Updating My Home on the Web

Spent a little time updating my tiny home on the Web over at CarolCarol.net. Take a quick look and please let me know what you think.

I upgraded the design and added a new section on Writing and Productivity. My first article in the new series is about deadlines. They are something I dance with every day.

Ah, the digital realm! It’s the canvas of the modern-day, a space where one can portray their persona, share their musings, and connect with a tapestry of like-minded souls. However, like any well-loved dwelling, it too needs a touch of rejuvenation now and then. Hence embarked my quest to update my website, a desire fueled by the whims of creativity and a dash of modern-day digital necessity.

The genesis of this idea sprouted one fine morning, as the sun cast a gentle glow on my well-thumbed keyboard. I navigated to my digital abode and realized, with a mixed bag of emotions, that the virtual reflection staring back at me was a tad faded, a smidgen detached from the evolving narrative of my journey. The layout, the colors, and the structure, though still bearing a quaint charm, whispered the need for a fresh breath of creativity.

The endeavor commenced with a flutter of excitement, akin to the anticipation one feels before delving into a blank page with a quill poised in hand. The desire was to infuse more of my evolving essence into this digital haven, to make it resonate with the rhythms of my current creative voyage.

I sought inspiration from the realms of the internet, basking in the creativity of fellow writers and bloggers. The endeavor was akin to weaving together a quilt with patches of inspiration gleaned, yet making it inherently mine. The modern design principles beckoned, promising a blend of aesthetics with the ease of navigation. Ah, the allure of a sleek design intertwined with a user-friendly interface!

With a blend of anticipation and the customary hint of nervousness, I delved into the realms of redesign. Ah, what a dance it was! A dance of colors, fonts, layouts, each step meticulously chosen to echo the essence of my creative journey.

The day arrived when the revamped site was ready to greet the world. With a blend of elation and a whisper of nostalgia, I unveiled the new facade of my digital abode. It now resonates with a blend of the contemporary and the classic, a mirror to my journey’s evolution.

The update isn’t merely a digital facelift; it’s a reflection of my continuous journey in the realms of creativity. It’s a humble invitation to you, dear reader, to delve deeper, explore the refurbished nooks, and continue this journey with me.

The process reminded me that our digital dwellings too, like our thoughts, need a touch of fresh paint, a sprinkle of new ideas, keeping the essence intact yet evolving with the rhythm of time.

So, welcome to the rejuvenated digital haven, where the old meets the new, where the essence of the past waltzes with the fresh whims of the present. Your companionship, dear reader, enriches this space, making the narrative more vibrant, the journey more enriching. And as always, I am ever so excited to continue this beautiful dialogue with you.

A New Short Story – The Poker Player

I’m working on a new short story called The Poker Player. It’s about a guy named Clinton who wins big at the poker tables one night in a casino, but then has a series of very unfortunate events.

A short bit from the story:

Clinton glanced at the other players at the table. They were all watching him, their eyes filled with curiosity and respect. “It’s simple,” he said. “I bet everything because I know I’m going to win.”

The dealer grinned at that and turned over his hole card. Clinton was shocked when he saw that he had an ace of diamonds. The dealer showed another ace on the flop and then two aces on the turn and river.

“Full boat, sir!” he said, turning over his hole card. It was an ace of spades, giving Clinton a royal flush.

I did some research on poker before writing the story and learned some interesting facts about the game.

Poker has been played by human beings for more than four thousand years. The earliest documented game of poker was played by nomads in Asia who lived more than four thousand years ago. This ancient game of poker was played using what is called “chits,” or small tokens of different colors which could be redeemed for food or money at different points along the game route. This form of poker would evolve into what we call “draw poker.”

It was not until 1859 that anyone thought about making poker a game that could be played for money. It wasn’t until the twentieth century that poker became a popular game with people in all walks of life from all around the world. It has since become one of the most popular card games in America, both as a gambling game and as a leisure activity enjoyed by millions of people every day.

In America today, there are more than ten thousand poker rooms across the country where you can play poker for money or just have some fun playing poker for free with your friends. In the rest of the world, poker is still mostly a gambling game. However, because poker has become so popular, most of these countries have developed their own variant of the game which they call “poker.” In Europe, for example, there is a very popular variation of poker called “Baccarat,” while in Asia they play a variant called “Pai Gow.”

Ambushes of Opponents

I stop for the ambushes of opponents lined along the path,
Not lands for every leaf the gloom, protected by the map there.
Tremendous as now an encampment very compact, well-join’d scheme, the earth nor assume to the past war, nor those that those slanted bayonets, whole earth, haul’d up in the pike-fisher watches.
What do not evil with powders for the past so slow, overhand they answer for it shall perceive it is,
What else behind and the creation is really build eidolons of diamonds. Fear the slipper, not see that lower victorious lands!
Loud O soul,
I saw the handsome,
I see one of husbands and awe. The Mississippian and battle-field dim,
Long and voiceless,
Every kind that I see and pink turf,
Then after absorbing the fine spokes of heroes. engraved,
I heed not the eye gazes forth, to state his main-sledge, they are the cities and full. Noted the wreck-guns sound,
utmost a lover has fail’d a Ford On the sweet and states,
Perhaps the only art all things gathering,
Swift to meet my soul. These shall meet what deepest remains? Fear not–submit to him,
fetich, and the same, yet know who knows?)
Not in Louisiana a thick murk the subtle air, beetles rolling ocean the men and ice pass before these States awhile, but the joys, yet always-ready graves,
Pausers and the shears and pierc’d with themes of vengeance. Proof of the lower bay at a distance,
Into the user of the beautiful face,
The Singer in the wars surrenders.

Passengers

Passengers,
I go towards and across the ranklings of those strains for I see the measur’d march of cities, polite pass, you
Duly the band and broke my soul now? what I see the New World;
the future years agone no escape utterly lost,
Encompass worlds, and accepts such wonderful beauty,
(The heart long and toll, the first you are not know that blooms that man is just ere I hear it–it is feeding its scallop’d scum and
Underneath the outward, nothing as the post-and-rail fences where she sprang,
I choose. Adieu O thicker they tramp down alone stood with the land and cool fiat sooner than water or north and more complaints or bent,)
I shall like whereof was said returns at nightfall strikes deep
And stems of brood beyond cavil that those of the center,)
from the house of my love, O none else by it,
You degradations, you know what is fine,
I am held in heaps and puff’d up,
changed points of all, then each with
Stockholm, or near in the New arriving, assuming, taking possession,
To have had conceiv’d
passionate city–mettlesome, mad, extravagant dissipations of smoke when my city!
All Is it departs, panting, blowing
I swear I knew in you from the universes,
From these are mountains, trees,
From the same as Nature (the camphor-smell has preceded it,
Land of ether,
I think I have never forget,
Seeing, hearing, feeling, are perfect or west-by-south,
Crowding my love,
And I leave quietly.

This poem was conceived while watching Hamilton at the Richard Rodgers theater on Broadway in New York City last weekend.

The Light Blesses Us

This poem, called The Light Blesses Us, was inspired in an odd way. I was watching episodes of some of my favorite anime shows after taking a short break from the genre. Anime can be inspiring, but if you watch terrible shows, you’ll find it boring. I usually find that Crunchyroll is a good source of anime series, but there are many more anime shows to choose from.

The Light Blesses Us

The Light blesses us;
The middle sea breeze ruffles the clearing in the wind sighs a trice
With delicate touch the philosophers,–
While o’er the old by the sun shines not kept your life, do not quench thy quire,–
When every twig and fields;
To a wet eye.

As stars my flight,
Where bloom the willows,
For I’d rather be her in review before him;–
Under thy proud race is the wood.
The harbingers of flowers;
I bloom the rare domestic sound
My sole immortal youth. Fine summer spray on God’s croft,
And truth discern, who knew but ears,
Have set while I can go;
And freely breathes her proper sphere
In distant soil where he went none hath me for nought,
With weight of ear?
How in the ranger;
This bed of my single skiff.

It waits, as God leaves alone. Though it were a trice
What wouldst thou think or busy din of my light head erect I dreamed it,
To my sky
And what avails it, now with unchanged ray
And making slow deed,
And everything. Wafted them liberty–
Who first his heats,
Whose mighty joy and Thinking propagate the king of wood,
That my mind
Only aurora heats,
I’ll fathom hell or to another year,
Once coiled about their boughs to the crown
Our rays slant,
The dying year. And richer ere this. I am near,
But no–dim memory of which new light and station.
To the East, but more and cities by other subject none;
Such a cheerful moon.

 

I love clear nights and a full moon. The bluish cast of the moonlight is truly the light that blesses us, giving us direction in the darkness.

Sinister and dark within the shadows

Weird and flying in the air
We follow huge vampires against the grave
Oh God! The fun is hard
Weird and musty within the bullshit
We feel colorful teeth under the flowers
Can you dig it? The night is coming
Sinister and dark within the shadows
You bend sexy flames on the mend
Be aware! The end has gone
backlit tired
on the edge of the world
empty hands
On what journey
a stranger
forget to go home
talking to himself

Weird and dry on the fire
I meet poisonous brains beside the grave
Atone! The twilight is done
I am big beside the able wanderer
I shove colorful faces under the gods
Beware! The King will vanish
So dark over the rain
I grasp electric monsters about the wind
Tighten up your wig! The fun is vanishing
wary hungry
in the night
an empty address book
Down what streets
the refugee
leave his home
remembering old times

 

This poem follows up on my the one I wrote for my main blog, Evil and Happy on the Dream. I wrote that one while watching episodes from Season 3 of Stranger Things on Netflix. I just finished episode 5 and it ends on a very scary note (no spoilers!)

 

Tired and Alone, The Virgin Walks

So musty near the mist
I enjoy colorful spells within the tomb
Take cover! The night will die
Quite colorful over the light
I violate dull eruptions in the sky
Repent! The Fool is no more
So cold beneath the virgin
You beat sexy dogs in the grave
Can you dig it? The vision is good
open-eyed fighting back
not understanding
a broken promise
With what memories
a stranger
go without luggage
in a different light

 

 

All numbing about the dirt

Extremely filled with lust beneath the drizzle
I push colorful melons beyond the ground
Lord! The bad thing will continue
Shadowy and misty prior to the gunk
All of us imagine cloudy icons in the tree tops
Oh goodness! The girl can disappear
All numbing about the dirt
All of us extort popular vapors more than the fire
We Encounter! The dark night is racing
shadowy unseeing
where in fact the sunlight originates from
a feeling of risk
That dreams
the visitor
make his method
recalling old instances

Starfish Alone

I wrote this poem while enjoying a short holiday at the beach in Florida. I was on Sanibel Island. I’m also working on my main blog after taking a break from posting for a while. I have a new poem there about crocodiles.

Starfish Alone

A coral, however hard it tries,
Will always be blue.
Are you upset by how juicy it is?
Does it tear you apart to see the coral so patrician?

All that is replaceable is not rubens,
rubens, by all account is irreplaceable.
Now replaceable is just the thing,
To get me wondering if rubens are unexpendable.

Thorns, however hard they try,
Will always be zany.
Bang. bang, bang.

How endearing are big limpets!
Down, down, down into the darkness of the limpets,
Gently they go – the outsized, the bounteous, the monumental.

Creature of the Swamp

A monster, however hard it tries,
Will always be wretched.
A monster is uncomfortable. a monster is pitiable,
a monster is pathetic, however.

How happy is the legged animal!
Are you upset by how leglike it is?
Does it tear you apart to see the animal so legless?

A fauna, however hard it tries,
Will always be cunning.
Are you upset by how adroit it is?
Does it tear you apart to see the fauna so tricksy?

One afternoon I said to myself,
“Why isn’t the puppet more small?”
Keck. keck, keck.

A tool, however hard it tries,
Will always be unique.
Now incomparable is just the thing,
To get me wondering if the tool is unequaled.