Category Archives: Music

Hot Biker Chicks of Pinellas County

She approached with heavy Megan Fox-style panting, not a single wiggle to her lean profile, pushing a three-wheeled exercise stroller with two well-behaved younguns strapped in for the ride. Her smile fanned the driveway, holding my gaze, interrupting the fill of my bike tires prior to an inaugural ride. Her skin, a scintillating coat of sweat which made me consider, if I was to bite her right now, she’d taste like crispy salted caramel. She’s still smiling and I’m still checking her out. The left brain asks, “What does she want??” The right brain predicts, “My money says she’s a nanny!”

Caramel approached with the pram. She sexily exhaled as she pointed out the deflated front tire, and could I help her air it up? I scowl inside: she’s pulling the Hot Damsel In Distress on meeeeee? That’s my move! At least she’s close enough for me to admire her toned thighs and sculpted calves. Shoving kids on a run does wonders for the human form! Alas, no ass. That’s Jenga. Right brain concedes to left.

The way the tire pump latches is too bulky for the small tire space, plus the receiver is funnily angled. Not gonna ruin my equipment for a hot chick, so had to send Salted Caramel on her way. Graciously she thanked me, waving as she bounced off.

I can get used to the suburbs.


Credit: supertran.net

Credit: supertran.net

We’re two weeks out, and muscle memory has kicked the door down. I’m able to walk a mile with the Bobster and push two miles on the bike before my legs tire. At peak performance I was burning up cardio machines and playing in bike lanes for ten miles on average. We’re getting there people! Santiago’s Manolin springing forward.

That takes care of the physical development, but how about this big brain? The apathy I shared in my fisherman’s post has tempered a bit. Every day I sit at my laptop and excrete the garbage getting in the way of genuine reflection. In reflection lies the idea, strong enough to stir tangible thoughts and visceral reactions into typed or written form. Just like thigh muscles, brain muscle memory is quite possible; the gift isn’t lost it’s just not exercised enough. Finally, a pay off. I really like the idea presented in my documentary post! Needs rewriting, yes, needs more carrots or potatoes, maybe even some Texas Pete’s. I’ll keep adapting it; you’re welcome to offer suggestions as I clean up. So there’s good news; the creative cauldron is ready to cook in!

Spiritually I’m indulging on companionship and doing it healthily. It’s…nice…different in a good way…this pseudo-domestication that is cohabitation. Something about sharing a nap or a homecooked meal keeps the crazy kitties at bay, or at least, bothering someone else for now. Major Lazer was onto something when he produced “Lean On” wasn’t he?

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The Most Dangerous Blog In The World

I have always been in love with O’Shea Jackson. The way he carried himself, that street-borne braggadocio mixed with literary genteel, a marred Dionysus not outdone by our screwed up society. The crushing weight of discrimination, heavy to bear, yet O’Shea kept his shoulders up, his head high, never quite frowning. Bothered, but not broken. His Jehri curl, perfect.

*swoon*

Ahh me.

Cradled face on twin bed as my heart sighed towards the telly, ankles crossed, marking the beat for Straight Outta Compton. The rest of the clan: Eazy-E, Dr. Dre, Yella, MC Ren, they were alright, but not the focus of my tween attention. Ice Cube was bad, but not bad meaning bad…well, you know the rest.

Of course I went and watched the documentary this past weekend, of COURSE I did! And please, whatever is causing you to be scared to go, don’t believe the hype. It’s just like Coal Miner’s Daughter. A story of struggle against the status quo, of artistic starvation, of personal definition. The moment Loretta Lynn decides to write and perform a song about birth control, wanting to take back womens’ right to be a human being and not society’s brooding sow, she is forever marred. Instead of being recognized for her bravery in speaking out for the oppressed, she is demonized; her music, considered dangerous.

The struggle is real, and so is the talent.

As I pass the movie lobby poster making note of ‘the most dangerous group in the world’ or whatever, I smirk at the thought of, who labeled N.W.A. as such? They certainly didn’t. What they did with Fuck The Police was utilize momentum to take back the right to be acknowledged as human beings and not society’s kicked down domesticated dogs. There was a scene that was so agitating for me I squeezed my man’s hand really hard, then realized he was angrily squeezing mine back. Damn right, fuck the police, we both expressed in pissed-off embrace.

I knew I was going to cry once E got sick. His voice, his crowd command despite his tiny build, reminds me of my monster days. I let the tears flow then broke a selfish smile at the thought: “I bet you would’ve liked I Blew Up Juarez, E.”

Straight Outta Compton the documentary did everything right. Honored Eazy and Dre; made me smile as I learned more about my tweenage boyfriend’s skills as a writer.

I had my demigod Oprah’s ‘a ha!’ moment at an early age, listening to West Coast rap albums, following Ice Cube’s skyrocketing career, putting into practice what Cube was extolling: people are out to placate, not celebrate, dark individuality. My a ha was realizing everything is not unicorns and rainbows, and I’d be lying to myself if I even attempt to write prose or poetry without darkness. After all, that’s the point of “gangsta” rap: tell the ugly truth, expose the pretty lies.

Great documentary; I will likely own it once it’s out on Blu-Ray.

Send Me An Angel Revision #3

[This was performed on June 25th at Oral Fixation’s LBGT Open Mic Night hosted by Sawgrass Tiki Bar in St. Petersburg’s Grand Central District. The next day, Supreme Court ruling finds same-sex marriage legal in all 50 states of the U.S.! Just sayin…]

We’re at the Center of The Universe!

The festival, that is, although the diazepam-psilocybin-cannabinoid cocktail coursing through my body makes me feel as if I’m standing…on the sun. Arms swinging, feet bee-bopping as my team travels towards the main stage, I am feeling rather…superior!

AWOL Nation awaits but, from the corner of my eye I spy a herd of blue boxes. I stop walking to proclaim, Necesito mear!” which means, I need to pee. The foxy phalanx marches on, whilst I experience the rare joy of no line for the port-o-potties!

I exit the pee terminal, and locate the wash stand. Now this is cool; a foot pump to deliver the water, a touch-less soap dispenser, ahhhh hands-free technology! Fulfilled by this first world wonder, I then open my backpack to search for hand lotion; the bag’s darkness, mixed with intoxication, fills me with desperation. Face in the bag, frustrated by the sounds of laughter and play, I feel…apprehension wrap like a steel trap.

Someone is uninvited.

You’re just digging away in that bag!” some festival-goer comments merrily. My head snakes as I hiss, “Go ahead and try me buddy, I’m fucking Wonder Woman right now!”

The jovial stranger, unperturbed, lowers his shoulders so we’re face to face. In a contented voice he says, “I want to give you something.” His hands flutter to his temple to remove blue eyeglasses, without lenses, then waves them towards me. I smile and refuse politely; in turn, he’s sweetly adamant.

I shake my head as I take him in: Ash Williams chin, wide smile, wearing a fitted ball cap to match his dark blue eyes. His body, immaculately sculpted, makes my chin drop!  Madre de Dios…

Focus up, Wonder Woman!

Sweetie, I don’t want your glasses,” I insist.

He gestures towards me, “Take them!”

But I already have glasses.”

You’ll look great in them…”

But I need glasses to see,” I explain, “there’s no lenses; how am I gonna see?” I smile smugly, then squeeze my eyes shut, remembering to hydrate my contact lenses.

I flutter them back open, and he’s wearing the saddest look of dejection! I kick myself internally; aww dammit, I did that thing again where I say something that makes sense to me, but comes off dickish to them!

Puppy eyed, tail tucked, he backsteps towards his friends. “Come here,” I sigh, widening demonic wings to encourage him back and deliver an apologetic hug, “Come, come,” I insist.

His smile beams to the moon and back. His huge arms wrap around my tiny torso, then I feel, undeniably, the purest form of authentic happiness pierce my cynical skin and invade my corroded heart. Time splinters in fractals, gravity is no more, our bodies rock in synergy. His divine embrace makes me feel…humbled.

I can’t tell you who let go first, but I can tell you it took forever.

Tears fall like cleansing waters as we pull apart, but he’s not done with me yet!

Touch hands!” he insists.

I extend my hand to flatten against his.

Now stick out your thumb,” he instructs.

I flex my thumb outwards. He does the same.

Now bring it in…”

I wrap my thumb around his hand. He does the same.

…and SQUEEEEEEZE! Hand hug!” We laugh like old friends.

But he’s not done with me yet!

Wearing the most serious of expressions, using a voice of angelic clarity, he makes a request.

You HAVE

to pay

it forward.”

So… Who wants a hand hug?

Send Me An Angel (rev2)

My friends and I believe I met an angel in Tulsa, Oklahoma. Here’s the story…

We’re at the Center of The Universe! The festival, that is, although the psilocybin and cannabinoids and diazapam coursing through my body makes me feel as if I’m standing on the sun. Arms swinging gaily, feet bee-bopping as my team travels towards the main stage, I am feeling rather…superior.

Riding the wave of musical enlightenment, I spy from the corner of my eye a herd of blue boxes. I stop walking and proclaim, Necesito mear!” which means, I need to pee. My girls round the bend and lean against a poster-bedecked wall while I experience the rare joy of no line for the port-o-potties!

I exit the pee terminal and locate the wash stand. Now this is cool; a foot pump to deliver the water, a touch-less soap dispenser, ahh hands-free technology! Fulfilled by this first world wonder, I then open my backpack to search for hand lotion. The bag’s darkness mixed with my intoxication fills me with desperation. As the harried search continues, I notice a group of festival-goers carrying on in laughter and play. Without looking up, I feel one of them drifting over.

You’re just digging away in that bag!” he comments merrily. I offer an apprehensive look. His hands are behind his back.

Suspicious, I declare in my head space, “Go ahead and try me buddy, I’m fucking Wonder Woman right now!”

The jovial stranger, taller than I, lowers his shoulders so we’re face to face. In a contented voice he says, “I want to give you something.” His hands flutter from behind his back to his temple, removes blue eyeglasses without lenses, then waves them towards me.

I smile and refuse politely; in turn, he’s sweetly adamant. I shake my head as I take him in: wide smile, dark blue fitted ball cap matching his eyes, endowed with a Bruce Campbell chin. His body is immaculately sculpted.  Madre de Dios…this dude is HAWT!

Inside I feel a wash of achievement: it’s now natural for me to notice a person’s energy before I notice his facade.

Sweetie, I don’t want your glasses,” I insist.

He gestures towards me, “Take them!”

But I already have glasses.”

You’ll look great in them…”

But I need glasses to see,” I explain, “there’s no lenses; how am I gonna see?” I smile smugly, then squeeze my eyes shut, remembering to hydrate my contact lenses.

Courtesy: Kaytara

Courtesy: Kaytara

When I flutter them back open, he’s wearing the saddest look of dejection! I kick myself internally: aww dammit, I did that thing again where I say something that makes sense to me, but comes off dickish to them! Puppy eyed, tail tucked, he starts back-stepping towards his friends. “Come here,” I sigh, widening my harpy wings to encourage him back so I that can deliver an apologetic hug. “Come, come,” I insist.

His smile beams to the moon and back. His huge arms wrap around my tiny torso, then I feel, undeniably, the purest form of authentic happiness pierce my cynical skin and invade my corroded heart. Time splinters in fractals, gravity is no more, our bodies rock in synergy. I tighten my hold as if we’ve known each other for lifetimes.

Forever returns to right now. We pull apart.

I’m relieved to find my demonstration of loving kindness has restored his playfulness. He reaches out his hand. “High five!”

I extend my hand to flatten against his.

Now stick out your thumb,” he instructs.

I flex my thumb outwards. He does the same.

Now bring it in…”

I wrap my thumb around his hand. He does the same.

His face touches mine. “Hand hug!”

I smile. He smiles. Tears fall like cleansing waters.

Pay it forward,” he instructs.

I will!”


Wordless Wednesday

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Playing With Shadows: Roser Park, St. Petersburg

Time To Switch Gears

What up homie! Long time no speak. I know, I know, but the Internet works both ways!

Me? Oh, been up to all kinds of things. See that picture? Those glasses are not ironic; I really can’t see! But man, are they clearer than my last pair.

Good timing that my Michael Kors-wrapped Coke bottles came in right before we left to North Carolina. Seen the pics I posted during the trip? All shot with my Galaxy S5 embedded camera. I know, right?? Got more to share, but there’s been a hitch in my giddy-up, hence why you haven’t experienced any of my money one-liners and blatherings as of late.

Now, don’t get upset but…the Scribe is dying. Yup, my faithful Samsung is on its last electronic relays. In order to get ‘work’ done, I have to maximize the 20 minutes he’ll give me before blacking out. Every application started, every web page opened, is like flaking off tiny morsels of the last of the cookies I shouldn’t have been scarfing down in the first place. This moment with you now, I savor like the last chunk of chocolate chip covered in warm dough.

There’s also been a development, mental health wise, to the positive. My intuitiveness has peaked interests in my local spiritual scientist community, so I’m going off-road, treatment-wise, to explore empathic intuition. What does that mean? you ask. Well, I don’t know yet. I’m gonna work on that. Then I’ll come back and tell you all about it, cool?

This Memorial Day weekend, I’m preparing two write-ups: a share on WriteBitch and a picture story of my time in the mountains. No stone tablets yet, but awesome nonetheless.

While Scribe enters hospice and I create his progeny, follow me @VonSimeon on Twitter for my latest mad antics!

Yup. This is still happening. It'll be a year in July.

Yup. This is still happening. It’ll be a year in July.

We ♡ You Doc

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Sitting with the late, great Doc Watson in Boone, North Carolina

This Is 38.

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Birthday Cake Milkshake, Steak N Shake, St Pete Florida

No Fear. No Doubt. Lose Control.

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