Lint
And from Phil Plasma
1. Try writing a post where none of the words contain the letter 'e'.
2. Try writing a post where each sentence contains words where the first letter is the same in all but a few of the words, using a different first letter in each sentence.
3. Expound upon the virtues of collecting various forms of lint.
#1 (Just a haiku, which has constituted whole posts.)
Motors roar, radios boom
Trains run away on rails
Longing for spring mud.
#3
I've heard that homemade paper can be made from dryer lint. My one attempt was grossly inept, and utterly unsuccessful. If ever I can gather more useful tools and supplies, I'd love to try again. It feels like it really should work, and I love rough paper, would love to paint the sheets with black ink and brushes.
In the fiction, I have thought about how every human is studied, part of the data, not just a sample, but all knowledge becomes a very real collective consciousness, a massing of data to make decisions upon. At some point, even the lint in navels will be studied, and it may give them some small, but interesting, insight into how the world works. Regular clothing lint, most collected during weaving and fabric creation, will also be a salvaged commodity for making felts for screens and hats, tents and shoe liners.
Lint could be a love token between eccentric people, kept in each other's pockets, of course.
Crying uncle on #2 for now, but I'll keep it in mind.
1. Try writing a post where none of the words contain the letter 'e'.
2. Try writing a post where each sentence contains words where the first letter is the same in all but a few of the words, using a different first letter in each sentence.
3. Expound upon the virtues of collecting various forms of lint.
#1 (Just a haiku, which has constituted whole posts.)
Motors roar, radios boom
Trains run away on rails
Longing for spring mud.
#3
I've heard that homemade paper can be made from dryer lint. My one attempt was grossly inept, and utterly unsuccessful. If ever I can gather more useful tools and supplies, I'd love to try again. It feels like it really should work, and I love rough paper, would love to paint the sheets with black ink and brushes.
In the fiction, I have thought about how every human is studied, part of the data, not just a sample, but all knowledge becomes a very real collective consciousness, a massing of data to make decisions upon. At some point, even the lint in navels will be studied, and it may give them some small, but interesting, insight into how the world works. Regular clothing lint, most collected during weaving and fabric creation, will also be a salvaged commodity for making felts for screens and hats, tents and shoe liners.
Lint could be a love token between eccentric people, kept in each other's pockets, of course.
Crying uncle on #2 for now, but I'll keep it in mind.
Labels: assignments, Meme
Posted by Zhoen on Saturday, April 18, 2009
4 comments:
I heard paper could be made from the blanket weed on ponds, but I can now tell you, this is NOT so!
Number 2 reminded me of an experiment I tried with our defunct local writing group. I found a writing prompt somewhere online: Let’s write a story together. Add one sentence to help further the story (you can read the sentences before it to stay on theme). There is one catch: You must start your sentence with the alphabet letter that follows the one that started the prior sentence. For example, if the last sentence is “The sun was shining bright that morning,” the first word of your sentence must start with a “U.” (When it gets to “Z,” start back again with “A.”).
This project seemed to drive the last nail in the coffin of the writing group. I'm not sure why. It was interesting to see where four different people were taking the story. If anyone wants to try to revive it, here's a link to the site. The password is medpoets.
RR,
A practiced paper-maker could probably make paper out of oatmeal.
DavidC,
It's a problem of English spelling, our final letters are a bit limited, and our initial letters don't correlate. Gets frustrating fairly quickly, and sounds stilted and artificial. More of a novelty song than an aria. I've always found group stories to be jolting, whereas a good story burbles along taking the readers in an inevitable stream.
With wisdom you would work with words, without worry but with wonder. Please provide some poetic prose to promote your important premise.
I was going to try to come up with at least a third sentence, but I'm feeling drained this morning.
Lint as a love token?
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