Saturday, December 13, 2014


this is a test of the emergency blogging system…this is only a test…

Ahem…is this thing on?

The Tempest and the Teapot is moving...we're going to WordPress.  Come find more wanderings left of reality HERE.

Thursday, December 11, 2014

Scorched Earth

One thing I can say about cameras - I'm rarely without one.  Another thing I can say about cameras...I'm always pointing them at the strangest things.  This little shot tonight started its digital life as the remains of a cheese soup boil-over burned to a crisp onto the stove-top. heard that right - I took a picture of a common household complaint - the burned on mess of a pot of food that escaped the cooking vessel only to sizzle to its doom on the hot surface below.

Stove cleaned after the photo shoot was done...priorities, dontchaknow...

Photoshop is a wonderful tool - it turned me into a right-handed artist...which is saying something, seeing though I'm rather unapologetically left handed in most everything else.  Put a plain, ordinary pencil in my right hand, and I'm about as gifted as bozo, the wonder bra...but a mouse?  Hello, imagery!

I learned to use a mouse (the computer kind, not the squeaky kind) with my right hand.


Because that's where the right-handers in my family put the darn thing.  It never occurred to me to move it to the dominant hand.  By the time I got all growed up and started working with computers for a living, instead of out on a shop floor moving product from point 'A' to point 'B', using the mouse with my right hand was well-ingrained, and a bit of a bonus - I could take notes with my left hand while manipulating the mouse with my right.  So...when I started working in 'shop - the right hand FINALLY got to be the artistic one.

I think it's happy that way, and the left hasn't gotten jealous, so I'm good with it.

Monday, December 8, 2014

Flash! Friday Semi-Finalists

Didgeridoo. CC2.0 photo by Francois de Halleux.

Got the news on Sunday that my post on Flash! Friday's Anniversary contest actually impressed the judges enough to earn a spot in their semi-final round.  HOLY CRAP!!!!

Now, in a frenzy of esoteric verbiage, compressed into the demands of time and schedule, I have crafted my next submission - based on the photo prompt above.

Curious, this is...for the first time in the history of this blog the leading photo is NOT my own work...

I breathe welcome to the photo, and offer up - my next Flash Fiction story...

239 words

Curious, this is. 

Reality is tubular, cylindrical, a lone passageway knifing sharply down through infinity, terminating in brilliant illumination.  Nooks and crannies; pockmarks, protuberances and extrusions ruffle the world in an unstructured, random riot of texture.  This crinkly chaos is populated by myself and my brethren.  

They breathe welcome to me even as I do the same.

A moment ago, there was nothing - formless, shapeless, non-being oblivion.  I was  -we were-  simply not.  This wrinkled thoroughfare was empty and still.  
But now?   
 I Am.                                           We Are.  
 The first taste of awareness, existence, self.  It is sweet. Potent. Electric.  We tremble with its resonance. 

The world breathes welcome to us even as we do the same.  

It's exhalation whispers amongst the landscape, caressing the nodules and pleats -and us- in its journey downward.  Exciting, the breath is, full of movement, direction, and intent. Wrapped in breath's embrace, some brethren go swirling down, down, down toward the dazzling terminus.

Curious, this is.  

There is only expectation, possibility, the assumption of completion from those who pirouette their way to infinity.  We know without knowing how that this voyage is inevitable, absolute and final, but greater than us, the various parts.   

It is...the future.  As formless and timeless as ourselves, yet gravid with potential and the promise of:


We wait, poised and ready, for the next breath...
To emerge...reborn... 

A saucy little tune from the bell of the wooden flute.

Saturday, December 6, 2014

Flash! Friday's Flash-versary

Headed over to Flash! Friday again -it's a celebration of draconic proportions as they celebrate the turning of their own personal clock.  'Tis an anniversary!

Go...look...and post a story of your own if you're in to flash fiction - there's still time to contribute, and PLENTY to read.  Below is my submission:

150 words

Orange against black.  Subtle licks of cerulean, scarlet, saffron and emerald flare into being to vanish in an instant later without a trace.  Elongated fingers of incandescence stretch into the void to momentarily paint their essence onto the obsidian night sky.

It is alive with movement - sliding, shifting, waving, weaving - its hypnotic, primal dance both beautiful and terrible as it crafts a timeless, mesmerizing, elemental ballet of destruction.

The voice of combustion, a low, throaty growling howl of clean air transformed to sweltering luminescence, whispering secret desires into the ears of those who worship it.

They listen, comprehending the flare's song in that most primitive portion of the brain.  They stare, glassy-eyed and slack-jawed, into the complex twisting leap and swirl of the living flame.  They are powerless to resist the compelling demands of spark, ember, pyre.

Some men live to watch the world burn.

Thursday, December 4, 2014

Micro Bookends - Flash Fiction

Another Flash Fiction challenge accepted - and another website to follow!

Micro Bookends

These guys like things short. Really short:  90 - 110 words.  You start and end the piece with the words provided, and incorporate the photo prompt in there.

This week the challenge is:   

Sacred {insert story here} Sound.  
There is a quirky panorama of an airplane hangar for the photo prompt.

I have to admit - I spent some time bouncing ideas around in my head first focusing on the words.  It wasn't until I stopped worrying about the beginning and ending words and started focusing on the type of photo - the panoramic style where the vertical lines 'curve' around the middle of the photo - that I had the thought.

"How do other species 'see' the human world?"
After that - it almost wrote itself...


Bird Calling
105 words

"Sacred is the flight of the bird, to take wing upon sky and soar amongst cloud.  Observe, oversee, monitor the heavy ones.  Gaia watches through you."

When the sun rises, so does the ancient one, singing the morning call to send us on our tasks.  The aerie fills with the cacophony of wing and song as my brethren take to the sky.

Today, I shall perch near the predator upright's wing enclave, where they house their funny hollow avians, to sing and observe until Gaia has her fill.

"Birdsong," one pipes up, throwing a chunk of bread my way, "I never tire of the sound."