Month: January 2024 | the Wakefield Doctrine - Part 3 Month: January 2024 | the Wakefield Doctrine - Part 3

Six Sentence Story -the Wakefield Doctrine- [a Café Six]

Welcome to the Wakefield Doctrine (the theory of clarks, scotts and rogers)

This is the Wakefield Doctrine’s contribution to the Six Sentence Story bloghop.

Hosted each week by Denise, all we’re asked to do is write a story of six (and only six) sentences.

Prompt word:

KICK

“On this we can agree.”

Despite being extremely expensive, the music system unexpectedly flared into pre-LED colored light, heralding the unmistakable plastic-flop of vinyl onto turntable; the 100 proof-silk sound of Curtis Mayfield began to confide raw truth of life for those on the left up-slope of the Bell curve.

“Not to be rude, but what, not counting your fanciful oeuvre hung on being a time traveler, encourages you to presume that?”

The Sophomore’s lips compressed into a non-committal line, even as his eyes skidded across the direct line-of-sight with the other man; the haplessly-optimistic part of his mind ran scratchy newsreels of manly hugs binding self-absorbed veterans returning from battle. Medals and campaign ribbons, official tokens of instant depreciation to be treasured only when alone, the better to survive the emotional kick of a lethal fetus awaiting entrance to a loud, noisy world, barely hinted at the true extent of his wounds.

The tall, thin man stared at the visitor on the far side of his desk when one of six phones skittered to life, a deaf-mute sand-crab demanding attention in a surprisingly arid world; swiping the screen into the cell phone equivalent of a coma, he looked at the Sophomore and rose from his chair.

 

 

 

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Six Sentence Story -the Wakefield Doctrine-

Welcome to the Wakefield Doctrine (the theory of clarks, scotts and rogers)

This is the Wakefield Doctrine’s contribution to the Six Sentence Story bloghop.

Hosted each week by Denise, all we’re asked to do is write a story of six (and only six) sentences.

Prompt word:

KICK

It’s the smell that gets the newcomer, really; you’d think, in this modern day of solid-state appetites and digital passion it wouldn’t, but the closest encounter most people have with the spiritual is at the nexus of scent and memory. However, here, at the opening of our story, it’s the smell of the air, at once machine oil and grease mixed with carboxylic acids, the original eau de Cologne of human suffering. This particular detail will be all the more a kick in the Reader’s head as they finish and realize this Six is just a one-off parable, (or maybe a fable), about the inner world of creating fiction.

Yeah, that section of cubicles forming a hexagonal exercise yard is the GenPop module; nope, no fences or barricades, don’t need ’em, that bunch has an irresistible drive to form ghettoes, each different genre anchored by slavish obeisance as they pray to their god with a thousand faces, the Almighty Campbell for inspiration, if not intercession, in their effort to write.

That building, off by itself, is our Maximum security, it’s where we house the metaphor-addicts; no, don’t even bother asking, trying to talk to those poor bastards is like… well, you know.

Sure, some are rehabilitated and allowed to return to society; the lucky ones find a quiet, minuscule-PageRank blog and live out their lives shamelessly churning out negative-meta tales for word-prompt bloghops.

 

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Monday -the Wakefield Doctrine- “…of simple math and the Outsider.”

Welcome to the Wakefield Doctrine (the theory of clarks, scotts and rogers)

“At least no one will see how badly I did.”

While, at first blush, this statement might be attributed to a clark, it is, in fact a rogerian sentiment.

Before we do that, let us review the three predominant worldviews of the Wakefield Doctrine:

  1. the Outsider (clarks) like a singularity (in astronomy) it is tempting to describe this predominant worldview as what it is, rather than the more efficacious approach of sharing what it is not; (the first hint as to the conundrum that started us this morning);
  2. the Predator (scotts) a classic blue herring. Even the first, cursory examination with the distinguishing characteristics of our speedy friend hints not only at not being the solution to our puzzel but, in fact, hints at a far greater (and way more subtle) concept
  3. the Herd Member (rogers) ha! you have been, by your first thought (all while believing you are safe from the relentless understanding of the Wakefield Doctrine), bathing in the false security of being on the far side of this display); the subtle subtitle of today’s post is both noose and garrot.

ok,

this is why we normally post the RePrint first, instead of second.

But you knew that, didn’t you?

Quick, down-and-dirty lesson:

  • clarks are Outsiders. they live in a bubble that does not actually exist. so they cannot be our elocutor, as the (beginning this day) leaves no possibility that there cannot be a response from others
  • scotts are Predators. they are busy living life, not in a ‘Clearly, de Kooning intends the viewer to…’ sense of life, more, the Wiley Coyote/Road Runner duprass*
  • rogers are Herd Members. why on earth would you have eliminated them in your deliberations? they (the rogers who are, of the three1, are truest to this statement). this would lead us to believe that one’s conscious belief provides immunity to a relationship is a folly on the scale of the one that clarks maintain.

End of discussion.

If you are reading this: Congratulations! You are eligible to enjoy the benefits of our little personality theory. The fun and useful alike!

 

*search ‘Cat’s Cradle’ K. Vonnegut

  1. remember, for our follow-up discussion, one certain unifying Princple called ‘the Everything Rule’

 

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TToT -the Wakefield Doctrine-

Welcome to the Wakefield Doctrine (the theory of clarks, scotts and rogers)

This is the Doctrine’s weekly contribution to the Ten Things of Thankful (TToT) bloghop.

 

1) Una

2) Phyllis

3) the Wakefield Doctrine

4) writing for fun and de-confusioning* (see Grat Five and Six)

5) the Six Sentence Story

6) the Unicorn Challenge (with ceayr, jenne, Pensitivity 101 and them)

7) discretion being the better part of valor… the rain washed the bridge (photo in Grat 1 and 2 above, taken in more temperate climes)

We considered moving the bridge back into place before the flood waters had receded. In theory, less effort to float it back than to lever it back. So we waded into the water, thigh-high and reconsidered our ambition. It was not the depth of the water, not even it the strength of the current. It was the temperature of the water. As we observed our leg muscles getting all Gordian on the knee and ankular regions, standing in the shallow section. (There is a reason for the bridge, not so apparent in either of these photos, but there’s a channel, not deep, say only three feet or so… when the pond is at the summer level illustrated by our photogenic canine and human. That said, the water was over our knees… on shore. lol While we laugh at danger, we haven’t needed jumper cables for any of the automobiles for so long. Well, let’s say we decided that it would have been a pain in the neck to go dig them out from wherever they are if the water remained as cold as it reached our upper torso.

The good news is we will have a Cro-Magnon Challenge by next week when the water recedes! The rules are: only muscle and the simplest of machines, the lever; in the form of small tree trunks which we have an abundance of in the woods.)

the ‘After’ photo for the bridge at the top

8) rain (both as hypograt and as anti-snow)

[Hey! In the interest of setting the scene for the Bro-Magnon Challenge next week, here’s a photo of the Bridge-Too-Far with the water levels down today.]

9) something, something

10) Secret Rule 1.3

 

* not a ‘real’ word but clarks, of course, will sense the meaning, if not the application

music vids

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f -the Wakefield Doctrine-

Welcome to the Wakefield Doctrine (the theory of clarks, scotts and rogers)

the setting: the Unicorn Challenge bloghop

the players: jenne and ceayr and a cast of tens

the premise: beginning with a new photo prompt, write a story

the rules: maximum word count is two hundred fity (250)

(While we accept that this particular bloghop format does not, actually, encourage the telling of serial tales, there are times when the temptation exceeds self-restraint. If there is need for proof of the existence of a ‘Muse’ for those who would write, then characters are incontrovertible evidence. We have, all of us, found ourselves in the company of characters that, to use the vernacular, ‘write themselves’. This week, we indulge our selfs. The two protangonists in this week’s contribution to ‘the corn first showed up: <click here>. What can we say? They write themselves)

 

 

“Don’t worry, I’m a natural-born trapper. I can follow the prey anywhere!”

The woman, dressed in shades of gray and ebony that made her indistinguishable from the alleys and lanes of the less-travelled parts of Glasgow, jumped slightly, the better to cuff her companion’s ear.

“We had ’em coming out of that wine cellar! Are we home enjoying dinner?” The tilt of her head produced a curious reversal, surely it is in human relationships that trompe l’oeil found their natural environment.

“No! We are not!”

For his part, the slightest of shrugs prevented any serious injury, which was never a concern of his for any of the countless years the pair had been together.

The urban canyons and abandoned wine cellars had provided sustenance for the two since…well, since either of them could remember. Somehow, the night was betraying the two as their prey continued to remain ahead of their patient stalking. This unexplored country for the pair who, as subjects of whispered tales of fearful parents to innocent children were simply the Crone and the Stone. Cautionary bedtime stories to keep them out of harm’s way

As they crossed the small wooden bridge, the forest around them blazed in artificial light. LED suns tethered to trees, the better to kill fairy tale monsters

The man, larger than he wanted to be, looked down; the woman, smaller than she felt with him, looked up with no regret,

“We twa hae run about the braes,
and pou’d the gowans fine.”

 

 

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