The Death of Journalism

Gwen Ifill has died. I cannot believe I just typed those words. Sixty-one year old, Journalist, Gwen Ifill….gone.

I have f

Adventures With the Source

I was comfortable on my back; swaddled within a cocoon of nourishment, safety, and love. It was very dark, but I wasn’t afraid; although, sometimes I did feel a bit….restless, so I’d move around- always connected to the source . Every once in a while,  l would spontaneously move at the source, just to to say “I’m awake now”- to communicate. The source would connect. It caused a vibrating in my space, my liquid universe. It was pleasant, and I was still, again. 

The source would sometimes move me- gently, via these repetitive motions. Almost always the same. Pulling me in, pushing me away. In, out-in, out. 

There was always one constant…something . Measured and strong. Slow and controlled. Sometimes quickened, and again calm . It came from inside the source; it was connected to me, but peripherally. I had it, too,  but my “something ” was inside.  It always seemed to be hurried, urgent, asking to be noticed. How strange.  

I began to notice changes in my liquid environment. 

Things began to happen. New things.  Perpexing things- something else. I’d begun to shift, but not of my own volition. 

Soon, it became consistent-persistent. Swirling movements, some slow, others jerking me around at uncomfortable angles. The source seemed…different. There were times where I felt my ever shrinking liquid heaven being probed, invaded; not by the source.  How could this be? How interesting . 

The growingly claustrophobic atmosphere caused me to move in unfamiliar ways. Those things that were above me, were now to one side, or another. I found it difficult to be still.  So did the source.  It’s restlessness became mine. The area of my safe haven began to disappear at an alarming rate.  More shifting, more changing, more…me. The liquid, the cushion, the warmth…why was it leaving me, and what was the faint “thing” beginning to intrude?

There was so much me, now. Things unfamiliar , and just plain odd. One thing, once whole, seemed to now have segments, but was still attached to what was left of its whole. One on each upper side. How peculiar?

My largest part? Extra pieces had now sprung forth, but remained attached at angles; perpendicular, horizontal, vertical…all while the movement took on a defined pace. That probe was back this time, and that “thing” that caused discomfort to one of my new attachments was drawing ever closer. 

 More probing,  for longer, and more often. It caused me to move away, as it seemed to call me from my stillness. 

RETREAT! I wanted back to safety . I wanted back to the freedom of movement,  when I wanted to. I wanted the source to be calm. Stop moving, save me from the probing, stop this invasion. 
The source was frenetic in its energy. There were other things, too. More vibrations, but distinct to some of this new parts. The ones flanking my large part, faint, but discernible. The piercing of the two on the front of my large part, furiously trying to withdraw from that “thing”. I tried to process the acceleration of the loss of control, the loss of space, of reflexive movement…the probing, the now metered vibrations. WHAT IS THAT “THING”? Source, where is our calm? My liquid, it’s moving me into an even more restricted space. It doesn’t feel safe, anymore. I’m not warm. I’m not free. 

The things that grew on the sides of my large part were buzzing, but all around me, now. My front growths were screaming, those separted parts, still attached, were flailing, everything in an inverted frenzy.  Enough! I had to stop it all. I pushed one of the flailing parts against the source, noticing the severe lack of cushion, and the movement slowed. Huh. I summoned a higher attachment. BANG, right against source. Suddenly, the swirling, the juxtaposition of my reality, the probing, the hurried pace the warmth remembered and I, and my new parts, my strange and curious parts, stopped. We just STOPPED. WE WON !

So tight. Can’t shift back to the haven, and the liquid has abandoned me, as had the source. The source’s energy was furiously engaging me, propelling again, but with greater force, with the buzzing getting closer. The “thing”, that “THING”, and the probe, too , we’re almost at my whole, with all it’s part being pushed together.  The speed with which the whole moved…the probe,  it’s the probe. Source, how could you? How fascinating. 

Beat, beat, thump; buzzing, confusion, “thing” at fullness . Cold. Source? My whole expands again, probing everywhere! My pieces in the large part waking, the buzzing becoming…different. SOURCE!
Wait. The the constant. The peripheral connection. Where? How? I can’t feel the source’s constant. How odd? My whole still has its own. 

There’s something all over my whole. When probed, it…feels, whatever that is? 

Something on my large part, right in the middle…doing something rhythmic, along with my whole. Familiar, but no liquid. Sharp, harsh and cutting. More probing, too much of the “thing”, as its always here, now. At the bottom of my large part, just under the rhythmic middle partner of the whole, an opening. Can I go through there? Is that where the Source is, now? My liquid universe? Oh, no! It’s.’s making me buzz, too. The pieces on either side of my large  part are startled. More involuntary move. …wait… beat, beat, beat. This IS new. It’s the SOURCE! But now, or thumps are disconnected . I feel it still, but through the covering. How puzzling? How warm. No liquid. But warm, rhythms in sync. Source will you stay with me always?

Te amo mater, mihi quo terrena.

Random Musings 11/14/2016

‚ÄčJust because it’s skipping across my mind, like rocks across a pond:

-My name is Cryss,  and I’m a Facebook “over-tagger”. (“Hi, Cryss”). I have not over-tagged in the last 45 seconds. @CollPressCJ,  @WeBeatFibro,  @CMGMT)

-My Facebook feed is SOOOO out of whack,  I just heard Donald Trump wonūüė≠. Happy belated birthday to all I missed. REAL-TALK if there is something you want me to see in real-time, inbox, or tag me. Otherwise,  I’ll be answering you next week, about something grim last week. 


-I’m tired of correcting Auto Correct:

   I type “from”, I get “grim”(see above)

   I type “does”, I get “died”

   I type “parent”,  get “patent”

   I JUST typed “patents”, and got “pursuer”

Each time I type the word “word”, I get “weird”, then, I get weird. 

I type “Day”, it pops up “Jay-Z ” as an option…WTHAMFAT?

One embarrassing Buick(supposed to be quick) text, I was ranting about the”constitution “, it came out “prostitution “… didn’t know until I got the “huh?” response, and reread. Sent a Pastor a message about “fortitude”,  only it came out “fornication”. I still don’t think he believes it was a mistake…..

My mermaid (nemesis) the small work(word) (weird) “and”. Always gives me “abs”. Is this dime (some) kind of hint?

   Ok.  Dine(done) with that.

-Last night, I was intensely focused on what I was writing. So engrossed was I, that when the ice in my cup began to melt, and shifted,  I was almost out the front door, pen in hand. Lol.  I blame the movie 70’s horror movie “Phantasm “.

Thank you,  I’m here till Thursday. Tip your Servers.

Thank You. 

To all who have read, liked, and followed my blog posts,  I thank you. It is my sincere prayer that you find something of value here, even if it’s a laugh. Feel free to comment, as I welcome the exchange, and the feedback. 

Drop in anytime, the water’s just fine. Invite a friend, there’s room for all. 



So, I’m obviously kinda nosy, since I’m gonna ask this question: ¬†What’s on your nightstand? ¬†What is, or are the item(s) that you MUST have in arms reach, every night? ¬†Could you turn it into a short story, or maybe a song? ¬†What about a poem?

One would think since I asked, that I would answer.  Thing is, no one asked me.  Hehehehe.

Can’t wait to hear from you.