National Poetry Month 2015! Horror Poetry

Happy Friday and good news…it’s still National Poetry Month! Hope you’ve enjoyed my contributions thus far. 😀

For our last NPM15 entry, I’m giving you a sneak preview of A Coterie of Diamonds.

The excerpt below, The Dreamer, is a segment of my surreal narrative poem; the full piece will be featured in Thirteen o’Clock Press‘s upcoming anthology highlighting female horror writers. Very excited!

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Copyright 2015 VS Enterprises

My World Bipolar Day Contribution: “Bipolar Is The New Gay”

~Reposting this from February, a peek into the challenges of this disorder. Here’s more information on World Bipolar Day.~

Today we’ll move the pin down one.

The hammies were complaining during the stationary bike warm-up, and now on the leg curls, they don’t wanna move.

“rrrrr…”

I can do this.

“rrr…rrrrrr…”

Look left. Look right. All alone in the gym.

“RAAAAAAA!!!”

There it goes!

Fluid, don’t smack against the arse. Smooth, smooth, smooth…

Ironically, the song I have set for this week’s Turn It Up Tuesday comes on. Fitting, as we’re moving now to the quads.

I growl through upper body presses, then sigh towards the padded stand.

Lower ab leg curls.

As I stabilize my position to bang out crunches, a heavily obese woman enters the gym. She’s got proper gym clothes on, her water bottle is filled, and she’s motioning towards the cardio machines.

I’m so proud of her, showing the lazy skinny punks how to self-care. Her arrival encourages me to push through side crunches, to the point of making my injured right hip sing.

We did it.

I take my time giving Bobby his weekly bath, and suddenly I remember, I HAVE THERAPY TODAY.

I rush him so I can shower. He’s visibly relieved.

As I happen to swipe my smartphone screen, I notice the misread: two thirty not twelve thirty.

Oh.

Ah!

We’ve got time for pancakes!

2:36PM I arrive at the therapist’s office.

“I left the house an hour ago, I swear! Time always works against me…”

We shuffle into the room.

I remove a copy of Night Walkers from my purse. “You might recognize someone in there.”

She chuckles, then proceeds to read my short story, Tokyo Rose.

She looks up. “Metaphorically, what am I examining with this first page?”

“Consider it…the event horizon of a suicide.”

She laughs at the right parts, marvels at the word play, notes my editorializing. I’m pleased that she gets it.

After she’s done, I review with the therapist how this work stems from the memory of my last suicide attempt, now four years ago.

“What does this mean for you now?” Alluding to fame, fortune, popularity.

“It’s me confessing my truths. I put the work out there, because, mainly, I’m not long for this world.”

She mentions Stevie Smith and Nick Drake. I mention Michael Angelakos.

“So it seems that…knowing you’re not long for this world, helps you be part of it?”

“Right.”

I tell the therapist I’m visiting with a spiritualist to understand further the metaphysical dynamic of my existence. As we speak, I’m thumbing through a copy of the DSM-V. She encourages my interest in the science behind psychosis, but reminds me, the DSM is a tome put together by psychiatrists under the influence of pharmaceutical companies.

I mention the show happening tomorrow. She’s visibly proud, but sees I’m not.

I then recall the last time I had a grand event occur involving my art, I ended up in the HPU.

Knowing this, we design a skeletal plan of approach: “How are you going to keep safe?” I offer my initial strategy. The therapist approves of my suggestions. “Give yourself permission to refuse anything that you know will upset you. Allow yourself to be emotional, if you have a reaction.”

“Just remember…you can express yourself, just don’t touch anybody.”

“Right.”

Boo Radley, To Kill A Mockingbird
Boo Radley, To Kill A Mockingbird

I flip to Bipolar Disorder. “I wish We weren’t the new bogeymen.”

“Boo Radley.”

“Yeah.”

I smirk. “Bipolar is the new gay.”

“We should start making T-shirts. ‘Bipolar Is The New Gay’!”

“Yes.” I clasp my hands, “We just want to belong.”

She laughs. “You’re going to be alright.”

Sigh. “I know.”

Time’s up.

I can do this.

“Bipolar Is The New Gay”

Today we’ll move the pin down one.

The hammies were complaining during the stationary bike warm-up, and now on the leg curls, they don’t wanna move.

“rrrrr…”

I can do this.

“rrr…rrrrrr…”

Look left. Look right. All alone in the gym.

“RAAAAAAA!!!”

There it goes!

Fluid, don’t smack against the arse. Smooth, smooth, smooth…

Ironically, the song I have set for this week’s Turn It Up Tuesday comes on. Fitting, as we’re moving now to the quads.

I growl through upper body presses, then sigh towards the padded stand.

Lower ab leg curls.

As I stabilize my position to bang out crunches, a heavily obese woman enters the gym. She’s got proper gym clothes on, her water bottle is filled, and she’s motioning towards the cardio machines.

I’m so proud of her, showing the lazy skinny punks how to self-care. Her arrival encourages me to push through side crunches, to the point of making my injured right hip sing.

We did it.

I take my time giving Bobby his weekly bath, and suddenly I remember, I HAVE THERAPY TODAY.

I rush him so I can shower. He’s visibly relieved.

As I happen to swipe my smartphone screen, I notice the misread: two thirty not twelve thirty.

Oh.

Ah!

We’ve got time for pancakes!

2:36PM I arrive at the therapist’s office.

“I left the house an hour ago, I swear! Time always works against me…”

We shuffle into the room.

I remove a copy of Night Walkers from my purse. “You might recognize someone in there.”

She chuckles, then proceeds to read my short story, Tokyo Rose.

She looks up. “Metaphorically, what am I examining with this first page?”

“Consider it…the event horizon of a suicide.”

She laughs at the right parts, marvels at the word play, notes my editorializing. I’m pleased that she gets it.

After she’s done, I review with the therapist how this work stems from the memory of my last suicide attempt, now four years ago.

“What does this mean for you now?” Alluding to fame, fortune, popularity.

“It’s me confessing my truths. I put the work out there, because, mainly, I’m not long for this world.”

She mentions Stevie Smith and Nick Drake. I mention Michael Angelakos.

“So it seems that…knowing you’re not long for this world, helps you be part of it?”

“Right.”

I tell the therapist I’m visiting with a spiritualist to understand further the metaphysical dynamic of my existence. As we speak, I’m thumbing through a copy of the DSM-V. She encourages my interest in the science behind psychosis, but reminds me, the DSM is a tome put together by psychiatrists under the influence of pharmaceutical companies.

I mention the show happening tomorrow. She’s visibly proud, but sees I’m not.

I then recall the last time I had a grand event occur involving my art, I ended up in the HPU.

Knowing this, we design a skeletal plan of approach: “How are you going to keep safe?” I offer my initial strategy. The therapist approves of my suggestions. “Give yourself permission to refuse anything that you know will upset you. Allow yourself to be emotional, if you have a reaction.”

“Just remember…you can express yourself, just don’t touch anybody.”

“Right.”

I flip to Bipolar Disorder. “I wish We weren’t the new bogeymen.”

“Boo Radley.”

“Yeah.”

I smirk. “Bipolar is the new gay.”

“We should start making T-shirts. ‘Bipolar Is The New Gay’!”

“Yes.” I clasp my hands, “We just want to belong.”

She laughs. “You’re going to be alright.”

Sigh. “I know.”

Time’s up.

I can do this.

Night Walkers: A NaNoWriMo Success Story

Usually by mid-Week 2 of NaNoWriMo, the WriMos in my immediate vicinity start to peter out for various reasons. Before you join them my dear, lemme share this true-to-life story that will keep you in the saddle.

Don’t worry, it’ll be quick. 😉

I started participating in National Novel Writing Month back in 2012, after a good friend of mine suggested we participate in it together from our respective places on Earth. In 19 days, I managed to hammer out The Black Parade, and I was really proud of the effort. That personal achievement boosted my creative energy and pushed aside the trappings of my ego, providing me the freedom to deliver a manuscript to a local independent publisher.

By the time NaNoWriMo 2013 ramped up, I Blew Up Juarez was in the hands of my editor, getting polished for a February 2014 debut.

For NaNoWriMo 2013, I teamed with my writing partner, Marie, to put together a psycho-terror work. I’ve never written horror before, let alone have an interest in horror films (Human Centipede? Really??) but Marie, a fan and writer of horror, encouraged me to enter that wormhole. When I showed her what I was working on, she shared, “You really can write horror!” Now I know that comes off as Marie stroking my cock, but Marie doesn’t stroke cock unless she really means it, and THAT’S WHAT MAKES HER A GREAT WOMAN. So, happily, I championed Momma’s Boy for my second halo.

This week, Thirteen Press released Night Walkers, a horror anthology featuring authors from around the globe, and Little Miss Stretchy Pants over here is in it!! 😀 I’m the first short story, which is cool; the opening act now, maybe down the road I’ll be the grand finale! But again, by persevering and completing a NaNoWriMo competition, my work isn’t in the bowels of my notebook backup routine. I’m bonafide!

So hey, buddy, I know you’re feeling like folding the cards and collecting your chips, but please please consider the why of it from the get go: you love to write. You LOVE to write, and you HAVE to write. You’re amongst like-minded and weak-willed artists; lean on us! Who cares about the word count, just get the story out. And then, maybe later down the line, when you’re up to it, you’ll get published, and then NaNoWriMo is no longer a competition…it’s a refresher course. 😉

STICK IT OUT! KEEP ON WRITIN’!!

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Von Simeon joining the NEW masters of the dark!

 

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Opening act now, main stage later (more sooner than..)

 

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First page! Gotta admit, kinda feels awesome. 🙂

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Crowd Pleaser

Every event has its own outfit. Every outfit contributes to the show. I didn’t learn this from a fashion magazine, I learned this from a grown man wearing an arrow through his head!

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Courtesy Tumblr user tucec9

Steve Martin wants to get you to dance the King Tut? He throws on a Pharaoh’s crown. Needs to prove to you he’s a normal (crazy) guy? Steve Martin pushes on bunny ears! He doesn’t do it to feel complete; he does it to engage his audience. In person, he’s quiet, introverted, and even distant, as I read about him years ago. Kindred I feel, and thus, do my best to emulate.

Given the choice of sitting on a couch listening to talented storytellers, or, standing under spotlight to tell a tale, I’m likely to be in my baggy sweats, legs curled under me, rapt in attention. But, there are moments when the crowd becomes the crowd pleaser. My most recent event found me wrestling with that discomfort: while I enjoy writing and I love my stories, I’m worn out from stage life and the spotlight. However, if I’m trying to profit off my art, I gotta do the arty thing and get on stage with it! Yikes.

For me, it’s not a nerves thing. It’s more of a fun-ed out thing; the more time I spend reading completed art, the less time I’m spending on incomplete work and I’d rather invest my time at the computer screen. So, when I find myself wrestling with the duality of solitary writer/crowd performer, I settle my nerves with a simple question: WWSMD?

Steve Martin would coat, shellac, paint, tighten, sculpt, mould, highlight, tweeze, press, scald, twist, puncture, squeeze, and freeze spray for SpookEasy! Here’s what two solid hours ended up with at my vanity:

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Nothing 49 coats of mascara and a set of Spanx can’t fix!

Since I read from Night Walkers, a Horrified Press anthology featuring ‘creatures of the night’, I dressed as a glamorous gangster, and introduced myself as ‘Queen of the St Pete Underworld’ before launching into my short fiction, “Tokyo Rose,” a story of a woman’s slow, terrifying downspiral during an evening at a martini bar. I am actually not sure when the book will be released, but I imagine if you visit their Amazon page, you’ll be able to find it eventually. See?? Proof that I’m not into the marketing end of things!

You do performances to keep people abreast of your art, but you be a writer – you exist as a solitary individual ensconced in the deep folds of imagination, preoccupied with hours upon hours of unrelenting play, to create what brings you joy, and, maybe, develop that creation into a format worth sharing, should you choose to do so. Being is so much easier than doing, but doing can be a delight!

Here’s a few pics with me as The Glam Gangster, courtesy of Community Cafe’s Facebook Page:

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SpookEasy host Monika sharing her 2012 short story. There’s me, stage right with Meg, another performer for the evening.
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Performed Tokyo Rose, then ‘Stopping By The Master’s Grave,’ then switched ‘Ode to Three Birds Tavern’ to ‘Ode to Community Cafe’ en homage to Ms Mandy, the cafe’s owner.

 

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The glam breaks through the darkness. 🙂

Also went ahead and got some head shots taken before the eyeliner seeped into the crow’s feet! 😀 I’m using this one as my new Avatar. Ya like??

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Von Simeon as Queen of the St Pete Underworld