Bricolage We add some element; & what we put together from what- ever is conveniently at hand lingers, some- times lasts. telemetry science ≠ silence : ephemeral ≠ femoral : dispute ≠ despite : intuition ≠ retribution : precursor ≠ intercourse : sigh ≠ scythe : ordain ≠ ordinary : trope ≠ tranquility : roadkill ≠ homecoming : intend ≠ intense : epiphany ≠ litany : behind ≠ remind : literal ≠ literary : kind ≠ consign : sure ≠ waterfront : behavior ≠ asteroid. A fitted petulance Exponential time decay constants are truly under- stood only by a mere handful of multimedia puppet show performers. Mercury, when occluded Add a new page. Edit the panel. Sign up to receive special offers. Just the motivation I need to shorten the story. What's with the winged sandals, dude? One / less color / in the day The bird with the red around its eye eats the red bird's eye chillies off the bush then flies away, doubly diminishing the amount of color in the day. Street seen The lawyers, on their way back to Court after lunch at a nearby pub, are all dressed like undertakers. What hope then of a not guilty verdict?
Category Archives: CHAOS
Story from Robert Thomas
When She’s Gone When she’s gone; No more endearing smile to greet my return or laugh at wry and corny puns. No caress of the neck or tender rub of the arm. An absence of affection even in inconsequential moments. When she’s gone; A silence in place of wistful songs of love. No more care in moments of need. An absence of knowing she will be there, always, but then not there. When she’s gone; A longing for words that admonished when things went wrong, and yet its demand required. A hole of improvement to be filled, but left undone. When she’s gone; No pride in watching her dance, a beautiful Golden Follies Bergere, feathers o’er her smiling face. When she’s gone; No reassuring clack of her loom in distant room. The joy of accomplishment left behind, as costumes hang lifeless, and woven towels and scarves lay hidden in drawers, no longer given. When she’s gone; No feeling of wanting, of sexual yearn. A reassurance of manhood, as this figure waned. Her body still haunting after years of toil and age. When she’s gone; A lack of anticipation for things to come. No crazy impulses to thrill the hour. A day at the ocean, now only nostalgic, as waves wash over the the memories of the water sign that was her. When she’s gone; A hush reigns where voices rang out in congenial times. Her gregariousness no longer dampening my loneliness. She was best for me in many ways. Now I am left once again on my own, to muse and remember, for she is gone
Poetry from Raquel Silberman
Post Calamity By Raquel Silberman What lurks behind the spine of disaster? stiff standing behind a vertebrae tree blinks in the dark of it’s shadows, apparitions of its grief when disaster walks away watch the darkness shrink. glimpses of bone in a flock of silk flip a penny and watch it sink when koi swims by, it feasts becoming just another shiny scale plotting by my feet A mess to clean. drapes strewn across power line sputtered with forgetful ink dense is the mind by virtue of limit What is disaster if not a moment to think
Synchronized Chaos October 2021: After Some Thought
Welcome, readers, to October’s issue of Synchronized Chaos. Each of this month’s submissions comes from a place of considered perspective. Whether through the craft or the subject matter, these authors show they have taken some time to reflect on what they have to say.
J.K. Durick considers our warming climate as an example of how we are sometimes late to realize what is truly important.
John Hicks’ descriptive narrative poetry reflects on the dislocation of Vietnam War service through a soldier reading a newspaper on his day off. In his second piece we ride with his speaker on a crowded bus with various local people to visit a Thai temple. Robert Thomas contributes a rich tale of watching the centuries-old Palio horse race among different neighborhoods of Siena, complete with characters, history, and local color.
Jeff Bagato encourages us to step back from our human productivity, take a lesson from the cycles of nature and rest for a season. Oona Haskovec turns to withered grape leaves for an extended meditation on navigating age and decline with grace. Jack Galmitz also contemplates the passage of time in pieces with natural scenes as backdrops to the pageant of our lives.
Mahbub laments tragic deaths in his country through balladic poetry, concluding with a few shorter pieces reminding us of romantic love and nature’s beauty. Chimezie Ihekuna’s collection of screenplays catalog his various thoughts on how to build and sustain a relationship and marriage.
John Culp makes a bold statement on the triumph of his love while Lorraine De Mauro reviews Michael Robinson’s poetry collection From Chains to Freedom, a celebration of his surviving a harrowing life. Ian C. Smith relates stories from an older man recollecting his rough youth after the loss of his father, time in prison and hitchhiking.
J.J. Campbell proffers his signature witty, jaded view of life and would-have-been relationships.
Randall Rogers muses on life and human nature while conveying a healthy skepticism of social institutions. Z.I. Mahmud, in the monthly installment of his thesis on the works of Charles Dickens, explores how the author satirizes corruption in high places. Santiago Burdon posits a child’s questions to force us to re-examine the founding myths of American society.
Christopher Bernard offers up a dramatic section of his “Ghost Trolley,” an all-ages tale with a children’s sensibility that illustrates the eternal conflict between the lust for power and the instinct towards compassion. Ike Boat promotes a children’s literacy program in his native Ghana.
Jaylan Salah interviews Egyptian film director Amir Ramses on his passion for artistic representation. With an attention to detail that some may call ‘bossiness,’ he illustrates the harshness of societal judgement, the power of residual memories, and the everyday journeys of characters unlike himself, including women and Jews.
Some contributors go beyond meaning to craft language itself like a cinematic work, creating an atmosphere and sensibility with words.
Joshua Martin joins strings of words, giving a simulacra of meaning while suggesting the presence of a fanciful ‘speaker’ and ‘mouthpiece.’ Mark Young juxtaposes snippets of sense and conversation, then ends with a statement of loneliness while J.D. Nelson contributes an inventive set of wordy experiments.
Santiago Burdon speculates on what fame and success mean to a writer, while Hongri Yuan (translated by Yuanbing Zhang) brings us back to a place far removed and more glorious than our personal quests for recognition.
We hope you enjoy this issue as food for thought with the changing seasons.
Poetry from Jack Galmitz
I. where out of black by a small stretch of sand the moon grasps the breakers unawares I feel like I've gone back to the beginning when I sat with a pail and packed it with sand since then what passed rolling in the radiant grass touched by moonlight and hand and a breast heaved towards the low tide rocks by the bridge span how right Euripides was in that I lean on a cane who wanted to crawl back to the beginning and do it again II. a man lived here until his wife died his children left and all he had left were television shows of comedies and commercials (he had seen the massive wings of fascism spread and briefly landed) he had worked, had lived had suffered and grew old like the rest and when there wasn't anyone to talk to he resolved to go I saw him leave without a wave except he bowed unto the trees and the birds and the rain III. the light is what you're reading and where it is not is also there in its places at night a stag moves between trees silent as the shadows the trees have surrendered the hunter moves down stream and safe is wanted
Essay from Ike Boat
Wide Reading Among Kids – WRAK Donation Promo-Script.
A child can read.
A child can dream big by reading one book.
A child be it from a rich home or a poor home has the same potential to dare to dream.
The easiest way for our beautiful pearls to escape this world into a world of possibilities is for them seeing themselves in stories.
Stories told by locals and in African settings.
Wide Reading Among Kids – WRAK campaign needs you to put a seraphic smile on our little one’s face.
Make your contribution in a form of donation as low as 1 Cedi daily and in one year you’ve blessed a community.
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Wide Reading Among Kids – WRAK – Improving Kids Reading
Originally, Written By Dennis Mann #Founder #President #Director – WRAK.
Re-Written Edited And Studio Recording Voice-Over By Ike Boat
Poetry from J.K. Durick
Out There It’s out there We must drive in it Walk in it It’s out there It’s too much with us Getting and spending We get it Understand what we Have done Wasted our powers Given our hearts away Lost the tune Forgot the words The weather changes Sealed in the politics Of now Of what we did What we are doing It’s out there That’s all Just out there The earth of it The air of it The water Collecting the evidence Details it will use Against us It’s all out there. Climate This hot breeze holds the afternoon summarizes it in a brief moment says so much about what we have these days – too much sun, heat, a few clouds that give into the days spinning by, so little rain. This is the climate change they promised us warned us about, while we were too busy with other things, things that seem trivial now in the nineties, in this heat wave, in this drought. We air-condition what we can, we sit in any shade we find, fill plastic pools for the dogs, joke about running through the sprinkler like we did as children, a game we no longer can play. The news we hear and watch doesn’t bother mentioning this any- more, as if the scientists have given up on us, realize playing Cassandra didn’t help, doesn’t help and like us feel this hot breeze, that summarizes what’s left of our afternoon, this brief moment that says so much about what we have done. Rain We used to say, farmers need the rain whether We knew they did or not, but now We all need the rain like today it rained all day not just our lawns and lakes but our spirits too need the rain bogged down the way We have been in a spiritual, a psychic drought tired, dry days, one after another till today We all needed the rain and it came down all morning, all afternoon, this evening beyond trying to satisfy our lawns and our lakes, the sound of the rain the ticking at times at our windows the whoosh in the wind and the calming hush of it bring a peace along with it a whole day of this peaceful sound of rain We should all now say we need the rain.