old. There was an unspoken language that passed between them in the form of music that, so matter how polyphonic or abstract the tonality of one or the other one got, they effortlessly resolved the harmonies in a way that Ash described as a musical uroborus, although Karan preferred to call it soixante-neuf harmonization. Given her proclivity for…well, let’s just call it mischief; it was no secret that her best student had been studying a myriad of things under her tutelage, and although he was almost twenty years her junior, he was not the least shy about offering that “We make Music like it was Sex because we also make Sex like it was Music.”

Red played tenor and baritone sax, occasionally both at once, like Roland Kirk. A self-described electric be bopper who got his nickname because of his long strawberry blonde hair; no one had any idea how old Red really was, because to listen to him talk, you would think he was at least seventy, just by his fixation with fifties jazz and its jargon (everyone was a cat to him, for instance), but he had all his hair although his face had that bronzed appearance that no one except George Hamilton or a homeless person gets, including the leathery wrinkles. Mutton chop sideburns almost met the walrus/Foo Manchu mustache offset by a soul patch under his bottom lip. The only time anyone had ever seen him without his sunglasses and his hat was when Ash and Kali went to visit him in the hospital right out of surgery…still recovering from the anesthesia, they gave the hat and glasses back to him by way of the ER, knowing it would be his first request. He even swam in the pool in his hat and sunglasses, and it was rumored that he bathed and showered in them, although Sonja, his mulatto Puerto Rican girlfriend who put him in the Emergency Room after she stabbed him was unavailable for comment as to whether he slept or screwed with them on. It would only be a short matter of time before there would be a new expert on the subject, however, if any of them had been curious, since Red rarely ever was found wanting for female companionship for any significant length of time.

Ishmael played alto and soprano saxes, clarinet, and flutes, and had degrees in both Mathematics and Physics, as well as Music. Ish was a germophobe, although he was quick to point out to anyone who called him one that the more correct term was Mysophobia, (fear of uncleanliness). He carried a battery powered ultraviolet light with him everywhere, scanning for evidence of the presence of bodily fluids. It was embarrassing to be somewhere in public and witness him scan all the adjacent surfaces within his reach, but it was also disturbingly unsettling to watch him repeatedly confirm his worst suspicions and thereby make them ours as well. The truth is, most of us really don’t want to know all the things we touch that are somehow contaminated by urine, mucous, semen, vaginal alluvium, saliva, dander, miscellaneous insect debris, hair, sweat, blood, and feces, otherwise you’d be as afraid to get out of bed, as to stay in it. He was also a Sephardic Hasid. He felt out of place no matter where he went, until he joined the ArchAngels. The characters he encountered were perhaps a bit more bizarre than out in the rest of the world, but here he was respected in his own right as much as everyone else, so it was easy to do the same for them.

Since Ash was the bandleader and front man, he got plenty of opportunities to play flashy guitar solos when he wanted to, but Zack was really the HMFIC when it came to all matters pertaining to the playing, caring and feeding of the electric guitar. Originally from Nashville, and a master of everything from Country to Rockabilly, to Jazz to Metal, Shred, Grunge, and everything Jimi Hendrix or Eddy Van Halen ever played, he learned electronics and avionics during a brief stint with the Air Force during his late teens and early twenties, siting “creative differences” as the reason for his departure as soon as his tour was up. He drank a bit too much and practically chain smoked marijuana. He was trained in Shuri-Ryu Karate, an avid firearms aficionado, and a Zen Buddhist/Taoist who referred to himself as a Pacifist, although in truth, he was less Pacific and more Fist. He could somehow snap from being one of the most good-natured and patient individuals you could ever hope to meet to going right to the brink of physical violence without batting an eyelash or even raising his voice if threatened. It was spooky to observe. It was like he flipped a switch in his head that went from Poet to Warrior, but he rarely displayed any anger in the process, just resolution, acceptance and a certain degree of regret. He regarded violence as a “sad reality”, but refused to be a victim. He was a Zen Dharma Bum, part Redneck, part Shaman and Visionary, full-time Hedonist. He met Ash in a Dojo in North Miami Beach and they had been friends ever since.

Add two Roadies, Otis and Mickey, plus Lothar, the soundman and electronics wizard. The ArchAngels. Travel agents to a higher reality where Escape Velocity is Ground Zero.

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