hortense and the baby

Hortense asked the baby, 'why for the toy?' this twisty knob to make a music and to dance lightly with much falling and a coo reminiscent of little doves and weak baby kittens.

horsely Hortense whispered her perplexity and realized babies aren't of the same fears she bricked herself in and the whispers she sent into the current of baby's ear were giggled at. Hortense, shifted and clamored, hoisting her big bad Sad onto the cart and took it to market hoping someone would take it from her

white girl

I finally got back into my neighborhood from a red eye flight from Phoenix and a two hour train ride from JFK. I stumbled into the corner store and asked for a black coffee. My favorite guy behind the counter responds, "Black, like you?" and I said, "Yes please."
He stops pouring, turns to me smiling, giving me the opportunity to replay what he just asked so i may truly relish in it's hilariosity. I almost fell over in a spaz of hysterics.

After giving him the response he expected he resumed pouring.

I suppose if you don't know me this may not seem funny. I am a member of the whitest of Caucasian Caucasians. All of my people were from frigid lands, people who were either vikings or conquered by vikings. And this my friend is why my favorite arabic guy behind the counter is a funny muthafuka.

blade

a tile floor, your feet don't fall they press, heel tip, nothing in between.
calculated, the sneaking of hidden hushed desires
creep through the empty house
searching for the shoulder to tap and say,
i changed my mind

deliver the caliber within you
this steel, cold cutting, grey
dulled by the rouge bands of years
you have collected like scars

an ounce of effort in a box
held just an arms length too far
i decide despite your confusion
boots on, walking away intent on wishing you a sharper blade


cut through your quiet limitation
silent house in the still meadow by the glassy pond
find the quake

Kali, Tiger

I went to a zoo in Leon, Mexico. The zoos are less concerned with the safety of the visitors than US zoos. This means you can get Really Close to the animals.

I was standing in front of the tigers. The female was pacing. She could hear the men coming round to the cages, buckets full of chicken, pig and other meats.

I was taking pictures and videos of her, my hands down close, inches to her face as she passed the corner. She was breathing growls and spreading her mouth into a pant and snarl fest.

Her power, like heat put me into a trance of submission. Weak with her, she sucked at me with her noise, her calls to her prey.

She walked towards me, lunged. Her mouth, her stripes and fur hands reaching for my face. The cage shook, my mouth opened, she saw me, into me and deeper than just this me. I begged for her teeth around my neck, the break and tear.

She reached through, ripped my insides, killed me and ate my soul, becoming my goddess. Deep blood to paint a picture of my death upon the dirt of her cage. But we are in the jungle and I am her Sambar deer. Kali is free and I am as wild as she.

I was reborn in her hell and strength. Alive I stood again, saying my stupid, "Whoa..." and I will never forget how she ate and I relish my death to her hunger.

Kali loved me the moment she looked and I loved the cracking of my bones and my taste is still on her breath.

A link to a great story of an ending

Steel Peaks

Thrush

I love the word Thrush. It's an unpleasant 'thing' you can catch from going down on someone who has a wicked yeast infection. But the word is fun in my mouth, but not in an antibiotic needing way.

Thrush. Say it. She rushed through the thrush and the thrush rushed through her.

Thrushing through the throngs of thickening brush she crushed the little brush of thrush and finally it hushed, etc.

Thrush, thrush thrush.
say it, pussyface.


P.S. Thrush is also a bird but that's not as fun. Ignore.

Oh
Merry christmas

A continuation of:

My spine cannot withstand the pressure of sovereignty


Amada was shaken by the grip and words Pilar spoke and even though she denied any truth to them every time she relived the sound of Pilar's voice and breath in her face, she saw herself nodding some distant agreement.

Amada Tarrago Casas Castanos Domenech Barreiro Loaeza has her lineage spelled out behind her like a rainbow tail for everyone to pluck at. She is the daughter of Manuel Tarrago the Spanish diplomat to the Corzine kingdom north of the mountains of Sonay. He was known for his abilities to lay peace at the feet of the warring factions in Corzine, his words always soothed the hearts of warriors. In the twenty years of service, he never walked away from a potential battle without having quelled whatever rage was upon them. That is until the day he set foot in Spain, retired with family in tow, Amada only seven years of age.

Sansar of Corzine, a warrior of great proportions, dismayed by the almost constant peace his homeland had known since his youth decided to slay the cause, Manuel Tarrago. Knowing Manuel was embarking on his journey home, Sansar started out before him to Madrid. Sansar knew the kill would be more profound and powerful of a trophy in the homeland of the enemy.

He laid in wait at the curve in the path to the Tarrago estate. And with luck, as the family arrived, Manuel was in the rear. Sansar let the child and woman pass and as Manuel sang the last verse of the rhyme Amada always asked for, Sansar pressed his saber into the quick of Manuel's heart and felt the pulse through the saber's metal cease and the brightness in Manuel's eyes drifted out of his body and floated amidst his wife and child, disappearing into the heart of Amada.

But Sansar never looked back long enough to see the essence enter the child who wailed over her father's body. And this was a deep and stupid mistake, as all true warriors always wait and watch for the traveling essence's entrance into another and slay the budding, more powerful enemy.

Amada crumbled into the pool of blood of her beloved father and raged to the gods and saints who heard nothing because they didn't exist. She wished and begged to have one more day with him. She was already looking into the past and seeing her mistakes and missed oppurtunities to be with him. Within seconds she was teaching herself how to kill herself with blame.

Just that morning he had set her on his knee and cooed, "Look out into the mist, this is where the joys of your life exist. Bring forth your inner fire to collect all that you desire and think of me as you find the key to your soul's love, not captivity. Little precious, buzzing bee, oh do be free, and dance with prosperity, the kind that contains, happy, love and only a splash melancholy."

Amada was not one to listen to her father's deep and passionate words, she twisted and turned in his lap and pulled his mustache out of frustration. Pushing away, she ran into the field where her dog leapt high like a deer as he hunted the furry animals that scurried there.

Amada's actions, even though, made by a sweet, impatient child stayed with her forever. She believed if she had listened and held him close as he spoke to her, time would have changed, a different path would have been taken and her father would still be alive. This became a marker in which she pierced her soul, a scar she would covet and mourn all her life.