Category Archives: Twisted Tuesday

Twisted Tuesday – Hieroglyphs

Trying out a writing exercise.  Might do this every week or so.  So, the basic idea is to start with a general statement or phrase; something relatively short and simple.  Then you do your best to make it into a written puzzle.  You’ll see what I mean.  In the future, I may not show all the steps, I may just show the final outcome.  ❤

Start:

People say they can’t enjoy my writing because it’s too convoluted: they don’t know all the words, they don’t pick up on the meaning, they don’t see themes.  “Your writing is for smart people,” and “don’t make the reader struggle,” is what I hear, but I don’t want to sacrifice my style for the sake of popularity.  I guess I’ll keep writing for myself.

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My personal hieroglyphics scare away those with no Rosetta Stone.  The squiggles and scribbles and scrabbles and doodles are the epidermis of a freshly presented game that no one has the guts to cut open.  The trail to my secret place hiding beneath the entrails of the wild animals I throw into the lion’s dens, but me and them looks through ion’s lens; we see different things when my eye’s on them.  A positive charge looks negative when our eyes are focused.  I just don’t want you to see mud pits when I’m trying to bundle all my greenest grass into the smallest box I can, even when December’s parchment lists are penning for blue skies.  I guess I’ll just keep two-stepping on my own turf.

kTMnBpR9c

A sharpened tongue etches hieroglyphics on a common fear without my dear Rosetta’s key to lock them away.  Squiggles, scribbles, scrabbles, and doodles compose the epidermis of my freshly presented game no one has the guts to cut open.  A scabrous trail to my purple pump and unrelenting gray mat hidden beneath the entrails of wild animals I throw into the lion’s dens, but me and them look through ion’s lens; we see different when my eye’s on them.  A half-filled glass can be tipped either way with glasses on.  You see mud pits when I’m bundling my greenest grass into the smallest box, even when December’s parchment lists are penning for blue skies.  I’ll keep two-stepping on my own turf.