reviewer of novels


I am a new and novel work of art. Refrain from reviewing me with rage !

Nov 11,2019
It’s the birthday of a writer who was also a veteran, Kurt Vonnegut, born in Indianapolis (1922). He joined the Army, and in December of 1944, he was captured by the Germans during the Battle of the Bulge. He was imprisoned in a slaughterhouse in Dresden. On the night of February 13, 1945, British and American bombers attacked Dresden, igniting a firestorm that killed almost all the city’s inhabitants in two hours. Vonnegut and his fellow prisoners only survived because they slept in a meat locker three stories below the ground.
He spent the next two decades writing science fiction, but he knew he wanted to write about his experiences in Dresden, and finally did in his novel Slaughterhouse-Five (1969), about a man named Billy Pilgrim who believes that he experiences the events of his life out of order, including his service during World War II, the firebombing of Dresden, and his kidnapping by aliens. He decides there is no such thing as time, and everything has already happened, so there’s really nothing to worry about.
Kurt Vonnegut, also wrote Cat’s Cradle (1963), Breakfast of Champions (1973), and many other books. He once said: “Any reviewer who expresses rage and loathing for a novel is preposterous. He or she is like a person who has put on full armor and attacked a hot fudge sundae.”



Grief is depression.
Depression is forgetting
and having no energy.
This is the state of my life.  
I can not get my act together.
I drove to the store to return some things to find out that I left the bag home with the things to be returned.  
Then, I have to tell myself to drive slowly and cautiously
because I am not in my right mind.


It’s a rainbow!
What you need is time.
What you have now is raindrops.
And sunshine=roygbiv

Definition #190 Time

Oliver February 2015

February 2015

This is the time

For you to compute the impossibility

That there is anything

But Grace.


Awake! the sun is

calling! adventure’s friendship

courts your valor’s zest!

Definition # 66 Storytelling, Slowed Down: On Writing Vertically

Vertical Story telling for Pre-schoolers

Vertical Story Telling for Pre-schoolers

Ripatrazone talks about his own writing habits,

and his attraction to moving down within the page, rather than across it:

I write vertically.

I have never been a writer with a lot of time to write.

I am thankful for that. I am not sure what would happen if I had hours to work.

 It makes me not want to squander the moments when I sit with a story.

This is a necessary tension.

I am not a writer first.

I have a family, and without them I would have little reason to want to write — or to do anything else.

My desire to create is held in silence during the day, so that my literary moments can be focused and absolute.

“Gestation of Ideas: On Vertical Writing and Living” is a lovely read, no matter if you’re a writer of fiction or nonfiction.

Ripatrazone shares insights on the writing life,

the benefits of slowing down and letting ideas unfold naturally,

and the importance of time and perspective when telling the stories within us.
Storytelling, Slowed Down: On Writing Vertically
by Cheri Lucas Rowlands



It’s time for Annika:
“His name is Lily Pad”

It’s time for Oliver:
“His name is Lily Pad”

It’s time for Annika:
“Bikes go fast
Bikes go slow
Annika, Oliver go go go”

It’s time for Oliver:
“Bikes go fast
Bikes go slow
Oliver, Annika go go go”


A three year old compliment for a five year old model.

The cycle of loneliness and consumption

Vitruvian man
Science says, there is a “vicious cycle of loneliness and consumption.” Good for the owners of shops in shopping malls. Bad for the consumers: they should re-animate another kind of satisfaction.
cycle of loneliness and consumption
by frizztext

And yet over and over we find that filling the hunger isn’t about acquiring more things; it’s about noticing what we already have and already are.How can I be present in my life as it is, if that life makes me unhappy?”

You start by feeling alive in your arms and legs.The reason that living in your body is quite helpful is because the alternative — living in your mind — can drive you insane. There is no particular pattern to your thoughts; in a split second, they zing crazily from the time you fell from your swing when you were 6 to what you are going to say to the person who insulted you yesterday.

If you try to follow your thoughts, you get lost in fantasies, resentments, and anticipated disappointments. There is no ground, nothing solid to hold on to, no way of bringing yourself back to what you are doing now, this very second. You get to the end of a day — or the end of your life — and you wonder where you’ve been. (And the answer is: lost in thought!)

During the day, every time you remember, sense your arms and legs again, just for a few seconds. (I do this about 100 times a day.) This will help you land in your body and bring your mind back to the present moment; it will give you a kind of mountain-solid feeling.
When you are present, nothing is missing. Time seems to stretch. And the reason it does is because it’s our thoughts — our crowded, worried minds — that make us feel so rushed. When you are present, a day seems like a week, a month, like a year.

Coming home to yourself satisfies the deepest hunger of all: your longing to fully live and not miss the moments as they fly by. When you are aware of your own presence, you get to see that this body, your home, the place you’ve spent years trying to change, is a pretty cool place to be.
by Geneen Roth



Jet home from Arizona on Pacific time:
Three hours later than New York.
Drive 2 hours at 2AM in black desert,
reflectors lighting the 75 mph road.
Thermometer reads 112 degrees at high noon; then 59 in the dark.
Creep through security in Phoenix for 2 more hours
learning to speak Swahili before breakfast.
Three hours to touch down in Chicago sharing cramped space with Southwest Airlines.
Whiz through Midway Airport to the Gate for the plane for Albany.
Crowds surge to seat in front.
Knees cramped; turbulence halts the drink dispensing.
Fasten your seat belt.
Take time to squeeze through to get to the forward head.
Break the sound barrier in yet another jet ’til touchdown in Albany.
Tote bags to car. Pay parking fee.
Drive one hour home.
Unpack again.
New York time:8:50PM
Pacific time: 5:50PM
My body cells collapse.
They’ve been catapulted, coalesced, crimped and crashed with space, seconds and travel directives.
My survival skills have been tweaked again.



My feet tell me
from the horizontal:
“TIME to arise”.
They stretch to the morning lavabo
And balance down the stairs
Checking minutes left
Responsibilities attended to.

TIME matters.
I proportion it strategically
To balance the duet  I play
With my chosen significants
Also grounded
In the rise and fall of sunlight
Each day.

TIME treats me well
When I count on it to forward me
Round and round
Dimension to dimension
Stepping to ETERNITY.

Jeanne Poland
All rights.

Found Time

Found Time

I am not a watch.
I hate sucky ticks
And pushy tocks!
And second hands that rush me with their clocks!
Hurry furry thing!
To the finish ring.
I’d rather stop
Than hop
To someone else’s beat.
Lose the time.
Cruise the line
That’s fine.

-Jeanne Poland
2011, all rights reserved

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