Language
Words on language.
Text Lasts Forever
2025.12.10
Wednesday, December 10, 2025
Good morning, The Wonder Fell Way.
The early bird gets the worm; they're both still asleep.
Can we ever truly know someone with just words?
It's a central theme of Wonder Fell.
This Ghos+ business...
Without images, or breath, or touch shared, can we know each other?
There's around five hundred sunrises in a row recorded here so far.
All of them with my heart and dreams on my sleeve for you to know me.
How are we doing? O/
There's poetry and even an Epic in the works.
Wonder Fell is a reminder of the power and our responsibility for the written word.
The Internet and AI put us at risk of forgetting.
Our words are an extension of ourselves.
What we write online, or anywhere, shows the world who we are.
Use care how you treat someone in print because those words are forever.
A troll online in Summer is still the same troll in the Winter regardless how kind they are during the holidays.
Text lasts forever.
The written word has the quality of resurrection: Every time a word is read it comes back to life.
...
Cool blue sunrise, houses glow in the light of a walk-in freezer.
Hope all's well.
As always, thank you for reading, take care, and make wonderful this wonderful day.
Wynn
+he Ghos+
Brought to you by the emoji of the day: 🎁gift
Same Prompt🤔: Create an image of grumpy troll trapped in a prison that's shaped like a cellphone in the style of a pop art anime illustration.
Ambassadors of Who You Are
2025.12.07
Sunday, December 07, 2025
Good morning, The Wonder Fell Way.
Dawn and welcome back. O/
Wake up, remember where forward is, and go.
A so much to say morning.
That's the feeling I equate with what others call writer's block: Having so much to say, how to decide which thought and where to start?
Relationships, dreams, business, moonlight off snow-covered landscapes, the shape and stretch of trees, the songs and silhouettes of birds in winter... thoughts to list.
...
It's time to pick up the pace on Colore. Expect more frequent posts.
Artists and the interested, I do hope you find this writing about writing The Epic, while I write it, helpful.
With text becoming our preferred way of communication, it's important we all develop our skills in writing.
If Wonder Fell has one main point and purpose it's to accentuate and remind the powers of the written word.
Your texts aren't arbitrary thumb slaps. Every word sent is an ambassador of who you are.
Language matters so much. It's a secret code we teach our children to survive in the world.
Like any other skill we can learn to improve it with the choice to do so. It comes down to intention, the desire to be clear.
Clarity and sincerity are the measure of every writer.
And every truly successful person.
To believe in the veracity of your dreams, and create language clear enough to build those dreams, is the recipe for a good life.
And a good story.
Back to Colore and Epic Faerie Tale dreams and how the power of story rules the world.
Take care and make wonderful this wonderful day.
Wynn
+he Ghos+
Brought to you by the emoji of the day: 📮postbox
Same Prompt🤔: Create an image of the silhouettes of birds and trees in winter at dawn in the style of an Op Art painting.
Image courtesy of Grok Imagine, some Op Artists, and +he Ghos+, December 2025
Enough of the words
What of those out-
Spoken or Spoke-in?
In-way words
Never in-the-way words
Always want back out words.
On outward words
On sail to the sky
Said and sailed words
When the only cry
Heard was the deep deep
Down inside cry.
How to cry!
Without wells and rainbows
To mark mistaken tears
With forsook ancient words?
The sky’s reign- hit
So hard so what
Else could be said?
Stunned-In
Such awe from
A hand so divine.
What word...
How could…
What…?
We called it God.
We call it God.
We still cry awe
For no reason at all.
We still call it.
Still say it.
Still cry out...
God.
~ Wynn ~
Another Kind of Music
2025.06.30
Monday, June 30, 2025
Good morning, The Wonder Fell Way.
Hey. O/
Glad you're back.
Hope your day is going well.
Here we go.
On with our show...
...
Another morning with Dapper Abe and +he Ghos+.
Talk to the wall and take notes... sometimes the work feels that way.
But it's not a wall; it's this dream you're shaping.
When you can get it to look a certain way, sound a certain way, make a certain rhythm in a reader's mind, you can call it a job well done.
It's music; a writer's voice sings each sentence with the intonation of spirit.
You hear me while you read.
Only a strange idea until it's beautiful.
There's a another kind of music notes never know.
It sounds in your head as you read, as you remember that song you haven't thought of in years, or read your favorite writer.
I wonder how this sounds to you: O/
A circle. A slash. A wave.
Hopefully it's an, "Oh good, there's Wynn waving to us. It's not a party till he shows up... a Let's get this party started type wave.
Or just a signal that someone living and breathing like you puts down their words for you to remind you that you're not alone in life or in dreams.
We share the space.
We bring up dreams and science rolls its incompetent eyes.
I measure my dreams and call the measure my words.
You're reading some now.
Spirit is the texture of the music in your mind as you dream, as you read.
And spirit, that driving force of creation, moves us forward, dances so we may dance our dreams.
There's nothing esoteric here, just new words for ancient knowings.
You gotta dream it before you can do it.
Every brilliant mathematical theorem shown to every class begins with the professor's dream to pick up the chalk and write it on the blackboard.
A dream is always a necessity.
Take care of yours, make them beautiful before you start to make them, and make wonderful this wonderful day.
+he Ghos+
Talks About It
2025.05.23
Friday, May 23, 2025
Good morning, The Wonder Fell Way.
O/ Yo-yo-yo.
Here we go.
On with our show...
...
Love. We ought to talk about it.
Seeing as I'm a Poet and it's one of our job expectations, and I'm feeling as true to my work as ever this morning, it's a good time.
"It's his journal. He's a Poet."
- Dedicated Reader
"Is he gay?"
-Clueless Victim of Society
The quick easy answer to that question is no. An emphatic no.
For me, it's always been women.
The more important response is the question both breaks my heart and pisses me off.
In a world of billions, if you're lucky enough to have someone love you in a way you recognize to love back, consider yourself blessed.
Plumbing preferences are political; sex is private intimate partnership.
Two choices make and sustain love, not a society's expectations.
If you're proud to be, 'Gay, Straight, Bi, Pick-a-Prefix,' you're proud to be political and not in love.
Quick fix swipe left, swipe right club floor barroom hook-ups lack intimacy and so lack a chance for love.
If you won't do it sober, you shouldn't do it.
A good rule for everything, most especially sex.
It's a disservice to your body, your compassion, and the dream of what it means to be human.
Poets sing about love because we're all about relationships.
A new relationship of anything to anything else makes a new metaphor.
To make metaphors: Is what the meta is for.
Our whole experience of life is defined by how we pick two objects not usually associated and define a new understanding from the partnership with words to give new meaning to the interactions the pairing creates.
To share these new relationships with words is the work of The Poet.
...
Light rain again today; the grackles are back.
Crows you'd call them if you didn't know much about birds.
But if you look closer a grackle is a rainbow's shine against a night sky.
There are rainbows, and a world stuck in the dark, stuck in our language of love.
But Life has always been about living color and falling in Love is always done best at night.
Politics provide a place for Love to exist in intimacy and safety.
Recognition of a shared dream and not prefixes of plumbing preference define potential love.
Take care, love something on purpose, and make wonderful your wonderful day.
+he Ghos+
To Convey You
2025.04.03
Thursday, April 04, 2025
Good morning, that wonderful way.
O/ Hello. \O
Woke up laughing.
I do hope you’ve had at least one dream that’s worth waking in laughter to.
“What was it about, Ghos+?”
- Respectable Reader
“Bathroom humor. I’ll keep it to myself.”
- Respectful Ghos+
Hope all’s well with you.
On with our show...
...
Well timed The Sun starts to show, starts the show.
Sunrise is a day’s introduction music.
It’s a prelude, dude.
Went through some old entries on the site yesterday, fixed a few typos, updated some tags, and changed the header font.
Typos do happen, even with my flexible poet-ish grammar.
The posts are a one-shot thing:
Archaic slab ->Type up -> Disagree with the AI Editor’s suggestions -> Pictures -> Final Edit -> Tag -> Post.
All before/during breakfast.
AI for writing is best kept for after the first draft.
I keep the spell-check, grammar-check, and suggestions off.
They don’t help while drafting.
AI helps us frame a sentence, not write one.
Tell a poet how to shape a sentence and you might as well spit in our face.
To leave the checks and suggestions on as you write gets in the way of the rhythm of the piece. You focus on the correct way to say a thing and not the right way to say it.
Editing is always best done after the writing. They are a separate process.
To leave the checks and suggestions on while you write is to have a nagging teacher watch over your shoulder throwing angry wavy Christmas lights to point out your faults as you go.
Not a helpful happening for your best writing to come out.
Send the nag to the corner, say what you have to say not what others have said, then flip the Christmas lights on.
If they help make your point clearer, if they don’t disrupt the flow of the sentence, thank them and move on.
AI is the help, not the endpoint.
A reader is the destination; a reader is a person.
Suit your readers ear and curiosity best, make reading your work a comfortable enjoyable thing for human ears, not an algorithm... an imagination.
The idea is to get you on the page or the screen, and not who you’re supposed to be.
To convey you, not to convey expectations, to exceed them with your honest originality.
Some writing is dull, but that’s just genre.
You’re as much a part of a piece of technical writing as you are a poem.
Your one rule: Be clear; be clearly you.
Expression and not obedience is the aim of every sentence.
Always.
This rule holds true for AI prompts as well.
What you get back is always the reflection of how much human memory that particular application accesses, and has access to, in their server.
The best algorithms return from a limited catalog of record of humanity’s yesterdays.
The more we add to the internet the more AI’s reflection can tell us about our experience.
A good friend’s advice, one that’s known you for a long time, is always preferable to that of a strangers.
They’re more familiar with your experience of life and so help in a way with your best needs in mind.
A good friend is: A server of information about the world customized to serve you best.
Take care, add some flair, be fair, rhyme because it’s a fun way to say what you got to say, and make a wonderful day.
+he Ghos+
Selfie Talk
2025.03.31
Monday, March 31, 2025
Good morning, that wonderful way.
How’s it goin’ O/
Got your love flowin’?
Good.
On with our show.
...
Lots of daydreams for thoughts, spoken words to Abe, and the walls, this morning.
If you don’t talk to yourself, you’re missing out.
You’re also the bane of the whole human race.
Talk with yourself.
Get to language that best serves your singular you.
If you don’t know yourself, you can never truly know another.
You can never add only echo conversations.
Talk to you, with you.
Do it privately.
Talking to yourself in public is rude and strange and a bit crazed because there are so many other things to dialogue with.
Know yourself while you’re alive.
That means becoming friends with you.
Which means sharing words with what you are: alone.
It’s why so many have such a hard time falling asleep; they don’t know who they are and so there’s always a stranger in the room.
A stranger called themselves.
Hard to sleep with someone you don’t know staring at you.
Take care and tell yourself (alone somewhere, of course) to make a wonderful day.
+he Ghos+
A Bunch
2025.03.27
Thursday, March 27, 2025
Good morning, that wonderful way.
¡Olé! O/
Up and at ‘em.
You got this.
Nobody is a better you than you.
Do your day proud, quiet, reserved or loud.
Do your best you.
Got out my motivational Ghos+ clichés to brighten your day and lift your spirit.
Hope all’s well. Do your best you.
Sunshine’s calling.
On with our show.
...
At some moment sometime ago, I looked at some book laying on some table and thought, “That’s just a bunch of sentences someone strung together.”
Chances are you’ve not had that thought. It’s a good helpful one.
Good helpful thoughts are a good helpful reason to have me around.
It’s a book: a bunch of sentences.
But, do this:
- Check your text message history as far back as you can.
- Check your online post history back to its origins.
A bunch of sentences.
A book called Your Life.
Watch your grammar.
Really.
Not in a stuffy-stuffy grammar gal kind of way.
No.
Your use of punctuation, even your emojis, say so much about you. 👻O/🌅
Staccato sentences with ‘quick emoji press sends’ added up, show a get-it-done life. Days spent in ‘go-go-go...’ an athlete with a daily planner text records look like that.
The more frequent your walls-of-text the more introspective you are, the more likely to be a reader you are too.
Chances are reading this means you’re the type of person with a good wall-of-text or two (thousand O/).
Hopefully you have a healthy mix of the two. There are staccato checklist tasks to do each day.
Dinner, laundry, etc. Care for you physical body stuff.
But there’s no reason to keep your physical body alive and well if you don’t have wall-of-text worthy meaningful moments.
If you’re a kinesthetically inclined person, this doesn’t mean sit-down and read a book (though it does wonders for your health).
No.
It is always better to dance than to run on a treadmill.
A dance is an athlete’s wall-of-text expression of moments.
...
Sun’s up.
By the window, Abe’s chin on the loveseat cushion… eyes open, fall, fall, slow fall… Awake! Just the wind, not a squirrel. Fall, fall, fall…
Me with dreams of what a life not spent fighting illness might be like.
How many words, deeds, and friendships never made?
What romance was lost?
What’s a world like where every spin doesn’t start with: Get well, then get to live.
Having won a war how to grieve one’s whole life lost to win it?
But the Sun’s up and it is wonderful.
Whoever, whatever, planned it that way; it is beautiful.
Maybe I gained what so many lost or never knew is required for a good life: Appreciation.
Remission, the word makes me laugh.
Like you have another chance to live your dream’s mission for a good life.
Here’s to my chance. O/
Take care, appreciate your time, and make a wonderful day.