One word

One word is one word
in eternity. Say what
you mean. Mean what you say.

– Leonard "Pocket Philosopher" Blumfeld

Written for Sunday Scribblings and 'eternity'. Happens to be a slightly overfilled haiku. One syllable is one syllable. Eternity won't care. At least I don't think it will.

Shopping

For her

I'm
not
that grey
box way back
behind the glossy
brands. No more. Have never been.

– Leonard "Branded" Blumfeld

The signals people send out are largely self-made. The grey box there at the back of the shelf must stop thinking of itself as the ugly grey box at the back of the shelf that nobody could possibly want.

Addendum
What does shopping have to do with relationships?
Ideally it should not, in my opinion.
A year ago or so I got into a discussion with HER about this. She'd more or less bluntly told me to look elsewhere, even citing some eligible females.
To which I replied that it wasn't like a supermarket where you picked a brand from among a few.
But perhaps I'm the one who's wrong.
She appears to choose according to rational criteria (and forget about the ones that really count).
But perhaps she's right – and I'm wrong, hiding my more complex shopping habits behind romantic (or merely sentimental) trim.

Word sham

It’s plossible
even though ‘t ain’t
willingly

– Leonard “Contorter of Words” Blumfeld (© 2011)

Written using plausible, taint and willingly from 3WW ... well, using some form of two of them.

How to educate an abject object

"You know, James, that you are an object.

The way you sit here in silence despite all my efforts to educate you!"

Tears welled up in James’ eyes.
He turned his head so she could not see.

And still he would not speak.
Later on he would write.

He would write down that the hurt inflicted by her words was simply too much.
All he could do was sit like an object, while her words were squeezing the air, the life out of him like an iron clamp.

– Leonard Blumfeld (© 2010)

Written with educate, object, silence for 3WW, from whence these words came. There are these kids (and eventually they become adults) who are unable to defend themselves against certain people, usually people they love. They should stand up for themselves instead of sitting transfixed and taking the crap dished out by these people who profess to care about them. I know from experience.

The cantankerous fib

Oh

my!

Am I

cantanker-

ous today. What louse

did walk across my liver?

– Leonard Blumfeld

And now to the explanatory part...
When someone is in a bad mood in Germany, one may ask "Was ist denn dem für eine Laus über die Leber gelaufen?" ("What louse did walk across his liver?") – so much for where that second part came from.
And what louse was it that walked across my liver? Mostly myself, I have to admit. I'm working hard on thinking of how to improve and avoid the potholes I've been stepping into in the future. As a first step, I shaved off the beard I'd been proudly wearing since about 1976. Now if that ain't a good or even significant start!

Parasitic ditty

Well, I’m sure glad today’s words are
dabble, lean and utter
instead of
babble, unclean and stutter.

– Leonard “Paraphraser” Blumfeld (© 2010)

Played around with the three words from 3WW CCXIX, and this was the outcome.

Reinventing the dog

This
old
dog has
been barking
up the wrong tree for
years. Another trick is needed.

– Len "Old Blue" Blumfeld

But then there's the saying "You can't teach an old dog new tricks." Ouch.

77 entries

2010 – 77 blog entries so far ...

That's more productive than 2009 already, even though a lot less productive than during the first two years of this blog.

I must have really reported on just about anything back then, participated regularly in just about any writing meme I came across.

Whereas this year I frequently suffered from an "I've got nothing to say" syndrome.

But then again there were those fruitful moments when just about anything, any word, any inspiration triggered an outburst, usually resulting in a poem or ultrashort piece of fiction.

Not so bad, after all, then, this year?

– Leonard "I've Got Nothing to Say" Blumfeld

Sanjiv bhai approaches the boss

“Give me an advance, malik,” I told the boss.
“Why, you’ve probably pandered all your paycheck again, and not even half the month is over.”
“Yes, boss.”
“I bet you lost it all playing shuffle.”
“Yes, boss. That blasted shuffle.”
“You need to quit shuffling, Sanjiv.”
“I know, malik, I promise I will. But you know Mallika and the kids are starving.”
“All right, Sanjiv, one last time. The very last time.”

This boss was so easy. Every time I’d give him the same story, and every time it was the very last time.

But we both knew that very last time would never come. Mallika was his sister. And I was too addicted to pandering and shuffling. Besides being completely underpaid.

– Surendra Sparsh (© 2010)

Written with advance, pander, shuffle from 3WW.

Center, on right foot

One nail not cut. Must
have escaped last campaign. Tall
among short siblings.

– Leonard Blumfeld (© 2010)

An earth-shattering discovery that simply had to turn poetic.