endless
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Posted:Jan 7, 2017 1:48 pm
Last Updated:Jan 10, 2017 1:04 pm
8022 Views
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Today, I received an email. It said I should email them back.
Immediately I knew, it was a trap. THEY were once again attempting to infiltrate my blog.
Tempting me with compliments. Taunting me with sexual innuendo. I reported the message to the SITEPATROL immediately. They said, wait, what? I said, this is serious. They said, get a grip. I said, you need to be more vigilant. They said, you need to lighten up. I said, YOU have no idea what these people are doing to me. They asked what people?
I stopped. If I named names, what would happen to me? Would I lose my blog, would THEY retaliate? Could my house be wired? I ran from outlet to outlet, unscrewing them feverishly, on my knees, checking for anything I could see. I rescreened the outlets. A screw was missing. How odd.
I used the wand I had purchased online and swept the house again for bugs. I lit sage. I poured another glass of wine.
I opened and closed the site 37 times…..that’s the number my mystic gave me. I had done all I could. I uploaded my blog entry. I checked the LIST, my hands trembling.
And then, I saw it. Mail. 13 messages.
I left the house, my job, my . There was no other way out.
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Naughty and Nice - Symposium Entry
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Posted:Jan 1, 2017 12:28 pm
Last Updated:Jan 5, 2017 10:16 am
8458 Views
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She really was the sweetest thing, always helping others in her building, making sure that people who couldn’t do for themselves were seen to. Why half the time, they called her darlin’ or little one and gave her a set of keys so she could come and go. She set Mrs. F’s hair for just last week so when her came, she looked just lovely and pressed her best dress for her too and even cleaned the whole place including the fridge and lord knows it needed it.
She was just a bit of a thing too, tiny but such energy, like that bunny yanno? Always doing and moving and with a smile, just lit up a room, she did. Long red hair and those funny shoes, what did she call them, I can’t remember now, but she said they made her tushy look better. Cutest thing I ever did see. And that girl could cook. One night she brung down some macaroni but she called it something else , enough for all of the ladies with a big pot of sausage and meatballs and some bread that smelled to high heaven but tasted so good I ate 4 pieces before I could stop myself. More coffee?
Oh no, she was so busy, worked the night shift. Left just before 8 and was home in the morning. She’d bring donuts some days and we’d take turns making coffee. A nurse, no. Ava was she a nurse? No, I don’t think so either. She always looked real gussied up when she left. Maybe a hostess in a restaurant or something. I never asked. Seems like if she wanted to talk about work she would have. She loved to talk about music, so we played lots of records. She could cut a rug for sure. Said she used to be a dancer. We sure had a good time the four of us, dancing, eating, course the wine helped some too. What June? Oh that’s right, she did say she had kin but lord knows I can’t remember where they hailed from.
Oh don’t be ridiculous. The world has gone to hell in a handbasket. Used to be you could leave your doors unlocked but not anymore, no siree. She was just too trusting is all. She was in and out all the time. No, I won’t. I can’t and I won’t.
When the men left, the three women sat, silent, deflated. The late afternoon sun filtered through the curtains, lifting motes of dust like fairy sprites into the air. Ava stood, June as well, slowly moving towards the door. Not a word was said, no eye contact made as they went their separate ways yet the pact had been sealed, they took care of their own.
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a unilateral decision
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Posted:Dec 29, 2016 1:24 pm
Last Updated:Jan 31, 2017 11:11 am
8561 Views
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A unilateral decision leaves no room for discussion. It’s made by one person who then effectively leaves the room, all others be damned. Now, it may seem that this type of decision is unfair, even incendiary and for the most part, I would agree. But consider the scenarios below and then we’ll talk again.
When the decision is made on limited knowledge, or no knowledge, is a decision actually made or is it just a gut feeling? Gut feelings have been known to shape the course of history, define relationships, save lives, and …………ruin others.
Scenario one: You (a woman) walk into a room where there are only men and they are pushing and shoving one man against the wall. This was supposed to be a birthday party. Your gut says leave and so you do. Your boyfriend calls and asks where you are. You claim you have a stomach bug.
Scenario two: You see a man, roughly pushing a woman against a wall while you are walking through a semi deserted urban area. You scream for help and call 911, running into an open bodega for cover.
Scenario three: You leave a relationship. It’s a feeling, not anything concrete. You do it without discussion but you know something is off.
Okay, you can see where I’m going with all three. All have explanations that explain the moment, all have explanations that can support the gut reaction.
Now let’s get very real. In each situation make the man a black man. Did your decision make more or less sense to you? Did you do anything differently?
Because if you did, or even if you say you didn’t but you really would have, and let’s face it, most of us would, we need to stop and take a deep breath. American needs to do some serious listening to our black brothers and sisters. And no this is not a conversation. White people don’t get to talk. We listen. At long last and for the first time, we actually listen and start to try to understand, not just wait for our turn to talk and explain away the injustices, the goddess willing. If we don’t, a unilateral decision will be made without any consideration for those of us who think we’re not the problem.
I am a bigot…..say it with me. It’s not so hard. We just need to work on it, like we did in the 60’s before we forgot that issue wasn’t resolved.
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Ravenna Road
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Posted:Dec 28, 2016 1:43 pm
Last Updated:May 16, 2017 1:19 pm
7974 Views
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When I left France and moved back to England, I found a garret flat in Putney, water, bath and toilet down one flight, heated by feeding shillings into an old brass ornate puffer of a machine that smoked nearly as much as I did. The house, was an aging grey lady of a Victorian on Ravenna Road, set back behind a wrought iron gate. But the magic inside was the woman who held the keys.
Magnificent with long billowing hair to her waist, white as snow, sometimes pinned high on her head, wisps desperately seeking escape, dressed always in flowing richly colored kimonos, her toes brightly painted, peeking out below. Her rooms were on the first floor left: a sitting room with a fireplace, a dining room with a table heaped so high with treasures that you daren’t breathe lest they topple, and beyond that, no one knew….
On the first of every month, I would knock and gain entrance to this remarkable place, with the intent of paying my rent. The first month, I learned that entering was easy, leaving was significantly more difficult. The first time, after knocking, thinking no one to home, I slid my envelope under the door which flew open at once though still without a person in sight. I peeked in, calling her name. Her hand, grasped mine, pulled, et voila, I was in, door shut.
She was sipping orange squash. It wasn’t until later that I realized the gin content. I sat in a chair. She reclined, on a swooning couch. I became her minion.
She had been one of the decontent of Paris, a wild thing and then having survived the war, made a living by restoring the paintings the Nazis had stolen and nearly destroyed by storing them in caves, cellars, etc. She had lived in sin, borne two with the love of her life but whom she could not ever marry legally because he was black. Did I mention she was in her 80’s? She knew artists, poets, musicians. She was a very naughty woman. A grande dame if ever there was one
I listened, enraptured, wondering if she was mad. Shrugs, I fell in love with her madness. One day she leaned over whilst discussing art and pulled an original Pissarro from under the couch, blowing dust bunnies from it. She dismissively stated, “It’s not one of his best.” I sat with it in my hand, thinking why the hell is this woman renting rooms? This painting is worth millions.
Her , later gave me the reason. We all fall in love with her. We watch over her. We invite her to meals. He comes on the weekends but during the week, the renters are her family. And yes, he waters down her gin. And she gets to live as she wants to live…surrounded by people. But he did rescue the Pissarro.
This house, those afternoons, were like living inside a book, yanno? When I left to move back to the states, another person took my place. I was jealous of what they would have. I never did get to say goodbye. The last day I knocked, she didn’t answer. It was somehow fitting.
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and a HoHoHo
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Posted:Dec 25, 2016 10:21 am
Last Updated:Dec 28, 2016 8:53 am
8202 Views
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It’s been an arduous year and I’m a little tied up right now.
But I did want to wish you all a Merry Christmas or whatever you celebrate.
Thanks so much for making me feel welcome here.
Wickedeasy
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14
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Christmas Eve
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Posted:Dec 23, 2016 2:12 pm
Last Updated:Dec 31, 2016 1:08 pm
8521 Views
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He only hitched up the two lead dogs. Bringing back a tree was light work, always done on the day before Christmas. The snow was deep, crusted; they rode it well moving deeper into the forest. He knew the tree in his heart, had seen it early October. As the dogs halted, he pivoted, his eyes catching the buck as he strode majestically across a raised butte.
Pulling his bow from the pack behind him, he loaded it in a movement so elegantly scripted that it blended with the wind sweeping the snow across the sled. The buck nuzzled the ground, seeking tender roots as the arrow took him to his knees then down. The dogs moved quickly, knowing that the light was leaving.
The kill was a good one. He field cleaned and skinned the animal, leaving more than usual behind for those critters that needed it. A good 300 pounds or more he thought to himself, plus the hide. As he turned the sled to home, he felt the dogs resist. Why? The sun was fading.
Oh. But the tree was another 15 minutes away. His babies flew into his eyes like ice crystals stinging, and so he allowed the dogs to pull deeper. There, there it is. Cutting the tree in near dark, he thought of his woman standing at the window, searching for signs of the dogs as they crested the hill. Smiling, he loaded the tree, the smell engulfing him.
She heard his voice, long before she could see anything. The sound of off key joyful singing. Opening the door, wrapping her arms around herself, grinning widely, she watched for the sled. The pushed past her, jumping about, ready to drag in the tree.
He stepped off the sled back, setting the dogs loose to tumble, throwing them some precious meat for their work. He pulled the heavy sack behind him to the porch, dropping it. She raised her eyes. He felt pride fill him.
The tree preceded them inside. He shut the door quietly, watching the wrangle it into the corner. He felt her warmth as she fit herself under his arm, a cup of coffee held up to him.
Merry Christmas blogville.
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12
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Caveat
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Posted:Dec 22, 2016 5:39 pm
Last Updated:Jan 5, 2017 10:13 am
7938 Views
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A warning, caution, admonition, prequalification, proviso.
Okay………
Now, there are rules for everything………lots of them. And by and large, most folks follow the rules or suffer the consequences. Some folks love breaking rules. They live to break rules. Me, I’m like that.
Let’s talk about the first set of folks. They get their knickers in a twist if you don’t do exactly what they think you should do in every given situation. They probably even keep a tally of all the times you didn’t do things the way they should’ve been done, yanno - “the right way” - and they tend to remind you about them ….. often. I know this because my sister the Saint is one such person. Now, she is also a very good, very nice person who will likely be taking names at Heaven’s door so I’m not slamming her just saying, she’s a little tight around the asshole. But, she does tend to get “that look” when you break the rules, most of which are unwritten and unbelievably obscure at least to me.
The rule breakers come in small, medium, large and OMFG. For me, rules are rules if they save lives, ensure safety or otherwise have a purpose I can understand and support. If they don’t, then rules are just made to be broken. They are not laws, they are not mandated by anyone except some officious idjit who decided them without my consent and yanno………no.
So I fall in the medium to OMFG rule breaker category depending on circumstance. Within the confines of the Saint’s house, I try to stay at the medium level. When it comes to resistance, I tend to ratchet it up to the OMFG level, with the caveat (see above), I do not lie, intentionally do physical harm to another human being, or , okay I can’t think of a number three right now.
With regard to blogging, I have my own rules. And one caveat.
1. I do not blog about other bloggers, although I have pimped people on occasion 2. I do not disclose personal information without permission 3. I write about ideas, about moments, so stop taking them personally for god’s sake 4. Caveat: if you find one, any, all of my blogs offensive, feel free to contact me via message and let me know why. We can discuss it. If you make it a HUGE deal as a comment, I may decide to block you. This is me, noting a prequalification, proviso and a warning. If you’re polite, no problem, we’re cool.
Well that about sums it up. Nothing to see here…..just a stressed out bitchy woman, setting some limits.
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9
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far away, doesn't anybody stay in one place anymore
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Posted:Dec 18, 2016 11:33 am
Last Updated:Jan 2, 2017 1:07 pm
8171 Views
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How is distance measured? Inches, feet, miles? But the truth of distance, isn’t the space between.
There is more to distance. What lies at its core? The pain of separation? The weakness inherent in this does not make it false, only less pleasant to live.
You begin to lose track. Things are left unsaid, thoughts you were sure you shared but when mentioned are greeted with a query. You repeat yourself because the thread was broken, until you hear a pause, the ennui. A stutter of distance.
Irrefutable over time. for how can anything compare with a life being lived? Distance cannot vanquish dayliness….though dayliness so often lacks romance or desire simply trudging along, numbingly benign. My god, we are hideous in our lack of complexity.
What happens to this garden left untended for days at a time? Some might say it flourishes, becomes as nature would have it, wild, untamed, reverting to its natural form. Others would posit that weeds choke out the fragile flowers that needed care, leaving only the hardy to survive. And who is the gardener? Without breathing in the breath of your beloved, without smelling his skin, distance still rankles. Words may tire it, but they cannot tame it.
Bruises form. Mark me, your voice begs.
Words, more words, blessed words.
KOPFKINO German: Playing out an entire scenario in your mind Literal translation: head cinema…………isn’t that fabulous?????
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12
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breaking bread....
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Posted:Dec 16, 2016 2:36 pm
Last Updated:Dec 19, 2016 2:11 pm
7848 Views
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His voice rolled over her. She thought, I will not be able to survive this dinner. What is it that makes one sound preferable to another sound? Why the cello over the violin? The tenor sax over the trumpet? Why do some people adore opera. is it hard wired?
She sat, no longer hearing His words, only the rolling timbre of his voice. Shaking her head she realized he’d asked her something.
“Sorry, what did you say?”
“It wasn’t important. Where did you go?”
Blushing, she told him she was thinking about sounds, how they impact people, which ones resonate. He smiled, leaning in.
“I like the sounds you make when I ...”
She moved restlessly as if to stand, her hands shaking. His large hands covered hers, flattening them against the table until she quieted.
The wine. As the waiter poured, she listened to them discuss the menu. He turned towards her, having wet a small piece of bread in herbed oil.
“Open.”
Placing it on her tongue, he followed the bread with his lips. Her mouth, slick with oil, lushly filled with herbs, she greedily sucked for ownership of the tiny morsel. His eyes, holding hers, lit with amusement.
“Hungry?”
Panting slightly, she inched closer on the banquette. Her thumb wiped the oil from his lip, pushing it between her parted lips, licking it clean.
Game on.
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11
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Lexxy
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Posted:Dec 14, 2016 12:38 pm
Last Updated:Dec 16, 2016 3:43 pm
8135 Views
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The taste of the coffee let her know this was real. If it weren’t for that, she wasn’t sure she could say that this was happening, really happening.
She sat now, playing possum. She’d seen one do that once. Her had even nosed it, but it hadn’t moved. She’d gone inside to get a broom and a bag. When she came back out, it was running across the street. She remembers laughing then.
Someone led her to another room. More coffee was placed into her hand. Lights this bright are not natural. It’s a wonder people don’t end up writhing on the floor in torment she thought. No musak either. Just the whispery sound of padded feet in the distance, a cough now and then, nothing more. The silence became so heavy that her chest struggled to rise, fall.
Her hand registered that the coffee was again cold. Her head filled with a buzzing sound juxtaposed on the silence. Perhaps from the lights. She closed her eyes to escape them. Perhaps she dozed because the coffee cup was gone. Her name called.
So cold, the room of giant files. Her breath misted in front of her. A man in white pulled out a long drawer. She stood shaking beside it.
“Yes”
6 hours on a bus, two hours of waiting. She turned to leave but found her legs had left her. She sank to the floor, a low keening noise surrounding her, she wondered where it came from. Many hands now, lifting her, placing her on a hard wooden bench.
A prisoner, free to leave, unable to move.
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10
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broken
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Posted:Dec 11, 2016 1:13 pm
Last Updated:Dec 13, 2016 3:01 pm
8496 Views
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If there were but world enough and time.
That’s a line on my profile from when I started her a million years ago. I was trying to leave someone behind me, kick up some dust in the rearview mirror with no idea what I wanted except freedom and no boundaries.
I grew up in the 60’s. I was a very angry woman. A woman who claimed to be free, chained to the circumstance that had stolen my virginity. So I became a woman who took men apart. I seemed a lovely young thing. A sexy little kitten. A naïve sweetie. I was whatever you wanted. Nods.
Twisting men into toys within a week, smoking a cigarette while they pounded away. How cold I was, how crude. They wanted me all the more for it. I despised them all.
I was saved……then I was broken. Then saved, broken again…… another time. I married, had a . I loved in another way. My husband left, unable to understand and still love. I made my life my . Poor baby. Until I was broken again, I thought I could have more. Hope was my folly. Now I know what I am allowed to have. i am allowed to have myself. Perhaps, if I am very lucky, i am allowed to have someone else.
My is my best thing. My truest thing. I am becoming a true thing as well. It’s not easy to get there, is it? My is my heart. My work was my salvation. Words are a song I get to sing now that I remember how. It wasn’t until I surrendered that I could breathe.
Laughter, tears, they come to me like rain comes in the summer…….. a storm of unexpected cleansing.
My body…….welcomes love, stronger every day for the sheer ecstasy of desire, need, want.
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12
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The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock
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Posted:Dec 6, 2016 3:56 pm
Last Updated:Jan 22, 2017 2:34 pm
8785 Views
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She sat, her arm draped along the back of the chair, cigarette dangling.
“But that’s not what I meant at all.”
Chastened, he tried to think what he had just said to her but could not recall a single thing. He had been watching the couple on the other side of the garden. They were….
“Not at all.”
He turned to stare at this, his woman, this woman who he had known for how long now? For nearly 20 years give or take. His mind filled with a million words, none of them appropriate, none of them he could say to her, not a word she would accept. He held his silence.
The sun began to sink quickly. She stabbed her cigarette out with a viciousness that startled him. He rose slightly as she stood, watching her stride off, then sank back into his chair. There’d be hell to pay later but for now, he was quite content to sip his wine in solitude.
The couple he’d been watching were a bit older. She’d left for a few minutes but now that she was back she had herself pressed against him as he fed her bits of food, ridiculous really. Yet somehow, it made him feel almost jealous of the old fools. She seemed smitten that’s for sure. He’d like to get closer, see where that man’s hand was under the tablecloth. Oh for goodness sakes….they must be 60 if they’re a day. Still, awfully cozy.
Are they leaving? He watched as they stood. Good lord. The man’s attaching a leash to her. To this thing around her neck. He’s leading her out like a pet! I wish my bitch of a wife could see this.
And just like that, here she is. She sat back down. He couldn’t help himself, he pointed.
As the couple passed by their table, his wife smiled at the woman and asked, “ feeling better?”
The woman nodded, smiling as she trailed after the tall man, not breaking stride, following her man proudly, her posture erect, her nipples prodding the soft cashmere of her sweater. “Shall we order dessert?”
He looked at his wife, at a loss for words, yet again.
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10
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breakfast
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Posted:Dec 5, 2016 1:38 pm
Last Updated:Dec 7, 2016 2:39 pm
9349 Views
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Laying her hands on the dog’s back, she changed the dressing on the wound, slowly runningher hands over the thick fur. He licked her hand when it neared. She bent close to kiss him, rub his ears. The settled with a huff, falling into the place that dogs go when they are healing, not here, somewhere where they are whole, running wild and free, his eyes half closed, short panting.
She rose, adding wood to the stove, moving quickly to start coffee, potatoes, ham. He would be back in soon and hungry. The still cowered under quilts, waiting for the stove and the fireplace to heat the room……little chickens the two of them, heads buried.
The sound of the mud room door slamming shut sent her pulse racing, nearly pushing her forward but she stopped herself. He stood at the door, staring into the room as he always did. It was then she ran to greet Him. His laugh made her glad of waiting.
They stood wrapped together, breathing.
“Ham’s burning.”
She slapped at him once with a giant grin lighting her face, moving to the stove to turn the ham. Oh, He was behind her, pressing into her back, his hands so calloused, rough, reaching under her shawl, pulling her hips back into His. Her head dropped back, one of His hands sliding up to her neck, tightening slightly. She whimpered.
He stepped back. She turned, a question in her eyes. His eyes nearly black as he stared at her.
Two balls of quilts tumbled into the kitchen.
She smiled, her hands shaking slightly as she served her family breakfast.
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13
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To link to this blog (wickedeasy) use [blog wickedeasy] in your messages.
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