back like crack...

...prob'ly the most often used blog post title, in english, anyway. i don't know if it rhymes in any other languages.
but i truly feel like i am- i've been posting a bunch more, even if it's been mostly short shit, but i also already have a coupla ideas for my next few posts. i actually have things to say- of course, now that i've said that, i'll somehow fail to post, and/or finally will and it'll be the most mundane shit you ever dragged your eyes over, and you'll leave here cursing my name, never to return.
but i suppose that risk came with the blog...
so me+grims were talking about orgasms and relaxation after my recent post, and i had to admit that i kinda understood what the chick on lucky louie meant when she told him about having her first orgasm ever by imagining he didn't exist- not that i imagine grims doesn't exist when i come, but i kinda understand the general idea because as someone who has trouble sleeping and relaxing because her mind won't stop fucking running, one of my favourite things about an orgasm is how everything melts away and it's impossible to think of anything or nothing else. for me, thinking about nothing is the most amazingly desirable concept, so although i don't imagine grims doesn't exist to make myself come, i'm certainly not thinking about him when i do.
not the same, but i see where she's coming from...
walk good.

late fff

so i'm posting this flash fiction friday even though it's past deadline because it was lack of internet access, not my lack of writing it in time, that made it late.
big-up jj.
trying to keep it simple.

Oh, you lying bastard. If I had known…
you know what, fuck that. i didn’t know. and why didn’t i know? because this lying bastard opted against full disclosure. and why did he determine that full disclosure wasn’t necessary? because i’da been mad.
shit, yeah, i’m mad. this lying bastard was just trying to do a public service. maybe i should take my foot off his adam’s apple.
maybe not.
looking down at his sad face framed by the hideous pattern on the motel carpet, though, i almost feel remorse.
i slide my foot down and over his chest to join its partner on the ugly ground, taking care to scrape the surface of his skin ever so slightly with my stiletto. he trembles, no, shivers, and something desirous flashes across his face.
he winks at me, and i falter.
every angry thought flees my mind simultaneously. my body empties of wrath.
he cheekily caresses the instep, ankle and calf, almost to the back of the suddenly-weak knee of the foot which had just been applying pressure at his throat.
i turn my traitorous smile upside-down. don’t fall for the bastard’s tricks. make it stick.
i force my voice to a self-approximation of my ‘normal’ tone and tell him i won’t fall for it.
he smiles up at me and i melt, right into him, right into his arms, on the floor.

walk good.

sharing the love

so, besides the shit hitting the fan, the other reason i've barely been blogging is the project that's been keeping me busy- i'm making my 1st attempt ever @ writing noir, to deadline, and for the publishing house i wanna make a brilliant impression on since i want them to publish my nearly-done collection of short fiction.
it's hard, and i had some serious issues for awhile, but finally sorted them out (i hope), and was just pushing the words onto the pages so i had something to revise into dark, creative, crime fiction. i was sticking as i approached the end, but then we were watching scrubs on comedy central the other day, and i heard the same advice i'd heard sometime in the last few episodes of entourage (johnny drama needed something to stop him choking in his big film scene, and turk was suffering surgical stage fright): fellas apparently advise each other to masturbate to release tension before a major gig.
it would behoove you to know, this strategy really got my creative juices flowing. i highly recommend it.
noir, 1st draft, done.
basking in the aferglow.
walk good.

dilemma (edited september 23 to provide link)

there's no more perfect title for a brief, aimless post about the fact that looking into our kitchen trash makes it instantly obvious that i'm a tea+marijuana girl, not a coffee+cigarettes chick, than:
the trash-heap has spoken. except that i've used that title once before, admittedly somewhat flippantly, and now feel that i wasted it. but i also feel retarded about either appropriating it for this brief and aimless but more a propos post and having to retitle it's previous attachment, or having multiple posts carry the same title. although, perhaps what this post became is enough...
i raise my teacup and spliff to big-up fraggle rock.
walk good.

update (edited)

just wanted to point out a batch of new links on the sidebar-
read, look, listen, enjoy!
walk good.

ps: i tried to keep the music together at the end.

presenting:

title of the song, by da vinci's notebook.

Declaration of my feelings for you
Elaboration on those feelings
Description of how long these feelings have existed
Belief that no one else could feel the same as I

Reminiscence on the pleasant times we shared
And our relationship's perfection oh oh
Recounting of the steps that led to our love's dissolution
Mostly involving my unfaithfulness and lies

Penitent admission of wrongdoing
Discovery of the depth of my affection
Regret over the lateness
Of my epiphany

Title of the song
Naïve expression of love
Reluctance to accept that you are gone
Request to turn back time
And rectify my wrongs
Repetition of
The Title of the Song

Enumeration of my various transgressive actions
Of insufficient motivation
Realization that these actions led to your departure
And my resultant lack of sleep and appetite

Renunciation of my past insensitive behavior
Promise of my reformation uh huh
Reassurance that you still are foremost in my thoughts now
Need for instructions how to gain your trust again

Request for reconciliation
Listing of the numerous tasks that I'd perform
Of physical and
Emotional compensation

Title of the song
Naïve expression of love
Reluctance to accept that you are gone
Request to turn back time
And rectify my wrongs
Repetition of
The Title of the Song

Acknowledgement that I acted foolishly
Increasingly desperate pleas for your return
Sorrow for my infidelity
The vain hope that my sins are forgivable

Appeal for one more opportunity
Drop to my knees to elicit a crowd response
Praise to my chosen deity
Modulation and I hold a high noooooote

Title of the song
Naïve expression of love
Reluctance to accept that you are gone
Request to turn back time
And rectify my wrongs

Repetition of the
Title of the Song
Title of the Song
Title of the Song

walk good.

ice-cream and bait: v.a. beach dregs

the above title is from one of my favourite signs, spied somewhere in pennsylvania while i was on tour years ago (my other favourite 4 words should never be repeated, so i'm refraining).
it's funny, but when i thought about it, i realised it makes sense; ice-cream and bait both need refrigeration, right? but i haven't found the logic in the sign i saw repeatedly while driving from d.c. to v.a. beach last month. on all manner of signage, from chicken-scratch to the professionally manufactured, i saw it proclaimed over+over:
"fireworks, ham + peanuts".
alright, americans. explain this one to me.
also remembered my other favourite moment @ the v.a. beach dq, immediately after flirting with the underaged bulgarian summer help- i collected my chocolate extreme just in time to catch the last word on a family argument- a pretty ordinary-looking white family: harried-looking, over-dyed, middle-aged mom with dorky, gangly, pimpled teenage son and almost-grown daughter attempting (and failing) to be cute in spite of the family- i finished flirting just in time to hear the daughter all but stamp her foot on the gravel as she choked on her tears and wailed, "i'll never try to plan anything like this again!"
it felt like watching a soap opera, and i wished that she'd add, just for my personal amusement, "i hate you! all of you!" and storm off. instead, they all just stood there looking at each other, like, "what now?"- wonder about the rest of their weekend...
walk good.

an fff first (for me)

so this week's flash fiction friday inspired me to try something i don't really do anymore, and certainly haven't done for an fff, so here's hoping i'm still ok @ this. i also decided to keep jj's starter's "he/she" so that readers (i prob'ly shouldn't assume plurality, but it makes me feel better) can choose for themselves, or read it as themselves, or whatever...
big-up jj, my favourite purgatorian, for keeping me on my toes.

I saw her/him through the smoke…
hanging thick and foggy in the air like words heard but unsaid
an endless stream of moving bodies between us
our entire lives between us
all of time and space between us
suddenly compressed as (s)he finally saw me
and our eyes locked tight
pulling us together
cutting through infinity.

walk good.

bad wife/good wife

so today i broke grims' bong, which made me cry because it reminded me of how i lost the earrings he bought me that match my engagement ring, and ruined the beautiful green shirt that we found for him that he looked so amazing in.
but just now, i was able to tell him that the "p" in alex p. keaton's name stands for "peace"- i don't think it makes up for the earrings, but it kinda makes up for the bong, especially since he told me after i broke it that it was actually paid for by his ex.
walk good.

fashion plate (edited next morning)

just watched an episode of house of boateng on the sundance channel and i love this dude's clothes. during the "next week" preview, he mentioned the name don cheadle, and i just wanted to tell don cheadle and his people that boateng's shit is perfect for him. the thought of don cheadle wearing boateng inspired me to write words- i think that's a good sign that it's working.
and, for the record, ozwald boateng looks pretty fine in boateng, too...
walk good.

edit (10.46am, friday september 15, 2006): i forgot to mention that i loved boateng's menswear so much, that i even want to wear it myself- if you really love me, feel free to see if he carries extra extra extra small...

word to the wise

i was briefly in a gnc for the 1st and last time ever the other day because my mom needed something i never helped her find, because the 1st shelf i threw my eye at was labelled "cosmeceuticals".
what?!
"cosmeceuticals" sound dangerous and terrible.
i left quickly, never to return to gnc.
walk good.

ask a friend...

do they just hand him a piece of paper before the ceremony with the correct spelling and pronunciation of the newly chosen name to announce, or does the emperor actually get to choose everybody's new darth-names?
when freshly-torched darth vader's hanging on to life with his one remaining limb (immediately pre-costume) and wrinkly-face dude finds him, why does he touch his painfully-burned face?
plus, after this laying-on of hands, when they have the jedi-fomerly-known-as-anakin on the stretcher headed for surgery-and-special-outfit, it's raining and they don't even umbrella his charcoaly ass- i can't believe he trusts these people...
i also think it's funny that this is my 2nd post about this movie that i don't even consider that comment-worthy...
walk good.

not quite a "dragon rider"...

...but in keeping with the spirit of this week's flash fiction friday challenge, it draws inspiration from the same place.
big-up jj for making it so:

Her arms shackled to the stone floor and her wings constricted by leather bindings…she was still a beauty. leah bent down and stroked her baby, whispering a reminder that the straps and chains weren’t permanent and that the world wouldn’t hate her once they saw her true self. the shackles and bindings were just to keep her in check until she had learned enough control and artistry that she wouldn’t terrify them. these were limitations imposed with love so that others wouldn’t feel the need to constrain this beautiful creature once she entered their world.
leah kept murmuring to her daughter, whispers licked with the faintest scent of sulphur, a constant reminder that flame could be summoned with mere thought. but everything she was capable of, her daughter would be better, would soar higher, could assimilate while proving her uniqueness…
this child, lena, was the impossible made possible.
even after the fire wars ended and pygmy dragons and humans made peace – each group was the last surviving species in its genus – there was little mingling. humans were still scared of dragons’ ability to destroy anyone unarmed, and dragons remained wary of human technology that enabled them to fight back – especially knowing such technology continued to be developed. there was peace, but little trust even now that both groups spoke the same language since most believed they only lived in such close quarters because the war had left much of the planet uninhabitable. if the choice existed, humans and these little dragons would go their separate ways.
but lena would be the beginning of the end of this fractured lifestyle. leah had kept her pregnancy secret, took care of herself as best she could, nurtured the seed that would become the child that could change the world once again. it made her sad to keep her beautiful baby confined, but she knew it was only for a time and for lena’s own protection, until she understood the world that needed her so desperately, and could fend for herself in it.
leah removed the leather bindings, allowing lena to stretch her wings fully before releasing the shackles so she could stand upright.
“you ready, baby?”
“we gonna fly?”
“yes, we are.”
“am i almost ready?”
“yes, you are. if today goes well, if you can maintain the control you’ve been showing in these past weeks, i think it’s time you started exploring real life. i think you’re ready.”
leah tried to temporarily quell lena’s excitement, just long enough to go over every major lesson she’d ever tried to impart to this precious child: caution, control, care. she was developing even better than her mother could have hoped. her wings tucked away completely onto her shoulder blades when she stood so that she could walk among humans, her breath lacked the traces of sulphur that humans were so attuned to now, and her mind absorbed everything her adoring mother threw at it. she knew she was unique, she knew humans and dragons alike might be afraid, she knew she’d be capable of things that neither group was capable of separately – she knew she was born into a mission to bring harmony to this tentative peace, and embraced it. it was more than leah could have hoped for, especially while still so young.
they went out into the light, lena surveying her homeground with new interest, knowing she might not come back to it again. she’d been waiting for the day when her mother would say she’d learned enough, could control enough, was ready to face the real world. she knew her mother had a home among dragons they could return to, but her human father gave up his seed as a deathbed boon to leah and his people didn’t know he had a child. all they knew was that when he found out he had the sickness that only dragons could produce the serum for, rather than give himself up to death like other humans before him, he went to the dragon safehold to beg for life. his human family didn’t know about his terrible journey, didn’t know about his 3days on the brink of death before leah found him, didn’t know that he’d been cured, didn’t know that he chose to stay with the dragons he came to love as they nursed him back to health…would they ever accept lena? she knew it would be hard, but she trusted her mother, and she felt ready too. she couldn’t wait to see where the end of this day would find her.
leah cut into her daydreaming, urging lena to test herself again, so they could gauge for sure.
lena stretched her limbs and wings again, shook herself, and took off. she moved so effortlessly, it was breathtaking. she started running her drills, even incorporating some attempts at her oddly sterile fire, and leah was moved to take to the air as well. she joined her daughter, wishing for a moment that she could capture the image of the 2 of them against the sky, one pygmy dragon, one brilliantly winged human…
then she heard the shout. she looked down, too late, to see the firestream shoot toward them from the little specks on the ground below. she tried to get to it first, but only got close enough to see it engulf lena, her child's body, finally warm, falling to the ground in a cloud of smoke and charred flesh.
what had now been just a ceasefire was over.
the 9th fire war began with the breaking of one pygmy dragon heart, too big for the world it lived in.

walk good.

v.a. beach, remembered...

this post was actually drafted immediately after we got back from the wedding in v.a. beach (august 13, 2006; 3weeks ago). it's been sitting, unused, since. there was supposed to be more, but i've long forgotten what that was meant to be.
grims just turned to me and said,
"you don't blog anymore."
and he's right. i know why, and i guess i'm being self-indulgent about it now. so i'ma try to make something of this post because i hate to not finish something, and then i pledge to get back to blogging other than for flash fiction friday. i know i've said it in the past, so feel free to wait for me to prove it- of course, that's assuming anybody even here reading this, since i haven't been a real blogger in too long. i apparently blog a lot less when i have shit on my mind- which i think is not an encouraging thing to say, as regards the generation of content on this blog...
anyway.
flashback to 3weeks ago- still summer proper, none of this cold wind and rain and temperature below 70degrees bullshit.
there was a dairy queen across the street from the viking motel, where we stayed (alas, not viking-y; big letdown). the dq was populated by underaged bulgarian boys, cute mainly by virtue of being underaged, working summer jobs. needless to say, it was the 1st place i went on our 1st day out, en route to the beach, and i flirted. mercilessly.
i lean on the counter, small cobalt triangles perfectly accenting my bosom, drawing the eye exactly where it wants to linger, and purr,
"what's the difference between the chocolate extreme, mud pie and georgia mud fudge?"
he blushes, asks in halting english for me to hold on. i look down into my cleavage then back up @ him encouragingly. i love making young boys flustered.
while he's gone, the couple behind me becomes self-congratulatory in that somewhat amusing way that couples get when they've organised special time together and everything's going swimmingly:
"that parking space was so money."
"i love that we found that. and we're @ the beach, and lunch was amazing, and now ice-cream..."
"i know. this is like the best day ever."
you see what i mean.
just as i'm wishing for an excuse to turn around so i could see who i giggling at, the female voice says,
"you just asked for something sneaky, didn't you?"
better than their parking spot and lunch combined- i turn, grinning, and see a perfectly ordinary, relatively cute couple, the chick even somewhat gape-worthy. this cracks me up all the way through my brief conversation with her about the fact that i may have asked too much of a person for whom english isn't a 1st language. my dq-joy is complete.
my underaged bulgarian comes back with enough explanation for me to rule out something with nuts. i ask which of the remaining 2 he prefers. he blushes even more furiously and tells me to get the chocolate extreme. i do. he's right. i have another that evening, on the way back from the beach, and another the next day. he remembers me the next day and tells his boys behind the counter he's responsible for my tastebuds' orgasm, hangs out up by the window smiling @ me while his boy makes my 3rd chocolate extreme in 36hours.

there was a point to my telling this story once, but now it's just another random memory i don't know why i'm keeping.
i figured i could use the practice, though- real posts coming soon to a sweet trini near you...
walk good.

anniversaried fff

so it's been exactly one year since my 1st ever flash fiction friday attempt. i discovered the opportunity, got all excited and wrote and posted it in about an hour, without thinking or editing. it got panned for being a little confusing, but i still like it. although, now i edit.
anyway, i think that since then, except for the weeks that jj didn't present a challenge, i've only missed 3, so i'm feeling kinda good about myself. it's also my b'day, so i'm feeling good about making it successfully through another year of life without killing somebody, too.
so, without further ado, except for the eternal bigging-up of my favourite purgatorian, here's my entry for this week (it was a closing sentence this time so you may wanna leave this link until after reading the piece, unless you doing an fff and already know what's up).
hope you enjoy...

we had faced off before, me and him. and while this might not have been our 1st battle, i intended it to be our last. embarrassment and defeat were unacceptable to me.
i’d planned and schemed all week, thinking of every possible avenue, rethinking every possible move, plotting my course and his options, covering every angle – i was so ready. there was no way he’d win. not over my dead body.
he’d come by earlier in the week, all cookies and smiles, trying to curry favour, trying to make it look like he wasn’t out to get me, but i knew. i’d known from the start that this would be the mother of all fights, and i refused to be the one going down.
after all my strategising, i’d come to a firm conclusion: he who made it to the corner of the boulevard and park first would necessarily win, since all other public access was temporarily down for various reasons – and i was pretty sure my opponent hadn’t noticed. the acquisition of ammo was part of the challenge, and as hardcore as the battle could become, the corner was paramount – somebody would get a headstart, even if he were to get beat back shortly thereafter – and i was the one who knew which corner.
if i got there first, i could hold him off. and if he got there first, i could take him easier than he could take me. so i just needed to get there as fast as possible, and be prepared to fight him down…
the night before, i chose and mapped my route carefully, avoiding jj’s dog and the fence around the thomsons’. i made sure i didn’t have to wait for lights to cross. i laid out my gear, pre-stuffed my pockets, and fell asleep memorising my map. i let the family laugh – i’d have the last guffaw in about 9hours.
i woke before my alarm, giving myself a little more time with my map. i dressed carefully, rechecked my pockets, and still fingering the slightly sticky surface, stepped outside to survey the street.
my mind replayed the challenges that led to this one, starting at the beginning when we were still an army. there had been so many of us, but the group had been thinned a few at a time, leaving just me and him for this final standoff.
i didn’t see him yet, but others were waiting, watching me to make sure i didn’t jump the gun. but i planned to beat him fair and square. i’d wait for him to show his chickenshit face.
i smiled back at my family in the doorway, shaking their heads at my determination. i knew it’d be worth it in the end. the victory would be sweet.
at 1minute to our go time, i saw his door swing open. his mother’s head cautiously twisted toward me, then ducked back inside. i heard whispering – we’d always thought our houses were a little too close, but this time, not close enough. i debated going to their yard and calling him out. i thought about the look on his smug, little face when he reached the corner of the boulevard and cheshire and found the nozzle dry – not that i expected to see it, since i’d be almost at the boulevard and park, hands already reaching for my pockets’ contents, pre-stretching as i pulled them out, anticipating their rebound, slightly stinging, snapping back on my knuckles…
i’d be embracing the standpipe as i fitted the rubbery lip of my 1st balloon to the end of its faucet, smoothly controlling the flow with the hot metal tap so as not to overfill and bust…
i’d be exploding wet bombs in his face, in his pudgy 9-year-old gut, all over his sweaty back...
yeah.
i thought i’d be winning the annual water-balloon soak-off.
i swore chickenshit’s mom had said at the last neighbourhood watch meeting that she felt shitty for not being able to afford the bike he wanted.
i remembered thinking: "...shame…fat little fuck could use the exercise, too."
i knew he didn’t know there was only one place he could fill his stash, and that with the 40-odd years i had on him there was no way he was smarter than me…
…but the little creep beat me to it.

walk good.