Creativity - Blog Posts
a short story of creation, part#3 full project on behance: creativity-1
a short story of creation, part#1 full project on behance: creativity-1
•• quick tutorial on how to work with Long Shadow Text Effect available at my blog: http://63mutants.com
Hello everyone !! A bit of creative writing here :) Writing Prompt
During my English class we had to choose an object and then write a POV text of that object. At the end of class we presented our text in front of the other students with a background music. The music I recited my text over was 'Introduction (titles)' by Danny Elfman for Edward Scissorhands.
I really enjoyed this exercise. We had to adjust our speech (tone and pace) according to the sound. We didn't train beforehand, it was interesting to go live and not really know what to expect !!
I would love to share it with you !
Obviously you won't have my tone and pace but I tried to edit it so you can interpret how it was performed with the sound !
Enjoy the reading !
********
It’s dark.
I can’t tell where I am. Yet I know exactly what surrounds me.
I can feel the cold concrete beneath me.
Hard and dirty.
Here. There is a dead bee.
There. A living spider building its web.
It’s on the lawn mower next to me.
I smell mold.
The smell of old.
I got used to it.
There is a light breeze bringing an intoxicating smell.
Gas.
I feel inebriated.
I feel light touches.
It startles me.
I don’t know what it is.
The touches move quickly.
There is a pattern.
1.
2.
3.
4.5.6
7.
8. It stops.
A silky thread touches me.
Then again with the touches.
1.
2.
3.
4.5.6
7.
8. Silky Thread.
The spider !
Where is it ?
It’s on me !
It’s making a web on me !
I feel it moving on my limb !
No !
Move !
Move from here !
It’s bright ?
It’s bright !
I can’t tell where I am.
Yet I know exactly what’s happening.
I feel something warm grabbing me and dragging me against the cold concrete.
The warmth opens me up.
There is a freezing gust entering me.
A loud SCRAAAATCH breaks through the air.
I know this sound !
It’s my turn !
It’s the seed bag being CRACKED open.
Seeds fall inside me with a comforting sound and gentle tickles.
The warmth grabs my limb firmly.
The spider ?
Where is it ?
Where is the spider ?
I don’t feel it anymore !
It’s gone !
I am pushed into the light.
My wheels face the ground then the bluest sky I have ever felt.
The sun skims my whole body.
It’s cold then warm all over again.
Cold then Warm.
And Again.
Cold.
Warm.
Cold.
There’s a CLICK!
It’s my cue.
The handle on my limb is pushed.
It’s my cue to free them all.
My cue to spin.
So I spin. And spin. And Spin
The seeds spin in the sky beautifully.
So they spin. And spin. And spin.
Finally.
I can fulfill what I was created for !
*******
Thank you for reading my work !
I hope you enjoyed it. I would love to hear what you thought about it and if you understood what my object was !
I would also say that English is not my mother tongue. Would you then excuse potential typos or weird phrasing.
Louis :)
Погладить и пожалеть. Моя Мини новелла.
Мне часто говорили что с моей фантазией надо писать книги. Ну не знаю… Честно села писать. Пока есть лишь скомканное предисловие. Но по-моему оно вполне удалось.
Ведь мать есть не бог, это дьявол
Что нежность и хрупкость цветка,
Бросает в объятья пиявок.
Вступление.
Прежде всего хочу развеять ошибочное суждение многих эгерцев о том что посвящена сия история их достопочтимому народу. Понимать ее следует совершенно иначе.
Многие из Вас помнят серию весьма не научных фотографий, сделанную Нун Боргильезе на других планетах. Мне врезалось в память одно их тех фото. На нем была изображена девочка-инопланетянка двенадцати лет, заключенная в клетку. Посвятить этот рассказ автор хотел все же ей, а не окружавшему ее народу, привыкшему принимать похвалы и посвящения исключительно на свой счет. Получала ли девочка достаточно пищи? Были ли живы ее родители? Клетка, в которой она помещалась, была пуста. Что наводило на самые печальные размышления. Ее история лилась на меня и давала ответы лишь самого мрачного порядка. Такого же, как окружавшая ее ночь вампиров-эгерцев.
Погладить и пожалеть, вот то, что невольно приходит в голову при взгляде на эту картину. Неизвестно в какое это происходило время. Фотографии Нун, вещь весьма абстрактная хочется верить в лучшее. Ведь реальность так часто оказывается не столь плоха как нам кажется… В памяти потомков остаются лишь мифы, при чем утрированные и превращенные в сказку, которую так увлекательно пересказывать друг другу. Настоящее же время словно стесняясь своей безинтересности, остается в тени. И будь оно молодой девушкой, просто покрылось бы краской стыда, услышав о том что осталось о нем в памяти потомков.
Stroke and regret.
Me was often told that with my imagination I should write books. Well, I don’t know... I honestly sat down to write. So far there is only a crumpled preface. But in my opinion it was quite successful.
After all, mother is not God, she is the devil. She the fragility and tenderness of a flower, Throws into the arms of the leeches...
Introduction.
In the First of all, I want to dispel the erroneous judgment of many Eger residents that this story is dedicated to their venerable people. It should be understood completely differently. Many of you remember a series of very unscientific photographs taken by Nun Borghillese on other planets. One of those photos is etched in my memory. It showed a twelve-year-old alien girl imprisoned in a cage. The author still wanted to dedicate this story to her, and not to the people around her, who were accustomed to accepting praise and dedication solely at their own expense. Did the girl get enough food? Were her parents alive? The cage in which she was placed was empty. Which led to the saddest thoughts. Her story poured into me and provided only answers of the darkest order. The same as the night of the Eger vampires that surrounded her. To stroke and feel sorry is what involuntarily comes to mind when looking at this picture. It is unknown at what time this happened. Nun's photographs are a very abstract thing, I want to believe in the best. After all, reality so often turns out to be not as bad as we think... Only myths remain in the memory of descendants, exaggerated and turned into a fairy tale, which is so fun to retell to each other. The present time, as if embarrassed by its lack of interest, remains in the shadows. And if she were a young girl, she would simply be covered with shame upon hearing about what remained about him in the memory of her descendants.
The Importance of the Act of Reading
First, I would like to reaffirm that I always saw teaching adults to read and write as a political act, an act of knowledge, and therefore as a creative act.
Freire, P. (1983). The Importance of the Act of Reading. Journal of Education, 165(1), 5–11. https://doi.org/10.1177/002205748316500103
Flower Face Effect
this flower garden has conversations with the stars.
≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫ welcome to astra’s universe, lovely flower~ ≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫
“hello, there. you’ve shifted into a realm of dreams where my garden lies beneath a starry sky, timeless and ready to satiate your purest musings.”
““but how would it do that?” you may wonder. do you feel the presences of fallen stars that are gently swirling a halo around you? close your eyes. let your wonder sink in. let your wonder tells stories with the stars.”
“my, have the stars of my garden grabbed your interest already? if so, do take a look below ‘keep reading’.”
── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──
☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ
❥ what is astra’s garden for?
i am a girl whose mind drifts in daydreams a lot. i wish to cultivate this ‘garden’ for meaningful inspirations that bear fruit from writing my daydreams down (in intended lowercase.).
❥ ways i can enjoy my stay in astra’s garden?
here, in astra’s garden, you will see my daydreams manifested into many forms of texts, stories and scenarios for you to share your thoughts on. yes, this is not entirely self-indulgent, at least it is not only for me to write whatever i think down as a means of getting things off my mind. therefore, i look forward to asks from you guys in hopes of having lighthearted interactions filled with motivating positivity! <3
ೃ⁀➷ important notes!
✧ it is important that we don’t take things too seriously; do relax and enjoy your stay.
✧ apart from civilized discussions, i will not accept nor tolerate other asks such as nsfw requests, invasive questions, vent asks and generally offensive behaviour.
✧ as this blog is still growing, i am open to suggestions for engaging ideas that may help provide a better experience for everyone.
✧ all of your judgemental binoculars should be destroyed. stop looking, start seeing. just with your bare eyes. you’ll see we are all humans.
✧ as a young individual, i myself am not the wisest nor the most experienced. i am seeking a comforting environment where i can be myself around you, who too, are also being yourselves. please do not hesitate to give feedback for us all to grow.
✧ criticism, especially constructive, is greatly appreciated. any other offensive criticisms made purely by ill intentions will not be tolerated.
✧ asks are welcomed any time. should i get busy, i will post regular updates, not to worry.
❥ what can my asks be?
please know that within civilised boundaries, there should be no creative limits to what your asks can be! be it literature such as quotes or poems to hobbies ranging from movie dramas, art, sports, music, games, random tips, facts et cetera, i’d be delighted to hear from you.
my aim is making this blog into a safe place as well as a dream garden for anyone who would like to share their own thoughts and ideas, so let’s indulge ourselves!
about me
── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──
“Listen to people who know more than you do. Then do it your own way.”
— Alan Parker
Seriously... this is just SUPER COOL! Bravo gentlemen. Bravo indeed. hahaha
Once a little boy went to school. One morning The teacher said: “Today we are going to make a picture.” “Good!” thought the little boy. He liked to make all kinds; Lions and tigers, Chickens and cows, Trains and boats; And he took out his box of crayons And began to draw.
But the teacher said, “Wait!” “It is not time to begin!” And she waited until everyone looked ready. “Now,” said the teacher, “We are going to make flowers.” “Good!” thought the little boy, He liked to make beautiful ones With his pink and orange and blue crayons. But the teacher said “Wait!” “And I will show you how.” And it was red, with a green stem. “There,” said the teacher, “Now you may begin.”
The little boy looked at his teacher’s flower Then he looked at his own flower. He liked his flower better than the teacher’s But he did not say this. He just turned his paper over, And made a flower like the teacher’s. It was red, with a green stem.
On another day The teacher said: “Today we are going to make something with clay.” “Good!” thought the little boy; He liked clay. He could make all kinds of things with clay: Snakes and snowmen, Elephants and mice, Cars and trucks And he began to pull and pinch His ball of clay.
But the teacher said, “Wait!” “It is not time to begin!” And she waited until everyone looked ready. “Now,” said the teacher, “We are going to make a dish.” “Good!” thought the little boy, He liked to make dishes. And he began to make some That were all shapes and sizes.
But the teacher said “Wait!” “And I will show you how.” And she showed everyone how to make One deep dish. “There,” said the teacher, “Now you may begin.”
The little boy looked at the teacher’s dish; Then he looked at his own. He liked his better than the teacher’s But he did not say this. He just rolled his clay into a big ball again And made a dish like the teacher’s. It was a deep dish.
And pretty soon The little boy learned to wait, And to watch And to make things just like the teacher. And pretty soon He didn’t make things of his own anymore.
Then it happened That the little boy and his family Moved to another house, In another city, And the little boy Had to go to another school.
The teacher said: “Today we are going to make a picture.” “Good!” thought the little boy. And he waited for the teacher To tell what to do. But the teacher didn’t say anything. She just walked around the room.
When she came to the little boy She asked, “Don’t you want to make a picture?” “Yes,” said the little boy. “What are we going to make?” “I don’t know until you make it,” said the teacher. “How shall I make it?” asked the little boy. “Why, anyway you like,” said the teacher. “And any color?” asked the little boy. “Any color,” said the teacher. And he began to make a red flower with a green stem.
~Helen Buckley, The Little Boy
being a jack of all trades master of none is actually so awesome bc i can make the shittest clay sculpture and the ugliest drawing and the sloppiest painting and the worst hand stitches and the wonkiest earrings and it's like. who cares + now im surrounded by lots of different silly things i made with love and care etc
Chess Partner
Rival had that glint in his eyes, she noticed, the one he recently has when they play.
"Things don't look too well for you, don't they?"
The perfect, still, poker-face Heroine mastered kept away any information he tried to get.
"That is what you have said last time."
He frowned a bit, but his eyes kept their shine.
"So you do have a plan..."
"Hopefully."
"Then I shouldn't eat your knight..."
"If you doing this is in my plan."
Rival leaned in and squinted at her. Sometimes, just sometimes, he was too dangerously cute. Heroine hated to admit that to herself, but the way her lips urged to smile at his sight left no doubt.
"So you DO want me to do this...!"
"You can try to interogate me all day, or actually think for yourself."
Hero almost let out a chuckle as she answered. He pouted again, adding a frown and a crooked nose. She finally let out a laugh, dropping her straight face.
"You're a pleasure to play with..."
Rival was quite for a moment, his smile was... It has never been that soft. God her heart beat so fast.
"I can say the same for you."
He blushed a little and looked away. Scratching his scalp, Heroine used the distraction to take mental notes.
He brushed his hair, which she doesn't remember him doing in any other day they met. A warmth grew in her as she hoped that she read the signs right. His clothes were nicer, too. He replaced the usual seeatshirt and sweatpants with a polo shirt and jeans. The shirt's sleeves were shorter, which was nice and...
He has a scar. Right at the back of his forearm, barely noticeable.
"That's it. I'm not eating that. It reeks with a scheme."
Hero knows that scar. And she knows that man. Villain grinned at her.
"Knew this was your plan. Scared now?"
She immediately returned her poker face.
"Plans change."
She played her move quickly and quietly. Villain took some time but made finished his turn.
"I'm gonna win this time, I can feel it."
Hero didn't respond or banter back. She didn't say anything for the next few turns, no matter what he tried to do to tease or make her laugh. He grew more worried each turn.
"Hey ummm..."
She needs to finish this and think of the next step. This was her chance to catch him once and for all.
"You good?"
Looking up, she noticed his worried expression. It was completely geniune when she smiled and reassured him.
"Yes, just got lost in thoughts for a bit."
He smiled back.
"I actually had something weighing on me too, mind if...?"
"Go ahead."
He took a big breath. That moment, she knew what was about to happen. What she wished one of them will be brave enough for. She wished for this ever since they first played her. Ever since he truly challenged her. Ever since he took his loss with a laugh and adoring eyes.
"I know we only ever meet here to play, and that I have annoying jokes and... And an annoying self..."
Even the dread she felt didn't stop her from chuckling.
"But I like... I don't know... This. Playing wit- Even when you win. So you I thought..."
The fact that she knew of his identity didn't stop the butterflies she felt. Making her wish he was who she sees now. Just a softhearted, clever guy she met at an urban chess.
"We could go get ice cream aft-, or something less childis- I mean... Well you-"
This is her chance. Even if not for love. She showed him the best smile she could master.
"How about coffee tomorrow? I know a perfect place."
A coffee shop 50 meters away from a police station. It will be easy.
He smiled shyly and let out of all the air he held in his lungs.
"Sounds perfect..."
His blushed and relieved face turned her stomach. Imagining how he'd look at her tomorrow, when he'll realize who she really is.
But now Heroine must forget about it. She'll smile and laugh and be happy, genuinely happy, that they like each other.
They were chess partners, and she can't allow him to guess her next move.
Creativity
You know, I’ve either had a family, a job,
something has always been in the way
but now
I’ve sold my house, I’ve found this
place, a large studio, you should see the space and the light.
for the first time in my life I’m going to have a place and the time to create.”
no baby, if you’re going to create
you’re going to create whether you work
16 hours a day in a coal mine
or
you’re going to create in a small room with 3 children
while you’re on welfare,
you’re going to create with part of your mind and your body blown away,
you’re going to create blind,
crippled
demented,
you’re going to create with a cat crawling up your back while the whole city trembles in earthquake, bombardment, flood and fire.
baby, air and light and time and space
have nothing to do with it
and don’t create anything
except maybe a longer life to find
new excuses for.
~Charles Bukowski
And by the way, everything in life is writable about if you have the outgoing guts to do it, and the imagination to improvise. The worst enemy to creativity is self-doubt.
Sylvia Plath
Música con IA
Ésta es la historia de la humanidad
Seguramente cuando los egipcios descubrieron que unos jordanos en vez de dibujar la ideas, las expresaban mediante símbolos abstractos... se llevarían las manos a la cabeza... y hablarían de El Fin del Mundo! 😵💫😱.
Y... aquí estamos 🖊️
No: ya no estamos allí: dsd hace tiempo y cada vez más: plasmamos nuestras ideas y las compartíamos con teclas delante una pantalla. Entonces dnd está el limite? (1)
Al principio, yo repudiaba la IA con asco, pero ahora... le escribo a Bing como si hablase con un amigo
Los tiempos cambiarán siempre — q contradicción. Nosotros no debemos rechazar esos cambios, pero eso sí: respetando el valor de lo anterior
Como dijo alguien en ese audio
"Vale: las canciones se harán todas automáticas de aquí a 10 años. Entonces el valor de las canciones creadas por una mente humana será incalculable"
Como lo son ahora los jeroglíficos, no?
(1) El limite es: que esos cambios atenten contra nuestra libertad de pensar, querer, de ser.
--------------------------
Esta reflexión me vino con este audio " Canciones con Intermetencia Artificial" del programa "Un Tema al Día." del canal elDiarioes
Un saludo y gracias Juan Luis
-------------------------
NOTA:
me gustaría redactar mejor el final y pulirlo todo antes de subirlo. pero me tengo ir dormir! 😫
..le dejo esos "remates" a la IA? 🤔
My Mixed Media 43: Charlize Theron
Collage 9
#collage on canvas #scissors and glue #cutandpaste