What’s in a name?

rose bad fox studio defunct link

Bad Fox Studios Defunct link

She had been given that name Glorious back when her Mama was hell bent on becoming a Christian.

She grew up being called Glori. That’s Glori with an I, not Glory with a Y.

And that made a difference, but only to Mama. Who had by then divorced herself completely from Christianity and taken up the path of the Buddha, to whom something called dukkha was even more important than glory was to Christians.

So she kept her mouth shut about the whole I and Y thing and just considered herself lucky she had been born during Mama’s Christian phase.

Here are 100  words about as near to nothing as you can get without writing nothing at all. I was however able to include the word, Glorious, as provided by Eugenia this week on her site Eugi’s Causerie. So I guess all is not for naught.

Symphony of Destruction

Big Jim Hawkings leaned back in his tufted leather desk chair and lit a cigarette. The hinges and springs that secured the seat of the chair to it’s carriage-like base squeaked and groaned as he pushed his sturdy frame hard against the back of the chair, stretching his long legs out straight in front of him- and crossing them at the ankle.

He had done it.

Oh, they liked to think they had done it. But they knew, just like Big Jim knew, they could never have done it without him.

True, they had taken him out of a wheat field in the Northern Plains. They had funded and backed and bribed and funded some more until the face of Big Jim Hawkings was as casually accepted as the man of the people as was a trusted relation.

But it was Big Jim that endeared himself to the people. Sucked them right in- like marrow from a bone.

It was Big Jim with his slow southern drawl, and his well worn Carhartts. It was big Jim with his work hardened hands and his prayer callused knees.

It was Big Jim that had applied the oil to all the appropriate orifices, and Big Jim that had looked on and done nothing when they slammed the double edged sword of their ulterior altruism home- before the people even knew they were being bent over.

But more importantly, Big Jim had been there when the time came to lick the wounds he had greased the way for them to inflict. There to apply the salve of his own smooth tongue- when the people realized how brutally they had been ravaged.

And now it was Big Jim they would listen to. Big Jim they would trust.

So tomorrow when he called upon the people to rain down like fire from the heavens and cleanse the earth of the very corporate scum that had seen fit to create him- he had no doubt the people would follow his direction. No doubt that based solely on his utterances, the people would be willing to lay down their lives.

Oh, they had opened this window to the stars, alright- the night they chose him to be the face of their menace.

Big Jim chuckled to himself as the carriage-like base of his chair cried out, yet again for mercy.

“Now, I’d like to see ’em try an close it.”


Symphony of Destruction

You take a mortal man
And put him in control
Watch him become a god
Watch people’s heads a’roll
A’roll, a’ roll

Just like the Pied Piper
Led rats through the streets
We dance like marionettes
Swaying to the symphony
Of destruction

Acting like a robot
Its metal brain corrodes
You try to take its pulse
Before the head explodes
Explodes, explodes

Just like the Pied Piper
Led rats through the streets
We dance like marionettes
Swaying to the symphony

Just like the Pied Piper
Led rats through the streets
We dance like marionettes
Swaying to the symphony
Swaying to the symphony
Of destruction

The earth starts to rumble
World powers fall
A’warring for the heavens
A peaceful man stands tall
Tall, tall

Just like the Pied Piper
Led rats through the streets
We dance like marionettes
Swaying to the symphony

Just like the Pied Piper
Led rats through the streets
We dance like marionettes
Swaying to the symphony
Swaying to the symphony
Of destruction
Writer/s: Dave Mustaine

Symphony of Destruction was written by Megadeth founder and frontman, Dave Mustain. The song is about not only political leaders who act as puppets for the powerful organizations that control them, but also very much about We The People that blindly follow.


“Believe nothing, no matter where you read it, or who has said it, not even if I have said it, unless it agrees with your own reason and common sense.”

― paraphrase of words credited to the Buddha 


This is my response to Jim Adam’s call for songs containing the words, Give, Get, Take, Receive or Send on this weeks Song Lyric Sunday.

The lead-in fiction was inspired by the three phrasal prompts offered on the OLWG #89. The phrases were:

he leaned back and lit a cigarette
Window to the stars
ulterior altruism





If the music didn’t get any better he was going to take that pill Kelsey kept offering him. After all, why should Kelsey be the only one having any fun?

He tossed that question around in his mind for a moment before his loins decided on the only logical answer.

“Because the more pills Kelsey has, the more pills Kelsey will take. And the more pills Kelsey takes…”

Jamie quickly distracted himself from the pursuant visual that accompanied his thought process.

Suffice it to say, Little Miss Kelsey wouldn’t be the only one getting a ride on the way home..

This snippet written in exactly 100 words was inspired by the opening line supplied by Dylan on this week on MLMM’s First Line Friday


“So we sold the house and fled from the gloom of the English summer, like a flock of migrating swallows.” Gerald sniggered at his choice of metaphor, knowing as he did the truth behind their migration was more aptly “Had we not fled, we would most likely have been swallowed.”

“Deddy always said there was a hole in the sky for the birds to fly through,” Chimed in their somewhat bewildering although eternally gracious hostess, Miss Acacia Rivers, “and if’n that’s what brought y’all Englishers to Mississippi, well, we all’s just pleased as punch to have y’all nested up here.”

Acacia’s father, the ever dapper Colonel Rivers, laid a quieting hand on his daughter’s plump forearm, cleared his throat deeply, and gave her a look that coulda stopped the tongues of the holy ghost from waggin’. “I do believe what my daughter is trying to say..” Pausing here for emphasis.

“Is that we welcome you and yours to the beautiful state of Mississippi.” He raised his glass in salute, nodding respectfully to Gerald before allowing his gaze to hover somewhat lecherously upon the bosom of Gerald’s lovely wife, Cherise. “Hrumph..” The Colonel continued. “To Mississippi then. Where grass grows uphill..”

‘And God willing shit runs down!’ Gerald whispered discreetly to himself behind teeth clenched in that practiced smile he reserved solely for baiting traps built on confidence- well that, and a perfectly timed indiscretion involving the fondling of more than just the ample cleavage of his most alluring accomplice, Cherise.


This is my response, written in 50 word increments, to the literary quote provided by 50 Word Thursday this week, “So we sold the house and fled from the gloom of the English summer, like a flock of migrating swallows.” – My Family And Other Animals – by Gerald Durrell.

I have also included two of the phrasal prompts offered in the OLWG #117 and hopefully succeeded in inferring the third. The phrases were:

Where the grass grows uphill
A hole in the sky for the birds to fly through
Written in fire



CCC #70

Although she openly attributed little good to her upbringing, there was no denying she had been taught the difference between right and wrong.

Many times over the course of her life she had found it necessary to humble herself. To return to the firm foundation which had been instilled upon her as a child. But she never stayed long.

Invariable the wounds that had driven her there would heal. And bolstered by the callus of scar tissue that inevitably formed where those wounds had once been, she would venture out again.

Every time further. And further…

Until eventually it became necessary to erode every shred of what she knew to be decency before she was humbled enough to admit she had been wrong yet again. Before she could bring herself to return.

And when she finally did, she found the foundation that she had always known to be firm and strong- cracked and fissured.

Years of neglect and abuse, alas having taken their toll.


This is my response to the photo prompt offered on Crimson’s Creative Challenge #70.