iamspartachris
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Huge film buff. Voracious reader. Somewhat artistic and definitely a romantic. I write short stories, screenplays and poetry. Currently I am working on a suspense novel that I never seem to be able to find the time to actually sit down and work on.
Age: 41
Age: 41
Gender: M
Location: Orlando, FL
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Interlude
Posted 10/28/2008 1:33:14 PM
She tells me I’m going to die by chili dog some day.
She’s probably right.
Sitting at the end of the bar wearing a skirt that is criminal in its intentions, she rolls her eyes, throws back her head and laughs. It’s a strong, confident laugh that makes the muscles in her neck flex and jump and makes my mind and eyes wander down to her clavicle and I am left wondering how warm it would be beneath my lips.
“Do you always do that?” she asks.
“Do what?”
“Peel the labels off your beer bottles like that.”
“Yeah,” I say, “I guess I do.” And all the while I am staring at that spot where neck meets clavicle and she can’t possibly not notice this, but she doesn’t say a word about it, just sits there looking at me with a slight smile on her face and a raised eyebrow.
“Donny,” she says, motioning to the bartender, “Another Newcastle for my friend here, and I’ll have the same with a shot of whiskey.”
I must make some sort of face because she pauses in her search through her purse long enough to ask, “What? Don’t know many women who drink whiskey?”
She doesn’t wait for an answer, just goes on digging around in her bag until she pulls out a pack of smokes. Placing one between her lips, she turns in my direction and waits.
It takes a couple of seconds before I realize she’s waiting for me to light it for her. I pick up a pack of matches from the bar and give her what she’s waiting for. She takes a long, deep drag, holds it for a second and lets it go. A mundane act, which in her hands is as erotically charged as anything I have ever seen.
Suddenly I’ve lost interest in the chili dog, and I slide it down the bar to my left. “You got another one of those?” I ask.
“Take this one,” she says, and hands me hers, which is exactly what I was hoping for the moment I noticed her lipstick on the filter.
It tastes exactly like I expected it to, but with a faint hint of sweetness I’m not ready for.
I wash it down with a long swallow of beer.
Procol Harum skips the light fandango on the jukebox as she downs her shot of whiskey, and suddenly it occurs to me that this is one of those moments. One of those golden moments that come along so rarely that we are never quite ready for them, and because we are unprepared, fail to act on. I make a decision in those few seconds to act on this one.
I slap a twenty down on the bar. “Let’s go.”
“What makes you think I’m going anywhere with you?” she asks. But it’s just a formality because she’s already gathering up her purse and sliding back the bar stool.
I try not to let my eyes linger too long on her legs, but she catches me looking anyway.
"Answer one question for me,” she says.
We make eye contact and I nod.
"What do you love?"
It’s a good question. I try not to skimp on the answer.
“I love Elvis,” I say, “I love singing along to the radio in the car. That moment of discovery when you learn something new. The first two albums by The Doors. I love rainy spring days. You know, the kind where it rains steadily all day long, and the trees and the grass are just heavy with it, and everything is so green. And that smell, that smell of wet earth. Creativity and people who are just a little odd. Tossing the covers aside and sleeping nude under the breeze from the ceiling fan.”
I pause for dramatic effect. “And I love the way you’re looking at me right now.”
She doesn’t say another word, just stands up and heads for the door. I follow, and squint in the light that spills in from outside. The sounds of the jukebox give way to the sounds of traffic and the chatter of life. Somewhere in the distance, a car alarm is bleating out a monotonous rhythm.
She turns and looks at me, and in the bright light of day, I can see just how flawless her skin is.
A few hours later, she’s standing naked at the window, looking out at the people milling about below. I walk up behind her and slip my arms around her waist.
“Mmmmm…that was wonderful,” she says, “you’re wonderful.”
I run my hands up her sides and over her shoulders. She presses back against me, a sigh escaping from her.
She goes stiff as I wrap my arm around her throat, and struggles when I apply pressure. But the struggle doesn’t last very long, and she soon goes limp in my arms. I lay her down gently on the floor and drag her into the bathroom.
Moments later, I am holding her clavicle in my hands. Stripped of flesh, and awash in her blood, I place it to my lips and it’s just as warm as I imagined it would be.
Posted 10/28/2008 1:33:14 PM
She tells me I’m going to die by chili dog some day.
She’s probably right.
Sitting at the end of the bar wearing a skirt that is criminal in its intentions, she rolls her eyes, throws back her head and laughs. It’s a strong, confident laugh that makes the muscles in her neck flex and jump and makes my mind and eyes wander down to her clavicle and I am left wondering how warm it would be beneath my lips.
“Do you always do that?” she asks.
“Do what?”
“Peel the labels off your beer bottles like that.”
“Yeah,” I say, “I guess I do.” And all the while I am staring at that spot where neck meets clavicle and she can’t possibly not notice this, but she doesn’t say a word about it, just sits there looking at me with a slight smile on her face and a raised eyebrow.
“Donny,” she says, motioning to the bartender, “Another Newcastle for my friend here, and I’ll have the same with a shot of whiskey.”
I must make some sort of face because she pauses in her search through her purse long enough to ask, “What? Don’t know many women who drink whiskey?”
She doesn’t wait for an answer, just goes on digging around in her bag until she pulls out a pack of smokes. Placing one between her lips, she turns in my direction and waits.
It takes a couple of seconds before I realize she’s waiting for me to light it for her. I pick up a pack of matches from the bar and give her what she’s waiting for. She takes a long, deep drag, holds it for a second and lets it go. A mundane act, which in her hands is as erotically charged as anything I have ever seen.
Suddenly I’ve lost interest in the chili dog, and I slide it down the bar to my left. “You got another one of those?” I ask.
“Take this one,” she says, and hands me hers, which is exactly what I was hoping for the moment I noticed her lipstick on the filter.
It tastes exactly like I expected it to, but with a faint hint of sweetness I’m not ready for.
I wash it down with a long swallow of beer.
Procol Harum skips the light fandango on the jukebox as she downs her shot of whiskey, and suddenly it occurs to me that this is one of those moments. One of those golden moments that come along so rarely that we are never quite ready for them, and because we are unprepared, fail to act on. I make a decision in those few seconds to act on this one.
I slap a twenty down on the bar. “Let’s go.”
“What makes you think I’m going anywhere with you?” she asks. But it’s just a formality because she’s already gathering up her purse and sliding back the bar stool.
I try not to let my eyes linger too long on her legs, but she catches me looking anyway.
"Answer one question for me,” she says.
We make eye contact and I nod.
"What do you love?"
It’s a good question. I try not to skimp on the answer.
“I love Elvis,” I say, “I love singing along to the radio in the car. That moment of discovery when you learn something new. The first two albums by The Doors. I love rainy spring days. You know, the kind where it rains steadily all day long, and the trees and the grass are just heavy with it, and everything is so green. And that smell, that smell of wet earth. Creativity and people who are just a little odd. Tossing the covers aside and sleeping nude under the breeze from the ceiling fan.”
I pause for dramatic effect. “And I love the way you’re looking at me right now.”
She doesn’t say another word, just stands up and heads for the door. I follow, and squint in the light that spills in from outside. The sounds of the jukebox give way to the sounds of traffic and the chatter of life. Somewhere in the distance, a car alarm is bleating out a monotonous rhythm.
She turns and looks at me, and in the bright light of day, I can see just how flawless her skin is.
A few hours later, she’s standing naked at the window, looking out at the people milling about below. I walk up behind her and slip my arms around her waist.
“Mmmmm…that was wonderful,” she says, “you’re wonderful.”
I run my hands up her sides and over her shoulders. She presses back against me, a sigh escaping from her.
She goes stiff as I wrap my arm around her throat, and struggles when I apply pressure. But the struggle doesn’t last very long, and she soon goes limp in my arms. I lay her down gently on the floor and drag her into the bathroom.
Moments later, I am holding her clavicle in my hands. Stripped of flesh, and awash in her blood, I place it to my lips and it’s just as warm as I imagined it would be.
Another Untitled One
Posted 8/17/2008 12:46:31 PM
Unfulfilled promise
A longing for something unknown
Struggling to define the undefineable
Time spent in hiding
I think I may finally be ready for her
I just don't know who she is yet
Posted 8/17/2008 12:46:31 PM
Unfulfilled promise
A longing for something unknown
Struggling to define the undefineable
Time spent in hiding
I think I may finally be ready for her
I just don't know who she is yet
Indefineable
Posted 8/17/2008 12:45:51 PM
There's something just beyond my grasp
Beyond my ability to put into words
A feeling that defies explanation and definition
A sense of something missing
Of experiences gone by while I was looking the other way
Posted 8/17/2008 12:45:51 PM
There's something just beyond my grasp
Beyond my ability to put into words
A feeling that defies explanation and definition
A sense of something missing
Of experiences gone by while I was looking the other way
Unrequited
Posted 10/12/2007 5:02:13 PM
I kissed her in the rain
pressed close to feel her warmth
and as she yielded to me I could sense
her hope
She waits there for me still
Posted 10/12/2007 5:02:13 PM
I kissed her in the rain
pressed close to feel her warmth
and as she yielded to me I could sense
her hope
She waits there for me still
Revelation # 9
Posted 8/28/2007 12:33:07 AM
It's well after midnight, and here I sit struggling to make sense of my life.
It's not a bad life as lives go, and certainly not without it's good points, but it has become a far more solitary life over the last few years, and I'm not entirely sure how that happened.
Looking inward has never really been my strong suit, and self awareness is not a sensation I am comfortable with. I prefer to live my life very much in the "day by day" method. I don't plan ahead, which is quite possibly my greatest failing, and when I find myself dwelling on the past, I tend to make a distraction for myself so as to prevent me from going too far down a road I don't want to travel.
I sometimes wish I were a deeper man, or more intellectual and less emotional, but I tend to find myself feeling things I can't quite put into words, and struggling to find ways to express them. I used to draw. For a short time, I found a real joy in it. In the rush of learning new techniques, and seeing my skills grow. I used to make films. Back in high school, in the days of hand-held Super-eight movie cameras. Short little three minute exercises in creativity. Many of them were quite good. I used to take photographs. Not just standard snap-shots, but artistic studies of light and shadow. Abstracts.
Now I sit behind a desk and answer phone calls. I fill orders, and track shipments and I count the hours between breaks.
I punch a clock and collect an hourly rate, and I tell myself that this is what I need to do right now because I have to make the rent and and the car payment, and I don't have the luxury any more to try and figure out just what it is that I want to do with my life.
Because I don't know.
I'm nearly forty years old, and I still haven't figured that out.
I mean, I should have by now don't you think?
But I got nothin'.
Except for a feeling that this is not where I should be, this is not what I should be doing, this is not who I am.
This isn't who I am.
Posted 8/28/2007 12:33:07 AM
It's well after midnight, and here I sit struggling to make sense of my life.
It's not a bad life as lives go, and certainly not without it's good points, but it has become a far more solitary life over the last few years, and I'm not entirely sure how that happened.
Looking inward has never really been my strong suit, and self awareness is not a sensation I am comfortable with. I prefer to live my life very much in the "day by day" method. I don't plan ahead, which is quite possibly my greatest failing, and when I find myself dwelling on the past, I tend to make a distraction for myself so as to prevent me from going too far down a road I don't want to travel.
I sometimes wish I were a deeper man, or more intellectual and less emotional, but I tend to find myself feeling things I can't quite put into words, and struggling to find ways to express them. I used to draw. For a short time, I found a real joy in it. In the rush of learning new techniques, and seeing my skills grow. I used to make films. Back in high school, in the days of hand-held Super-eight movie cameras. Short little three minute exercises in creativity. Many of them were quite good. I used to take photographs. Not just standard snap-shots, but artistic studies of light and shadow. Abstracts.
Now I sit behind a desk and answer phone calls. I fill orders, and track shipments and I count the hours between breaks.
I punch a clock and collect an hourly rate, and I tell myself that this is what I need to do right now because I have to make the rent and and the car payment, and I don't have the luxury any more to try and figure out just what it is that I want to do with my life.
Because I don't know.
I'm nearly forty years old, and I still haven't figured that out.
I mean, I should have by now don't you think?
But I got nothin'.
Except for a feeling that this is not where I should be, this is not what I should be doing, this is not who I am.
This isn't who I am.
The Horror
Posted 8/3/2007 8:18:23 AM
I actually can't believe I haven't shared this here yet.
First, some background info so you will understand the true horror of the story.
When I was 12 or 13, my oldest sister and her husband lived in Brooklyn in a neighborhood called Brighton, just next to Coney Island. My brother in-law's father was the superintendant of the apartment building they lived in, giving us access to the basement.
One day, my brother in law tells me he has some original Beatles albums somewhere packed away in the basement of the building. As this was about the time that I was really discovering the Beatles, I was quite excited at the prospect, and followed him off to the basement in search of these jewels.
At some point, my brother in-law says he's going to go check some boxes somewhere in a corner, and points out a small wooden closet-like room and tells me to go check in there. He tells me to pull the string to turn on the light.
So I open the door, and I reach up grab the string and pull. The light clicks on. And the little room is just a closet built around the main plumbing lines that run through the building. The walls and floor and ceiling are moving. They are covered completely with cockroaches. Teeming with them. They are crawling over each other and it gives the impression that the walls are breathing.
Now as I pulled the string to turn on the light, a few dozen of them fell from the ceiling and the light fixture and landed on me, scurrying into my clothes and hair, flitting lightly across my face. Of course I screamed and ran out of the room shedding my clothes as quickily as I could, jumping and dancing and brushing and smacking roaches off of my body as my brother in-law quite literally was rolling on the floor laughing.
I have hated roaches ever since.
In fact, my feelings towards all bugs have never been good since then, but roaches in particular disgust me.
Flash forward many years and you will find me living in Florida. Land of some crazy bugs.
The thing is, they have this creature here that they call a "Palmetto Bug". That's a nice tourist friendly name for this local monster, but what it really is, is the Florida Roach. That's the actual classification for it. And what a roach it is. The average one is about 3 - 4 inches in length, and is formidable indeed.
Oh, and have I mentioned that they fly? Well they do. In fact the very first time I ever saw one was when I was here on vacation many years before moving here. I was walking under a street lamp in a parking lot one night, and something bounced off my chest. I thought someone had thrown something at me the impact was so hard. I looked down and there on it's back, wriggling and squirming was the biggest cockroach I had ever seen.
I stepped on it straight away.
Now these things are a nuisance. And resilient? Brother, as resilient as the average roach is, these are like Kryptonian cockroaches. And it doesn't matter how clean you keep your house, or how often the landlord or apartment complex sprays for pests, if you live in Florida, you will get these in your house from time to time. They travel along the water pipes from under the house, and enter your home under bathroom sinks or straight up through the drain in your bathtub.
Oh, and you know how most roaches dart off as soon as you turn on a light? Not these fuckers. They sit right where they were, and wave those inch long antennae at you as if to say, "You got a problem pal?"
Over the years, many an ex-girlfriend (or wife) have thouroughly enjoyed watching me turn into a complete pussy the second I see one of these things.
Now while all that was some great info, it is not the story I was going to tell you.
No, the story in question took place about 2 or 3 weeks ago.
I was going to bed one night, and I sleep au natural, so I stripped down, and crawled under the comforter. After a few seconds, I felt something under my right thigh. Felt like crumbs. I briefly wondered how I had gotten crumbs in my bed before reaching down to brush them away. I lifted my right leg a bit and stuck my hand under it to brush them away, and instead of finding crumbs, I felt many little legs grasp one of my fingers.
I simultaneously shot up out of bed (screaming like a little bitch, in case you were wondering about that part), threw the covers off, and tossed my hand to the side, throwing off the offending little beast. In the process, I crushed it a little bit, or stunned it, I am not sure which, but it landed sort of between the wall and the bed, clinging to my sheet, it's evil little head poking up over the bed, it's vile antennae waving back and forth.
It took me a full five minutes to shake off the disgust, and another five to dispose of the hideous villian. I could not stop thinking about how it could have just as easily taken a little trek across my testicals rather than getting trapped under my thigh.
I didn't sleep very much that night as I kept feeling imaginary bugs crawling all over me, and my dreams were filled with visions of that closet back in Brooklyn, the walls breathing with bugs, dozens of roaches cascading down in slow-motion backlit by that bare utilitarian bulb.
First thing the next morning I threw all my bed sheets and blankets in the wash on my way out the door to work.
I am still checking my bed every night before crawling into it, even though in 15 years, this has happened only once, and the likelihood of it happening again is slim to none. But try telling that to the 12 year old boy with the roaches crawling across his face, down his neck, and into his clothes.
Posted 8/3/2007 8:18:23 AM
I actually can't believe I haven't shared this here yet.
First, some background info so you will understand the true horror of the story.
When I was 12 or 13, my oldest sister and her husband lived in Brooklyn in a neighborhood called Brighton, just next to Coney Island. My brother in-law's father was the superintendant of the apartment building they lived in, giving us access to the basement.
One day, my brother in law tells me he has some original Beatles albums somewhere packed away in the basement of the building. As this was about the time that I was really discovering the Beatles, I was quite excited at the prospect, and followed him off to the basement in search of these jewels.
At some point, my brother in-law says he's going to go check some boxes somewhere in a corner, and points out a small wooden closet-like room and tells me to go check in there. He tells me to pull the string to turn on the light.
So I open the door, and I reach up grab the string and pull. The light clicks on. And the little room is just a closet built around the main plumbing lines that run through the building. The walls and floor and ceiling are moving. They are covered completely with cockroaches. Teeming with them. They are crawling over each other and it gives the impression that the walls are breathing.
Now as I pulled the string to turn on the light, a few dozen of them fell from the ceiling and the light fixture and landed on me, scurrying into my clothes and hair, flitting lightly across my face. Of course I screamed and ran out of the room shedding my clothes as quickily as I could, jumping and dancing and brushing and smacking roaches off of my body as my brother in-law quite literally was rolling on the floor laughing.
I have hated roaches ever since.
In fact, my feelings towards all bugs have never been good since then, but roaches in particular disgust me.
Flash forward many years and you will find me living in Florida. Land of some crazy bugs.
The thing is, they have this creature here that they call a "Palmetto Bug". That's a nice tourist friendly name for this local monster, but what it really is, is the Florida Roach. That's the actual classification for it. And what a roach it is. The average one is about 3 - 4 inches in length, and is formidable indeed.
Oh, and have I mentioned that they fly? Well they do. In fact the very first time I ever saw one was when I was here on vacation many years before moving here. I was walking under a street lamp in a parking lot one night, and something bounced off my chest. I thought someone had thrown something at me the impact was so hard. I looked down and there on it's back, wriggling and squirming was the biggest cockroach I had ever seen.
I stepped on it straight away.
Now these things are a nuisance. And resilient? Brother, as resilient as the average roach is, these are like Kryptonian cockroaches. And it doesn't matter how clean you keep your house, or how often the landlord or apartment complex sprays for pests, if you live in Florida, you will get these in your house from time to time. They travel along the water pipes from under the house, and enter your home under bathroom sinks or straight up through the drain in your bathtub.
Oh, and you know how most roaches dart off as soon as you turn on a light? Not these fuckers. They sit right where they were, and wave those inch long antennae at you as if to say, "You got a problem pal?"
Over the years, many an ex-girlfriend (or wife) have thouroughly enjoyed watching me turn into a complete pussy the second I see one of these things.
Now while all that was some great info, it is not the story I was going to tell you.
No, the story in question took place about 2 or 3 weeks ago.
I was going to bed one night, and I sleep au natural, so I stripped down, and crawled under the comforter. After a few seconds, I felt something under my right thigh. Felt like crumbs. I briefly wondered how I had gotten crumbs in my bed before reaching down to brush them away. I lifted my right leg a bit and stuck my hand under it to brush them away, and instead of finding crumbs, I felt many little legs grasp one of my fingers.
I simultaneously shot up out of bed (screaming like a little bitch, in case you were wondering about that part), threw the covers off, and tossed my hand to the side, throwing off the offending little beast. In the process, I crushed it a little bit, or stunned it, I am not sure which, but it landed sort of between the wall and the bed, clinging to my sheet, it's evil little head poking up over the bed, it's vile antennae waving back and forth.
It took me a full five minutes to shake off the disgust, and another five to dispose of the hideous villian. I could not stop thinking about how it could have just as easily taken a little trek across my testicals rather than getting trapped under my thigh.
I didn't sleep very much that night as I kept feeling imaginary bugs crawling all over me, and my dreams were filled with visions of that closet back in Brooklyn, the walls breathing with bugs, dozens of roaches cascading down in slow-motion backlit by that bare utilitarian bulb.
First thing the next morning I threw all my bed sheets and blankets in the wash on my way out the door to work.
I am still checking my bed every night before crawling into it, even though in 15 years, this has happened only once, and the likelihood of it happening again is slim to none. But try telling that to the 12 year old boy with the roaches crawling across his face, down his neck, and into his clothes.
Soft Darkness
Posted 7/27/2007 11:52:29 PM
My head swims with you
Psychotropic visions fill my world
Standing here under the sky
Looking at you
I can feel the night
Like a living thing it presses down on me
wet and dark
Erotic in a way that daylight can never be
Stroking me
Coaxing me into it's embrace
And you stand there
surrounded by it
It's shadows caress your features
And clearly I see
How beautiful you truly are
Posted 7/27/2007 11:52:29 PM
My head swims with you
Psychotropic visions fill my world
Standing here under the sky
Looking at you
I can feel the night
Like a living thing it presses down on me
wet and dark
Erotic in a way that daylight can never be
Stroking me
Coaxing me into it's embrace
And you stand there
surrounded by it
It's shadows caress your features
And clearly I see
How beautiful you truly are
Your smell is all over me
Posted 7/27/2007 11:51:46 PM
Fumbling
Tearing
Tugging
A fist full of hair
Lips on skin
Heaven in a public restroom
Hot breath whispering dirty little whispers
Cold tile
Warm flesh
Provided by the management
for your protection
I smell you on my face
Posted 7/27/2007 11:51:46 PM
Fumbling
Tearing
Tugging
A fist full of hair
Lips on skin
Heaven in a public restroom
Hot breath whispering dirty little whispers
Cold tile
Warm flesh
Provided by the management
for your protection
I smell you on my face
Formation and circumstance
Posted 6/19/2007 8:01:31 PM
Formation
Events unfolding in time
shaping us
defining us
So many miles
So many choices
leading us down a single path
A bump
in the timeline of our lives
and divergent paths cross
Circumstance
bringing with it new choices
new events
and a journey shared
Posted 6/19/2007 8:01:31 PM
Formation
Events unfolding in time
shaping us
defining us
So many miles
So many choices
leading us down a single path
A bump
in the timeline of our lives
and divergent paths cross
Circumstance
bringing with it new choices
new events
and a journey shared
Just for an instant
Posted 6/19/2007 8:01:01 PM
I wonder if you miss me from time to time.
If your mind ever wanders
and you find that you linger there a bit longer
than you thought you would.
And I wonder which memories of us
are the ones you have,
the laughter and the love,
or the discord and the seperation.
Do you ever get
that momentary pang of nostalgia,
just for an instant,
and wonder if nostalgia is all it really is?
When you think of me,
do you do so fondly,
or do you simply see me as
an object lesson?
Do you ever feel
as if there is something missing,
and for the very briefest of moments,
wonder if it's me?
Just for an instant?
Posted 6/19/2007 8:01:01 PM
I wonder if you miss me from time to time.
If your mind ever wanders
and you find that you linger there a bit longer
than you thought you would.
And I wonder which memories of us
are the ones you have,
the laughter and the love,
or the discord and the seperation.
Do you ever get
that momentary pang of nostalgia,
just for an instant,
and wonder if nostalgia is all it really is?
When you think of me,
do you do so fondly,
or do you simply see me as
an object lesson?
Do you ever feel
as if there is something missing,
and for the very briefest of moments,
wonder if it's me?
Just for an instant?
3:17 AM
Posted 6/19/2007 8:00:25 PM
I can't sleep.
I find myself struggling once again
to find that comfortable spot.
Flipping over my pillow every 5 minutes
to get the cool side.
My mind wanders down lanes of my memory
that I would prefer stay locked away.
The death of my mother.
My father.
The end of my marriage.
Specific memories
that only come back to me
at night
when I can't sleep.
I can't sleep.
Finding myself wishing I was one of the vacant
who's nighttime thoughts are of things inconsequential
Cars and clothes and office crushes
Does he, will she, should I?
And I am so envious right now of the lucky ones
who fall asleep moments after thier heads hit the pillow.
The pillow.
I cover my head with it to drown out the sound of the ceiling fan
and I hear my heart beat.
I can't sleep.
And the thing that becomes more clear to me
as I toss about in a tangled sheet
unable to turn off my mind
is the most simple and glaring fact.
I am alone.
More so now than at any other part of the day.
More so now than at any other point in my life.
More so now.
And I can't sleep.
Posted 6/19/2007 8:00:25 PM
I can't sleep.
I find myself struggling once again
to find that comfortable spot.
Flipping over my pillow every 5 minutes
to get the cool side.
My mind wanders down lanes of my memory
that I would prefer stay locked away.
The death of my mother.
My father.
The end of my marriage.
Specific memories
that only come back to me
at night
when I can't sleep.
I can't sleep.
Finding myself wishing I was one of the vacant
who's nighttime thoughts are of things inconsequential
Cars and clothes and office crushes
Does he, will she, should I?
And I am so envious right now of the lucky ones
who fall asleep moments after thier heads hit the pillow.
The pillow.
I cover my head with it to drown out the sound of the ceiling fan
and I hear my heart beat.
I can't sleep.
And the thing that becomes more clear to me
as I toss about in a tangled sheet
unable to turn off my mind
is the most simple and glaring fact.
I am alone.
More so now than at any other part of the day.
More so now than at any other point in my life.
More so now.
And I can't sleep.
A Turning
Posted 6/19/2007 7:59:41 PM
Dusk
Something about the ethereal quality of the light
as it shrinks from the day
and the subtle change in the smell of the air
This is the time I miss you most
Posted 6/19/2007 7:59:41 PM
Dusk
Something about the ethereal quality of the light
as it shrinks from the day
and the subtle change in the smell of the air
This is the time I miss you most
Stories
Posted 6/19/2007 7:59:03 PM
Stories
Everyone has them
The man in the Gucci loafers
finds no fullfilment in his job
At night he cruises the streets
looking for something
Anything
Going home more distressed
Waking the next day
Feeling nothing
Standing at the sink
the girl with the hollow eyes
listens to her mother's
labored breathing from down the hall
She was pretty once, had prospects
Now she washes dishes
changes bed sheets
Waiting for her mother to die
So she can live again
The old couple across the street
toiling day after day in retirement
Wondering where the years went
Was it so long ago that they crossed the country
vital and alive
The bodies of three young girls
in the trunk of thier car
They never felt more alive than they did then
Sitting now in the home they built
watching daytime talk shows
Unable to share thier story
Stories
Secrets
A little girl lies in her bed
awake in fear as she listens
for the sound of daddy's footsteps
coming down the hall
He used to be her hero
her knight in shining armor
She would ride on his shoulders
her pigtails flailing behind her
Happy and safe in daddy's arms
When did her hero become her monster?
He sits in his chair
Shame overwhelming him
as he struggles with his desire
Time and again he has considered
ending it all
It would be so much easier
than living with himself
than seeing the look in her eyes
the loss of innocence
He drinks scotch to deaden the pain
and rises up from his chair
Stories
Behind the closed doors and curtains
of every home on this street
Secrets
The face we show the world
The one we see in the mirror
Painful truths
Posted 6/19/2007 7:59:03 PM
Stories
Everyone has them
The man in the Gucci loafers
finds no fullfilment in his job
At night he cruises the streets
looking for something
Anything
Going home more distressed
Waking the next day
Feeling nothing
Standing at the sink
the girl with the hollow eyes
listens to her mother's
labored breathing from down the hall
She was pretty once, had prospects
Now she washes dishes
changes bed sheets
Waiting for her mother to die
So she can live again
The old couple across the street
toiling day after day in retirement
Wondering where the years went
Was it so long ago that they crossed the country
vital and alive
The bodies of three young girls
in the trunk of thier car
They never felt more alive than they did then
Sitting now in the home they built
watching daytime talk shows
Unable to share thier story
Stories
Secrets
A little girl lies in her bed
awake in fear as she listens
for the sound of daddy's footsteps
coming down the hall
He used to be her hero
her knight in shining armor
She would ride on his shoulders
her pigtails flailing behind her
Happy and safe in daddy's arms
When did her hero become her monster?
He sits in his chair
Shame overwhelming him
as he struggles with his desire
Time and again he has considered
ending it all
It would be so much easier
than living with himself
than seeing the look in her eyes
the loss of innocence
He drinks scotch to deaden the pain
and rises up from his chair
Stories
Behind the closed doors and curtains
of every home on this street
Secrets
The face we show the world
The one we see in the mirror
Painful truths
Innocence
Posted 6/19/2007 7:58:19 PM
Once there was honeysuckle
The air heavy with the fragrance
The night wet with promise
Once there were fireflies
In the sweetness of the grass
The heat of the day mercifully lifted
Once there was wonder
The night sky cerulean blue
Ablaze with a million stars
Once we walked our neighborhood streets
Exploring vacant lots and gardens
The light from the moon our only guide
Once we shared our dreams
Lying in hammocks
Drinking Coke from green glass bottles
Once there was innocence
Once there was
Posted 6/19/2007 7:58:19 PM
Once there was honeysuckle
The air heavy with the fragrance
The night wet with promise
Once there were fireflies
In the sweetness of the grass
The heat of the day mercifully lifted
Once there was wonder
The night sky cerulean blue
Ablaze with a million stars
Once we walked our neighborhood streets
Exploring vacant lots and gardens
The light from the moon our only guide
Once we shared our dreams
Lying in hammocks
Drinking Coke from green glass bottles
Once there was innocence
Once there was
Hepcat Jazz
Posted 6/19/2007 7:57:37 PM
Out of season
Out from behind
The ghost of Jack Kerouac follows me
Taunting me with beat verses
and hepcat jive
Words like improvised jazz
Spiraling
Rhythmic
Pulsating with life on the road
Stories from backwater bars
in backwater towns
Tales of too many cigarettes
and cheap beer
There's a rhythm to the words
Can you feel it?
Dramatic pause
Dramatic tension
Dramatic license
And invention
Spiraling
Downward
Outward
Outwardly drifting
Words like tumbleweeds
Posted 6/19/2007 7:57:37 PM
Out of season
Out from behind
The ghost of Jack Kerouac follows me
Taunting me with beat verses
and hepcat jive
Words like improvised jazz
Spiraling
Rhythmic
Pulsating with life on the road
Stories from backwater bars
in backwater towns
Tales of too many cigarettes
and cheap beer
There's a rhythm to the words
Can you feel it?
Dramatic pause
Dramatic tension
Dramatic license
And invention
Spiraling
Downward
Outward
Outwardly drifting
Words like tumbleweeds
Fragments
Posted 6/19/2007 7:56:34 PM
Who made you?
Who picks you up at night?
Who takes you to bed?
Who tells you little lies?
When you lie awake at night and roll over, who's face do you see?
And who's face is actually there?
---------------------------------------------------
Little lies
Little fabrications
Little reasons to exclude
To extrude
The truth
---------------------------------------------------
She gives off light
Blinding
Like a reflection off of a calm liquid surface
All answers are found within her
Within the color of her cheek
Within the pulse beating butterfly quick in her neck
Within the comfort of her breast
The safety of her arms
The dewey sweat upon her skin
Secrets are revealed and renewed
Recycled for future use
She squeezes me inside her
And I forget all reason
-------------------------------------------------
Nimble fingers
Empty gestures
Ritual
-------------------------------------------------
She thinks she is naughty
She thinks so
She says she is dirty
She tells me so
The things I could teach her.
-----------------------------------------------
Synaptic revelations
Symptomatic condemnations
Syncopathic base frustrations abound
Simple loss of short term memory
Ample cause to forsake flattery
I begin to lose my wits when you're around
Posted 6/19/2007 7:56:34 PM
Who made you?
Who picks you up at night?
Who takes you to bed?
Who tells you little lies?
When you lie awake at night and roll over, who's face do you see?
And who's face is actually there?
---------------------------------------------------
Little lies
Little fabrications
Little reasons to exclude
To extrude
The truth
---------------------------------------------------
She gives off light
Blinding
Like a reflection off of a calm liquid surface
All answers are found within her
Within the color of her cheek
Within the pulse beating butterfly quick in her neck
Within the comfort of her breast
The safety of her arms
The dewey sweat upon her skin
Secrets are revealed and renewed
Recycled for future use
She squeezes me inside her
And I forget all reason
-------------------------------------------------
Nimble fingers
Empty gestures
Ritual
-------------------------------------------------
She thinks she is naughty
She thinks so
She says she is dirty
She tells me so
The things I could teach her.
-----------------------------------------------
Synaptic revelations
Symptomatic condemnations
Syncopathic base frustrations abound
Simple loss of short term memory
Ample cause to forsake flattery
I begin to lose my wits when you're around
Warnings and Invitations
Posted 3/18/2007 11:05:02 PM
She issues warnings
And invitations
I heed one, and accept the other
And I wonder
What I'm getting into
Intrigue dictates that I find out more
Fascination is a strong aphrodisiac
Talent even stronger
I said that I'm not scared.
And I'm not.
But then, maybe that's the problem.
How long has it been since I've been this curious about someone?
How long has it been since I gave a damn?
She issues warnings
And invitations
Telling me she is fucked up
That I should run before I get the chance to find out first hand.
And still I feel like she doesn't really want me to run anywhere just yet.
Am I being toyed with?
Possibly
Am I being tested?
Most likely
Am I being measured?
Without a doubt
But how can I think of going anywhere when
She issues warnings
And invitations
Posted 3/18/2007 11:05:02 PM
She issues warnings
And invitations
I heed one, and accept the other
And I wonder
What I'm getting into
Intrigue dictates that I find out more
Fascination is a strong aphrodisiac
Talent even stronger
I said that I'm not scared.
And I'm not.
But then, maybe that's the problem.
How long has it been since I've been this curious about someone?
How long has it been since I gave a damn?
She issues warnings
And invitations
Telling me she is fucked up
That I should run before I get the chance to find out first hand.
And still I feel like she doesn't really want me to run anywhere just yet.
Am I being toyed with?
Possibly
Am I being tested?
Most likely
Am I being measured?
Without a doubt
But how can I think of going anywhere when
She issues warnings
And invitations
Untitled
Posted 12/3/2006 12:25:21 AM
Waiting for inspiration
Seeking a muse
To ease my boredom
To set me free
And I feel as if I am floundering
And I feel as if she cares
And I feel like she could save me
If I could only feel her there
And I see my life from a rear view mirror
Like time lapsed photography
Exaggerated shadows dancing in three-four time
As flowers bloom and leaves turn brown
Shriveling as they fall from the trees
And I feel as if I'm empty
And I feel as if I'm scared
And I feel as if my choices
Have been increasingly impaired
And there are echoes in the distance
Of a life that I once had
Carried on the wind like the scent of something familiar
But just out of my reach
Posted 12/3/2006 12:25:21 AM
Waiting for inspiration
Seeking a muse
To ease my boredom
To set me free
And I feel as if I am floundering
And I feel as if she cares
And I feel like she could save me
If I could only feel her there
And I see my life from a rear view mirror
Like time lapsed photography
Exaggerated shadows dancing in three-four time
As flowers bloom and leaves turn brown
Shriveling as they fall from the trees
And I feel as if I'm empty
And I feel as if I'm scared
And I feel as if my choices
Have been increasingly impaired
And there are echoes in the distance
Of a life that I once had
Carried on the wind like the scent of something familiar
But just out of my reach
A question answered
Posted 11/26/2006 12:33:21 AM
"What do you love?" she asked me.
Good question.
I love Elvis.
Singing along to the radio in the car.
That moment of discovery when you learn something new.
Writing.
Rainy spring days. You know, the kind where it just rains steadily all day long, and the trees and the grass are just heavy with it, and everything is so green. And that smell, that smell of wet earth.
Tossing the covers aside and sleeping nude under the breeze from the ceiling fan.
People who are just a little odd.
Creativity.
Posted 11/26/2006 12:33:21 AM
"What do you love?" she asked me.
Good question.
I love Elvis.
Singing along to the radio in the car.
That moment of discovery when you learn something new.
Writing.
Rainy spring days. You know, the kind where it just rains steadily all day long, and the trees and the grass are just heavy with it, and everything is so green. And that smell, that smell of wet earth.
Tossing the covers aside and sleeping nude under the breeze from the ceiling fan.
People who are just a little odd.
Creativity.
2 Years Later
Posted 10/15/2006 12:31:46 AM
And I still miss her.
Or do I?
Maybe what I really miss is that shared intimacy when two people are in love.
I've had "friendships" in the last two years. I've had affairs. But nothing that was close to being love for me. I wonder how much of that is because of her?
And the thing that pisses me off the most is that I still think of her nearly every day. Sometimes it's just a passing thought. Sometimes a regret. Sometimes a tightness in my chest.
They say that there is one person in everyone's life that they never truly get over.
At least I know who mine is.
Posted 10/15/2006 12:31:46 AM
And I still miss her.
Or do I?
Maybe what I really miss is that shared intimacy when two people are in love.
I've had "friendships" in the last two years. I've had affairs. But nothing that was close to being love for me. I wonder how much of that is because of her?
And the thing that pisses me off the most is that I still think of her nearly every day. Sometimes it's just a passing thought. Sometimes a regret. Sometimes a tightness in my chest.
They say that there is one person in everyone's life that they never truly get over.
At least I know who mine is.
Untitled
Posted 9/24/2006 1:11:04 AM
There are some things I will never forget
The first time I saw her
What she was wearing the very first time I took her out
All the amazing memories we shared
The times I made her cry
What it felt like to touch her that first time
The feel of the skin along her back
The way her scent stayed on my clothes
The first time she told me she loved me
The flirtation
The play fighting
The taste of her lips
Crying in her arms when my father died
Baby oil massages
Walks in the rain
Seeing her smile
There are some things I will never forget
The last time I saw her
The emptiness in my heart
The sleepless nights
The phone call when she told me about him
The sound of her sweet voice
Hearing her call me “Baby”
Kissing her belly
The last time she told me she loved me
Posted 9/24/2006 1:11:04 AM
There are some things I will never forget
The first time I saw her
What she was wearing the very first time I took her out
All the amazing memories we shared
The times I made her cry
What it felt like to touch her that first time
The feel of the skin along her back
The way her scent stayed on my clothes
The first time she told me she loved me
The flirtation
The play fighting
The taste of her lips
Crying in her arms when my father died
Baby oil massages
Walks in the rain
Seeing her smile
There are some things I will never forget
The last time I saw her
The emptiness in my heart
The sleepless nights
The phone call when she told me about him
The sound of her sweet voice
Hearing her call me “Baby”
Kissing her belly
The last time she told me she loved me
Nostalgia
Posted 9/24/2006 1:03:02 AM
Seeking solace
A reprieve
I used to think I was invincible
Nostalgia
Memories of times long past
Conquests
Adventures
Mistakes
People I've hurt
Friends taken for granted
Lovers who have slipped away
Strangers
Creases and wrinkles
A face in the mirror
A mockery
Posted 9/24/2006 1:03:02 AM
Seeking solace
A reprieve
I used to think I was invincible
Nostalgia
Memories of times long past
Conquests
Adventures
Mistakes
People I've hurt
Friends taken for granted
Lovers who have slipped away
Strangers
Creases and wrinkles
A face in the mirror
A mockery
The One Night Stand.
Posted 9/23/2006 11:30:29 AM
Rampant promises
Meaningful stares
Strangers sharing intimacies
Ritualistic dance
Sweat, smoke and noise
She says she wants to be a teacher
Out into night
Fresh air and rain
He hails a cab and opens the door for her
Fumbling with keys
Laughter in an empty hallway
Entry
Awkward tenderness
Posted 9/23/2006 11:30:29 AM
Rampant promises
Meaningful stares
Strangers sharing intimacies
Ritualistic dance
Sweat, smoke and noise
She says she wants to be a teacher
Out into night
Fresh air and rain
He hails a cab and opens the door for her
Fumbling with keys
Laughter in an empty hallway
Entry
Awkward tenderness
Channeling Edgar Allan Poe.
Posted 9/17/2006 11:05:24 PM
Ok, so there's a story behind this. Honestly there is. In fact it is told here pretty clearly. This came out in about 5 minutes at work today while riffing via email to a co-worker. It's the true story of what happened to me when I arrived at last Monday morning. Don't try to make too much sense of it, it'll only hurt your brain. Just trust that every word of it is true, and thank your lucky stars that this did not happen to you.
Upon a Monday morning dreary
As I pondered weak and weary
While waiting for the elevator door
Came a man so sprightly stepping
Unto the conveyance upon which I was schlepping
Whose pants defied all physical law
Good Morrow sir he said exhaling
An alcoholic cloud impaling
My very eyes which sought only to implore
Sir, said I, Good sir I beg you
How high upon the human leg do
Your trousers rise until they must simply rise no more?
Ha! said he, ejecting spittle
Frothing from his lips in little
Rivulets of putrescent oral gore
My pants, he said, Are barely climbing
So please dear sir, forego your whining
And keep your eyes upon the elevator door
Upon the indicator for your floor above the elevator door
Sir, said I, my anger cresting
Tis your camel toe I am protesting
Do your pant cuffs ever even touch the floor?
Quoth the pant man Nevermore.
Posted 9/17/2006 11:05:24 PM
Ok, so there's a story behind this. Honestly there is. In fact it is told here pretty clearly. This came out in about 5 minutes at work today while riffing via email to a co-worker. It's the true story of what happened to me when I arrived at last Monday morning. Don't try to make too much sense of it, it'll only hurt your brain. Just trust that every word of it is true, and thank your lucky stars that this did not happen to you.
Upon a Monday morning dreary
As I pondered weak and weary
While waiting for the elevator door
Came a man so sprightly stepping
Unto the conveyance upon which I was schlepping
Whose pants defied all physical law
Good Morrow sir he said exhaling
An alcoholic cloud impaling
My very eyes which sought only to implore
Sir, said I, Good sir I beg you
How high upon the human leg do
Your trousers rise until they must simply rise no more?
Ha! said he, ejecting spittle
Frothing from his lips in little
Rivulets of putrescent oral gore
My pants, he said, Are barely climbing
So please dear sir, forego your whining
And keep your eyes upon the elevator door
Upon the indicator for your floor above the elevator door
Sir, said I, my anger cresting
Tis your camel toe I am protesting
Do your pant cuffs ever even touch the floor?
Quoth the pant man Nevermore.
My Father's Hands
Posted 9/16/2006 2:41:30 PM
One of the things I loved most about my father was his hands. He had these very strong looking hands with impossibly thick fingers. They were not the hands of a “working man”, he did not build skyscrapers, didn’t work on cars or make his own home repairs. They were the hands of a salesman, but they somehow managed to look powerful and elegant at the same time.
My father didn’t build the better mouse trap, he didn’t write the great American novel, or invent the longer lasting light bulb. He didn’t teach me to play ball, or how to rebuild a carburetor, or even how to shave. He didn’t teach me any of the things that growing up I thought you needed to know to be a real man.
Here’s what else he didn’t do: he didn’t drink, or smoke. He never cheated on my mother. He never went round to the bar after work and crawled in after midnight. He never backed down from a fight if one presented itself, and he never broke his word. Most importantly, he never gave up. No matter what curves life threw at him, no matter how hard it was at times to get up and face another day, he never bowed his head and admitted defeat. There were always clothes on our backs, and food on the table no matter what.
And he loved my mother.
Uncompromisingly.
And though she’d been gone nearly seven years, he loved her until the day he died.
These are the things my father taught me, and these are the things that to me are a shining example of what a real man should be.
When my father died, I looked down at his hands, the same hands that clutched at the sand of Omaha Beach on D-Day, and I noticed how similar my hands were to his. The same curves to our fingers, the same knuckles, the same shaped fingernails. And although time and age had withered them some and turned his fingers a bit more inward and yellowed his nails, they were still the hands I loved.
And despite the similarities, I know that my hands will never measure up.
They can never be that big.
Posted 9/16/2006 2:41:30 PM
One of the things I loved most about my father was his hands. He had these very strong looking hands with impossibly thick fingers. They were not the hands of a “working man”, he did not build skyscrapers, didn’t work on cars or make his own home repairs. They were the hands of a salesman, but they somehow managed to look powerful and elegant at the same time.
My father didn’t build the better mouse trap, he didn’t write the great American novel, or invent the longer lasting light bulb. He didn’t teach me to play ball, or how to rebuild a carburetor, or even how to shave. He didn’t teach me any of the things that growing up I thought you needed to know to be a real man.
Here’s what else he didn’t do: he didn’t drink, or smoke. He never cheated on my mother. He never went round to the bar after work and crawled in after midnight. He never backed down from a fight if one presented itself, and he never broke his word. Most importantly, he never gave up. No matter what curves life threw at him, no matter how hard it was at times to get up and face another day, he never bowed his head and admitted defeat. There were always clothes on our backs, and food on the table no matter what.
And he loved my mother.
Uncompromisingly.
And though she’d been gone nearly seven years, he loved her until the day he died.
These are the things my father taught me, and these are the things that to me are a shining example of what a real man should be.
When my father died, I looked down at his hands, the same hands that clutched at the sand of Omaha Beach on D-Day, and I noticed how similar my hands were to his. The same curves to our fingers, the same knuckles, the same shaped fingernails. And although time and age had withered them some and turned his fingers a bit more inward and yellowed his nails, they were still the hands I loved.
And despite the similarities, I know that my hands will never measure up.
They can never be that big.
A Couple More Poems
Posted 9/16/2006 2:36:32 PM
SHELTER
Seeking shelter
In the harbor of your thighs
The nocturnal musings of a tree frog
Wake me from a dream
And you whisper softly
Just a breath
Sending shivers down my skin
Your warmth surrounds me
Your shadow dancing as a car passes in the night
I am alive inside you
-------------------------------------------
WICKED EVENING
Wicked evening
Wet with promise
And the slow
Thrusting
Pull
Of the moon
Posted 9/16/2006 2:36:32 PM
SHELTER
Seeking shelter
In the harbor of your thighs
The nocturnal musings of a tree frog
Wake me from a dream
And you whisper softly
Just a breath
Sending shivers down my skin
Your warmth surrounds me
Your shadow dancing as a car passes in the night
I am alive inside you
-------------------------------------------
WICKED EVENING
Wicked evening
Wet with promise
And the slow
Thrusting
Pull
Of the moon
A Poem
Posted 9/16/2006 2:34:24 PM
EVOCATIONS
Pavlovian nightmare
Intrinsical sin
Exhibition
Filling rooms with vacant stares
Explorations of motion
Footprints in dust
Stirring memories
Like smoke thru shafts of light
Posted 9/16/2006 2:34:24 PM
EVOCATIONS
Pavlovian nightmare
Intrinsical sin
Exhibition
Filling rooms with vacant stares
Explorations of motion
Footprints in dust
Stirring memories
Like smoke thru shafts of light
The Official Girl Who Broke My Heart Blog
Posted 9/16/2006 2:30:16 PM
So here it is, the obligitory blog about the girl who broke my heart. This is 2 years old, and was written when the wound was still fresh so to speak. Anyway. I could go on about it all day, but there's no point to it. So, without further ado, ladies and gentlemen, meet Kath:
I remember the very first time I saw Katherine. The instant my eyes fell upon her I was overcome with the certainty that this was the most exquisite creature I had ever seen. Her beauty made such an impact on me in fact, that had I never seen her again but for that brief moment, her face would have stayed in my mind forever.
Had I known then that that angelic face would lead me to the most painful heartbreak of my life; I would have been no less able to prevent myself from being drawn to her than a moth is capable of avoiding the seductive lure of a candles flame.
My life up until that point had been filled with minor disappointments, and its fair share of the triumphs, losses, loves and the drama that are unique to the human condition. At thirty-two years old, I had reached a crossroads in my life, and with no clear vision as to where it would lead, I found myself at that one perfect place at that one perfect moment.
Our initial meeting was brief, over in a matter of seconds, but the impression that it made upon me was to last a lifetime.
I have always been a romantic at heart. I have always truly believed that love conquers all, and frequently found my eyes welling up and a lump in my throat as I watched a love story unfold on a movie screen. One thing I had never put much stock in however was love at first sight. I saw it as a charming notion that worked best in novels and movies and found its way into the writings of untalented poets.
That all changed for me the moment I saw her.
Katherine was twenty years old, and had arrived here from England several months earlier on a one year contract to work in the United Kingdom pavilion at EPCOT in Walt Disney World. By some strange circumstance I found myself there as well, although technically I should never have been there in the first place. In order to work in each pavilion, you needed to be from the country it was representing. I of course was not. It was one of many coincidences, or signs if you will that over the next four years I convinced myself held great significance. After all, what were the odds that I would end up somewhere I technically wasn’t even supposed to be at just the right point in time? What were the odds that she would follow suit and arrive thousands of miles from home to be standing in that room when I stepped into it and first laid eyes on her?
It didn’t stop there. There were more portents that pointed to fate bringing us together. Among them a Moody Blues song “Nights in White Satin”, and an aluminum Knight falling from a shelf. Nights and Knights. Even there, the symbolism could not be denied. I won’t go into all the other instances, occurrences and coincidences here, suffice to say that the sheer number of them alone was uncanny, and only served to convince me all the more that fate had played a hand in bringing us together, the odds against us having met at all being astronomical.
Katherine’s beauty is of the sort that poets have struggled to describe for centuries. I however am no poet, and my chances of giving her beauty its full due will no doubt fall short here, as many poets of the past have found out as well when trying to describe something so ephemeral as this.
First, there is her hair. Soft, silken, blonde and radiant, it cascades down tenderly to frame a face with such delicate features that to look upon them can bring a man to weep. A perfectly straight nose surrounded by eyes a color of green that weakens even the most hardened heart. In those eyes one could truly get lost. Her mouth. Her mouth is perhaps the most exotic feature on an already indescribable face. Her lips are plump and sensuous, with a slight point in the center of her top lip. To watch her speak is erotic, to see her drink from a bottle is sinful. Within those perfect lips lies a smile so affecting and beautiful, that to see it once is to fall in love. Her front two teeth are just slightly longer than the rest, giving that radiant smile a seductive hint of little girl playfulness. When she turns that smile upon you everything else fades from view, and the world loses all importance save the desire to see it again. A slender swan like neck, leading down to a collar bone that was created solely for the purpose of being kissed.
Small perfectly round breasts, a tiny waist and beautiful supple hips trailing down to legs that end in the most gorgeous shapely calves and beautiful feet.
And her back, her back is so perfectly flawless that the skin there appears to be made of silk.
As I said, I am not equipped to do her beauty justice. I simply don’t have the vocabulary for it. To see her is to know, and to have seen her is to have fallen in love. At least that was how it was for me. That is how it continues to be for me.
But her beauty goes far beyond the physical. You see, there is beauty in her frailty and in her insecurities. There is beauty in her fears and desires. There is beauty in her laughter. And there is beauty in her love.
I know this because she shared it with me for a time. And being on the receiving end of Katherine’s love was magical. She made me feel truly adored. This was a feeling I was not familiar with, and one that I will never forget. While she was mine she made me feel as if there were no other men in the world. They simply held no interest for her, and she showed me devotion the likes of which I had never known. I in turn was deeply devoted to her, as I still am, and will likely be for the rest of my life.
Katherine had a way of picking me up from any depth to which I fell with the simplest of gestures; a wrinkling of her nose, an adorable pout, or the simple act of knowing just when to reach out and touch my hand. She was intuitive to my every mood. She is the only woman in whose arms I have openly wept, and never did she fault me for it.
Her laughter is musical. Nothing gave me more joy than those moments when I said something to bring out that laughter. When she lets all her shields down, and allows herself to be truly vulnerable, she is so delicate and unassuming that you can not help but to drop all pretenses yourself. The intimate moments we shared will stay with me forever. When I speak of intimacies, I speak of those moments two people in love share when their guards are completely down, and they are able to show their true inner selves to one another.
Sexually Katherine and I shared a connection I had never experienced with another. Experimental, uninhibited, passionate, and at times quite dirty. When we made love, slowly and devotedly, she would cry in the aftermath having been moved so deeply. Although she never knew it, I was brought to tears on occasion myself, when we would lie together drifting into sleep, at my happiness in having such an amazing woman sharing her life with me.
She made me laugh more than any other woman I had ever known. She gave me more satisfaction in myself and more confidence than I had ever had before. She stimulated my need for conversation, and never disappointed me in her ability to hold her own in a discussion. The pride I felt introducing her to people as my wife was indescribable.
There were nights when I would sit on the edge of the bed as she slept, watching her breathe slowly and peacefully, and the sight of her alone would bring me to new levels of happiness.
I adore everything about her.
For four years, by the hand of fate, or the simple stroke of luck, I was the one this angel chose to spend her life with. To share her beauty, her heart, her smile and her love. For four years I truly lived in a heaven on earth.
Now, as I sit here and write this, I am in purgatory, for my angel has gone. Now some other man bathes in the pools of her eyes, places kisses upon her slender neck, runs his hands over the silken skin of her back, and is blinded by the radiance of her smile.
I suppose I should be grateful for what little time I was given. I should look back upon that time as a dream that I had to wake from eventually. A dream that provided me with enough memories to last a lifetime. But my mind is unable to stop the torturous descent into imagining what she is doing now.
And as for my romantic conviction that love conquers all? Well, I now know that this is as much a lie as it is a ridiculous notion that is best left to the poets and their weeping pens.
So, in the end, if I had known that I would end up here, in the most indescribable pain, longing for something that I can never have again, would I still have taken that chance?
Yes.
Yes. Because like the moth to the flame I would be compelled to. There are some people in this world that cannot be denied adoration. They don’t ask for it, it is just unavoidable once you meet them.
For me, that person will always be Katherine. My love, my bride, my reason for living, and now, it seems, my cross to bear.
Posted 9/16/2006 2:30:16 PM
So here it is, the obligitory blog about the girl who broke my heart. This is 2 years old, and was written when the wound was still fresh so to speak. Anyway. I could go on about it all day, but there's no point to it. So, without further ado, ladies and gentlemen, meet Kath:
I remember the very first time I saw Katherine. The instant my eyes fell upon her I was overcome with the certainty that this was the most exquisite creature I had ever seen. Her beauty made such an impact on me in fact, that had I never seen her again but for that brief moment, her face would have stayed in my mind forever.
Had I known then that that angelic face would lead me to the most painful heartbreak of my life; I would have been no less able to prevent myself from being drawn to her than a moth is capable of avoiding the seductive lure of a candles flame.
My life up until that point had been filled with minor disappointments, and its fair share of the triumphs, losses, loves and the drama that are unique to the human condition. At thirty-two years old, I had reached a crossroads in my life, and with no clear vision as to where it would lead, I found myself at that one perfect place at that one perfect moment.
Our initial meeting was brief, over in a matter of seconds, but the impression that it made upon me was to last a lifetime.
I have always been a romantic at heart. I have always truly believed that love conquers all, and frequently found my eyes welling up and a lump in my throat as I watched a love story unfold on a movie screen. One thing I had never put much stock in however was love at first sight. I saw it as a charming notion that worked best in novels and movies and found its way into the writings of untalented poets.
That all changed for me the moment I saw her.
Katherine was twenty years old, and had arrived here from England several months earlier on a one year contract to work in the United Kingdom pavilion at EPCOT in Walt Disney World. By some strange circumstance I found myself there as well, although technically I should never have been there in the first place. In order to work in each pavilion, you needed to be from the country it was representing. I of course was not. It was one of many coincidences, or signs if you will that over the next four years I convinced myself held great significance. After all, what were the odds that I would end up somewhere I technically wasn’t even supposed to be at just the right point in time? What were the odds that she would follow suit and arrive thousands of miles from home to be standing in that room when I stepped into it and first laid eyes on her?
It didn’t stop there. There were more portents that pointed to fate bringing us together. Among them a Moody Blues song “Nights in White Satin”, and an aluminum Knight falling from a shelf. Nights and Knights. Even there, the symbolism could not be denied. I won’t go into all the other instances, occurrences and coincidences here, suffice to say that the sheer number of them alone was uncanny, and only served to convince me all the more that fate had played a hand in bringing us together, the odds against us having met at all being astronomical.
Katherine’s beauty is of the sort that poets have struggled to describe for centuries. I however am no poet, and my chances of giving her beauty its full due will no doubt fall short here, as many poets of the past have found out as well when trying to describe something so ephemeral as this.
First, there is her hair. Soft, silken, blonde and radiant, it cascades down tenderly to frame a face with such delicate features that to look upon them can bring a man to weep. A perfectly straight nose surrounded by eyes a color of green that weakens even the most hardened heart. In those eyes one could truly get lost. Her mouth. Her mouth is perhaps the most exotic feature on an already indescribable face. Her lips are plump and sensuous, with a slight point in the center of her top lip. To watch her speak is erotic, to see her drink from a bottle is sinful. Within those perfect lips lies a smile so affecting and beautiful, that to see it once is to fall in love. Her front two teeth are just slightly longer than the rest, giving that radiant smile a seductive hint of little girl playfulness. When she turns that smile upon you everything else fades from view, and the world loses all importance save the desire to see it again. A slender swan like neck, leading down to a collar bone that was created solely for the purpose of being kissed.
Small perfectly round breasts, a tiny waist and beautiful supple hips trailing down to legs that end in the most gorgeous shapely calves and beautiful feet.
And her back, her back is so perfectly flawless that the skin there appears to be made of silk.
As I said, I am not equipped to do her beauty justice. I simply don’t have the vocabulary for it. To see her is to know, and to have seen her is to have fallen in love. At least that was how it was for me. That is how it continues to be for me.
But her beauty goes far beyond the physical. You see, there is beauty in her frailty and in her insecurities. There is beauty in her fears and desires. There is beauty in her laughter. And there is beauty in her love.
I know this because she shared it with me for a time. And being on the receiving end of Katherine’s love was magical. She made me feel truly adored. This was a feeling I was not familiar with, and one that I will never forget. While she was mine she made me feel as if there were no other men in the world. They simply held no interest for her, and she showed me devotion the likes of which I had never known. I in turn was deeply devoted to her, as I still am, and will likely be for the rest of my life.
Katherine had a way of picking me up from any depth to which I fell with the simplest of gestures; a wrinkling of her nose, an adorable pout, or the simple act of knowing just when to reach out and touch my hand. She was intuitive to my every mood. She is the only woman in whose arms I have openly wept, and never did she fault me for it.
Her laughter is musical. Nothing gave me more joy than those moments when I said something to bring out that laughter. When she lets all her shields down, and allows herself to be truly vulnerable, she is so delicate and unassuming that you can not help but to drop all pretenses yourself. The intimate moments we shared will stay with me forever. When I speak of intimacies, I speak of those moments two people in love share when their guards are completely down, and they are able to show their true inner selves to one another.
Sexually Katherine and I shared a connection I had never experienced with another. Experimental, uninhibited, passionate, and at times quite dirty. When we made love, slowly and devotedly, she would cry in the aftermath having been moved so deeply. Although she never knew it, I was brought to tears on occasion myself, when we would lie together drifting into sleep, at my happiness in having such an amazing woman sharing her life with me.
She made me laugh more than any other woman I had ever known. She gave me more satisfaction in myself and more confidence than I had ever had before. She stimulated my need for conversation, and never disappointed me in her ability to hold her own in a discussion. The pride I felt introducing her to people as my wife was indescribable.
There were nights when I would sit on the edge of the bed as she slept, watching her breathe slowly and peacefully, and the sight of her alone would bring me to new levels of happiness.
I adore everything about her.
For four years, by the hand of fate, or the simple stroke of luck, I was the one this angel chose to spend her life with. To share her beauty, her heart, her smile and her love. For four years I truly lived in a heaven on earth.
Now, as I sit here and write this, I am in purgatory, for my angel has gone. Now some other man bathes in the pools of her eyes, places kisses upon her slender neck, runs his hands over the silken skin of her back, and is blinded by the radiance of her smile.
I suppose I should be grateful for what little time I was given. I should look back upon that time as a dream that I had to wake from eventually. A dream that provided me with enough memories to last a lifetime. But my mind is unable to stop the torturous descent into imagining what she is doing now.
And as for my romantic conviction that love conquers all? Well, I now know that this is as much a lie as it is a ridiculous notion that is best left to the poets and their weeping pens.
So, in the end, if I had known that I would end up here, in the most indescribable pain, longing for something that I can never have again, would I still have taken that chance?
Yes.
Yes. Because like the moth to the flame I would be compelled to. There are some people in this world that cannot be denied adoration. They don’t ask for it, it is just unavoidable once you meet them.
For me, that person will always be Katherine. My love, my bride, my reason for living, and now, it seems, my cross to bear.
What DO you believe?
Posted 9/16/2006 12:04:27 PM
When people find out that I am agnostic, the question I am most often asked is this: What DO you believe? with the emphasis being on the word "do".
I usually respond with: "I believe in your right to believe whatever you choose without passing judgment on you for that belief." Usually I just leave it at that. But some people (Christians mostly), cant let it go that easily. So I will then use another of my trademark statements: "I was raised Catholic...but I'm in recovery now." If at this point they still wont stop insisting, then I usually start screaming "FIRE!" at the top of my lungs hoping to cause a mass panic that I can use as camouflage and thereby exact my escape.
I have decided to give the question a proper response here in this forum. I do not want to start some ongoing debate, nor do I want to respond to dozens of emails defending my stance. This is me. This is how I see things. All I ask is that you do me the favor that I do you, and accept my beliefs without passing judgment on me because they do not fit into yours.
So, here we go:
What I Believe.
I believe in evolution. That we are descended from apes, as the scientific proof shows us quite clearly.
I believe in peace and love, and that we should all aspire to be better people.
I believe in a womans right to choose.
I believe that the Bible is largely a work of fiction, but that it is peppered with historical events which lend it a slight air of authenticity.
I believe that the Bible is mostly a series of morality plays, several of which I feel are good lessons to live life by.
I believe in everyones right to worship whoever or however they see fit.
I believe in UFOs and Bigfoot. One because I have seen one with my own eyes, and the other because I really want to.
I believe that the fire and brimstone that rained down on Sodom and Gomorrah was either a volcanic eruption or a meteor shower, and that the people of that time simply did not have the science to explain it, so they attributed it to the all powerful being in the sky to help them understand.
I believe without a doubt that there was a conspiracy to kill John F. Kennedy.
I believe that gays and lesbians should be able to get married, and adopt and raise children if they wish to do so.
I believe that 3 dollars a gallon is way too fucking much to pay for gas.
I believe the guy in the white house is making us all look bad.
I believe in ghosts because I grew up in a haunted house and have seen way too many of them to deny it.
I believe that there was a man named Jesus, and that he preached a groovy message of love and peace, and that we killed him for it.
I don't believe that he was the son of God, although I believe he claimed to be. But I mean really, he probably wasnt the first, and he certainly wasnt the last (David Koresh anyone?). And here's a thought to keep the faithful up at night: What if David Koresh actually WAS the second coming of Christ, and we killed him again? Thats some serious bad karma there people.
Speaking of which, I believe in karma.
And lastly, I believe the children are our future...wait a sec...I need to stop before i make myself sick.
Once again I will remind the ultra sensitive of you out there, that I respect and honor your beliefs. I simply request that you NEVER try to force them on me, and that you respect me enough to understand that you are never going to change my mind.
Peace.
Posted 9/16/2006 12:04:27 PM
When people find out that I am agnostic, the question I am most often asked is this: What DO you believe? with the emphasis being on the word "do".
I usually respond with: "I believe in your right to believe whatever you choose without passing judgment on you for that belief." Usually I just leave it at that. But some people (Christians mostly), cant let it go that easily. So I will then use another of my trademark statements: "I was raised Catholic...but I'm in recovery now." If at this point they still wont stop insisting, then I usually start screaming "FIRE!" at the top of my lungs hoping to cause a mass panic that I can use as camouflage and thereby exact my escape.
I have decided to give the question a proper response here in this forum. I do not want to start some ongoing debate, nor do I want to respond to dozens of emails defending my stance. This is me. This is how I see things. All I ask is that you do me the favor that I do you, and accept my beliefs without passing judgment on me because they do not fit into yours.
So, here we go:
What I Believe.
I believe in evolution. That we are descended from apes, as the scientific proof shows us quite clearly.
I believe in peace and love, and that we should all aspire to be better people.
I believe in a womans right to choose.
I believe that the Bible is largely a work of fiction, but that it is peppered with historical events which lend it a slight air of authenticity.
I believe that the Bible is mostly a series of morality plays, several of which I feel are good lessons to live life by.
I believe in everyones right to worship whoever or however they see fit.
I believe in UFOs and Bigfoot. One because I have seen one with my own eyes, and the other because I really want to.
I believe that the fire and brimstone that rained down on Sodom and Gomorrah was either a volcanic eruption or a meteor shower, and that the people of that time simply did not have the science to explain it, so they attributed it to the all powerful being in the sky to help them understand.
I believe without a doubt that there was a conspiracy to kill John F. Kennedy.
I believe that gays and lesbians should be able to get married, and adopt and raise children if they wish to do so.
I believe that 3 dollars a gallon is way too fucking much to pay for gas.
I believe the guy in the white house is making us all look bad.
I believe in ghosts because I grew up in a haunted house and have seen way too many of them to deny it.
I believe that there was a man named Jesus, and that he preached a groovy message of love and peace, and that we killed him for it.
I don't believe that he was the son of God, although I believe he claimed to be. But I mean really, he probably wasnt the first, and he certainly wasnt the last (David Koresh anyone?). And here's a thought to keep the faithful up at night: What if David Koresh actually WAS the second coming of Christ, and we killed him again? Thats some serious bad karma there people.
Speaking of which, I believe in karma.
And lastly, I believe the children are our future...wait a sec...I need to stop before i make myself sick.
Once again I will remind the ultra sensitive of you out there, that I respect and honor your beliefs. I simply request that you NEVER try to force them on me, and that you respect me enough to understand that you are never going to change my mind.
Peace.
FeedBack
Mistletoe
11/22/2007 6:07:26 AM
HAPPY BIRTHDAY!
You haven't been around in ages, hopefully things are going great with you.
*hug*
Mistletoe
9/11/2007 8:26:10 AM
This little finnish pest is immediately here! LOL i'll answer your email later today. :o)
I gotta leave in 30mins...have a great day! :o)
Mistletoe
9/9/2007 6:31:36 AM
Thanks for that email! :o)
Mistletoe
8/31/2007 8:43:53 AM
HEY MISTER, IMPORTANT PM WAITING FOR YOU! :o)
Have a nice day.
Mistletoe
8/18/2007 1:36:32 PM
thanks for the smile, here's one back :o)
hehe.
Mistletoe
8/17/2007 8:13:25 PM
Hey there. :o)
Have a great weekend!
Mistletoe
8/15/2007 6:29:12 AM
It's ok. :o)
My weekend was nice. I got to be all alone the whole weekend! Which is always nice. :o)
Mistletoe
8/12/2007 6:17:09 PM
hi hi hi! so nice to see you here! :o)
how was your weekend?
nickelpickel
8/7/2007 8:54:12 AM
Thanks for reading mine!
Mistletoe
8/6/2007 5:14:56 AM
no need to thank me. :o)
i hope your weekend was a relaxing one and this new week will be even better. how's the weather, no storms i hope!
Mistletoe
8/5/2007 4:10:49 PM
Heya Mister! :o)
What's up?
Mistletoe
8/4/2007 7:44:15 PM
Thank you for the friend request, i accepted it gladly. :o)
have a nice saturdaynight and enjoy your sunday!
:o)
Mistletoe
8/3/2007 8:47:26 AM
hi. :o) just commented you and i'd like to say nice to meet you too. :o) i live in Finland at the moment, but i will soon be moving to Florida! :o) so we will be "neighbors" soon. :o)
bleufemme1964
7/28/2007 1:51:55 AM
I would like to come back and read more. I love what I have read so far. I cannot believe I have not seen you before. Brightest blessings :)
jrm31
10/15/2006 1:07:40 AM
yea a little bit. my question is how do you personally take on writers block. that is if u ever get it
jrm31
10/15/2006 12:34:49 AM
so you write a lot. correct?
11/22/2007 6:07:26 AM
HAPPY BIRTHDAY!
You haven't been around in ages, hopefully things are going great with you.
*hug*
Mistletoe
9/11/2007 8:26:10 AM
This little finnish pest is immediately here! LOL i'll answer your email later today. :o)
I gotta leave in 30mins...have a great day! :o)
Mistletoe
9/9/2007 6:31:36 AM
Thanks for that email! :o)
Mistletoe
8/31/2007 8:43:53 AM
HEY MISTER, IMPORTANT PM WAITING FOR YOU! :o)
Have a nice day.
Mistletoe
8/18/2007 1:36:32 PM
thanks for the smile, here's one back :o)
hehe.
Mistletoe
8/17/2007 8:13:25 PM
Hey there. :o)
Have a great weekend!
Mistletoe
8/15/2007 6:29:12 AM
It's ok. :o)
My weekend was nice. I got to be all alone the whole weekend! Which is always nice. :o)
Mistletoe
8/12/2007 6:17:09 PM
hi hi hi! so nice to see you here! :o)
how was your weekend?
nickelpickel
8/7/2007 8:54:12 AM
Thanks for reading mine!
Mistletoe
8/6/2007 5:14:56 AM
no need to thank me. :o)
i hope your weekend was a relaxing one and this new week will be even better. how's the weather, no storms i hope!
Mistletoe
8/5/2007 4:10:49 PM
Heya Mister! :o)
What's up?
Mistletoe
8/4/2007 7:44:15 PM
Thank you for the friend request, i accepted it gladly. :o)
have a nice saturdaynight and enjoy your sunday!
:o)
Mistletoe
8/3/2007 8:47:26 AM
hi. :o) just commented you and i'd like to say nice to meet you too. :o) i live in Finland at the moment, but i will soon be moving to Florida! :o) so we will be "neighbors" soon. :o)
bleufemme1964
7/28/2007 1:51:55 AM
I would like to come back and read more. I love what I have read so far. I cannot believe I have not seen you before. Brightest blessings :)
jrm31
10/15/2006 1:07:40 AM
yea a little bit. my question is how do you personally take on writers block. that is if u ever get it
jrm31
10/15/2006 12:34:49 AM
so you write a lot. correct?
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