Quite often I don't remember my dreams but I woke with a crazy name and scenario from it.
I had moved into a place and then immediately had guests. My cousin D shows up with her boyfriend who flipped from being a basketball player to a football player. One day, I came home and saw them going thru a big box of board games so we started playing one on the floor it had red with 100 and green ? coins embedded on them and some cards to read. There was someone who I knew but didn't really like maybe she was a roommate trying to be friendly but because I was out a lot, my cousin and her became close. Mind you I had just moved so I hadn't picked a room so one day I was walking thru the place like wow, this is a nice bathroom but which room is mine since they were both occupied so I started cleaning. Pulled out 4 socks, 3 matched with pink trim and one was mismatched. Put 2 that matched on and started spraying the first room with some liquid but before I could begin the roommate came in and offered to help so I gave her the sock and she started wiping all the surfaces down, all the while talking about wanting to read a book I had or wrote "young lovers or lovers and sins" I walked out of the room saying my cousin was reading it. Was on my way to the living room to sweep the floor which was carpet because my subconscious didn't even think about a vacuum.
Jean-gac was the name that came into my head before I woke up. Not sure why!
Saturday, January 23, 2010
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
Becoming a Woman
Netflix drops gifts into my mailbox on a weekly basis, some are expected while others are careful disguised jewels that leave me emotional and thoughtful. The recent movie I saw tugged at my heart strings and I'm glad I decided to watch "Bedtime Stories" prior to experience the horrors of "Maya".
It depicits a young girl's experience of becoming a woman and the celebration it provokes in India. The movie opens to screams of a young girl and a boy beating on a locked door. Sanjay is a mischevious young man whose sidekick in his life is his sister Maya, an equally exhuberant child. They do everything together from pranks on the local shopkeepers to sharing a bed until Maya's period comes on. The response is startling and confusing to the children especially because Maya has no idea why she is told not to exert herself, asked to wear a clothe and is suddenly a woman not a child. The family returns to the village Maya was born in to have a huge celebration and prayer festive in the honor of puberty. Sanjay is feeling left out during all the preparation for this big day yet and does things to stir up drama which further isolates him from Maya. Part of the celebration is for the family to have a holy priest precede over the prayer ceremony and to cater a big meal for the village.
It troubled me how Sanjay felt something wasn't right about the priest and no one listened to him. Too often children's voices are ignored because adults believe they know what's right. Its important that adults are aware of how children respond to other adults as they might be indicators of who that person really is.
The prayer ceremony consists of Maya, the priest and his four cohorts in a temple which was locked once they entered. Prior to entering, Maya began to feel strangely and started to hesitate but continued inside and again felt odd and resisted physically and verbally with screams to no avail. Her family waited outside the door smiling, ignoring her merciless screams and feeding guests while those men took turns raping her.
Sanjay was the only one asute enough to even try and help but his father beat him and scolded him for embarrassing the family. When it was over, Maya limped out of the temple disheveled looking while these Holy men smiled and said she had a pure soul and God really loved her. It sickened me to watch how the family catered and bestowed all this graciousness to these men that just raped their child. I wondered if the family knew what the prayer ceremony consisted of and if so why would anyone condone the deflowering of a child to a group of men.
Even though Indian Government forbids these practices, NGO's estimates 5,000 to 15,000 girls are still dedicated to such or similar practices every year.
The film was based on a few practices such as "Devdasi", "Jogini" and "Anang Dana Pratana".
"The things which the child loves remain in the domain of the heart until old age. The most beautiful thing in life is that our souls remain hovering over the places where we once enjoyed ourselves." - Kahlil Gibran
Sunday, November 01, 2009
The Prize - unedited
The day always held such electricity for the adults and kids in Coffin Park. The Coffin Park neighborhood had a Halloween tradition of randomly selecting 13 houses to judge the costumes and tricks. This forced the kids to parade around to each house hoping a glass eye, severed finger, a bat wing or bloody heart was dropped into their bag. Each item had a different score to it and it changed yearly so it kept the kids eagerly awaiting the results at the bonfire.
Sampson, a ten year old with the hair and mind of Einstein with a dark side, planned out his costume months in advance with his mom at the craft store and a crayon sketch to use as inspiration. Plastic and store brought costumes were for amateurs. Sampson considered himself an expert of All Hallows Eve, he studied the origin and had read all literature about the day, it was his absolutely favorite holiday. He planned on winning the prize this year and had canvassed the neighborhood to try to figure out which houses were judging this year.
As the sun began the set, Sampson finished putting the final touches of his makeup on and looked at himself in the mirror. He then heard the howl that marked it was time for trick or treating, smiling he set out to make this his year. This year started off differently as Sampson walked outside and felt a chill move onto his sandaled feet and gave him goosebumps. The little kids skipped down the sidewalk dressed as princesses and superheroes and Sampson scowled at them. He stopped at the edge of his first house and watched as the porch light flickered on and off as an skeletal hand gave out candy. His focus wasn't the candy but the prize so he had to watch closely on what was dropped into each bag. People were sneaky.
Stepping up to the door, he began to sweat and felt like someone was behind him. He turned around and found a strange sight all the lights were flickering on and off and no one was on the street. Where did the little kids go? His hand touched the door and he shivered and held out his bag and whispered "Trick or treat" while the skeletal hand dropped a glass eye in his bag along with bubble gum. "Thank you" as he turned around to a gang of kids running up and down the sidewalk. Every house he went to he had hot flashes that were followed by chills. His bag was getting heavy and he still hadn't gotten a heart yet and time was running out. Sampson stood in front of two houses, Ms. Ruth and Mr. Jacobs. Mr. Jacobs was an old man who thought having several different pairs of dentures and sending kids into his study to find his glasses in a drawer that held more than 50 pair was funny. Ms. Ruth smelled like moth balls and never gave candy instead she had a bag full of miscellaneous items that she gave out so of course no one liked going to her house. Sampson stood between the two houses and something flew by his head causing him to move toward Ms. Ruth's house. Walking up to her door, he saw the light flicker and he heard the light bulbs pop and go out as he touched the door.
Ms. Ruth opened the door quickly, "Come in boy!"
Sampson wasn't expecting to go inside the house and he knew if he didn't arrive back at the bonfire before the final howl he would be disqualified but he let her shoo him in. Her house was dark except for the candles burning and something smelled dead. "Ms. Ruth, I have to go the bonfire should be starting soon." His voice and body tense as his eyes struggle to see through the darkness.
"No worries, young man" "I hold the key to that prize you crave so dearly"
His body relaxed and his breathing calmed a bit, "Ok, so where's the prize and what IS that smell?"
She laughs "That my dear is the prize. Come with me." She grabs his hand sending a icy jolt through his body as they head towards the kitchen and the smell got stronger with each step.
"Umm, Ms. Ruth" His eyes watching a pot boil on the stove and his feet became heavy as she went over to stir the contents "What's in the pot?"
She pulls out a ladle and a bowl, "Have a seat Sampson. Your reward is near after you have had a bowl of my Wolfat stew. Each year one person is selected to eat a bowl of this Coffin Park specialty and this is your year."
She pushes the bowl towards Sampson and the candle light flickered revealing the contents in the bowl: a severed finger, a bat wing and the heart of an animal in a garlicky broth. Strangely, Sampson began shaking and salivating and before he knew what was happening his fingers were in the bowl grabbing at the contents and shoving them into his mouth. He was disgusted by his behavior yet couldn't seem to control himself. As he ate his senses grew stronger and he heard something deep inside rumble. He felt the need to run and Ms. Ruth already had the door open as his metamorphis began. Sampson fell to his knees and ran out of the house on his newly formed paws with delight as he stopped and looked up at the moon and began to howl and happy song. He had heard the legend of Coffin Park that there were Wolf and Bat People living among regular people and he did all he could to be the prize this halloween. He trotted towards the bonfire to reveal himself to the others with pride.
Sampson, a ten year old with the hair and mind of Einstein with a dark side, planned out his costume months in advance with his mom at the craft store and a crayon sketch to use as inspiration. Plastic and store brought costumes were for amateurs. Sampson considered himself an expert of All Hallows Eve, he studied the origin and had read all literature about the day, it was his absolutely favorite holiday. He planned on winning the prize this year and had canvassed the neighborhood to try to figure out which houses were judging this year.
As the sun began the set, Sampson finished putting the final touches of his makeup on and looked at himself in the mirror. He then heard the howl that marked it was time for trick or treating, smiling he set out to make this his year. This year started off differently as Sampson walked outside and felt a chill move onto his sandaled feet and gave him goosebumps. The little kids skipped down the sidewalk dressed as princesses and superheroes and Sampson scowled at them. He stopped at the edge of his first house and watched as the porch light flickered on and off as an skeletal hand gave out candy. His focus wasn't the candy but the prize so he had to watch closely on what was dropped into each bag. People were sneaky.
Stepping up to the door, he began to sweat and felt like someone was behind him. He turned around and found a strange sight all the lights were flickering on and off and no one was on the street. Where did the little kids go? His hand touched the door and he shivered and held out his bag and whispered "Trick or treat" while the skeletal hand dropped a glass eye in his bag along with bubble gum. "Thank you" as he turned around to a gang of kids running up and down the sidewalk. Every house he went to he had hot flashes that were followed by chills. His bag was getting heavy and he still hadn't gotten a heart yet and time was running out. Sampson stood in front of two houses, Ms. Ruth and Mr. Jacobs. Mr. Jacobs was an old man who thought having several different pairs of dentures and sending kids into his study to find his glasses in a drawer that held more than 50 pair was funny. Ms. Ruth smelled like moth balls and never gave candy instead she had a bag full of miscellaneous items that she gave out so of course no one liked going to her house. Sampson stood between the two houses and something flew by his head causing him to move toward Ms. Ruth's house. Walking up to her door, he saw the light flicker and he heard the light bulbs pop and go out as he touched the door.
Ms. Ruth opened the door quickly, "Come in boy!"
Sampson wasn't expecting to go inside the house and he knew if he didn't arrive back at the bonfire before the final howl he would be disqualified but he let her shoo him in. Her house was dark except for the candles burning and something smelled dead. "Ms. Ruth, I have to go the bonfire should be starting soon." His voice and body tense as his eyes struggle to see through the darkness.
"No worries, young man" "I hold the key to that prize you crave so dearly"
His body relaxed and his breathing calmed a bit, "Ok, so where's the prize and what IS that smell?"
She laughs "That my dear is the prize. Come with me." She grabs his hand sending a icy jolt through his body as they head towards the kitchen and the smell got stronger with each step.
"Umm, Ms. Ruth" His eyes watching a pot boil on the stove and his feet became heavy as she went over to stir the contents "What's in the pot?"
She pulls out a ladle and a bowl, "Have a seat Sampson. Your reward is near after you have had a bowl of my Wolfat stew. Each year one person is selected to eat a bowl of this Coffin Park specialty and this is your year."
She pushes the bowl towards Sampson and the candle light flickered revealing the contents in the bowl: a severed finger, a bat wing and the heart of an animal in a garlicky broth. Strangely, Sampson began shaking and salivating and before he knew what was happening his fingers were in the bowl grabbing at the contents and shoving them into his mouth. He was disgusted by his behavior yet couldn't seem to control himself. As he ate his senses grew stronger and he heard something deep inside rumble. He felt the need to run and Ms. Ruth already had the door open as his metamorphis began. Sampson fell to his knees and ran out of the house on his newly formed paws with delight as he stopped and looked up at the moon and began to howl and happy song. He had heard the legend of Coffin Park that there were Wolf and Bat People living among regular people and he did all he could to be the prize this halloween. He trotted towards the bonfire to reveal himself to the others with pride.
Friday, September 18, 2009
Feelings
Been feeling a myriad of emotions lately. I guess that's the purpose of the fast to be more aware of my emotions and how I'm feeling but I swear I feel like skin tingling in anticipation of the unknown. I'm feeling my heart beat and skip to the rhythm of my thoughts both negative and positive. I feel like my eyes are crossed and my mind in cloudy and I'm walking through a fog but I'm not feeling the moisture cause my mouth feels dry. I'm feeling like my air is labored and it hurts to inhale or exhale deeply. I feel like I'm being bound and gagged and can't move. I feel helpless as if I am paralyzed from head to toe. I feel like the more I have to focus the more panic I experience. My mind is running in circles to no where, heart is confused because of the harden that is slowly happening. My spirit is wandering aimlessly through the life on auto pilot. No gas pedal or brake, I'm just on cruise leaving a trail of sparks behind.
Monday, August 24, 2009
I ME Wed
Things You'll Need
* Open heart
* Self love
* A willingness to throw out old habits and self loathing
Steps 1. Set Your Intention.
Work out what you want to achieve by marrying yourself. For example, "a lifelong commitment from a partner in a relationship that exudes happiness at every turn." Before you can expect this commitment from someone else, you must first promise that you will do everything in your power to give this to yourself, every day.
2. Throw Out Self Loathing.
Looking in the mirror and criticizing your imperfections? Laughing off compliments and dismissing nods to your brilliance? Flying under the radar so your super-stardom goes unnoticed? These are classic signs that you have a degree of self-loathing. Self-loathing only serves to block you from finding happiness within. When you radiate unhappiness, you attract unhappy people. Unhappy people are generally commitment-phobes. So get over yourself girl, and repeat after me: "Self-loathing is for suckers."
3. See Yourself As Goddess.
Begin to notice your perfections when you look in the mirror. Receive compliments as graciously and copiously as you give them. Say "yes, yes, YES" a lot, with revellious and delightful energy. Practice shameless acts of joy and master joyous acts of shame. Affirm yourself daily with delicious words including "magical, mystical, sparkling, juicy, ethereal, beauty, intuitive, divine." When you see yourself as Goddess, this is the gorgeous energy you radiate and hence, you begin to attract similarly gorgeous people into your life.
4. Be Your Own Best Friend.
Tell yourself jokes. Spoil yourself rotten. Keep yourself entertained by doing what YOU want to do. Write down a promise to self that you will "never put baby in the corner." Flick "friends" that dare to support habits of self-loathing. Become a magnet to new friends that are a reflection of your perfection.
5. Create Your Day.
Now that you are your own little solar system and the brightest little star at the centre of your own cosmos, it is time to invite family and friends who love you as much as you love yourself, and to help you celebrate your rocking divinity. Picture your perfect ceremony in your head, see the smiling faces of your friends as they witness your joy, play with wedding vows until you have the perfect expression of your perfect self.
6. Let the Party Begin.
Set the date, find your venue, send out invitations, and let the party of self-love begin.
Tips & Warnings
* Go overboard with fun and self-love.
* Do not marry yourself if you hear voices in your head that serve to sabotage your intentions for true, everlasting, undying, fulfilling, rip-roaring LOVE.
* Open heart
* Self love
* A willingness to throw out old habits and self loathing
Steps 1. Set Your Intention.
Work out what you want to achieve by marrying yourself. For example, "a lifelong commitment from a partner in a relationship that exudes happiness at every turn." Before you can expect this commitment from someone else, you must first promise that you will do everything in your power to give this to yourself, every day.
2. Throw Out Self Loathing.
Looking in the mirror and criticizing your imperfections? Laughing off compliments and dismissing nods to your brilliance? Flying under the radar so your super-stardom goes unnoticed? These are classic signs that you have a degree of self-loathing. Self-loathing only serves to block you from finding happiness within. When you radiate unhappiness, you attract unhappy people. Unhappy people are generally commitment-phobes. So get over yourself girl, and repeat after me: "Self-loathing is for suckers."
3. See Yourself As Goddess.
Begin to notice your perfections when you look in the mirror. Receive compliments as graciously and copiously as you give them. Say "yes, yes, YES" a lot, with revellious and delightful energy. Practice shameless acts of joy and master joyous acts of shame. Affirm yourself daily with delicious words including "magical, mystical, sparkling, juicy, ethereal, beauty, intuitive, divine." When you see yourself as Goddess, this is the gorgeous energy you radiate and hence, you begin to attract similarly gorgeous people into your life.
4. Be Your Own Best Friend.
Tell yourself jokes. Spoil yourself rotten. Keep yourself entertained by doing what YOU want to do. Write down a promise to self that you will "never put baby in the corner." Flick "friends" that dare to support habits of self-loathing. Become a magnet to new friends that are a reflection of your perfection.
5. Create Your Day.
Now that you are your own little solar system and the brightest little star at the centre of your own cosmos, it is time to invite family and friends who love you as much as you love yourself, and to help you celebrate your rocking divinity. Picture your perfect ceremony in your head, see the smiling faces of your friends as they witness your joy, play with wedding vows until you have the perfect expression of your perfect self.
6. Let the Party Begin.
Set the date, find your venue, send out invitations, and let the party of self-love begin.
Tips & Warnings
* Go overboard with fun and self-love.
* Do not marry yourself if you hear voices in your head that serve to sabotage your intentions for true, everlasting, undying, fulfilling, rip-roaring LOVE.
Friday, June 26, 2009
In medias res - The Secret Within
In the waiting room having a panic attack. I need to tell him everything! But can I?
Keith has always been a straight shooter and respected people more if they just told the truth. The consequences were increased with each word courage permitted. My hands were soaking the lap of my raw silk dress as I look over at his hulk-like body as he sits awkwardly in the regular people chairs. He is a beautiful man with an immaculately groomed goatee, huge callused hands with a huge white smile that hides so much pain. This is a big day for him but I am looking for a way out. If I walk into the doctor's office with him, as he refuses to let me do this alone, he will find out. I considered fainting but realized that it would put myself in the pit of damnation where I have no control. I'm afraid if he finds out he will love me less and worse of all fear me.
Fear is always the thing that prevents me from just opening my mouth and just telling him. But there is a time and a place for everything. And I'm not sure if there will ever be a time to tell him this particular truth.
"Babe, are you okay?" His deep tenored voice rouses me out of my thoughts as he pulls my stiff body closer to him, leans down and kiss my slightly damp forehead.
I smile weakly at him and croak tentatively. "We need to talk."
He looks at me questioning through his warm chestnut eyes and instead of saying anymore he stood up and went over to the plexiglass window to inform the receptionist that we were stepping outside.
We met under the most discreet circumstances as I am a psychic or medium as we prefer to be called these days. Keith Bachallard was referred to me by a colleague who used my services to find a kidnapped little girl named Amber. Keith wanted desperately to become a detective and join the elite special forces of this club as he was also a former Army soldier who carried quite a bit of importance in certain circles. He barged into my parlor with a chip on his shoulder and scepticism glistening on his lips as I drank my morning tea and read the newspaper on my velvet gold couch. My clientele is referral based with the occasional random curiosity seeker who heard rumors that fortunes are told here. Thankfully, my antique store with its ever-changing window dressing allows me to maintain my eccentric nature and use this to deter the rumors since its against the law to practice parapsychology.
As soon as he opened his mouth, I knew I would fall hard for him. "Jesenia Christianson?" He asked accusingly. He hands were held in a tight fist and his mouth, that beautiful mouth that sang my name, was frowning.
I slowly put down my cup of tea and folded my newspaper and stood up as I placed it on the small table beside the couch. I put my hand out to make his acquaintance and smiled sweetly. "Oh, it's so wonderful to make your acquaintance."
He winced as though I had thrown boiling water on him. It was apparent that he was the type that liked to intimidate and control people and situations. Little did he know I only deal with people's authentic self even if they have no idea who that self is. This is typical practice for me to remove the cloaks and facades within seconds and deal with only the person that is within.
The secret to my success, however, is the aching in my bones I get when there are negative and dark energies within a certain distance of me. With Keith, my bones tingled with delight so I knew he was the man for me. As soon as our hands touched, he was dismantled in a matter of minutes and five years later, we sat in a doctor's office awaiting results of fertility tests.
We find a comfortable bench across the street to sit on. Even though Keith got his wish by solving the case years ago and was promoted to detective he still found it difficult to read me. So, he sat looking at me and waited for me to begin.
Taking a deep breath and wringing my hands. I can't believe I allowed the tingles in my bones to get the best of me because no one ever understands the full magnitude of the secret I hold within. "I am not who or even what you think I am. I've told you from day one that I couldn't give you children. I suggested we adopt instead you have put me a position to tell you a truth I can't bare to share." I can't bare to look at him if I want to keep my courage but I peek out the corner of my eye and see him staring intently at me. He has always spoken about wanting to having children and told me after we had been together for two year he was insisting that I was the woman he wanted to sire children with.
"I can have a children but..." I continue because I can tell that he wants to hear me out. "I can't have children that you can raise up and call your own. It's all very complicated but even the doctor would not be able to explain this situation. I have an extra chromosome that allows me to reproduce without the assistance of a man."
"So what are you saying you don't need me to get pregnant?" Keith clears his throat which is an indicator that he is confused. He is staring at the side of my face as if willing me to look at him. I turn towards him and slowly nod my head and put my hand up so he knows I have more to reveal. Laughing nervously to myself, that wasn't even the real bomb.
"I was born centuries ago into a life where I was an orphaned outcast with a revered brother. Everyone knows of his birth and death I never understood why I was ignored and and many thought I died and didn't care to know about my rebirth. The night I died I went into labor and gave myself life again."
"What do you mean, you gave yourself life after death?" Keith was rubbing his goatee inquisitively. I stare in shocked that he doesn't seem alarmed by this nugget of information. I guess he is scrambling my ability to predict his reaction because I anticipated anger and unbelief at this point.
"Well, what this means is in order to live I give birth and..." I look at the doctor's building and count cars. This is the hard part of the revelation because I've never gotten to this point with any man in my lifetime. Usually they are seeking to Baker Act me for even suggesting Jesus is my brother and that I was born "with Christ". I've never said it out loud either but he is staring at me with an inquiry that is full of open mindedness. I close my eyes and finish "I have to eat the flesh of the seed."
I open my eyes and look at him as he stroke his goatee and stands up. He walks towards the street slowly. He gets blurry as my eyes begin tearing up, I let the tears fall freely when I hear his voice softly in my ear. "Can we keep one?"
Keith has always been a straight shooter and respected people more if they just told the truth. The consequences were increased with each word courage permitted. My hands were soaking the lap of my raw silk dress as I look over at his hulk-like body as he sits awkwardly in the regular people chairs. He is a beautiful man with an immaculately groomed goatee, huge callused hands with a huge white smile that hides so much pain. This is a big day for him but I am looking for a way out. If I walk into the doctor's office with him, as he refuses to let me do this alone, he will find out. I considered fainting but realized that it would put myself in the pit of damnation where I have no control. I'm afraid if he finds out he will love me less and worse of all fear me.
Fear is always the thing that prevents me from just opening my mouth and just telling him. But there is a time and a place for everything. And I'm not sure if there will ever be a time to tell him this particular truth.
"Babe, are you okay?" His deep tenored voice rouses me out of my thoughts as he pulls my stiff body closer to him, leans down and kiss my slightly damp forehead.
I smile weakly at him and croak tentatively. "We need to talk."
He looks at me questioning through his warm chestnut eyes and instead of saying anymore he stood up and went over to the plexiglass window to inform the receptionist that we were stepping outside.
We met under the most discreet circumstances as I am a psychic or medium as we prefer to be called these days. Keith Bachallard was referred to me by a colleague who used my services to find a kidnapped little girl named Amber. Keith wanted desperately to become a detective and join the elite special forces of this club as he was also a former Army soldier who carried quite a bit of importance in certain circles. He barged into my parlor with a chip on his shoulder and scepticism glistening on his lips as I drank my morning tea and read the newspaper on my velvet gold couch. My clientele is referral based with the occasional random curiosity seeker who heard rumors that fortunes are told here. Thankfully, my antique store with its ever-changing window dressing allows me to maintain my eccentric nature and use this to deter the rumors since its against the law to practice parapsychology.
As soon as he opened his mouth, I knew I would fall hard for him. "Jesenia Christianson?" He asked accusingly. He hands were held in a tight fist and his mouth, that beautiful mouth that sang my name, was frowning.
I slowly put down my cup of tea and folded my newspaper and stood up as I placed it on the small table beside the couch. I put my hand out to make his acquaintance and smiled sweetly. "Oh, it's so wonderful to make your acquaintance."
He winced as though I had thrown boiling water on him. It was apparent that he was the type that liked to intimidate and control people and situations. Little did he know I only deal with people's authentic self even if they have no idea who that self is. This is typical practice for me to remove the cloaks and facades within seconds and deal with only the person that is within.
The secret to my success, however, is the aching in my bones I get when there are negative and dark energies within a certain distance of me. With Keith, my bones tingled with delight so I knew he was the man for me. As soon as our hands touched, he was dismantled in a matter of minutes and five years later, we sat in a doctor's office awaiting results of fertility tests.
We find a comfortable bench across the street to sit on. Even though Keith got his wish by solving the case years ago and was promoted to detective he still found it difficult to read me. So, he sat looking at me and waited for me to begin.
Taking a deep breath and wringing my hands. I can't believe I allowed the tingles in my bones to get the best of me because no one ever understands the full magnitude of the secret I hold within. "I am not who or even what you think I am. I've told you from day one that I couldn't give you children. I suggested we adopt instead you have put me a position to tell you a truth I can't bare to share." I can't bare to look at him if I want to keep my courage but I peek out the corner of my eye and see him staring intently at me. He has always spoken about wanting to having children and told me after we had been together for two year he was insisting that I was the woman he wanted to sire children with.
"I can have a children but..." I continue because I can tell that he wants to hear me out. "I can't have children that you can raise up and call your own. It's all very complicated but even the doctor would not be able to explain this situation. I have an extra chromosome that allows me to reproduce without the assistance of a man."
"So what are you saying you don't need me to get pregnant?" Keith clears his throat which is an indicator that he is confused. He is staring at the side of my face as if willing me to look at him. I turn towards him and slowly nod my head and put my hand up so he knows I have more to reveal. Laughing nervously to myself, that wasn't even the real bomb.
"I was born centuries ago into a life where I was an orphaned outcast with a revered brother. Everyone knows of his birth and death I never understood why I was ignored and and many thought I died and didn't care to know about my rebirth. The night I died I went into labor and gave myself life again."
"What do you mean, you gave yourself life after death?" Keith was rubbing his goatee inquisitively. I stare in shocked that he doesn't seem alarmed by this nugget of information. I guess he is scrambling my ability to predict his reaction because I anticipated anger and unbelief at this point.
"Well, what this means is in order to live I give birth and..." I look at the doctor's building and count cars. This is the hard part of the revelation because I've never gotten to this point with any man in my lifetime. Usually they are seeking to Baker Act me for even suggesting Jesus is my brother and that I was born "with Christ". I've never said it out loud either but he is staring at me with an inquiry that is full of open mindedness. I close my eyes and finish "I have to eat the flesh of the seed."
I open my eyes and look at him as he stroke his goatee and stands up. He walks towards the street slowly. He gets blurry as my eyes begin tearing up, I let the tears fall freely when I hear his voice softly in my ear. "Can we keep one?"
Monday, June 22, 2009
Anew ME
This weekend, I really got into the cleaning and purging spirit in my study. During this time, I ran across pages and pages of words I've strung into a line called a sentences and pieced together to form a unique jewel called writing. Its always delightful to re-visit and touch my jewels. They remind me of the gift that I have and encourage me to spin and weave more often for the fun of it. I'm here to say...I am back, anew ME!
Watch out world, here I come to dazzle you with my wordplay and twisting plots.
If this is your first time visiting this site...I have a few stories at the very beginning with articles I found during my knowledge surfing as fillers until I returned!
VA
Watch out world, here I come to dazzle you with my wordplay and twisting plots.
If this is your first time visiting this site...I have a few stories at the very beginning with articles I found during my knowledge surfing as fillers until I returned!
VA
Tuesday, October 14, 2008
Tears for Fears
Seasons change, feelings change and people change.
Interestingly enough, I was born in the fall yet my entire being goes into hibernation as soon as the weather drops a degree minus a fahrenheit. I have been falling deeper and deeper into a sleep stupor that I have been trying to busy away to no avail. I'm moving slower and body parts are starting to ache and creak like an old house.
I was watching the Biggest Loser and I had an epiphany about all the emotional cleansing that goes on. The lack of their comfort foods is the reason why they all are weepy. I know if I wasn't able to go to the bodega downstairs and get a Little Debbie or a bag of chips I would be the biggest crybaby. Seriously, they would hate me for all the whining I would do. I'm not proud of my junk addiction but I'm honest about it. I know I need to shake it for the betterment of self but it's so very complex.
All my feelings rise to the surface during this time of year. I really get to see people for truly who they are but more important I see myself. I have been having out of body experiences where I have watched myself in action and honestly I didn't like what I saw. I'm on the road of being a bitter, selfish woman unless I change things soon. The road less traveled is one of discomfort and I am making steps to embrace it. I'm a ball buster because I'm a controlling, domineering bitch who is afraid of her own shine so she stands in the shadows like a shrinking violet.
Interestingly enough, I was born in the fall yet my entire being goes into hibernation as soon as the weather drops a degree minus a fahrenheit. I have been falling deeper and deeper into a sleep stupor that I have been trying to busy away to no avail. I'm moving slower and body parts are starting to ache and creak like an old house.
I was watching the Biggest Loser and I had an epiphany about all the emotional cleansing that goes on. The lack of their comfort foods is the reason why they all are weepy. I know if I wasn't able to go to the bodega downstairs and get a Little Debbie or a bag of chips I would be the biggest crybaby. Seriously, they would hate me for all the whining I would do. I'm not proud of my junk addiction but I'm honest about it. I know I need to shake it for the betterment of self but it's so very complex.
All my feelings rise to the surface during this time of year. I really get to see people for truly who they are but more important I see myself. I have been having out of body experiences where I have watched myself in action and honestly I didn't like what I saw. I'm on the road of being a bitter, selfish woman unless I change things soon. The road less traveled is one of discomfort and I am making steps to embrace it. I'm a ball buster because I'm a controlling, domineering bitch who is afraid of her own shine so she stands in the shadows like a shrinking violet.
Thursday, September 13, 2007
Beginnings Exercise 3
Alice Leung has discovered the secrets of bats: how they see without seeing, how they own darkness, as we own light. She walks the halls with a black headband across her eyes, keening a high C ----- cheat cheat cheat cheat cheat cheat ----- never once veering off course, as if drawn by an invisible thread. Echolocation, she tells me, it’s not as difficult as you might think. Now she sees a light around objects when she looks at them, like halos on her retinas from staring at the sun. In her journal she writes, I had a dream that was all in blackness. Tell me how to describe.
It is January: my fifth month in Hong Kong.
In the margin I write, I wish I knew.
After six, when the custodians leave, the school becomes a perfect acoustic chamber; she wanders from the basement laboratories to the basketball courts like a trapped bird looking for a window. She finds my door completely blind, she says, not counting flights or paces. Twisting her head from side to side like Stevie Wonder, she announces her progress: another room mapped, a door, a desk, a globe, detected and identified by its aura.
--Jess Row, “The Secret of Bats” From Ploughshares and 2001 Best American Short Stories
The first thing the author chose to present was the fact that this young school girl from Hong Kong had done something remarkable; discovered a secret. In the first sentence it is blatant of who the story is about and rationale behind the title, in that makes one want continue reading to learn how she made the discovery.
We meet the narrator and Alice Leung in this first paragraph. It is unknown at this point what relationship they have however it’s clear that Alice confides in the narrator and seeks advisement. The journal exchanges lets us know that the narrator is someone of authority, a teacher maybe.
Questions that are raised in my mind as a reader are:
Why has Alice decided to confide in the narrator, is it because they are both different?
How could one describe an all black dream?
Can you see auras of objects in the dark? Are they different from those we see in the light?
Is this discovery considered a difficulty feat?
I think the writer chose to start this way because it’s an intriguing setup to a story that shows a young lady who is obviously lonely, since she is hanging around school after six, and just makes you wonder what is going on at home as well as what bought on her interest in the secret of bats. It’s a different take on the education of bats that makes you realize she is unique in her thoughts. The only really inclination that the teacher/narrator might be curious is in the simple response in margin of Alice’s margin. It draws us all into the secret one girl has.
It is January: my fifth month in Hong Kong.
In the margin I write, I wish I knew.
After six, when the custodians leave, the school becomes a perfect acoustic chamber; she wanders from the basement laboratories to the basketball courts like a trapped bird looking for a window. She finds my door completely blind, she says, not counting flights or paces. Twisting her head from side to side like Stevie Wonder, she announces her progress: another room mapped, a door, a desk, a globe, detected and identified by its aura.
--Jess Row, “The Secret of Bats” From Ploughshares and 2001 Best American Short Stories
The first thing the author chose to present was the fact that this young school girl from Hong Kong had done something remarkable; discovered a secret. In the first sentence it is blatant of who the story is about and rationale behind the title, in that makes one want continue reading to learn how she made the discovery.
We meet the narrator and Alice Leung in this first paragraph. It is unknown at this point what relationship they have however it’s clear that Alice confides in the narrator and seeks advisement. The journal exchanges lets us know that the narrator is someone of authority, a teacher maybe.
Questions that are raised in my mind as a reader are:
Why has Alice decided to confide in the narrator, is it because they are both different?
How could one describe an all black dream?
Can you see auras of objects in the dark? Are they different from those we see in the light?
Is this discovery considered a difficulty feat?
I think the writer chose to start this way because it’s an intriguing setup to a story that shows a young lady who is obviously lonely, since she is hanging around school after six, and just makes you wonder what is going on at home as well as what bought on her interest in the secret of bats. It’s a different take on the education of bats that makes you realize she is unique in her thoughts. The only really inclination that the teacher/narrator might be curious is in the simple response in margin of Alice’s margin. It draws us all into the secret one girl has.
Tuesday, September 04, 2007
Critical Reflection #1
In the introduction of The Best American Short Stories, Barbara Kingsolver states "I love it for what it tells me about life. If it tells me something I didn't already know, or that I maybe suspected but never framed quite that way, or that never before socked me divinely in the solar plexus, then the story is worth the read." Its amazing how the things we consider to be less than normal draws us in day by day, inch by inch. The Secret of Bats is a story that does this as it truly touches two lonely individuals and connects them in a way that no one could ever understand. Its not often enough that we allow ourselves to go beyond the surface to actually feel the spirit in all in which is around us.
The story fits Kingsolver’s statement perfectly in that from the beginning the audience is drawn into this strange girl from Hong Kong and her obsession with bats. Her obsession was not one we can all consider ourselves to be familiar with instead hers was deep in that she wanted to know how bats recognized each other based solely on sound. I think Kingsolver had this surprise in mind because indeed as the story moves along the reason is revealed and it is intriguing. There is a since of wonderment in the story that after reading it you can’t help but stop and think of how would you recognize a loved one.
Kingsolver’s idea of what makes a short story good fits the idea of where I want to go as an artist. It is clearly the rebel within that requires me to find a way to shock someone into wanting more. As a writer, an individual I am constantly seeking new ways to explain things. Now, I think the idea that is different however needed in my writing is a reason for telling the story. I think Kingsolver is absolutely right that the stories that we hold near and dear are those in which taught us a truth about life and even most so, ourselves.
In the stories I write I look for familiarity with a mysterious quirk. In mysterious, I simply mean something that draws us closer, that makes us want to know more. I love characters who are both sad and humorous because I think they represent how I see life. If I can see the movements and hear the ripples in the story, that to me is good fiction. Even more so, if afterwards I am having a conversation with someone and I revert back to something in the story and repeat it as though it were a truth. I’m sure others have had that moment where you recall an event and can’t pinpoint where you received the information. That’s good stuff to me because it has become two things; something I hold truth and believe and something that made an impression on me enough to remember and want to share.
As I have said before I am not good with having a reason, moral, which leads to the ultimate weakness lacking voice. Voice is knowing your beliefs, truths and sharing them with the world. I think to have a voice comes when one believes in themselves and what they have to offer those around them.
The story fits Kingsolver’s statement perfectly in that from the beginning the audience is drawn into this strange girl from Hong Kong and her obsession with bats. Her obsession was not one we can all consider ourselves to be familiar with instead hers was deep in that she wanted to know how bats recognized each other based solely on sound. I think Kingsolver had this surprise in mind because indeed as the story moves along the reason is revealed and it is intriguing. There is a since of wonderment in the story that after reading it you can’t help but stop and think of how would you recognize a loved one.
Kingsolver’s idea of what makes a short story good fits the idea of where I want to go as an artist. It is clearly the rebel within that requires me to find a way to shock someone into wanting more. As a writer, an individual I am constantly seeking new ways to explain things. Now, I think the idea that is different however needed in my writing is a reason for telling the story. I think Kingsolver is absolutely right that the stories that we hold near and dear are those in which taught us a truth about life and even most so, ourselves.
In the stories I write I look for familiarity with a mysterious quirk. In mysterious, I simply mean something that draws us closer, that makes us want to know more. I love characters who are both sad and humorous because I think they represent how I see life. If I can see the movements and hear the ripples in the story, that to me is good fiction. Even more so, if afterwards I am having a conversation with someone and I revert back to something in the story and repeat it as though it were a truth. I’m sure others have had that moment where you recall an event and can’t pinpoint where you received the information. That’s good stuff to me because it has become two things; something I hold truth and believe and something that made an impression on me enough to remember and want to share.
As I have said before I am not good with having a reason, moral, which leads to the ultimate weakness lacking voice. Voice is knowing your beliefs, truths and sharing them with the world. I think to have a voice comes when one believes in themselves and what they have to offer those around them.
Monday, April 03, 2006
The Stoop
Everyday the screen door slammed as she ran outside to check on the seed she had planted. Her mother told her that nothing grows without nourishment. She didn't want to ask so she pulled down the big, black and coverless dictionary from the second to the top shelf of her father's bookcase. She looked for a week under NA, NE, NI and before she could get any further it happened. The screen door swung open and it seemed as if it would never closed so she put the big book down with a heavy thud and went to check.
A tumbleweed of hands and feet knocked her down and rolled over her, stopped, rolled back and started to do everything from the bottom to the top. Her cousins had come for the summer. She was the only child and while she loved her space and getting what she wanted, she also hated being alone and not having a crew at the playground. She smiled at the thought of walking down the park with her 3 cousins and not having to push herself on the merry go round.
A tumbleweed of hands and feet knocked her down and rolled over her, stopped, rolled back and started to do everything from the bottom to the top. Her cousins had come for the summer. She was the only child and while she loved her space and getting what she wanted, she also hated being alone and not having a crew at the playground. She smiled at the thought of walking down the park with her 3 cousins and not having to push herself on the merry go round.
Wednesday, December 21, 2005
I'm on a CinQuain Roll
Strike
Hoofers Unite
Workers Fed Up
Give them their dues
Walkout
Sleep
Mediation overload
Eight hours of peace
I crave it badly
Snooze
Stay tuned for the one today!
Hoofers Unite
Workers Fed Up
Give them their dues
Walkout
Sleep
Mediation overload
Eight hours of peace
I crave it badly
Snooze
Stay tuned for the one today!
Monday, December 19, 2005
Profile Random question
You've written a hit musical! How will you avoid having fame go to your head?
Gimme my TONY while I look at it on my desk as I bang out more hits. A hit musical is a huge accomplishment because writing a musical is a difficult feat. Pats on the back are definitely in order but getting beside yourself isn't. Its time to capitalize on this by writing a book, doing a promotion tour, etc. Get in serious hustle mode cause everybody will be looking for a way to get a slice of the pie you baked! I don't feel I'm famous unless I'm consistent in the craft if thats not possible then I will be known as a one hit wonder and that is nothing to let go to anyone's head. I believe I have more than one hit in me and in order for me to be considered famous I would set out to prove that true. I would remind myself that if I don't continue writing and growing, my claim to fame will be a one hit wonder! That humbles me!!! Its like a movie no one really pays attention to the person who write the screenplay its all about the actors and directors. I have to embrace my role and realize that showboating can only cause the public to shame you! I honestly don't think musical writers get paid alot of money. Its a special occupation that has the ability to die out if its not careful. Its hard work to create a score in words as opposed to just instrumental.
Rest in Peace August Wilson!!
Gimme my TONY while I look at it on my desk as I bang out more hits. A hit musical is a huge accomplishment because writing a musical is a difficult feat. Pats on the back are definitely in order but getting beside yourself isn't. Its time to capitalize on this by writing a book, doing a promotion tour, etc. Get in serious hustle mode cause everybody will be looking for a way to get a slice of the pie you baked! I don't feel I'm famous unless I'm consistent in the craft if thats not possible then I will be known as a one hit wonder and that is nothing to let go to anyone's head. I believe I have more than one hit in me and in order for me to be considered famous I would set out to prove that true. I would remind myself that if I don't continue writing and growing, my claim to fame will be a one hit wonder! That humbles me!!! Its like a movie no one really pays attention to the person who write the screenplay its all about the actors and directors. I have to embrace my role and realize that showboating can only cause the public to shame you! I honestly don't think musical writers get paid alot of money. Its a special occupation that has the ability to die out if its not careful. Its hard work to create a score in words as opposed to just instrumental.
Rest in Peace August Wilson!!
Sunday, December 18, 2005
The Grinch stole My Christmas spirit
Hey, let's look at it most of the stories that we know and remember related to the holidays are old and worn out. I use to love the holidays but I've noticed that I don't even get excited about it anymore. I figured one way to hype up the holidays is to have a Christmas reading with original stories for the holiday season. You never know your story may be the one our children ask us to read in front of the fireplace as they munch on sugar cookies and drink milk. So, writers...I urge you to grab your pen and create a piece for the holiday!
Look for mine as the clock strikes 12 on that day we all know and love!
Look for mine as the clock strikes 12 on that day we all know and love!
Friday, December 02, 2005
A Pawn of Love (Erotica)
I was a member of the Happy Hour community at Café.com and chatting under the handle “BlackIce”. I was a pecan tan brother with hazel eyes and some “good hair” as the women love to say. I had been working out so I had some definition in my once bird chest and added some thickness to my chicken legs. I got a lot of responses from the ladies when I showed off my picture, especially the one where I wasn’t wearing anything but a white towel and big koolaid smile.
I felt like I truly belonged there and was so comfortable that I would greet folks as they came into the room. However one day, I got a private message and me being the charismatic host I was I replied without a thought.
UniqueVision: Hi! I’m new here...how do I get people to talk to me?
BlackIce: Welcome! Just jump into the conversation…the people are very nice in here…enjoy yourself.
UniqueVision: Thanks for the welcome. Ill try to get in where I fit in. *s* So, where are you from?
BlackIce: No need for thanks! I’m from da dirty south and U?
So this was the beginning, although I had no idea that she had been eyeing me for weeks before she launched the blitz by moving her first piece out slowly. I didn’t really pay her any mind because I had my sights on throwing those worn out ‘punk ass’ speedos away and putting on some ‘freaky’ briefs. She was a bit too far away to help me with my situation but little did I know she had other ideas for me and popping my freak cherry wasn’t one of them. Months passed and I was cordial to her and she always spoke to me whenever she saw me online.
Then just as I lost my freak she seemed to have set the game on speed cause I got an email from her. Personally, I was a bit baffled as to how she had gotten my email address. Hell, maybe I gave it to her in passing but I have no recollection of it. But honestly during this time period I didn’t have much memory of anything with her. It was as if she was an “indefinite article” in a sentence or a song that is constantly skipped on a CD.
To: BlackIce@hotmail.com
From: UniqueVision@hotmail.com
Subject: Something interesting….
In the land of cyber sex and alter egos
A constant ray of peace and realness lingers
When you come in it follows you where ever you go.
Cool water blue with fiery impulse red highlights
Your magnetic yet quiet ambiance
Is so strangely alluring and comforting.
There’s an intoxicating nectar of calmness
Glistening on your regal lips
But its tainted with loneliness in your right eye
And airbrushed with animalistic craving in your left.
Endless dreams of waltzes and two steps
Sending the room into a canvas of watercolors
Is that smile or a frown?
Hard to tell as everything is bleeding together.
Can I follow you?
Can I come in?
Can I be some company for your right eye?
Can you see yet?
Honestly she did a sneak attack on my mind and sacked my heart for a 10 yard loss. I truly didn’t see her coming but this second move was definitely not subtle but it was tactical enough to get my full attention. I swear the blinders melted from my heart when I read the last line of the poem. She waited patiently for me to wipe that ‘punk ass’ look off my face and put my freak game face on with pride.
I immediately wrote her back apologizing for ignoring her and praised her on the truth that she painted with her words. She was understanding and gracious and told me to forget about the past and enjoy the present. Nevertheless, I was a bit ashamed of myself for being so self contained for months as I was on the prowl for a taste of the honey love.
As I began to sponge her up, she tickled and fondled emotions I didn’t know existed. She was one of those women that made you feel like you could fly with clipped wings. She had a lot of substance skimming the surface of her essence and even more in the abyss of her soul. I felt like I was water-skiing and scuba diving whenever I talked with her online.
She was a spoken word artist that toured the country. Apparently she was pretty well known on the east coast and was beginning to make quite a name for herself in the poetry world. So one day she mentioned me that she would be coming to perform at a Slam in my area. All the time that I had been officially getting acquainted with her she refused to describe herself or let me call her so I had no idea of her physical. All I had was my imagination and some preconceived notions but I figured that so far her mental and spirit were beautiful so the physical had to earth shattering.
*********
I walk into the Blue Chakra dressed in a navy blue Sean John velour sweat suit, a matching baseball hat and some Timberlands. I sat in the back of the room as several people had already asked me if I wanted to do a piece. The atmosphere was tropical with a dash of Africa. The set was in a small Jamaican restaurant so there were huge flags and murals of Bob Marley all over the place. The lights were low and the incenses were burning long and strong. I started to relax as I vibed with the congo drums and sipped on my Red Stripe as the long dusty blonde loc’d emcee got on the mic and started the show.
I sat in my little corner of the room waiting for a signal as poet after poet entered and departed from my mental membrane. And then it seemed as if someone pressed the mute button as a mahogany beauty with big inkwells of eyes and ebony painted lips walked up on the moderate stage. She was wearing a light blue baby tee with the word VISION written in shimmery blue and the tiniest light blue denim mini skirt I’d ever since on anyone in my presence. Her breasts were a soulful Sunday dinner that left you lazy but happily satisfied. Her nipples were screaming “DON’T LEAVE WITHOUT TAKING A PLATE?”. Her legs were those molded by the fingers of a world class sculptor using her best piece of clay. She stood in the middle of the stage with her lacquer legs spread apart military style as her wild bush of hair screamed peace. Her energy was liquid oxygen and she filled the room with an electric freshness. This woman was all of 5’2 but the Queen Amazon stood before us and no one could deny her presence. She leisurely scanned the room in an undeterred fashion until her eyes landed on me. She smiled and graced the room with the light of the moon and with two deep stars pressing deep into her cheeks.
She started to speak and her voice was a trio jazz band. Oh my, the flirty piano was whispering bass can-Is and treble want-yous in my ear. The sexy saxophone was running feathery scales up and down my spine. The seductive bass was strumming my stroking my dick to a slow and mind blowing rhythm. Once I got pass the beat I heard the words and they were a rare classic and a must have in everyone’s collection of masterpieces. I couldn’t breathe and didn’t want to blink for fear that I would wake up. When she was done the applause was deafening, she glanced soulfully at me and knew her third move was effective, as she exited the room.
My feet were itching to follow her so I ran out of the room like I was a Jamaican track star. She wasn’t in the entrance of the restaurant so I decided to peek into the bathroom before going outside. BINGO! She was lending over the sink checking her makeup giving anyone that walked into the room a clear view of an ass that could steal a lead singer’s solo. That’s when I notice why she seemed so tall she was wearing a pair of black mile high club stilettos. My eyes met her eyes in the mirror and my dick jump with anticipation as I looked around to make sure no one was watching me.
I bumrushed her into the empty bathroom stall as her laughter became harps in my ear. Hell, we both knew foreplay was over when she walked off the stage. I kissed her passionately as I pushed her roughly into the corner I ran my hands over her smooth thighs and pulled her piece of skirt up. Her tongue was a sweet savage writing haikus in my mouth. My hands moved under her shirt, up to her ain’t to proud to beg breasts and I traced a spiral of candles around her engorged nipples. I pulled away from her ripen fruity lips and I let my tongue follow the road that my fingers had recently paved with scented candles. Once my tongue reached the summit of all Godiva chocolates my mouth began to water as I flicked my tongue over her nipple and nibbled on it.
She gasped and began panting, as my other hand massaged her hot pussy feeling an African drum beating a fervor message of ecstasy. I ripped her panties off and I swear I heard cymbals crashing together as she came all over her thighs and my hand. She lifted her thick thigh up so her pussy was pressing against me so I grabbed her ass with my hands and she got the hint. She wrapped those pillars of heaven around my waist and began to grind lewd and lasciviously. She gave me an all access pass to her body as I dropped my pants down to my ankle and slid my granite cut dick into her scorching hot honeycomb hideout. I used the pass for all it was worth and touched her like I was blind and she was Braille.
Her moaning had me punch drunk till I wanted to climb inside her and stay there forever. But after she came for like 3rd time, I put her down and sat down on the toilet as I watched her lazily feather touching herself. It took her a minute to realize I wasn’t touching her. She opened her big eyes and I just wanted to jump inside of them. I held her buttery soft hands as she walked majestically in front of me and I turned her around so I could look at her show stealing ass. She smelled like sandalwood with a hint of honeysuckle and as my tongue strolled down the valley of her ass. I pushed her forward as my tongue continued to make its rounds right down to the grassy knoll. As I traced flowers on her pussy lips I realized that her nectar was honeysuckled flavored. She moaned loudly as my tongue became a hummingbird and dipped into her honeydew.
I was officially addicted to this cat as my tongue turned tricks on every corner in hopes of getting to the bottom. I sucked and blew on her clit like it was a military bugle waking up the entire camp. My fingers were bobbing for multiple orgasms as they double dutched in her ass and pussy. She pushed my head away with all the strength she had left in her. I stood up and she slowly turned me a round so my back was to the door of the stall. She pulled her lil bit of skirt down as she sat on the toilet seat and pulled down my pants. She looked at me as she wrapped her juicy lips around my rock hard dick. I almost fainted as I felt her tongue slither along the underside of my dick and the tip touch her tonsils. OH my gawd, she was deep throating me and I swear a burst of colors formed in front of my eyes. I felt dizzy yet exhilarated with pleasure and desire. My knees began to shake as she cupped my balls and rubbed my thighs. My hands grabbed the back of her head as I gyrated and fucked her face hard as I felt myself coming close to a sublime eruption. I shouted “Im cumming” as she grabbed my ass, moaned and forced her mouth to the root of my manhood. That move caused me to cum all in her mouth and she took it all. I thought to myself a swallower equals a keeper. As she massaged my dick out of her mouth she mumbled something that sounded like “Checkmate”.
2003
I felt like I truly belonged there and was so comfortable that I would greet folks as they came into the room. However one day, I got a private message and me being the charismatic host I was I replied without a thought.
UniqueVision: Hi! I’m new here...how do I get people to talk to me?
BlackIce: Welcome! Just jump into the conversation…the people are very nice in here…enjoy yourself.
UniqueVision: Thanks for the welcome. Ill try to get in where I fit in. *s* So, where are you from?
BlackIce: No need for thanks! I’m from da dirty south and U?
So this was the beginning, although I had no idea that she had been eyeing me for weeks before she launched the blitz by moving her first piece out slowly. I didn’t really pay her any mind because I had my sights on throwing those worn out ‘punk ass’ speedos away and putting on some ‘freaky’ briefs. She was a bit too far away to help me with my situation but little did I know she had other ideas for me and popping my freak cherry wasn’t one of them. Months passed and I was cordial to her and she always spoke to me whenever she saw me online.
Then just as I lost my freak she seemed to have set the game on speed cause I got an email from her. Personally, I was a bit baffled as to how she had gotten my email address. Hell, maybe I gave it to her in passing but I have no recollection of it. But honestly during this time period I didn’t have much memory of anything with her. It was as if she was an “indefinite article” in a sentence or a song that is constantly skipped on a CD.
To: BlackIce@hotmail.com
From: UniqueVision@hotmail.com
Subject: Something interesting….
In the land of cyber sex and alter egos
A constant ray of peace and realness lingers
When you come in it follows you where ever you go.
Cool water blue with fiery impulse red highlights
Your magnetic yet quiet ambiance
Is so strangely alluring and comforting.
There’s an intoxicating nectar of calmness
Glistening on your regal lips
But its tainted with loneliness in your right eye
And airbrushed with animalistic craving in your left.
Endless dreams of waltzes and two steps
Sending the room into a canvas of watercolors
Is that smile or a frown?
Hard to tell as everything is bleeding together.
Can I follow you?
Can I come in?
Can I be some company for your right eye?
Can you see yet?
Honestly she did a sneak attack on my mind and sacked my heart for a 10 yard loss. I truly didn’t see her coming but this second move was definitely not subtle but it was tactical enough to get my full attention. I swear the blinders melted from my heart when I read the last line of the poem. She waited patiently for me to wipe that ‘punk ass’ look off my face and put my freak game face on with pride.
I immediately wrote her back apologizing for ignoring her and praised her on the truth that she painted with her words. She was understanding and gracious and told me to forget about the past and enjoy the present. Nevertheless, I was a bit ashamed of myself for being so self contained for months as I was on the prowl for a taste of the honey love.
As I began to sponge her up, she tickled and fondled emotions I didn’t know existed. She was one of those women that made you feel like you could fly with clipped wings. She had a lot of substance skimming the surface of her essence and even more in the abyss of her soul. I felt like I was water-skiing and scuba diving whenever I talked with her online.
She was a spoken word artist that toured the country. Apparently she was pretty well known on the east coast and was beginning to make quite a name for herself in the poetry world. So one day she mentioned me that she would be coming to perform at a Slam in my area. All the time that I had been officially getting acquainted with her she refused to describe herself or let me call her so I had no idea of her physical. All I had was my imagination and some preconceived notions but I figured that so far her mental and spirit were beautiful so the physical had to earth shattering.
*********
I walk into the Blue Chakra dressed in a navy blue Sean John velour sweat suit, a matching baseball hat and some Timberlands. I sat in the back of the room as several people had already asked me if I wanted to do a piece. The atmosphere was tropical with a dash of Africa. The set was in a small Jamaican restaurant so there were huge flags and murals of Bob Marley all over the place. The lights were low and the incenses were burning long and strong. I started to relax as I vibed with the congo drums and sipped on my Red Stripe as the long dusty blonde loc’d emcee got on the mic and started the show.
I sat in my little corner of the room waiting for a signal as poet after poet entered and departed from my mental membrane. And then it seemed as if someone pressed the mute button as a mahogany beauty with big inkwells of eyes and ebony painted lips walked up on the moderate stage. She was wearing a light blue baby tee with the word VISION written in shimmery blue and the tiniest light blue denim mini skirt I’d ever since on anyone in my presence. Her breasts were a soulful Sunday dinner that left you lazy but happily satisfied. Her nipples were screaming “DON’T LEAVE WITHOUT TAKING A PLATE?”. Her legs were those molded by the fingers of a world class sculptor using her best piece of clay. She stood in the middle of the stage with her lacquer legs spread apart military style as her wild bush of hair screamed peace. Her energy was liquid oxygen and she filled the room with an electric freshness. This woman was all of 5’2 but the Queen Amazon stood before us and no one could deny her presence. She leisurely scanned the room in an undeterred fashion until her eyes landed on me. She smiled and graced the room with the light of the moon and with two deep stars pressing deep into her cheeks.
She started to speak and her voice was a trio jazz band. Oh my, the flirty piano was whispering bass can-Is and treble want-yous in my ear. The sexy saxophone was running feathery scales up and down my spine. The seductive bass was strumming my stroking my dick to a slow and mind blowing rhythm. Once I got pass the beat I heard the words and they were a rare classic and a must have in everyone’s collection of masterpieces. I couldn’t breathe and didn’t want to blink for fear that I would wake up. When she was done the applause was deafening, she glanced soulfully at me and knew her third move was effective, as she exited the room.
My feet were itching to follow her so I ran out of the room like I was a Jamaican track star. She wasn’t in the entrance of the restaurant so I decided to peek into the bathroom before going outside. BINGO! She was lending over the sink checking her makeup giving anyone that walked into the room a clear view of an ass that could steal a lead singer’s solo. That’s when I notice why she seemed so tall she was wearing a pair of black mile high club stilettos. My eyes met her eyes in the mirror and my dick jump with anticipation as I looked around to make sure no one was watching me.
I bumrushed her into the empty bathroom stall as her laughter became harps in my ear. Hell, we both knew foreplay was over when she walked off the stage. I kissed her passionately as I pushed her roughly into the corner I ran my hands over her smooth thighs and pulled her piece of skirt up. Her tongue was a sweet savage writing haikus in my mouth. My hands moved under her shirt, up to her ain’t to proud to beg breasts and I traced a spiral of candles around her engorged nipples. I pulled away from her ripen fruity lips and I let my tongue follow the road that my fingers had recently paved with scented candles. Once my tongue reached the summit of all Godiva chocolates my mouth began to water as I flicked my tongue over her nipple and nibbled on it.
She gasped and began panting, as my other hand massaged her hot pussy feeling an African drum beating a fervor message of ecstasy. I ripped her panties off and I swear I heard cymbals crashing together as she came all over her thighs and my hand. She lifted her thick thigh up so her pussy was pressing against me so I grabbed her ass with my hands and she got the hint. She wrapped those pillars of heaven around my waist and began to grind lewd and lasciviously. She gave me an all access pass to her body as I dropped my pants down to my ankle and slid my granite cut dick into her scorching hot honeycomb hideout. I used the pass for all it was worth and touched her like I was blind and she was Braille.
Her moaning had me punch drunk till I wanted to climb inside her and stay there forever. But after she came for like 3rd time, I put her down and sat down on the toilet as I watched her lazily feather touching herself. It took her a minute to realize I wasn’t touching her. She opened her big eyes and I just wanted to jump inside of them. I held her buttery soft hands as she walked majestically in front of me and I turned her around so I could look at her show stealing ass. She smelled like sandalwood with a hint of honeysuckle and as my tongue strolled down the valley of her ass. I pushed her forward as my tongue continued to make its rounds right down to the grassy knoll. As I traced flowers on her pussy lips I realized that her nectar was honeysuckled flavored. She moaned loudly as my tongue became a hummingbird and dipped into her honeydew.
I was officially addicted to this cat as my tongue turned tricks on every corner in hopes of getting to the bottom. I sucked and blew on her clit like it was a military bugle waking up the entire camp. My fingers were bobbing for multiple orgasms as they double dutched in her ass and pussy. She pushed my head away with all the strength she had left in her. I stood up and she slowly turned me a round so my back was to the door of the stall. She pulled her lil bit of skirt down as she sat on the toilet seat and pulled down my pants. She looked at me as she wrapped her juicy lips around my rock hard dick. I almost fainted as I felt her tongue slither along the underside of my dick and the tip touch her tonsils. OH my gawd, she was deep throating me and I swear a burst of colors formed in front of my eyes. I felt dizzy yet exhilarated with pleasure and desire. My knees began to shake as she cupped my balls and rubbed my thighs. My hands grabbed the back of her head as I gyrated and fucked her face hard as I felt myself coming close to a sublime eruption. I shouted “Im cumming” as she grabbed my ass, moaned and forced her mouth to the root of my manhood. That move caused me to cum all in her mouth and she took it all. I thought to myself a swallower equals a keeper. As she massaged my dick out of her mouth she mumbled something that sounded like “Checkmate”.
2003
Saturday, November 26, 2005
Poetry Challenge Answered
Write a poem with the following words in it somewhere.
Cradle, hopeful, sweet, blue, change, shine, photo, ring
Desperately seeking change is the mind
Corrosion spreading through my heart
Tears are streaked with a blue pain
Hopeful thoughts are drowning
Need to rub the dull off
Ring up a purchase of shine
Take a photo for the time being
Show it and toot the horn
Maybe that the key to the sweet cradle
v.andre'a 2005
Cradle, hopeful, sweet, blue, change, shine, photo, ring
Desperately seeking change is the mind
Corrosion spreading through my heart
Tears are streaked with a blue pain
Hopeful thoughts are drowning
Need to rub the dull off
Ring up a purchase of shine
Take a photo for the time being
Show it and toot the horn
Maybe that the key to the sweet cradle
v.andre'a 2005
Monday, November 14, 2005
Love is a Battlefield - sneak peek
“There is nothing either good or bad but thinking makes it so.”
William Shakespeare
It is inevitable that more than once in a lifetime, a battle will ensue that will leave major carnage behind. In the art of war, the basis behind becoming victorious is to hone the fighting skills, get close to the enemy and to make the opportunities deathly. Luckily for me, this particular battle is one that is usually a draw despite the sacrifice. The virgin tied to a stake as the town watches on peering over the rock so when the big bad intruder comes there is no mistaking who’s the lamb.
The battle began for the same reason as always. Chasity and Tiffany are my sicken competitive roommates. We all grew up together, went to college together and packed up and moved to the big city together. I’m used to them competing over everything but there is one thing I have yet to get use to, their wagers on men. Any man that walked into their vision was a reason to declare war. Warren was no different, when he called all phone lines in the house were picked up. His recently call he decided to pour it on thick with his riddled question, “Win, lose or Draw? What is it going to be tonight?” The question fluttered around the house as my lips pursed together into a ‘look what you started” whistle, I almost missed the reply, “I’ll let you be the judge of that.”
I plopped down in the overstuffed armchair and took some deep breaths as the two ran around in a whirlwind. Unfortunately, this was a normal occurrence that we had dealt with all our lives. We were childhood friends that had made the big move to New York City with hopes of making it big. I was interested in being a writer, Tiffany wanted to be a socialite and Chasity was researching speed dating.
Tiffany kept the house buzzing with something at all times and Chasity was our resident “Suzi homemaker”. I was the observer to the madness of it all. The ear for the stories, the shoulder for the tears and the hand to slap sense into them as needed. I had a feeling tonight would be one that the hand would be used. They were always arguing about this or that.
“What color underwear should I wear?” Chasity yelled from her room.
“Who cares about the color? Eliminate the obstacle and don’t wear any like me!” Tiffany threw her head back in loud laughter.
Chasity scoffed at the idea. “That’s so not ladylike but why should I expect anything more.”
“You are so funny! Don’t get high and mighty sister prude! Don’t any man want a frigid lady.” Tiffany walked out of the bathroom and stood in the hallway with her hands on her hips.
“So, you think Warren will respect you if you had sex with him on the first night?” Chasity leaned against the dresser.
“Girl, I could care less about his respect. I want something that will make me speak in uninvented languages.”
“Well, I will make sure that doesn’t happen.”
“Oh, will you now? So, Miss prim and proper the best way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, what’s on the menu?”
Chasity and Tiffany went into the small yet sunny kitchen. Tiffany opened the refrigerator to present the wilted celery, too ripe tomatoes, a bag of onions, a clove of garlic, a tub of extra firm tofu and some hummus. A blind man would have thought that was a house of herbivores however we knew that Warren liked meat on his plate and his women, so that wouldn’t cut it. Chasity found some spaghetti sauce in the cabinets but not the noodles and wasn’t sure if she wanted to lie about the mystery meat in sauce.
Chasity sighed loudly and threw her hands up in defeat, “Ok, ok, I need to make a quick run to the store.” She grabbed her purse and keys and stopped just briefly to enforce her motherly ways on me. “Evette, please keep Tiffany under control.”
I rolled my eyes and shook my head. Tiffany overheard her request and as always had to put her two cents in, “Vette, ain’t my mama. I’ll be good cause I want to be! Now go and get us some snacks.” Chasity huffed and walked out the door before the door could slam behind her Tiffany was in my ear talking about her, as usual.
“Vette, we need to Chasity a man cause she stressing me out with all her sexual frustrations.”
“I know but you know she was raised with old fashion morals. I mean she believes that black underwear are only for special occasions.”
“Hmph, she is too by the book for me. I can’t stand that, you would think that I would have rubbed off on her a little bit.”
William Shakespeare
It is inevitable that more than once in a lifetime, a battle will ensue that will leave major carnage behind. In the art of war, the basis behind becoming victorious is to hone the fighting skills, get close to the enemy and to make the opportunities deathly. Luckily for me, this particular battle is one that is usually a draw despite the sacrifice. The virgin tied to a stake as the town watches on peering over the rock so when the big bad intruder comes there is no mistaking who’s the lamb.
The battle began for the same reason as always. Chasity and Tiffany are my sicken competitive roommates. We all grew up together, went to college together and packed up and moved to the big city together. I’m used to them competing over everything but there is one thing I have yet to get use to, their wagers on men. Any man that walked into their vision was a reason to declare war. Warren was no different, when he called all phone lines in the house were picked up. His recently call he decided to pour it on thick with his riddled question, “Win, lose or Draw? What is it going to be tonight?” The question fluttered around the house as my lips pursed together into a ‘look what you started” whistle, I almost missed the reply, “I’ll let you be the judge of that.”
I plopped down in the overstuffed armchair and took some deep breaths as the two ran around in a whirlwind. Unfortunately, this was a normal occurrence that we had dealt with all our lives. We were childhood friends that had made the big move to New York City with hopes of making it big. I was interested in being a writer, Tiffany wanted to be a socialite and Chasity was researching speed dating.
Tiffany kept the house buzzing with something at all times and Chasity was our resident “Suzi homemaker”. I was the observer to the madness of it all. The ear for the stories, the shoulder for the tears and the hand to slap sense into them as needed. I had a feeling tonight would be one that the hand would be used. They were always arguing about this or that.
“What color underwear should I wear?” Chasity yelled from her room.
“Who cares about the color? Eliminate the obstacle and don’t wear any like me!” Tiffany threw her head back in loud laughter.
Chasity scoffed at the idea. “That’s so not ladylike but why should I expect anything more.”
“You are so funny! Don’t get high and mighty sister prude! Don’t any man want a frigid lady.” Tiffany walked out of the bathroom and stood in the hallway with her hands on her hips.
“So, you think Warren will respect you if you had sex with him on the first night?” Chasity leaned against the dresser.
“Girl, I could care less about his respect. I want something that will make me speak in uninvented languages.”
“Well, I will make sure that doesn’t happen.”
“Oh, will you now? So, Miss prim and proper the best way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, what’s on the menu?”
Chasity and Tiffany went into the small yet sunny kitchen. Tiffany opened the refrigerator to present the wilted celery, too ripe tomatoes, a bag of onions, a clove of garlic, a tub of extra firm tofu and some hummus. A blind man would have thought that was a house of herbivores however we knew that Warren liked meat on his plate and his women, so that wouldn’t cut it. Chasity found some spaghetti sauce in the cabinets but not the noodles and wasn’t sure if she wanted to lie about the mystery meat in sauce.
Chasity sighed loudly and threw her hands up in defeat, “Ok, ok, I need to make a quick run to the store.” She grabbed her purse and keys and stopped just briefly to enforce her motherly ways on me. “Evette, please keep Tiffany under control.”
I rolled my eyes and shook my head. Tiffany overheard her request and as always had to put her two cents in, “Vette, ain’t my mama. I’ll be good cause I want to be! Now go and get us some snacks.” Chasity huffed and walked out the door before the door could slam behind her Tiffany was in my ear talking about her, as usual.
“Vette, we need to Chasity a man cause she stressing me out with all her sexual frustrations.”
“I know but you know she was raised with old fashion morals. I mean she believes that black underwear are only for special occasions.”
“Hmph, she is too by the book for me. I can’t stand that, you would think that I would have rubbed off on her a little bit.”
Sunday, November 06, 2005
2 of my Best poems
They both need some work but they are good enough at the moment to post..but they will be tweaked in the near future!
Gaijin
A rose in the land of the rising sun
Potted in concrete and pollution
The saccharine fragrance is fading fast
Petals wilted and dehydrated
Suffocating in the darkness
Thorns bloated with emptiness
There’s an nectar of melancholy
That trickles through an emaciated stem
But its tainted with rage
Fertilizing the roots with emotional chaos.
A rose is the land of the rising sun
Speaks in dead tongues
Talk to me
Water me
Stroke me
Feed me
Love me
Shelter me
Humor me
Deaf ears and blinders ignoring the pain.
In the Land of the Rising sun
A rose is foreign to the natives
Foreign is exploited yet unwanted
Coveting yet isolating
Thoughtless thoughts of thoughtfulness
A constant ray of insanity
Morning mantras of negativity
Fragments of a once beautiful self
Elementally broken and unstable.
2004 v.andre'a
One Night Scent
Excuse me Miss
You smell like someone I want to take home
Maybe we can talk and proceed to bone
Little miss has an agenda of her own
she dreams of creating a happy home
with picket fences, little feet tracking mud onto the floor
She takes this proposition as the magical cure
So instead of acknowledging the illusion
She disregards all the possible conclusions
Hope and faith strings her out
Holding her soul desire of this life’s clout
Her smell is suffocatingly strong
causing a release of slow leaking moans
Breathing is a fetish for him
He steps out on a limb
As he reaches for her arm
And embrace her with his whispered charm
The air shifts ever so slightly
He licks his lips lightly
As she melts into the wetness
As his arms wrap around her
they dance in various speeds of lust
the confused wonderment of each other
she is tucked into a magical tomorrow
only to wake up holding a question mark in her hand
periods are stamped across his forehead
replacing yesterday’s exclamations
hyphenated with the finality of her once heady whiff.
she drags herself away in a trance
reliving last night’s dance
the felt deja vu was the clue
Dropping hints in his flared nostils
The adams apple bobbing
in a crazed gasp for one last breathe
the effect remains the same
it goes by life’s hindsight’s name
bottle it up so it fades undetected
engineered to kill andthen repent
Lord, discontinue this one night scent.
2005 v.andre’a
Gaijin
A rose in the land of the rising sun
Potted in concrete and pollution
The saccharine fragrance is fading fast
Petals wilted and dehydrated
Suffocating in the darkness
Thorns bloated with emptiness
There’s an nectar of melancholy
That trickles through an emaciated stem
But its tainted with rage
Fertilizing the roots with emotional chaos.
A rose is the land of the rising sun
Speaks in dead tongues
Talk to me
Water me
Stroke me
Feed me
Love me
Shelter me
Humor me
Deaf ears and blinders ignoring the pain.
In the Land of the Rising sun
A rose is foreign to the natives
Foreign is exploited yet unwanted
Coveting yet isolating
Thoughtless thoughts of thoughtfulness
A constant ray of insanity
Morning mantras of negativity
Fragments of a once beautiful self
Elementally broken and unstable.
2004 v.andre'a
One Night Scent
Excuse me Miss
You smell like someone I want to take home
Maybe we can talk and proceed to bone
Little miss has an agenda of her own
she dreams of creating a happy home
with picket fences, little feet tracking mud onto the floor
She takes this proposition as the magical cure
So instead of acknowledging the illusion
She disregards all the possible conclusions
Hope and faith strings her out
Holding her soul desire of this life’s clout
Her smell is suffocatingly strong
causing a release of slow leaking moans
Breathing is a fetish for him
He steps out on a limb
As he reaches for her arm
And embrace her with his whispered charm
The air shifts ever so slightly
He licks his lips lightly
As she melts into the wetness
As his arms wrap around her
they dance in various speeds of lust
the confused wonderment of each other
she is tucked into a magical tomorrow
only to wake up holding a question mark in her hand
periods are stamped across his forehead
replacing yesterday’s exclamations
hyphenated with the finality of her once heady whiff.
she drags herself away in a trance
reliving last night’s dance
the felt deja vu was the clue
Dropping hints in his flared nostils
The adams apple bobbing
in a crazed gasp for one last breathe
the effect remains the same
it goes by life’s hindsight’s name
bottle it up so it fades undetected
engineered to kill andthen repent
Lord, discontinue this one night scent.
2005 v.andre’a
Monday, October 03, 2005
The Rising
As the sun peeked up over the bruised horizon, the phone rang pulling Shannon out of her restful slumber. She lifted her boyfriend’s heavy arm off of her chest as she rolled over him, exposing her nude body to the sun.
Who is the world would be calling me at this time of morning? I hope nothing happened to my brother or sister. Most people know to call the house number but who ever this is has my cell phone number. Why did I put the phone on Hakeem’s side of the bed? Dead to the world and he wouldn’t wake up even if the house was on fire. Usually I’m up early but last night was an unusual marathon of loving.
She smiled and then cleared her throat and picked up the phone and was instantly slammed with turmoil.
“I’m gonna kill myself!” A frantic and hoarse female voice wipes the groggy out of Shannon’s body.
Sitting up fast in the bed, Shannon takes a startled moment to place the voice. “Kim?”
“It keeps crying and I don’t know where Mike is! I can’t take anymore!”
“Listen Kim!” Her eyes scanned the dead to the world body of her boyfriend as she got out of the bed causing her to stomp her toe on the foot of the bed. She grimaces as she hops to the bathroom and sits on the cold toilet seat. “What can I do to stop you?”
“Take it away! I don’t want it anymore!”
“I need you to make a bottle and warm it up! I am on my way ok?
Silence on the other line other than the baby’s cries.
“Kim, I need you to answer me!”
“Yeah, yeah….I’ll make a bottle! Shannon?”
“Yes Kim?”
“Please hurry!”
The next few minutes of hours were a blur to Shannon as she got dressed, drove over to calm both mother and child down. Kim was just one of many young mothers on her overwhelming caseload. The potential of curing family dysfunction is what kept Shannon on the job. There were many nights she woke up out of her sleep wondering where were the babies tonight.
Kim was an 18 year old who had an extensive history of mental breakdowns and based her entire world on her current boyfriend. She had gotten pregnant as a way to keep him and expected him to be with her at every moment of the day. Shannon had gotten involved after a call had come in from the hospital alerting Child Protection of Kim’s mental instability throughout the pregnant and there was concern on her parental skills. Shannon had been involved for 2 months and had gotten close to Kim and was proud of her attentiveness to baby Mikayla. The only reason she hadn’t released the family is because she knew that there was a severe co-dependency issue and things were always fragile when Mike needed time out.
As Shannon climbed out of her car, she noticed the baby stroller outside of the duplex and all the lights on in the house. The door was cracked open and the house was deplorable as the furniture had been broken, clothes were strewn all over the place and food had been spilled all over the floor.
Despite the chaos the house was quiet as she maneuvered her way into the bedroom, to her horror she found Kim holding a dirty pillow over Mikayla’s face. Shannon ran into the cluttered room and pulled Kim and the pillow off the baby and proceeded to give the baby CPR. As Shannon pumped the Mikayla’s tiny chest, she yelled for Kim to call 911 but saw that she was curled up in a corner with her thumb in her mouth. After a couple of minutes, Shannon felt the tiny heart flutter faintly giving her a little time to call 911. It was only after the call was placed that Shannon noticed the aspirin scattered on the floor along with a bloody and broken gin bottle. Kim wasn’t moving in the corner and there was blood everywhere.
Shannon wasn’t sure if she should pick up Mikayla so she gave her one more breath and watched to see if she would breathe on her own. As her small chest rose slowly, Shannon crawled over to Kim’s body and prayed that the ambulance would get there soon. She put her hand on Kim’s neck hoping to find a pulse; one was found however it was as faint as the baby’s. Shannon grabbed a flannel shirt that was on the floor next to her and wrapped it around Kim’s wrists as tight as she could.
Shannon signed the paperwork at the hospital after paging Mike and the on-call Investigator. She sat down and tried to make herself calm down but her mind was racing. Life was always full of trials and it was up to each individual to plead their case to the best of their ability. People never realized how much pleading Shannon has done in her life and she often wondered if it was worth it in the end. She could relate to the woes of all of her clients in one-way or another and if she had a questioning client she would tell them her story. She too was an abused child, abandoned and neglected without anyone to save her from the demons in her life. Just knowing how she grew up helped her clients understand her sincerity and need to alleviate the pain the world bestows upon us.
She is bought out of her daydreaming when she hears her name over the paging system. Mike is at the nursing station dressed in a green jumpsuit with the embroidered letters of “Quality Control Engineer” on the pocket. This was his third job since Mikayla was born as Kim made it impossible for him to keep one. He tried to make it easy on the family by working at night when he figured Kim and baby would be asleep. Shannon had to give it to him, he tried very hard to keep Kim stable as well as his head afloat.
Shannon walked over to him and touched his broad shoulders. His big eyes widen with questions and fear as he saw her blood caked shirt and jeans. Tears rolled down his pudgy face as Shannon pulled him close. He whispered “You paged me 730? Are my babies alright?”
Before Shannon could answer him the doctor called her name. She and Mike look over and he tells them that they stabilized Kim and Mikayla. A breathe of relief came from Mike as he then asked to see them. Shannon peeked in for a moment and reported the incident to the investigator when he came. She knew she would have meet with the lawyers when she got in the office to discuss the recent threat to the child’s well-being.
The sun was up and people were on their way to work as she pulled out of the hospital parking lot. She was a morning baby so her greatest pleasure expectation was playing peek a boo with the rising sun. She loved the crisp morning air and how it all felt like being born again. Unfortunately, the sun didn’t wait for her this morning which left her in an agitated state.
The keys jingled in the lock and as the door creaked open not even the loud snap of the light switch changed the mood. Oh, the hate left its track like a slug as she walked towards her office. She was first there and glad she had a change of clothes. She thought about her feelings towards the job, as she wrote her report for last night’s incident. She felt that despite all the positive returns it brought, it wasn’t enough sometimes. After doing the job for several years with little to no advancement or change and as far as she could see no was coming anytime soon.
“Shannon, can you come into my office for a moment?” A dark haired male peeked into her office with his arms filled with paperwork.
“Sure, Roger. Let me complete this report and I’ll be right there.” She wondered with each strike of the keys what could he possibly want this early in the morning. She wondered if he had heard about the Reid case.
She stood up and walked what felt like the green mile to his office. She lightly tapped on his slightly ajar door as he acknowledged her with a flick of the wrist. She sat down in front of his cluttered desk and smiled.
He looked at her grimly and sucked his teeth as if he had something stuck in between them, “I’m not sure how to say this but we got something in the mail yesterday that disturbed us terribly.”
The smile on her face disappears as her thinks what next, “Ok?”
“The letter…” He removed a small folded paper out of a equally small envelope and reviewed it before continuing, “has some very incriminating information pertaining to you and your work here with us.”
Shannon’s mind racing around for the culprit to this bad joke, “Incriminating in what way?”
“Well, very incriminating and due to the nature of our job an investigation must be conducted to measure the validity of the accusation. ”
“Can you please stop beating around the brush and tell me what the hell is going on?”
“Shannon, you have been accused of child molestation!” He refolds the letter and looks at her with a stoic look on his face.
“Molestation! Are you nuts?”
Shannon looks up to see the local security guards at the door. Shannon stood up and pushed past the good for nothing rent a cops. She went into her office and started removing everything that meant something to her. Tears of rage streamed down her face as she tore out of the office into the crowded packing lot. Shannon dropped the box of goods onto the hot ground as she searched in her bag for her car keys. She did everything but dump her purse out in the road to find them at the bottom. As she sat in her car she tried to get her car to start but it wouldn’t. Tears streamed down her face as she called her boyfriend, Hakeem as just her luck his phone went straight to voice mail. She called the house and still no answer.
She got out of the car and looked around for someone she knew. Any other day, there would be somebody from her neighborhood at the office to either to re-certify their food stamps or to try and get some. Sweat dripped into her eyes reminding her that she was kicked to the curb by the State of Florida due to a vexed parent.
Just when Shannon thought she was going to have to foot it to the street, a shiny red Cadillac Seville pulled up in front of her. The car sat there for what seemed like minutes before the tinted window rolled down and smoke rolled out along with a tenor voice.
“Is that little Shannon Reynolds?” A man with gold teeth, a pug nose and sneaky eyes glared over at her.
“Hey Mr. Charlie.” She tried to suppress the habitual groan that usually followed behind him.
“Why you standing out here looking all hot and bothered?” He licked his ashy lips and winked.
“My car is out of commission so I’m stranded out here.” Shannon hated that she was in this predicament but needed help.
“Well, baby girl you know I always got you.” He got out of the car and walked over to the passenger side opening the door for Shannon. He was a short man with a major Napoleon complex.
Shannon was always a bit afraid of Mr. Charlie because he always looked at her in a lewd manner. He had a way of making her feeling naked and dirty. Mr. Charlie was her next door neighbor and he seemed to always show up when he was least expected. Shannon sat close to her door with her legs closed tightly.
Putting a cigarette in his mouth, “You don’t mind do you?” Before she could answer negatively, he had taken two puffs. Shannon tried to roll the windows down but he stopped her. “I got the AC on, girl, it’s hot at there.”
Mr. Charlie touched her a few times as it was his way. He needed to touch you to talk to you. Imagine that as a child, a dirty old man always touching on the little girls and boys. Parents were on the alert all except Shannon’s as her aunt actually dated him for a moment. This gave him an excuse to come by unannounced even when he knew she wasn’t there.
Shannon breathed through her mouth and prayed he didn’t take the long route home. The lord answered her prayers as they turned the corner to her neighborhood. Shannon couldn’t get out of the car fast enough as she slammed the door and thanked him profusely.
She marched up the stairs and saw the door was open. Strangely, no one was in the house, which was a blessing in disguise. Because if someone had been home they would have been laid out on the phone, which is what she needed desperately right now. She walks into the kitchen and reaches for the phone but it wasn’t on the base. Unfortunately, for her this wasn’t one of the cordless bases that you can press the button and it calls the makes a sound until you locate the sound.
Shannon heard her stomach growl and decided to find something to eat before searching for the phone. Opening the refrigerator to find an egg and some orange juice. Some is an exaggeration as it was more like a swallow. What the hell is going on up in here? She opened the cabinets to find nothing but ramen noodles and some canned beets. What’s really going on? The state of nourishment in the kitchen made Shannon forget about her hunger.
She walked out of the kitchen on a mission to find the phone. She checked the couch, lifted up the cushions, looked under the couch as well as all over the living room, dining room and kitchen before proceeding to the bathroom and bedrooms. After an hour search for the cordless phone she slumped on the living room couch with the remote control in her hand. She flipped through the channels absentmindedly as she analyzed what her life was about.
She was writing notes in her palm pilot when the door burst open. In came her mother, Diane, dressed to the tees with the cordless phone to her ear. Both of them were surprised as Shannon rarely came home since she moved out to live with her boyfriend and Diane talking on the missing phone.
“Hold on! Shani what are you doing here?”
“I just thought I would come by to see how ya’ll living.” Lying through the gap in her teeth. “Where you been?”
Putting her finger in the air, “I’ll be right back.” As she walks into the small bedroom and close the door on Shannon’s peering eyes.
Diane comes out of the room with a white tee shirt and some paint ridden jeans. She sits down heavily in the armchair and lights up her Newport and looks at the TV with Shannon. Shannon looks over at her mother and shook her head at her inability to maintain eye contact and a meaningful conversation.
“Where is the phone and what kind of starvation diet are ya’ll on up in here?” Shannon asks as she stands up.
“Oh, its in my purse in the room.” Scrambling up and pretty much knocking Shannon down in the process. Making Shannon wonder what should she have been looking for during her phone search.
Yelling into the room, ”Why is the phone in your purse?”
Diane walks out of the room with the phone in her hand, “Your brother has a nasty habit of running up the phone bill so I carry the phone on me.”
Shannon grabs the phone, “Who he calling out of town?” Sitting back down on the couch feeling more relaxed. Diane walks into the kitchen and begins to bang on pots and pans.
“Some girls he met at that Black College Spring Break in Daytona Beach. I told him those girls ain’t nothing but prostitutes but he claiming he in love with a few of them.”
Shannon nods her head in agreement, “Yeah, he told me he was supposed to go to the something that one of the chicks told him about in ATL.” Dialing the phone when she hears Diane turning the water on in the kitchen.
“Who is this and what you want, cause I don’t know you and I ain’t got it.” A deep voices booms through the phone.
“Babe, where you at?”
“Oh sup, slim! I’m up at the shop pricing out some rims for the cars. Why you calling from your folks house?”
“My car won’t start! I need you to come get me and stop by the house and pick up my cell, please.”
“Oh, well you gonna have to stay put for a couple hours cause they just took the tires off my car.”
“Well, I might see if I can get a ride to the shop. Call the house before you leave, ok?”
Shannon hangs up the phone and leans back on the floral print sofa. Looking around the room you would never know that this was her childhood home as there were no young faces on the walls.
Who is the world would be calling me at this time of morning? I hope nothing happened to my brother or sister. Most people know to call the house number but who ever this is has my cell phone number. Why did I put the phone on Hakeem’s side of the bed? Dead to the world and he wouldn’t wake up even if the house was on fire. Usually I’m up early but last night was an unusual marathon of loving.
She smiled and then cleared her throat and picked up the phone and was instantly slammed with turmoil.
“I’m gonna kill myself!” A frantic and hoarse female voice wipes the groggy out of Shannon’s body.
Sitting up fast in the bed, Shannon takes a startled moment to place the voice. “Kim?”
“It keeps crying and I don’t know where Mike is! I can’t take anymore!”
“Listen Kim!” Her eyes scanned the dead to the world body of her boyfriend as she got out of the bed causing her to stomp her toe on the foot of the bed. She grimaces as she hops to the bathroom and sits on the cold toilet seat. “What can I do to stop you?”
“Take it away! I don’t want it anymore!”
“I need you to make a bottle and warm it up! I am on my way ok?
Silence on the other line other than the baby’s cries.
“Kim, I need you to answer me!”
“Yeah, yeah….I’ll make a bottle! Shannon?”
“Yes Kim?”
“Please hurry!”
The next few minutes of hours were a blur to Shannon as she got dressed, drove over to calm both mother and child down. Kim was just one of many young mothers on her overwhelming caseload. The potential of curing family dysfunction is what kept Shannon on the job. There were many nights she woke up out of her sleep wondering where were the babies tonight.
Kim was an 18 year old who had an extensive history of mental breakdowns and based her entire world on her current boyfriend. She had gotten pregnant as a way to keep him and expected him to be with her at every moment of the day. Shannon had gotten involved after a call had come in from the hospital alerting Child Protection of Kim’s mental instability throughout the pregnant and there was concern on her parental skills. Shannon had been involved for 2 months and had gotten close to Kim and was proud of her attentiveness to baby Mikayla. The only reason she hadn’t released the family is because she knew that there was a severe co-dependency issue and things were always fragile when Mike needed time out.
As Shannon climbed out of her car, she noticed the baby stroller outside of the duplex and all the lights on in the house. The door was cracked open and the house was deplorable as the furniture had been broken, clothes were strewn all over the place and food had been spilled all over the floor.
Despite the chaos the house was quiet as she maneuvered her way into the bedroom, to her horror she found Kim holding a dirty pillow over Mikayla’s face. Shannon ran into the cluttered room and pulled Kim and the pillow off the baby and proceeded to give the baby CPR. As Shannon pumped the Mikayla’s tiny chest, she yelled for Kim to call 911 but saw that she was curled up in a corner with her thumb in her mouth. After a couple of minutes, Shannon felt the tiny heart flutter faintly giving her a little time to call 911. It was only after the call was placed that Shannon noticed the aspirin scattered on the floor along with a bloody and broken gin bottle. Kim wasn’t moving in the corner and there was blood everywhere.
Shannon wasn’t sure if she should pick up Mikayla so she gave her one more breath and watched to see if she would breathe on her own. As her small chest rose slowly, Shannon crawled over to Kim’s body and prayed that the ambulance would get there soon. She put her hand on Kim’s neck hoping to find a pulse; one was found however it was as faint as the baby’s. Shannon grabbed a flannel shirt that was on the floor next to her and wrapped it around Kim’s wrists as tight as she could.
Shannon signed the paperwork at the hospital after paging Mike and the on-call Investigator. She sat down and tried to make herself calm down but her mind was racing. Life was always full of trials and it was up to each individual to plead their case to the best of their ability. People never realized how much pleading Shannon has done in her life and she often wondered if it was worth it in the end. She could relate to the woes of all of her clients in one-way or another and if she had a questioning client she would tell them her story. She too was an abused child, abandoned and neglected without anyone to save her from the demons in her life. Just knowing how she grew up helped her clients understand her sincerity and need to alleviate the pain the world bestows upon us.
She is bought out of her daydreaming when she hears her name over the paging system. Mike is at the nursing station dressed in a green jumpsuit with the embroidered letters of “Quality Control Engineer” on the pocket. This was his third job since Mikayla was born as Kim made it impossible for him to keep one. He tried to make it easy on the family by working at night when he figured Kim and baby would be asleep. Shannon had to give it to him, he tried very hard to keep Kim stable as well as his head afloat.
Shannon walked over to him and touched his broad shoulders. His big eyes widen with questions and fear as he saw her blood caked shirt and jeans. Tears rolled down his pudgy face as Shannon pulled him close. He whispered “You paged me 730? Are my babies alright?”
Before Shannon could answer him the doctor called her name. She and Mike look over and he tells them that they stabilized Kim and Mikayla. A breathe of relief came from Mike as he then asked to see them. Shannon peeked in for a moment and reported the incident to the investigator when he came. She knew she would have meet with the lawyers when she got in the office to discuss the recent threat to the child’s well-being.
The sun was up and people were on their way to work as she pulled out of the hospital parking lot. She was a morning baby so her greatest pleasure expectation was playing peek a boo with the rising sun. She loved the crisp morning air and how it all felt like being born again. Unfortunately, the sun didn’t wait for her this morning which left her in an agitated state.
The keys jingled in the lock and as the door creaked open not even the loud snap of the light switch changed the mood. Oh, the hate left its track like a slug as she walked towards her office. She was first there and glad she had a change of clothes. She thought about her feelings towards the job, as she wrote her report for last night’s incident. She felt that despite all the positive returns it brought, it wasn’t enough sometimes. After doing the job for several years with little to no advancement or change and as far as she could see no was coming anytime soon.
“Shannon, can you come into my office for a moment?” A dark haired male peeked into her office with his arms filled with paperwork.
“Sure, Roger. Let me complete this report and I’ll be right there.” She wondered with each strike of the keys what could he possibly want this early in the morning. She wondered if he had heard about the Reid case.
She stood up and walked what felt like the green mile to his office. She lightly tapped on his slightly ajar door as he acknowledged her with a flick of the wrist. She sat down in front of his cluttered desk and smiled.
He looked at her grimly and sucked his teeth as if he had something stuck in between them, “I’m not sure how to say this but we got something in the mail yesterday that disturbed us terribly.”
The smile on her face disappears as her thinks what next, “Ok?”
“The letter…” He removed a small folded paper out of a equally small envelope and reviewed it before continuing, “has some very incriminating information pertaining to you and your work here with us.”
Shannon’s mind racing around for the culprit to this bad joke, “Incriminating in what way?”
“Well, very incriminating and due to the nature of our job an investigation must be conducted to measure the validity of the accusation. ”
“Can you please stop beating around the brush and tell me what the hell is going on?”
“Shannon, you have been accused of child molestation!” He refolds the letter and looks at her with a stoic look on his face.
“Molestation! Are you nuts?”
Shannon looks up to see the local security guards at the door. Shannon stood up and pushed past the good for nothing rent a cops. She went into her office and started removing everything that meant something to her. Tears of rage streamed down her face as she tore out of the office into the crowded packing lot. Shannon dropped the box of goods onto the hot ground as she searched in her bag for her car keys. She did everything but dump her purse out in the road to find them at the bottom. As she sat in her car she tried to get her car to start but it wouldn’t. Tears streamed down her face as she called her boyfriend, Hakeem as just her luck his phone went straight to voice mail. She called the house and still no answer.
She got out of the car and looked around for someone she knew. Any other day, there would be somebody from her neighborhood at the office to either to re-certify their food stamps or to try and get some. Sweat dripped into her eyes reminding her that she was kicked to the curb by the State of Florida due to a vexed parent.
Just when Shannon thought she was going to have to foot it to the street, a shiny red Cadillac Seville pulled up in front of her. The car sat there for what seemed like minutes before the tinted window rolled down and smoke rolled out along with a tenor voice.
“Is that little Shannon Reynolds?” A man with gold teeth, a pug nose and sneaky eyes glared over at her.
“Hey Mr. Charlie.” She tried to suppress the habitual groan that usually followed behind him.
“Why you standing out here looking all hot and bothered?” He licked his ashy lips and winked.
“My car is out of commission so I’m stranded out here.” Shannon hated that she was in this predicament but needed help.
“Well, baby girl you know I always got you.” He got out of the car and walked over to the passenger side opening the door for Shannon. He was a short man with a major Napoleon complex.
Shannon was always a bit afraid of Mr. Charlie because he always looked at her in a lewd manner. He had a way of making her feeling naked and dirty. Mr. Charlie was her next door neighbor and he seemed to always show up when he was least expected. Shannon sat close to her door with her legs closed tightly.
Putting a cigarette in his mouth, “You don’t mind do you?” Before she could answer negatively, he had taken two puffs. Shannon tried to roll the windows down but he stopped her. “I got the AC on, girl, it’s hot at there.”
Mr. Charlie touched her a few times as it was his way. He needed to touch you to talk to you. Imagine that as a child, a dirty old man always touching on the little girls and boys. Parents were on the alert all except Shannon’s as her aunt actually dated him for a moment. This gave him an excuse to come by unannounced even when he knew she wasn’t there.
Shannon breathed through her mouth and prayed he didn’t take the long route home. The lord answered her prayers as they turned the corner to her neighborhood. Shannon couldn’t get out of the car fast enough as she slammed the door and thanked him profusely.
She marched up the stairs and saw the door was open. Strangely, no one was in the house, which was a blessing in disguise. Because if someone had been home they would have been laid out on the phone, which is what she needed desperately right now. She walks into the kitchen and reaches for the phone but it wasn’t on the base. Unfortunately, for her this wasn’t one of the cordless bases that you can press the button and it calls the makes a sound until you locate the sound.
Shannon heard her stomach growl and decided to find something to eat before searching for the phone. Opening the refrigerator to find an egg and some orange juice. Some is an exaggeration as it was more like a swallow. What the hell is going on up in here? She opened the cabinets to find nothing but ramen noodles and some canned beets. What’s really going on? The state of nourishment in the kitchen made Shannon forget about her hunger.
She walked out of the kitchen on a mission to find the phone. She checked the couch, lifted up the cushions, looked under the couch as well as all over the living room, dining room and kitchen before proceeding to the bathroom and bedrooms. After an hour search for the cordless phone she slumped on the living room couch with the remote control in her hand. She flipped through the channels absentmindedly as she analyzed what her life was about.
She was writing notes in her palm pilot when the door burst open. In came her mother, Diane, dressed to the tees with the cordless phone to her ear. Both of them were surprised as Shannon rarely came home since she moved out to live with her boyfriend and Diane talking on the missing phone.
“Hold on! Shani what are you doing here?”
“I just thought I would come by to see how ya’ll living.” Lying through the gap in her teeth. “Where you been?”
Putting her finger in the air, “I’ll be right back.” As she walks into the small bedroom and close the door on Shannon’s peering eyes.
Diane comes out of the room with a white tee shirt and some paint ridden jeans. She sits down heavily in the armchair and lights up her Newport and looks at the TV with Shannon. Shannon looks over at her mother and shook her head at her inability to maintain eye contact and a meaningful conversation.
“Where is the phone and what kind of starvation diet are ya’ll on up in here?” Shannon asks as she stands up.
“Oh, its in my purse in the room.” Scrambling up and pretty much knocking Shannon down in the process. Making Shannon wonder what should she have been looking for during her phone search.
Yelling into the room, ”Why is the phone in your purse?”
Diane walks out of the room with the phone in her hand, “Your brother has a nasty habit of running up the phone bill so I carry the phone on me.”
Shannon grabs the phone, “Who he calling out of town?” Sitting back down on the couch feeling more relaxed. Diane walks into the kitchen and begins to bang on pots and pans.
“Some girls he met at that Black College Spring Break in Daytona Beach. I told him those girls ain’t nothing but prostitutes but he claiming he in love with a few of them.”
Shannon nods her head in agreement, “Yeah, he told me he was supposed to go to the something that one of the chicks told him about in ATL.” Dialing the phone when she hears Diane turning the water on in the kitchen.
“Who is this and what you want, cause I don’t know you and I ain’t got it.” A deep voices booms through the phone.
“Babe, where you at?”
“Oh sup, slim! I’m up at the shop pricing out some rims for the cars. Why you calling from your folks house?”
“My car won’t start! I need you to come get me and stop by the house and pick up my cell, please.”
“Oh, well you gonna have to stay put for a couple hours cause they just took the tires off my car.”
“Well, I might see if I can get a ride to the shop. Call the house before you leave, ok?”
Shannon hangs up the phone and leans back on the floral print sofa. Looking around the room you would never know that this was her childhood home as there were no young faces on the walls.
Monday, May 30, 2005
It's fundamental
The love for words and the places that the combination of verbs, nouns and adjective alike, is the reason I breathe today.
One of my earliest experiences with words, especially those pesky adjectives, is reading "Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs" to my grandmother who was a first grade teacher. I had the most difficult time pronouncing the word “beautiful” and time after time it came out at “bootiful”. I think she thought I was playing around since my cousin was giggling so she would hit me with a wooden ruler and tell me to read it again. It took all I had in me to get that first line right but once I got past that bump in the road I've been on cruise control ever since. Its amazing all the different types of fairies there are in the world and each tale was a watercolor painting nailed to the walls of my mind. Opening a book was like rolling out a magical carpet to a world bigger than one I could even wrap my mind around.
As I maneuvered through life on Aladdin’s magic carpet, I one day found myself laying on a thin futon looking at a shoji door. I could almost see something on the other side yet I wasn't sure if it was my imagination. The tatami mat floor cooled my overheated mind as I dropped another finished book on the literary cluttered floor. I read like crazy yet I found myself running in slippered circles instead of standing up and opening that shoji door. In the midst of the cherry blossoms, sumo wrestlers, ikebana and the simplicity of a summer yukata, I found my passion. With just a small bit of exertion, the door glided open and I found myself scribing stories of life as an foreigner in Japan among my other adventures.
I get this feeling of a spice tossed in the air of zen when I write. I know that I'm skilled and not even at my best yet I feel that I'm "damn good" so far. Books, words and the escape into a dream has existed in my soul for the longest time. I would love to give you a guided tour of how the flair of my pen can be used to create and edit classics. As I mentioned earlier, the love of words and the places they take us is the reason I breathe.
One of my earliest experiences with words, especially those pesky adjectives, is reading "Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs" to my grandmother who was a first grade teacher. I had the most difficult time pronouncing the word “beautiful” and time after time it came out at “bootiful”. I think she thought I was playing around since my cousin was giggling so she would hit me with a wooden ruler and tell me to read it again. It took all I had in me to get that first line right but once I got past that bump in the road I've been on cruise control ever since. Its amazing all the different types of fairies there are in the world and each tale was a watercolor painting nailed to the walls of my mind. Opening a book was like rolling out a magical carpet to a world bigger than one I could even wrap my mind around.
As I maneuvered through life on Aladdin’s magic carpet, I one day found myself laying on a thin futon looking at a shoji door. I could almost see something on the other side yet I wasn't sure if it was my imagination. The tatami mat floor cooled my overheated mind as I dropped another finished book on the literary cluttered floor. I read like crazy yet I found myself running in slippered circles instead of standing up and opening that shoji door. In the midst of the cherry blossoms, sumo wrestlers, ikebana and the simplicity of a summer yukata, I found my passion. With just a small bit of exertion, the door glided open and I found myself scribing stories of life as an foreigner in Japan among my other adventures.
I get this feeling of a spice tossed in the air of zen when I write. I know that I'm skilled and not even at my best yet I feel that I'm "damn good" so far. Books, words and the escape into a dream has existed in my soul for the longest time. I would love to give you a guided tour of how the flair of my pen can be used to create and edit classics. As I mentioned earlier, the love of words and the places they take us is the reason I breathe.
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