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

but there isn't.

so......spit it out.
Keywords | Title View | Refer to a Friend |
fear - symposium entry.
Posted:Oct 3, 2017 12:19 pm
Last Updated:Oct 19, 2017 3:55 pm
15069 Views

i had a very different post for this. one about my childhood. but in a way, this is the same thing. i find myself unable to sleep and with no parents bed to slide under and my snoring away, the night seems to gather strength against me.

Lindo my darling, your FB post of the US mass shootings was enough to stop the heart - a mass shooting is 4 or more victims. The USA has had 358 in the last 275 days according to the report. The news doesn't even cover them anymore.

And if it weren't for the group "policethepolice", you'd never see the madness going on there either. I post them to my FB page daily.

we have a travel ban because terrorists might infiltrate our borders. HA.

they are already here my loves. and oh, we know them. they are us. in fact, we've made sure that they have the latest and most powerful guns they can get. and if by chance, those guns aren't legally available, why you can buy them at a gun show or over the internet. UPS delivers.

i once terminated an employee for having a rifle at work. his claim was it was a black powder rifle and harmless. could it kill an elk? why yes it could. Unemployment gave hims 26 weeks coverage since black powder rifles weren't specifically noted in out handbook.

for everyone who was shot in Vegas by an American terrorist, by guns that nobody should have access to, i promise...we will fight for you and your families. and i am so very sorry that we didn't get this done sooner.

such a beautiful country we live in. why are we so bent on destroying her? for those who are in the fight, resist, persist. for those who aren't...join us. Make America safe again.
10 Comments
take a knee
Posted:Oct 1, 2017 3:17 pm
Last Updated:Oct 24, 2017 1:03 pm
18267 Views
don't tell me i'm anti flag. or that i hate my country.

don't tell me i'm disrespecting the people who serve or our veterans. i worked my ass off for them.

i take a knee in protest and in support.

i take a knee because #blacklivesmatter and i was raised as a privileged white racist.

I take a knee against police brutality.

against a president who is so dimwitted that he didn't even realize that Puerto Rico is part of America but goes golfing while people there go without food or water.,

against a congress that allows healthcare for get kicked to the curb, while they fight for billions of dollars of tax credits for the mega wealthy.

what if instead of being annoyed that athletes were taking a stance, the fans in the stadium, took a knee. imagine saying to those brave young men...........we get it. bless you.

imagine if we all took a knee together. everyone, and let the Cheetoh Man see.


17 Comments
and the hunter home from the hill.
Posted:Sep 27, 2017 1:05 pm
Last Updated:Oct 4, 2017 1:06 pm
17741 Views
It has a rhythm that soothes her, the endless splitting of wood. Her do it, she does, her Man does it mostly. The pile is high and wide, yet she continues to add to it for once the snow hits, a run to the pile is all she will manage, her belly grows bigger with each moon.

A to welcome a new year, the added room finished, supplies in, canning done. Now it is just weeks away and the sweet return of her Man with the last of the trapping. She moves with fullness, wiping her hands on her skirt, ridding them of the sawdust.

She sits with her legs wide, belly resting on the sun warmed planks of the porch. Her hair is honeyed from the light through the trees, falling over scarlet, yellow leaves. A gift to see it. Her babies all played with it like it was alive, which made it so. She lifts it off her neck, pulls it over her swollen breast.

Way off, she hears the dogs. She should get up to make supper but there’s something in her that wants to be the first sight He sees when he comes to the tall ridge. Her, splayed open and waiting. Lord she is a terrible woman, shameless. The way she craves this man. And her, a mama with sleeping in the house. She slips the skirt up. opens the neck of her blouse, letting it slip off one shoulder. What’s that word? Slatternly….a smile slips across her face, her lids get heavy.

The dogs are closer, her breath comes faster.

The sled is there. He’s stopped as He always does to survey his kingdom.
She feels herself let down, her tongue slides across her lips. What does he see of her from there she wonders. He’s not moving at all. A flash of light, he’s using his telescope. She lifts her hips, moans, tosses her head back, the dogs bark furiously heading down the slope towards home.

Her eyes meet His. He smells of wood smoke, sweat. His fingers pop the buttons of her blouse. He tosses her on the sled as the dogs pull it into the barn, his hands never leaving her body.



When the wake up Papa is there, tells them go feed the dogs. Mama is wearing her nightie cuz it’s comfy Pa says, so they scoot fast because they smell supper’s near ready.
8 Comments
messed up
Posted:Sep 23, 2017 2:06 pm
Last Updated:Sep 28, 2017 4:12 pm
18069 Views
I was in the service industry forever, providing care for people who needed it. sometimes they didn’t want it, sometimes the people who were supposed to give it to them didn’t want to even though it was their job to do so, sometimes the meeting of the two was an absolute match made in heaven. You just never knew until you tried. So, you tried. And you tried again. And again.

It’s not like any of the people I had working for me had decided to pick a career where they would go to work just so they could be regularly abused by the people they were helping or by the people that were supposed to be helping them help. One doctor with a big heart called it a system glitch. I called it bullshit, the good old American caste system. You can call it whatever you like…. misogyny, racism, sexism, ageism, name an ism. Or call it fear.

If you live in America there are certain things you just don’t want to be if you want to get treated well. I would try to prioritize them but it seems to shift depending on where you live and what you are trying to get. I have a friend Margot, from Granada. She escaped during the US bombing of her country. Her sons grew up here and are for all intents and purposes American. Margot never assumed she would be met with racism. Her always assumed they would. Both sets of expectations were met. It stunned her, filled her with rage.

The agency we were both working for in the way back was multi-cultural, housed in a neighborhood center in Dorchester. When she saw me struggling one day to make the last block from the T, she yanked her car over, yelling at the three teens who had me cornered. When they went for her as well, she went berserk. Calming her was not easy. This was impossible in her mind, her culture, her idea of life, that would disrespect an elder. This wasn’t about race to her, it was about respect.



A little respect would go a long way right now, eh? Respect for personal space, for a person’s right to hold their own opinions/truth, to love the person they love. To have access to the same healthcare as our congress. To not lie just because it’s easier. How about not shooting someone just because you have a gun and a badge.

Lordy, I’m so tired. Tired of everyone having an agenda. Of teachers calling police to school when a gets upset. Really? When did that become the way to manage a disruptive ? We are all way, way too crazed. We need to calm the fuck down. Do the work, make the calls, rally, walk, resist, work for candidates. That nurse who got strong armed for protecting patient rights? I had a “liberal” friend tell me she should have cooperated with the police. Wtf. How about this? Tell the police to act like public servants and I will consider it.

Okay, rant over. Bad day, step away from the old lady.
9 Comments
Death has no Dominion
Posted:Sep 18, 2017 2:12 pm
Last Updated:Sep 27, 2017 1:11 pm
17452 Views

She turned, smiled, left. Nothing held her. Her bare feet on the wet sand left a trail that no one would follow, moon glow on the receding waves strung diamonds in strands reaching to the horizon, her breath the ebb and flow of mother ocean, her gray spikes wafted by the watery air.

There were of course things she should be doing. There always are, aren’t there? Yet, for now she felt cut free from all of them, as if in this moment, there was just the ocean in its constancy, her body with its new bones, the deep unforgiving darkness of what lay behind her, simply gone.

The swirling of her skirt in the tidal foam was exquisite, colors against glass, a picture she would hold in her mind instead of the hundreds she’s gathered these past few months. Nobody loses all the time she thought, wondering if that was even true. Lighting a cigarette, she stood, eyes shut.

A small hand, so cold, touched her face. The only hand that she could fathom on her skin right now.

“I don’t want to be there without you.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Please come back.”

Their identical skirts swept the sand in unison, hands locked, they turned.

“Auntie.”

“Yes?”

“Is Gita in Heaven?”

“I don’t know if I believe in heaven. Do you?”

“No.”

“Where do you think she is?”

“Everywhere.”

They stopped outside the house. Without speaking, the Aunt and the young girl began to move, swooping, slow, low, using their skirts like wings, they circled around, around, faster and faster, the sound of tears crystalized, flying to the stars.

The girl whispered. “Gita.”
10 Comments
see me
Posted:Sep 16, 2017 3:59 pm
Last Updated:Sep 20, 2017 3:22 pm
17211 Views
He’d been watching her all evening. She was part of a group but apart from the group. Her back never quite touched the cushion of the couch.

As the dinner stretched on, his partner Jed fed him his lines skillfully. The new pleased with the programs he’d designed, wanting to celebrate the moment. Another round of drinks arrived, as he explained the complexity of his work to faces numbed with alcohol. There was little point. A show of words tossed against the feral heat of the place. Drops of rain in the dessert.

His eyes flitted back to her. So out of place here. This place of men. Raising her hand to her cheek, it shook slightly. Perhaps he only hoped it did, making her as much a captive as him.

As the table was cleared, the foursome moved to the bar. Women surrounded them. He stood with his back against the mahogany, one foot on the brass rest. He had yet to see Dulcinea drink anything. In his mind he’d named her. The tall man seated next to her ignored her completely, speaking only to the other man in the group.

He watched.

The group stood to leave. Her eyes scanned the room. He caught them.



The tall man placed his hand on her neck from behind, pushing her towards the door, she stumbled slightly.

“Hold my beer Jed.”
9 Comments
be short with me.
Posted:Sep 7, 2017 3:48 pm
Last Updated:Oct 3, 2017 11:39 am
17893 Views

Write a sad story in 4 words:

This was on my FB today from a good friend and we all chimed in. Of course some went the political route but that was too facile, people called foul right away.

Here are a few stories of mine.

“as ever, alone, without.”

“he wept without solace”

“no people, just cockroaches”

“lemon trees picked clean”

“wet dogs limping blindly”

“she turned, smiled, left”

“his hand lifted, swung”

I think you can take them further, or just imagine the moment.

Tell me your 4 word story.
14 Comments
Being PC at Market Basket
Posted:Sep 4, 2017 4:22 pm
Last Updated:Sep 15, 2017 1:25 pm
17898 Views
I go to Market Basket in NH to buy cigarettes because in MA the tax on cigarettes makes them cost so damn much it would almost make me quit except for the fact that I’m addicted. It’s also a not a long drive and I save money on everything else. The first time I went with Weezer we were merrily discussing politics as we roamed the aisles. We learned quickly that we are not in the majority and needed to whisper or to at least tone down our rhetoric. While I wouldn’t say it’s mega Trump territory, I wouldn’t say it’s ultra-liberal either.

Last Saturday, busy day because of the long weekend so lots of families, we were in check out behind a family with who were acting out. I was asked to hold the baby while the mother tried to unload her basket as the father tried to manage the other three . The baby was a real cutie pie. I was in heaven. Babies are my kryptonite. Weezer, not so much. So, she’s muttering about birth control as there are 4 under the age of 6 and Mom looks like she might be preggers and I’m shooting her the stink eye.

I asked the baby’s name and she said Milania. Weezer’s eyes crossed. I just had to make it worse.

“after the first lady?”

“Uh huh, isn’t she just beautiful? she used to be a model.”

“She used to be a .” I’m assuming you can guess who added that pithy little comment.

Trying to be diplomatic, I said, “Both lucrative career choices.” Then, I think I turned purple.



The father said, “yup”

The mother smiled at me, kept unloading, like nothing happened.

Anyway, she thanked me for my help and waved bye as they left.

Here’s the thing. Were they just being nice to two daft presumably lesbians with snarky attitudes and Boston accents? Or am I just overthinking the whole PC thing way too much? I smacked Weezer as soon as they were out of sight. The cashier didn’t even blink, just said “how are y’all today, paper or plastic?”

Gotta love Market Basket.
12 Comments
to ride the dark . Symposium on Pain
Posted:Aug 31, 2017 4:01 pm
Last Updated:Nov 17, 2017 12:11 pm
18519 Views
She stood silently in the warm room, her feet spread hip width apart, her arms above her head, held firmly in place with rope. The position pulled her breasts up and apart, her shoulder ached slightly from the pressure. She felt Him walk in, his bare feet making no sound. The thick leather collar pulled her head up, back, her nipples pebbled. Darkness as the mask slid over her eyes.

The sound of rope through the O ring on the collar. Not smooth, hemp. It would scratch. Steps to the table, a drawer opening. Pieces being placed. She licked her lips.

Her nipple squeezed, twisted. She yelped. She hadn’t heard him nearing her.

“Shh. Not a sound. understood?”

The other nipple twisted, she sank into the sensation, her hips thrusting forward, the scratch of the rope ran down over her belly to her dripping lips, rubbing over them, his hand held one end tight above her mons, the rope tight, pushing and pulling her wet lips back and forth faster as she tried to press her nub tight to the rope, to connect. She wanted to beg to cum, her thighs trying to close, his legs pushing them open. Almost, almost, almost. The rope gone, no!

She felt his long fingers inside her, the moan impossible to stop. The slap to her face sharp. He scissored his fingers, she swallowed the sound, flooding his hand. Spreading her lips, he pushed something inside her, yanked the rope tight securing what, a dildo, ran the hemp between her legs. Quickly rimming her ass with the tip of his tongue, he spread her creamy cum. She opened to Him, she always did, squirming as his tongue played with her, warmth making her rise up on her toes and spread her legs, hoping for more.........

She felt cold, a slight pop, another, this one more definite, larger. she pushed back harder, listened to his chuckle as he fed the glass beads into her ass. 10 in all with a ring on the end, then the feel of the hemp as it pulled up tight in her crack, yanked so her pussy clenched, up to the collar and back down.

God, up the other side of her slit, rubbing it back and forth while she shook, panted, then up, tied it off at the neck on her collar. If she hunched it was fine but if she stood straight as he required, she felt the rope, the beads, the dildo, all of it.
.
Vibrating, desperate, she twisted before Him, legs trembling.

The sudden thud of the flogger on her back sent her body slightly forward.

Her shoulders flew up, then relaxed as she steadied her feet. Part of her was too on edge, too close to orgasm, and yet, and yet, the rhythmic beating began to blend into a steady sound that soothed her as her body tensed then released with each stroke.

He used a continuous cross pattern to bring her body higher, not stopping until she took flight. Once she began to fly, He began to alter the intensity of the blows, spacing them, moving them to different areas to startle her skin. to take her further out. He watched carefully as her skin reddened, as her body reacted to the variances of the strikes.

He slipped around to her front, her breasts were already flushed pink. In minutes they were red, her belly as well. Her body moved with His as if in some syncopation they had long practiced, cherished. as He slowed, she moved still,swaying, waiting for whatever, wherever he brought her next.

Dropping the flogger, he picked up the crop, He circled her, laying sharp marks on His canvas. As each landed, a sinuous move, not away but into the crop, a plea, a silent begging. for more, more. Now the welts grew on her ass, her thighs, her belly, breasts as he painted.. Still she thrust her body forward. needing more. Sweat rolled off his face and chest.

“Now, now you may speak.”

“Please may I come?” Her lips bent in a small smile.

Deftly with three quick strokes to her cunt and one each to her distended nipples, he bent her in two. Her moan was deep, long, gutteral. On his knees, , His tongue, licked juices from her legs as she wrapped them around his neck.

He pulled out the vibrating dildo, released her hands, placed her on the bed on her belly.

“What did you forget?”

Dazed, she looked over her shoulder.

“Count of 5, choose.”

“The Cane.”

He turned his back, smiling. She had never chosen the cane before.

“Knees, face down.”

She took the position. He played for a minute with the beads, roughly scrubbed the rope across her slit, felt to see if her clit was unhooded. He slipped the knot on the rope. She could not be still.

He loved this bitch.

The first hit was on the fleshiest part of her ass. She screamed.. One

The second, under her butt, coming up. She moved to get away. Two

The third. Right cheek, across. She pushed back into the cane. Three

Fourth, Left cheek, across, she curled tight and small Four



"Turn over".
She turned over and spread her legs.

As the cane bit into her Breasts, He thrust inside her. She screamed , 5

her body flew apart. Painrodetheorgasm and the world went away. Was it minutes was it hours, colors filled her vision, her body as his cock filled her cunt. Every part of her cried out, flew to the core. She was a goddess, a woman of fire, no one could ever be as she was, her hands raked his hair then flew to the ceiling, welcoming the energy, the light. As His cum began to climb up into her, she wept.

He pulled the beads out as his cum shot into her, sobs wracking her body as she came again, her arms flung wide. He was in awe.
.
“Yes, oh yes, yes.”

He soothed her for a long time. massaged her body with oils, fed her bits of fruit and finally made her dinner. She sat curled against him, words still not coming easily.

“Time for sleeping?” he suggested.

“Not yet”

“No?”

She looked up at him and grinned….


10 Comments
I ain’t no Deipnosophist
Posted:Aug 29, 2017 10:31 am
Last Updated:Sep 27, 2017 1:13 pm
15860 Views

You do not have to know a lot of words to tell a good story. You do need to know about structure and pacing. If you are a certain type of person, one who savors the tasty turn of phrase, then like me when someone drops one in conversation, you salivate like Pavlov’s and rub yourself all over them until they notice you.

So, I’m at this small gathering of folks, mostly political, some journalist types and one raggedy dude who’s talking to a threesome I know, which II join. As I listened, he was finishing a story.

“and as he marched off, I finally thought of the perfect esprit de l’escalier, but alas, he was a fading back.”

I clapped my hands in delight. What a brilliant image. He turned to me and smiled. One of people asked what it meant and I translated loosely. (the witty remark you think of seconds after the opportunity to deliver it have passed, although that’s not the literal translation which would be the spirit of the stairs).

As we sat to dinner, he pulled me to the seat next to his. I went willingly.

The political discussion raged on. It was spirited, but not all that interesting. When we were nearing the cheese stage, I leaned in, asked his connection to the group. A vagabond, a portrait artist, a man with friends but no family. Called himself a decent raconteur and indeed his stories of travel, seasons, nature kept our end of the table amused. It seemed occasionally he would drop in a word for me. He was talking of the dry soil in this tiny village where he stayed, how the petrichor drove them all to the fields after a summer rain in a frenzy of jouissance. Like pagans, they danced, rolled in the sweet resin smelling earth until at last, tired they crept home to their beds to other carnal pleasures. Two words to roll in. heavenly.

I laughed at how he strung the words in place, wondering if anyone knew what they meant or if they cared for, his story was fine without knowing but knowing, knowing made it so much richer. His hand slid along my thigh. My eyebrows lifted and he removed it.

There is a Japanese word yuugen. There is no word in English that means what it means. The closest we can come is to describe the feeling of its intent. It is an awareness of the universe? That triggers in us an emotional response that is too mysterious, too deep to explain with words….it can only be experienced. And yet the fullness of that word is known by that word.

Words in English are not like that. That don’t allow for broad open interpretation. I suppose one could say words like sorrow are more expansive than words like house. But I was struck when a friend sent me this word yuugen.

Maybe we need to make up some new words like this….ones that speak to the ways of the heart, the subtleties of the soul and the desires of the mind to grow.

For now, I’ll just be as I’ve always been a, a raven stealing phrases and words from other countries, claiming them for myself…. for the sheer jouissance.

pic in comments since they never stay put in the blog
10 Comments
Van Gogh and dogs
Posted:Aug 24, 2017 4:05 pm
Last Updated:Aug 28, 2017 1:46 pm
37884 Views
Whatever is possible was once impossible.

Last night around midnight the electricity cut off, the fan over my bed stopped turning, my bedside light blinked out, the refrigerator stopped humming. The dark was so dark. Moving carefully, I went to the front windows, saw that it was the entire neighborhood and that the only lights left shining were the solar lights on my stairs and the ones in my neighbors’ back bushes.

It was a hot muggy night. I could hear through my open windows the sounds of people searching for candles, those who had not already retired, or those who had awakened opening windows, hoping for a breeze.

Charlie and I found our way down the stairs to the front steps.As we sat, I noticed Sam next door on his steps. We waved, not willing to break the stillness.

Charlie wandered off down the road towards the park so i followed. It is odd to be in such a dark as this. always there is some light from somewhere casting a shadow, breaking the deepness. But this, this was country dark. i had not thought to bring a flashlight, following Charlie was my safety.

Still so hot, my neck coated with sweat, but once in the park, the wind seemed to have found space to move and i knew we had passed into the open area of the field.

Charlie moved deeper until I couldn’t see him distinctly, but my eyes could catch the motion of him. Usually he is a barker, in part becasue he is going deaf and he echo locates, but not that night. When he circled back, finding me on my back, staring at the stars. he pushed up against me, big old rolling over to feel the grass on his back, knocking me onto my side. I startled, finding Shadow lying there on my left.

Shadow is nearly 14, like Charlie, an elder statesman, an elegant mix of huskie and something that makes him huge and tall. his head is nearly to my breast.
Beside him, his owner staring upwards. Shadow found us in the park. I hadn't heard them coming. the stars held me.

It isn’t often that you can see the stars, not like this.



The sky so big, the world seemed almost clean again. We four stayed there in silence until the lights came on, Phil gave me a hand up. Odd that we didn’t speak at all, but comfortable. Shadow leaned against me for a minute or so, to say goodbye.

By the time Charlie and I made it home, it was late. I was glad for the light on the stairs so Charlies didn't struggle.

I thought I would dream about stars.
12 Comments
i ain't no racist but i loves me some greens
Posted:Aug 20, 2017 12:52 pm
Last Updated:Aug 23, 2017 3:59 pm
16049 Views
59 million+ for golf. so far.

But no money for the arts, or SNAP, or healthcare, of the environment.

Just sayin’.

9 Comments
coming soon to a town near you
Posted:Aug 17, 2017 4:42 pm
Last Updated:Aug 18, 2017 4:19 pm
15853 Views
mayhap in Boston on Saturday. i'll be there.







if you aren't outraged, you aren't paying attention.

10 Comments

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