Galaxy Born


Galaxy born, our surrounding dark matter comforts the dark side of our humanity. We prefer the visible 10 percent of the truth and validate the unknown 90 percent as we find pleasing.

Today’s post was inspired by the writing prompt from I had 60 seconds to write about the word “galaxy.” I created the image in Adobe Photoshop. © 2011 Steph Abbott. All rights reserved.


My Brain Mining for Meaning


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Mining for meaning, my brain is mapping.

Pictures and sounds funneling through the matter.

Slipping and sliding before grounding.

Landing squat then standing straight, these thoughts speak up.

Rousting the roots and considering their context, these baritones of banter are constantly beating for my attention.

Mining for meaning; then exclaiming with examples!

My tension rising with a thousand voices.

My mind is a chorus seeing, hearing, signing, and beating.


© 2011 Stephanie Abbott. All rights reserved.


Tonight’s post began from a writing challenge at One Word. I had 60 seconds to write something about the word “example.” The graphic is not mine. Whitemattertracking.jpg courtesy of the Brain Imaging Center at the University of Missouri. Check out the program in this article by Christian Basi, “The MU Brain Imaging  Center Offers State-of-the-Art Technology to Battle Neurological Disease

I see the world in pictures. My eyes love the stop-motion animated short, “Left-brained Larry & Right-brained Rachel.”

Left-brained Larry & Right-brained Rachel from Niels Michael Wee on Vimeo.

I love this movie! I see the world in pictures. My vision often blurs from the miasma of still and motion pictures. Luckily, on the weekends, my brain takes a break and goes to the movies.

This particular weekend, I plan on viewing “127 Days.” The mainstream-media audience will focus in on a big award show dedicated to commercially successful movies. My focus is usually limited to those nominated for best picture.

Like most years, this year I found myself somewhat entertained.

Those tales nominated for the top spot just didn’t evoke the same passion portrayed in “Left-brained Larry & Right-brained Rachel” produced by Niels Michael Wee and directed and written by Sally Andersen Ward.

It is a stellar story told with great artistic clarity using stop-motion animation. (If you really want to know how much I love this movie, check out my post from last year, “A Stellar Story: Left-brained Larry & Right-brained Rachel.”)

Unfortunately, while this film has garnered some critical success, and enjoys a small Facebook group, this amazing movie remains a sleeper.

What can I say? Wake up, world! Wake up, Academy!

Take a moment to enjoy this nearly, nine-minute work of wonder.


My Lacuna


My Lacuna

Ever mining thoughts
Aural effects distracting
Comes a rift, a blink, a tic, a TOC
Expressive branches deserting
In tell, Gents
An unseasonal reason
For My Lacuna

My Lacuna by Steph Abbott. Finger drawn (Fall 2010) in Sketchbook Pro and TypeDrawing on my iPad. Composed on a lazy Saturday (Winter 2011).

Sent from my iPad.

Communication Difficulties: Learning to live & cope from early childhood


It is a simple truth that I am the most difficult person I’ve ever known and for reasons only my son can truly understand. So, for the both of us, I will try my best to communicate and fulfill the following sentiments everyday…

“Life is a journey complete with starts and stops. You can survive the rough roads. You can cope with the inevitable, unplanned turns. You can choose to accept those who differ from you. You can take breaks from time to time. You are as smart as the others (if not smarter). You can focus and understand. You will make a positive impact in other people’s lives. You are loved.”

My son can build anything with incredible symmetry. I took this photo when he had just turned five years old. This was his least interesting creation that day.

Sent from my iPad

“Oh, Tomatoes!”


One of my worst nightmares came to fruition this week. I couldn’t speak. It was if my brain turned to mush like a ripe tomato where the skin looks okay but add a little pressure and the once firm, chambered sweetness simply collapses into unrecognizable pulp. 

This may not sound too appalling. I’m sure many people experience times when their brain and tongue become inexplicably inexplicable. Surely, you ponder, this is not a condition to exaggerate into a nightmare?! 

Surely, yes!  Why? I communicate for a living. 

The scary part was the timing for this oral degradation. It occurred at a conference for people who communicate for a living. It happened amongst a grouping of professional communicators. It happened at workshop for people who purvey information—to many an audience—with clarity. Like them, I am expected to communicate effectively. And I can. I do.

The nightmare was that I couldn’t. Not only attending the workshop in an effort to improve my communications skills, I was there to speak about how to communicate effectively. 

An ugly shade of night, my fear bloomed in my darkest hour. Simply imagine that you could speak, but for whatever reason, you could not be heard. Yikes. 

Speaking is not the same as talking. This week I could talk. My tongue worked. I even exchanged pleasantries with others as necessary. However, for the life of me, I could not use the English language with any fluency. My mind churned. My eyes fogged. My ears buzzed. And my tongue lolled. I was tongue-tied, speechless, incoherent, and definitely inarticulate. In essence, I could not speak. 

Sure, I could blame the red-eye flight across the country and the extra Motrin PM taken for the resulting weariness and backache. That would be easy.  

No, this affect germinated years ago, generations back—a cultural heirloom, if you will. Now, while I cannot expose the roots of my tale, I can only reveal that I have struggled with this condition for years. A disabling condition since childhood, I have developed many coping skills to increase my survival among the more fit. This week, however, any testimony to these skills simply lacked evidence. 

For those in attendance, I can only offer these words—posted—for all to read. While I do listen, just remember that I scream “Oh, tomatoes!” daily.


Sent from my iPad