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Thread: No Discoveries - No Critisism - Just A Place To Share Things

  1. #41
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    Default Great Idea

    Count me in, des, I support Tweleve 112 percent cool idea


    (of course, I need a 'solve' first


    bronte
    Deep in Blue Dog's eyes will always lurk the hopes and longings of a melancholy people, but, like the Cajuns, who always trained their eyes on the future, Blue Dog must move forward.
    ~George Rodrigue fr 'Blue Dog Man'

    He must have a truly romantic nature, for he weeps when there is nothing at all to weep about.
    ~Oscar Wilde

    From sumthyngness into givyngness unto the given.
    ~fr 'DAR' m.s

  2. #42
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    Default One Un-Moonlike Dream of a Winn-Dixie

    I awake to the rustle of leaves or a Wonka bar wrapper on the nightstand...
    Pook, pungent but warm beneath silk layers of button yellow, turns to avoid my thistle-eyed stare. Token-less Zac has long since been replaced by our loving doth. Valuableness and bravery beat carpentry and practicality. Zacs' large socks tripped the Kootenstoopits, anyway.

    I am not Ana, but Ana-gelina Jolie, a vamp in an empire dress with pink bodice. I entice the creatures at my window and stammer to read the thoughts of the few that still elude.

    A fresh shower and a flight to Winn Dixie, I am the dubious grocer. I sweep past dandelion greens and grab a gourd, Elrohir sweeping his dragonfly elegantly over his daughter's head, like a trail of falling leaves. I cannot touch her blue baroque song. The escargot scares my daughter and I gaze at them like stars, squishy and neatly packaged with a clever slogan. My thoughts turn to Doc and I hear the soft winds of a Louisiana afternoon, a barbecue. No, no snails.

    I place the jar of honey in our cart and it chimes, a pleasant cacophony of nectar needles. A sweet song, overdue. I see the token-holder and I am complacent, peaceful - he consistently reminds me to smell the goldenrod without getting my nose stung. An orange aisle, pollinated with light and lightness, ease of mind and simplicity; this is my green tea aisle. And a bottle of wine to rattle in the cage.

    The next aisle is a bit squirmy and under-construction. Over-populated. Confusing. The soup aisle. The S-squad stocks cans of Campbells split pea and I wonder when they will be promoted to customer service. They have been here for months. Soup. I observe the clever caterpillar token holder and squint, unsure of its' magnitude and legitimacy. I can't really see, the area is roped off. Couple of cans of chicken with stars. Progresso.

    Butterfly and Firefly stand guard at the most grandiose and well-lit of grids. The firefly token holder swings from an overhead lamp, sailing over the lamb chops, laughing and humming the moonlike song and bars from "oklahoma.". poor guy, he won't come down. His firefly jewel is a beautiful and welcome albatross around his neck, reducing his life to a magnificent mary poppins laugh-fest. He never ages and is growing wings. Butterfly shyly hovers over a box of fig newtons, wee little pixels of wisdom and pink bringing an unexplainable hardness to my heart. Abrupt turn.

    Grasshopper. Tobacco. My favorite aisle of late. My squeaky-legged, jubilant sea captain hands me my pack of cigarettes. He knows I don't really smoke. Not really. This token-holder teaches me the elementary importance of music in a box of biscuits. In salt. In a dream. Children's books are here.

    Ladybug's token holder loudly says "she is open." All of the cashiers could be her sister, they are like black dots with red uniforms. I turn around, partially from intimidation and because I always forget something. baby wipes and pet food. Grab the wipes, methodically collect an assortment of bags and cans and another smile from pack and proceed to the Hummingbird gateway.

    The entrance is colourful and overwhelming, with a smell like waterfalls teaming with fish. A prism of pollination - the flowers are here and I smell and I linger and I question.

    Checking out, I grab a box of moonpies with a slight sneer at the irrelevance. Teeming with caloric creme when we all know the moon is made of green cheese, I am back in my room. Woody Allen and I are watching "The Count of Monte Cristo" eating moonpies. Each bite is a token and we play the whole box.

    In the Winn Dixie, the four dark aisles are built. Des is alone with the art supplies, the ant token holder bringing his aisle up to code and beyond. Doc wears the Pook token around his neck like an amulet of honour. An alchemist who transmutes lead into gold, he extracts a powder which produces an ever-lasting gobbstopper type lozenge that feeds the hungry.His aisle hosts the pharmaceuticals. Boogie Beetle Aisle is that fragrant place where my mind wanders, even in a dream. Out of the box. Here I am sipping cosmopolitans in Cancun with my friends, fishing in Canada with a book of poetry, playing the acoustic guitar - well. Tweleve of us. Eating cookies and wearing grasshopper broaches at the Met with coffee and splits of champagne. The magazine aisle.

    Woody Allen is thankfully replaced by my loving pet, and our minds wander to the darkest aisle in the grocery store. Spider's token holder paces madly back and forth, to and fro. He wants me to tell him to come back. Sorry, Zac. The tool aisle was just never my thing, too much like mops and brooms. I sigh and swallow my pie, smiling at the creatures in my window. All because of Winn Dixie.

    bronte
    Deep in Blue Dog's eyes will always lurk the hopes and longings of a melancholy people, but, like the Cajuns, who always trained their eyes on the future, Blue Dog must move forward.
    ~George Rodrigue fr 'Blue Dog Man'

    He must have a truly romantic nature, for he weeps when there is nothing at all to weep about.
    ~Oscar Wilde

    From sumthyngness into givyngness unto the given.
    ~fr 'DAR' m.s

  3. #43
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    Be brave, be strong, be still, the stillness of Blackwater
    as something yet unfound unleashes its grasp, and one is chosen:
    Hand-picked from the vast hordes, the domain of none but devotion.

    Within the entangled undergrowth I become restless,
    under the pretense of confidence---pretending.
    Will the beguiling winds blow tomorrow?

    from packimocity, and other yet-to-be-completed writings of the Hunt

    P.S. bronte: thanks for the subtle ref...love your art-form

  4. #44
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    News from one of your future birthdays




    The bad news is

    One koi washes up dead in the morning.

    But good?

    Someone breathes in.

    You have tea with a spider.

    A friend divides, becoming two friends, which divide.

    The world's a morula, a blastula, a snail, a spiral, a golgotha, a whole.

    For no reason, unencumbered by cause,

    Your heart begins its tattoo.

    Found is lost. Lost is found.

    Crawl forward.

  5. #45
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    Default ATTACK of the FISHIES!

    .................................................. ............O..................................... ..............
    ..................................o............... ...............º..<*[[[><..................................
    ..............................o................... .................................................. ...............
    ..................><]]*>......................O......................... .................0..................
    ................................................. .....º.....................................o.... .................
    .....................................><]]]*>......<*(((><............................º..... ..............
    ...................o.............................. ...........................................º..... ................
    .......................º......................... ...............................><])]*>........................
    ........................<*[[[[[[[[[><............................o................... .......................
    .................................................. ...........................o...................... ................
    .................................................. ...............___......o.....................O... ...........
    .................................<x [[><................../........\O......................º................ ...
    ................................o................. .............U....U.......................°...... ...............
    ................\..../.................................................. ........><]]]]ô>........................
    ............\.....\/.................................................. ....................../.........................
    ..............\.../.................................................. .......................\........................
    ................/.................../.....................\/....................\............\................ .......
    ......\......../........./......../...........\.........../.........\.........../.............\........./...........
    LEVITATION is possible !!
    --My Avatar is Leonardo, incase some people (netsirk) didnt know..

  6. #46
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    Default 12 pm and KRO

    12 pm, I become more of a fan with each piece...do you publish?

    KRO, do you 'swim with the fishies'?

    bronte
    Deep in Blue Dog's eyes will always lurk the hopes and longings of a melancholy people, but, like the Cajuns, who always trained their eyes on the future, Blue Dog must move forward.
    ~George Rodrigue fr 'Blue Dog Man'

    He must have a truly romantic nature, for he weeps when there is nothing at all to weep about.
    ~Oscar Wilde

    From sumthyngness into givyngness unto the given.
    ~fr 'DAR' m.s

  7. #47
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    Default

    Used to. Not any more.

    Now I make sure the behemoth cogs of commerce and politics grind on smoothly.

    And I do my best to keep the people who stoke the engine from losing a limb.

  8. #48
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    Default A TREASURES TROVES *

    Anagramming an ant always allows a certain amount of aggravation, axe
    Trimming thistles, tigerwood, and trust - trying to trove tenderly,
    Resting raphael-esque, writing rembembrances of rusful and riddles
    Easily entering endless entranceways of elms, elves, and echoes - eager
    Assured of alliances able to withstand alloys and allies - able answers
    Sure sweet somethings are whispered in simple strands of south carolina
    Unions - unless usefulness is an umbrella uncertainty - uncanny and unfair
    Reality. Roots reach renderings of reverse engineering and relationships
    Enough equality - emerge an eloquent elk - enduring endless winters..
    Shivering. Still strong, standing still as a spider, spinning a silver shhhh..
    Till tomorrow. Twilight and ticking dictates the turning of timid tell-alls
    Risking repetition, rivers remain, rallying raven rain-girls to retrieve
    Only obscure objects - observing and overlooking obvious orators - old
    Virtually violet. Very elusive and vicious; victims string vines and vowels
    Ending as one on ending; emerging eventually as entwined entities evolve
    Such solitude surrenders. Solace. Sand. Sun. Swept away by secrets.


    bronte

    (att has an s at the end deliberately)
    Deep in Blue Dog's eyes will always lurk the hopes and longings of a melancholy people, but, like the Cajuns, who always trained their eyes on the future, Blue Dog must move forward.
    ~George Rodrigue fr 'Blue Dog Man'

    He must have a truly romantic nature, for he weeps when there is nothing at all to weep about.
    ~Oscar Wilde

    From sumthyngness into givyngness unto the given.
    ~fr 'DAR' m.s

  9. #49
    debz's Avatar
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    Default

    Nice bronte..... I like it!!
    The only token I found was SQUAT!!!
    http://www.tweleve.org/upload/squat_token.jpg

  10. #50
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    Default

    ......Wow, that sounded grim and pompous.
    So here's a poem for KRODrat who can find anything, I'm told.




    YOU CAN FIND ANYTHING


    The Colonel's secret recipe.
    Exact zero buoyancy equations for carp and swordfish.
    Things buried in detritus. AKA crap.
    Coney Island in its heyday.
    People in the future who've never heard of the Energizer Bunny.
    A thread in a maze.
    A snake in a book.
    Angels in public libraries.

    YOU CAN FIND ANYTHING!

    How to get out of East Orange, NJ.
    One true man, true woman, and so on.
    One hand clapping or clapped.
    Overlapping.
    Purty things.
    Beads, wampum, mirrors.
    Your A-hole in dark with hands
    (apologies to kids reading boards so sue me with a euphemistic tort)
    Etc. Etc. Etc.
    Even the word etcetera. You can find that too.
    And that. And this.
    And the practical implementation of this or that.
    And the symbolic representation of this or that.
    And fruit (which every good boy deserves.)
    And the uniqueness of snowflakes.
    And the body electric.
    And strawberries out of season.
    And the language which only has words for languages.

    YOU CAN FIND ANYTHING!!!

    Mithras.
    Judas.
    Lithium for the guy in the ratty blue terrycloth robe.
    Yourself on a bender.
    Lost joggers' keys.
    Polybius' wetdream.
    Tarantulas.
    A tarantella (lost near Seville, this century.)
    The face of Mary, Marie, Maria in toast, baguettes, also bite-sized baguetta bits and bread of all sorts.
    Personal pietas.
    Verbs.
    Uruguay.
    Profit margins.
    Even linking verbs.

    YOU FIND!!!!!


    ANYTHING!!!!!!!


    White smoke rising:
    Spiders twining:
    Now levitate.
    Find what you can't.

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