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!”


https://soundcloud.com/mp3-remixy/scorpions-send-me-an-angel

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VS Enterprises 2Q15 Outlook Report

So whatcha been up to Von?

Welp…life has presented disturbances and delights alike. The disturbance is…

…I’m in love.

Yes, yes, go ahead and boo hiss, I can’t stand it either! But it’s undeniable. I tried, friends, I tried to throw all my fatalist crazy at BF but he’s the wiser of the both of us. Embattled yet holding ground, he demanded I let him love me.

I did.

Last year’s 2015 plan was to pull up stakes, leave the United States and just roam Central and South America for however long I could secure a visa. Thanks to his merciless adoration I’m settling in, right here, in The Burg.

Jerk! Booooo hisssssssss

This is most unprecedented, as I have a “Wherever I May Roam” tendency. However, I’ve summited that pinnacle in one’s life when it’s time to let go of one’s story. While it fuels the topics I write about – I’ve got fodder for decades – I’ve decided to abandon/abort/divorce the societally-trained need to drag one’s past into the present.

I choose to be

a mere observer of events

which do not serve me now.

If I’m not escaping the Nature Coast, then I need to get cozy! I’ve had my Treehouse for four years now, but you wouldn’t know I was its resident with hospital-white, non-decorated walls and conservative, spare furnishings. In a word: BLAH. I’m gonna use the next few months for “nesting,” personalizing the Treehouse, reflecting my love for the arts and coastal living.

Credit: Pinterest
Credit: Pinterest

My New Year’s Resolution was to focus on ways to be more ‘present’ in the St Petersburg literary community, and so far, so good; my antics have been appreciated at recent events and festivals! Encouraged by the podcast as the 21st century’s version of gathering around and listening to vocal talent, we’re trying to pair up with popular cafes, bars and restaurants, to workshop or share our art as the venue’s ambiance. This should quell the annoying tendency of piping Pandora over patrons, as well as the yawn of truth that is, “Jack Kerouac used to write here.” Are you doing something like this where you’re from? Please share; I really want to make this a cultural phenomenon!

In the coming weeks, I’ll be traveling out of Florida; the song of the open road fills my ears. Ohhh can’t wait for this; a change of scenery offers a change in perspective, a polish to the lens I’m viewing the world through. Trying to do lots of outdoorsy stuff, which means, my ass needs to run an 11:18 mile average before I hit any trails!

The 2nd quarter looks promising: doing much for self, establishing a steady footing, letting love happen, enjoying the now.

What have you been up to?

Last Time I Was On The Open Road

Me Fighting The Inevitable

A Comedy Of EXTREME Errors

Borrowing my friend Waiting For Satan‘s blogging style, I pose to you the question: what should BA have done to work the situation to his favor?

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Worte von ein gebrochenes Herz

Words From a Broken Heart

On our afternoon walk, Bobby and I came across a scattering of torn papers. Soaked from yesterday’s scattered showers, now dried by today’s warm lovely sun, I was intrigued to find the penwork on a few sheets still legible. I gathered them, and the edge of an envelope, and figured I’ll exercise a reactionary writer’s prompt: read each piece, and try to decipher what this message was all about. Kudos, by the way, to the person who tore this and the person who penned this, because I was convinced people did not correspond by mail anymore. So thanks to you torn lovers for keeping the fundementals going.

Let’s see, here’s piece #1:

Alright. Barring the abject misspellings of “stomach” and “juicy,” this clearly is a description of what this female misses about the male receiver. So I can determine a woman wrote to a man about a fantasy or a rememberance of the last time they connected in primal bliss. Or, this person is dictating what she observed in a film and is sending down recommendations to her lover. “Tooting it up”? Huh.

Piece 1

Here’s piece #2:

Interesting. Piece #2’s left side joins with Piece #1’s right side. Aww, now this is sweet. While she’s busily pouncing, she’s expressing her love for him. She puts in so much for him. How much she cares. How much she seeks his love and appreciation through her female viaduct. This is a very young, very naive woman.

Piece 2

On to piece #3:

She anticipates waking up and being able to continue in sexual congress with the reading male, good for her, she’s all about endurance. Hope she’s in shape for all of that. “Can’t wait till you” captures me. Is it hope that the sexual transaction leads to increased respect and love and his inevitable asking her to be exclusively his? Can’t wait until he proposes? Can’t wait until he leaves his wife? Can’t wait until he sees the baby you two made together and he never sees because he doesn’t plan to account for it? This sliver of desperation, I can roll on this forever.

Piece 3

This is piece #4:

Oh, I am experiencing her forlorn state. She misses him. He’s no fantasy; they’ve had a connection. They’re involved. Or they were involved. There’s “can’t wait till” again, so it makes me think they’ve got a distance and time between them, but these two will be physically in each other’s presence once more. Well, hmm. I did find this letter ripped up along a common trail. So she’s hopeful and optimistic, and he’s already moved on.

Piece 4

Piece #5 is simply the word “Muah.” Kisses. Optimistic kisses from another time zone, falling upon oblivious lips.

Piece 5

On to piece #6:

Wow. The way this was torn, it makes for a delightful little 7/5/2 structured poem! Too bad I can’t claim authorship. Powerful, in and of itself.

Piece 6

And finally, piece #7:

Ah. Piece #7’s right side aligns with Piece #4’s left. This makes things a little more clear. The heartsick girl works nights. She “thinking bout you all in my feelings.” Huh?? Here’s the intriguing line, “wishing you’ll just be there when I walk…door.” He left her. Ah. “But I know soon or later…” there’s that optimism again. I’m rooting for this chick, really. She might turn him around. Sure, he opened this letter on the way to his side of the lake, got frustrated because he actualized his feelings for her, all which are true and authentic. He misses her too. He wants to tell her he loves her back as she’s riding him, he wishes he didn’t leave. She wants to wake him out of his sleep and profess her love with an interpretive sexual interlude.

Piece 7

Give her a chance, mate! This woman’s committed to the game. And she even took the time to make the exclamation point a heart after the word Baby. That’s requited love, bar none.

Soothe that broken heart, fella. Life’s too short.