wicked and that ain't so easy
 
"if there were but world enough and time..."

but there isn't.

so......spit it out.
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The Crone (for little sis)
Posted:Jan 18, 2018 12:27 pm
Last Updated:Jan 20, 2018 10:51 am
418 Views

He could not find it in him to cross the small bridge. After all the miles he’d hiked to get here, after the fasting, after the months of searching to find this place, he stood, frozen just a few hundred feet from a door that he had sworn to open, to crash through, to burn if need be. He panted, hands on his knees, bent double as if he had run for miles, stomach roiling.

Watching, he saw the door open inward to darkness. A tiny bent woman with white hair nearly to her knees, a froth of wiry strands blown by a wind unseen, unfelt, crept forward incrementally followed by a dog so large, so lupine that he could but stare as he straightened for a better view. Her hand deep in his fur, they moved across the wooden slats of the porch, the wolf/dog prodding her, her soft laughter drifting towards him as she settled into a rocker, her skirts which seemed to be blue, green, purple, catching the sun, her hair, flying.

“Well now, you fixin’ on coming across?”

Startled, assuming himself to be well hidden in the bushes, he stepped out.

He ran across the bridge, across the small verdant yard, halting only when the yes wolf stood, eying him.

She sniffed the air. He could see now that she was blind. It gave him the courage to move closer.

“Step on back son. If you’re thirsty, there’s tea on the table inside. Bring some for me, let’s get this done.”

He stepped into the dim, smells of herbs, fire, food flooded his senses. The room belied the exterior seeming so much larger, and he was tempted to wander when her voice pulled him back to task. Filling the glasses, already set on the table, he hurried back outside, setting one on the ledge beside her and sat on the porch edge. As the first mouthful slipped down his throat, he felt the cold, then a long sweet release as if part of him that had been held so tight for so long, let go.

The numinous moment came out of him in a small moan. The crone smiled, “ feels good going down, eh?”

“yes, is it magic?” He asked, stunned.

“it’s tea.” Reaching into her pocket she slipped something to the wolf who he chewed it thoughtfully before swallowing, licking her small hand, settling at her feet, closing his eyes.

“I need an answer from you.”

She sat silently, breathing in the clean air, listening. But to what? To him, or to the sound of the water over the rocks in the creek, the soft shushing of the wind dancing in the tree tops, the thousand of sounds he began to pick out of the air around him, the gentle chuffing from the sleeping dog. The repetitive groan from the loose board when she rocked back…

When he woke, the door was ajar. It was nearly sunrise. He could smell the fire, the bacon. She called out, “nearly ready, if’n you’re hungry.”. He stretched, moved quickly. She pointed, “toilet”. Gratified, he washed up hurriedly. They ate in silence.

He did the cleanup. As he stood at the door, the dog came to him, pushing him gently forward. She stood by the table, today dressed all in green. He wondered how she knew what she was wearing.

“Just do.”

He smiled, “thank you.”

She nodded….”off you go then.”

As he crossed the bridge he did not look back. He was afraid that if he did, there would be no house, no bridge, no stream, no wolf. He walked steadily forward. As we sometimes must.
14 Comments
waiting room madness
Posted:Jan 15, 2018 10:41 am
Last Updated:Jan 19, 2018 12:27 pm
656 Views

Sitting back in the chair, she wondered if all the other people waiting were thinking about the same things she was thinking about or if their minds were as jumbled as hers. It seems that when faced with learning one’s fate, she tends to look backward instead of forward which comes as a surprise to her. Why look at what she’s had instead of trying to see what she will be able to have. why think of what she’s already done instead of what she can still do. It seems silly and somewhat pathetic to her and fills her with a morose sort of shame that she isn’t used to feeling, one she’d prefer not becoming used to.

Oh for god’s sake snap out of it, pinching her thigh, with her short nails. Like it makes any difference at all what you’re thinking. It will be exactly what it will be and then you will do what you must do and that’s the end of that. Man plans, God laughs. Or man laughs, and God laughs louder. What a stinker. Her smile is caught by the woman across from her and returned. Damn, she was hoping to avoid talking to anyone but now it seems THAT’s not going to happen either.

Swell.

“You seem happy”

“Well I was just thinking of what a little stinker God can be”

“Oh, oh, my”

That should shut her up

“Yes, he can although I suppose mostly we deserve it”

HA. One of those. Fuck me, now it begins.

“Really? How does one merit God’s stink eye?

The woman blushes. Slides forward in her seat and whispers. “we all have secrets, eh?”

She nods not only to avoid answering but because it is indeed the truth.

The woman moves to sit beside her. “is your secret a big one?”

“It’s not all that. I suppose I have a few. Most are just things I’d rather forget.”

“Mine is so terrible that God has forsaken me.”

“you can’t out sin god’s forgiveness.”

The woman looked at her in disbelief. “Who told you that/”

Her name rang out. She rose and walked through the door.

“Who told you that,” the woman screamed after her.

As she moved forward, she thought, I hope I’m right.
16 Comments
taken
Posted:Jan 13, 2018 10:22 am
Last Updated:Jan 16, 2018 11:24 am
769 Views

I would like two weeks in a cabin, isolated, no TV, no phone, ten books of my choosing. Paper and pens. Food and drink. for it to snow at least once or twice. enough to coat the trees and turn the world quiet. A bed big and strong, an old table made of plank wood, a huge claw foot tub.

a toboggan. Just for the laughter.

Enough wood for endless fires, the smell of soap, smoke, food, sex….all mixed up together. Soft sounds of voices mixing with each to each, explosions of logs bursting, deep calls of passion

curling one on top of another building towers toppling to ruins of smothered moans,, sharp snappings against soft flesh.

the freedom to cry, to shout to scream to be silent in the midst of such sanctuary.

To feel every moment, to turn, smile, met with acceptance, knowing. To stand unafraid, while he circles me, lifting, opening, inspecting. My body, his body.

nothing more than this, this time, this place. To feel the lightness of my bones.

The smallest pressure on my shoulder sending me to my knees.
14 Comments
shitholes
Posted:Jan 12, 2018 8:51 am
Last Updated:Jan 19, 2018 12:18 pm
1199 Views
i wonder if any other president has ever referred to a foreign nation as a shithole before and if that does not somehow make the USA a shithole while letting any/all other nations off the hook..........

51 Comments
mundane insanity
Posted:Jan 9, 2018 11:06 am
Last Updated:Jan 16, 2018 11:22 am
972 Views
Having just spent weeks without a computer, I must say, it was not so bad. I did an enormous amount of reading some of it even good. My laundry is d, I ate regular meals and the house is clean.

This is not to say that having a computer makes me forget to be personally responsible, but it does give me an excuse to procrastinate. And any excuse to avoid laundry works for me.

Here, where I live, we are buried in a mountain of snow. It is beautiful. But so cold and windy that even the dogs are loathe to go outside. Mid blizzard I shoveled the front walk so Charlie could poop. Within an hour the winds had blown the snow into the walk and back on the stairs as though I hadn’t even touched them.



The difference between the mundane and the insane is often just step. The man who carves out his parking spot and places a chair there to preserve it, to the man who shoots a guy for taking it. step. I would assume that more of these steps are crossed in winter than in any other season. We have so much al time to ponder the irregularities of the world, to take inventory. And if we are brutally hst, we spend a good amount of time taking inventory on other people not on ourselves. Now, now, you’re saying, that’s not me. well of course not, I don’t mean you, I just meant them…all those other people. But I will include myself with them.

In the midst of reading this book about the autism spectrum, I was struck by the cleanliness of the way this child saw the world. I don’t know whether it was right or wrong but it was very precise, and it had a reasoning that was simple and succinct. It made me feel as if I was taking all the joy out of my life by questioning every single thing I do or think.

Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar. Or rose a rose. or a parking spot is not worth prison time.

How do we accept the mundane and the insane and stay sane?

Hell, I’m drinking ice coffee and it’s -12 degrees outside………don’t ask me.
22 Comments
in lieu of presents
Posted:Dec 20, 2017 7:44 am
Last Updated:Dec 22, 2017 1:48 pm
1360 Views

for so many people, this season is a difficult one, not to be celebrated but to be endured.

for those out there who are surviving may I offer you.

a long restful sleep without dreams

a day of quiet forbearance

a moment of sweet memory that fills your heart and covers your face with tears.

a good Chinese Restaurant that delivers

a dog by your side

and if you are waiting as I am, I wish you patience.

God Bless Us Everyone.........
27 Comments
naughty or nice
Posted:Dec 4, 2017 10:07 am
Last Updated:Dec 22, 2017 1:37 pm
1700 Views
hohoho

at my age, being naughty feels nice.

24 Comments
Rites of Passage with a moron
Posted:Nov 27, 2017 12:45 pm
Last Updated:Dec 22, 2017 1:27 pm
2079 Views
On the way to my nephew’s wedding, we had to use GPS because it was in a small town in western Mass on a farm. If you know the area near Leicester, Spencer, you will understand there are no street lamps, very little that one can use as visual guides. In the full light of day, it’s lovely rolling country and the curving roads would make a motorcyclist grin with delight. At night the tree lines are only occasionally broken by lights from a home or a got everything store. We nearly died 11 times.

My brothers were there already which was a miracle, so I ran for the bathroom then settled into my ceremony seat.

Cut to the post ceremony….

DJ WHIZ…. swear to god.

A man with the charm of a glob of spit trying desperately to wrassle gleeful people into orderly groups. He was loud, AND he used a mike, through which he shouted, can you hear me?, hey, let me hear you say YAH on the average of once every three minutes. Resounding silence answered him, but was he deterred?. NOT THE WHIZZER. He just kept saying it over and over until a weary few said yeah, yeah, hoping he would stfu.

And who plays Alicia Keyes next to Travolta’s Staying Alive? That’s wrong on so many levels.

He introduced the Father of the Bride as Big Papa. Shudders. My Christian sister as Hot Mama. my brothers of course wolf whistled.



My nephew married a lovely woman named Becky. His first wife was also named Becky. His brother who was the Best Man gave a great speech in which he said, make this work because I doubt you’ll find a third Becky willing to deal with you. My family, laughed like loons. Her family was silent. If you’d been there for the first wedding and the fist fights……….you would have laughed, This was sedate. THAT was a free for all.

The Whiz, when it came time for the first dance, said…………raise your glasses to Micah and Meg. The Couple’s name? Josh and Becky. However, Micah and Meg (brother and sister) did dance, just to take the piss. As the night progressed and everyone got a wee bit drunk, Whiz included, he began to circle the room handing out cards, the bathroom was strewn with them.

Later, I’m out having a cigarette, and everyone is talking about what an ass he is…. turns out one of the smokers is his girlfriend. awkward. But I do believe she went back to the hotel with one of the groomsmen so maybe she traded up...with the Whiz, there was no where else to go.

tbh…. if you call yourself the whiz………. you’re asking for it, right?

PS My brother Bob kept going up to him with made up music titles. Bob is a musician, had all these references that were real, but the actual tune………nope. Whiz got so fed up with him he told him his stuff was old people music…. Bob was crushed.

Good wedding though. killer squash.
18 Comments
Book Club Gone Bad
Posted:Nov 20, 2017 11:21 am
Last Updated:Nov 30, 2017 12:16 pm
2357 Views

Never have I ever.

A party game best played with a group of hard drinking women who are getting to know each other.

If you haven’t, you are safe. If you have, you down the shot. This may be the one time your sexual history will stand you in good stead. I used to spend hours thinking up ridiculous things just to trap the girls who thought they’d be safe. It’s also a good way to find out who lies and what their “tells” are…. Jot them down in case you ever play cards with them later….

Now, even church going folk play this game though I imagine it’s a bit tamer than the one we played last weekend. And what you say? it must be true for you………. can’t name it if you can’t claim it.

I started with never have I ever voted for a republican. Figured none of us would have to drink but 3 did. HA. Traitors in our midst.

Next gal said, kissed a woman passionately. 1 of 5 drank. And we all celebrated a bit uneasily realizing #5 had a way to get us for a few rounds coming or at least cull the herd.

The night wore on, the questions became more intimate, sillier and sometimes downright caustic. At one point, someone said never have I ever lied. And I called foul.

Think back I said, as a kid.

Nope. We pooh poohed. She held firm.

Okay, as a teenager, when a friend asked is my breath okay and you said yes when it wasn’t?

Nope. One of the ladies threw her hands in the air.

When a guy asks did you come? And it was enough already so you said yes even though you hadn’t.

AAAND BINGO, we had a winner folks. But not because it was enough already, because she didn’t ever come, ever. Wow. Flabbergasted. We stared. She blushed.

The tutorial began. Out came my bag of toys. Well, my GP bag of toys. One lady pooped out a lipstick vibe from her purse.

Never have I ever used a dildo, or a vibrator, or a plug or even the shower. By then, we were drunk randy and telling it all. From our first discovery of the nubbin to our most outrageous jerking off stories. Eventually, from the not so distant bathroom came the sound of my thunder vibe and a scream.

Then a raucous parade of women up and down my street waggling all sorts of bits and pieces. Luckily, no one called the cops and we scuttled back inside without intervention.

The next day, Jim the best neighbor in the world asked why the parade and I told him one of the women in the group had a bit of a break through and we were celebrating. A small parade for a big moment. He nodded. He is the kind of neighbor that appreciates without detail.

I think this group will work out well. Next time we may even remember to pick a book to read.
23 Comments
not sure........
Posted:Nov 12, 2017 2:00 pm
Last Updated:Nov 18, 2017 9:29 am
2598 Views

it may be a bit longer before i get back here. keep that light on, i'm trying.
22 Comments
snot
Posted:Oct 29, 2017 11:58 am
Last Updated:Nov 12, 2017 12:49 pm
3226 Views
What’s in a name? I grew up disliking my first name, my sister hers. We were names for great aunts and while we understood the significance and thanked the stars we hadn’t been named for Ethel, we also craved the names of our luckier friends. Now there were some lower on the pole than us who would have traded gladly like Irene, Gladys and Gertrude. Isabelle shortened her name to Issy and beat the crap out of anyone who dared call her anything else. All the boys had good old John, Joseph, Robert, Charles, Greg names except one who was called Shirley.

Poor old Shirley, named for his maternal grandfather and damned for 12 years of torture without pause. To top it off, Shirley wasn’t a jock or a big kid, nope. Shirley was a little guy, wore coke bottle glasses, lisped, and he ate his own boogers. Not much going for Shirley.

Our third-grade teacher was having an onsite nervous breakdown which we were all enjoying immensely. Cut up in class and she’d peg an eraser at your head……. good shot, too. Every time Shirley ate a booger she’d go green, peg him, leave the room, come back all wet faced. Thinking about it now, I guess she might have been pregnant. We just thought she was nutz.

one day Margaret my best friend who sat in front of Shirley, was reading out loud. I love to read but listening to someone else read will kill my joy fast, so I was watching ol’ Shirl.

He snagged a good one. But the teacher was eyes on, yanno? So instead of a mid-morning snack, he stuck it into one of Margaret’s perfectly glossy banana curls. Stuck his finger up from the bottom and it came out just clean as a whistle.



I am not a snitch. But if you knew Margaret, and how long her mama spent on those curls, and how people teased her sometimes cuz she couldn’t run so fast cuz of her heart and how she’d NEVER ever turn around and slap the bejesus out of anyone….well. I mean, it’s not like you can just not do something, right?

Later in the Principal’s office I was explaining why I had shoved Shirley put of his seat and grabbed Margaret’s hair. The Principal sent for Margaret. Her face was white, so white when she came in, but curious. Not a frequent flyer like me. She kept looking all around trying to find the whips and chains.

he told me to show him, I opened the long curl there it was. He left and his secretary came in with a wet tissue, got it out. Margaret took a look, started crying. Still not sure if it was because the curl was no longer a curl or if the IDEA of a snot that big travelling with her for a while just shook her up. Anyway, we left together.

Saw Shirley heading down as we headed back. Margaret, kicked him hard. I was stunned into silence.

Things change. Just like that.
19 Comments
coffee spoons
Posted:Oct 22, 2017 3:15 pm
Last Updated:Oct 29, 2017 2:58 pm
3922 Views
His eyes stung from a lack of sleep. The sour small of his body had ceased to offend him as he made his way to the sink full of unwashed dishes, pawing through it for a cup to rinse then fill. He scratched idly at the scabs on his legs.

Pulling a shirt, jeans from a pile on the floor he hooked them with a hand, stepped sideways, pissed into the foul toilet, poured a pail of water to chase it out, avoided the mirror, the shower. In a scant 3 minutes he was out the door, his hands in his pockets, back hunched, head down, he moved quickly. A shadow against the brick , a reflection in the glass, nothing more. Invisible almost though people seemed to sense him, move aside to let him pass. In his hand was a bent piece of cardboard.

Today was one of the first days that the sun had shown up in over a week. People were dawdling on their way to wherever., his pace was even, steady, skirting those who stood to relish the warmth, the budding of the trees, the gentle breeze spreading the sweet lilac scent over the sidewalk from behind the prisons of the gated houses. Swaths of lawn so green it stunned the eyes.

He took his place on the landing with all the others. Men in suits, dressed for purpose, silver containers of coffee rising, falling to lips pursed, papers folded, eyes carefully averted. All so studiously avoiding everything. Scanning the crowd for anything, his eyes stopped on a woman in a soft blue dress,leaning against a pillar, eyes closed as if seeking just a few more minutes of sleep. She made him wonder, was something here after all?

The rumbling of the train pulled her from her somnolence, stiffened her into nothing more or less than all the others, her face becoming ordinary, stern. his eyes jerked away.

As the train neared, he stood as they did, expectant.

Before it began to slow, the woman screamed.



“what Got him was Noth
Ing & nothings exAct
Ly what any
One Living (or some
Body Dead…
Could
Hardly express…" e.e. cummings
13 Comments
For Sir
Posted:Oct 16, 2017 4:07 pm
Last Updated:Oct 29, 2017 2:42 pm
4876 Views

Her hip would often slip out, but with a day’s rest, she’d be fine so it was for her not a major worry, simply a fact of life. as she relaxed under her favorite quilt, all her goodies beside her, her cell phone lit up with a text.

At first, she pushed back against the invasion of someone into this peaceful moment, not wanting to talk but it was Him and she could not ignore the need that surged through her just seeing his name. she texted a terse Hi.

Brat.

He never was rude in His treatment of her. Never wavered in his solicitude. And yet she tested him in small ways, in ways she knew were petty given the knowns. She disliked that in herself, found it distasteful but did it nonetheless; a chore almost. It worried her late at night when she sat smoking, waiting for the birds to wake. For a woman who was known for being generous of spirit, she had a spite in her that came out in curious ways at the oddest times.

His voice in her ear when he called changed all that. Like cool clean water slipping down a dry throat. It made her let go of anything but Him. It’s a gift to have a voice like that, a spinner’s voice. Takes the air, curls it round his tongue. No matter the words the sound alone carries you off. When it drops low, heavy, why it’s like a storm coming, the breath in you nearly stopping. Words scurry off to hide behind the sound of need rising.

Desire strong, deep, her smell already filling the room. Shameless hussy. At her age. To crave, to beg, to sink the pain beneath the lust, His voice pulling her deeper into their world as she opened, as He used his voice to pull her to Him.

It is a magical thing to be in one place, your lover in another and yet for a time, to live in the same moment.

In the desire or the need, perhaps the desperation, to connect the infinite in each of you as one. The physics is enough to make you laugh, or gape in awe. Now just think about the sheer joy of it. my god, the joy of another body joined with your body, the energy, the trust.

How do I love Thee, let me count the ways.
14 Comments

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Most Recent Comments by Others

Post Poster Post Date
The Crone (for little sis) (17)christylovesfun
Jan 21, 2018 7:58 am
shitholes (93)docklove1970
Jan 21, 2018 4:00 am
mundane insanity (38)kzoopair
Jan 18, 2018 1:35 pm
taken (26)kzoopair
Jan 18, 2018 1:22 pm
waiting room madness (31)kzoopair
Jan 18, 2018 1:18 pm
naughty or nice (42)AlphaMan508
Jan 10, 2018 2:47 pm
in lieu of presents (28)ranchomongo
Dec 25, 2017 12:00 pm
Rites of Passage with a moron (32)christylovesfun
Dec 22, 2017 11:06 am
Book Club Gone Bad (45)kzoopair
Dec 1, 2017 5:01 pm
not sure........ (24)SolarPowered0
Nov 18, 2017 1:04 pm
snot (21)ProfPlayful
Nov 13, 2017 6:56 am