Wednesday, October 27, 2010

bes' pee ever! + my fff#30

finally posting this days after i start composing 'cause is time for the new flash fiction friday trigger and i want my fff#30 up 1st; so take your mind back to the other day...
since i fell in love with my flat on sight, i offer salcedo (of my favourite local band the big bad gyazette)

wallspace to muralise and otherwise experiment artistically (chee, i doubt you read this, but sending vibes to remind you your space waiting...); salcedo sketch on a wall since the other day and me+family enjoying the wild women ever since. this week he call and bawl he feelin' to paint, i say come through, he reach 1time and gone clear: women gone, whole new piece, still changing after 2sessions, he know he nowhere near done...
the wall he sketched+painting is in my main corridor, opposite my bathroom, and since i live alone doors stay open. the morning after he sketch was the bes' pee ever 'cause i woke, stumbled in + sat, then as i started that glorious 1st pee, opened my eyes to art. this morning was the bes' pee ever!
video of gyazette frontman nickolai salcedo muralising my flat (more on fasbook):

and my flash fiction friday #30 (inclusion, kinna): snakecharmer, citrus, book(s).
he plucks+plays and in his chords she hears+feels and almost sees the snake rise through the smoke billowing from the unattended hookah. she wonders if he saw through her machinations to get him here or if he just that oblivious- he is a man, after all. talented, but just a man.
he plucks+plays+prays she feeling him. he wonders if she saw through his machinations to get invited here or if her refusal to trust insists his attention platonic. he inclines his chin toward the hookah, tiny sweeteye, and she tears herself out of his melody to guide his long drag while his hands continue charming the strings of his instrument and her self.
she takes a pull too, resettles the hookah and is suddenly on her feet, lifted by smoke and abandon. she finds her body finding its way through music as her eyes find his again.
he knows his power now as she wines+winds around him in the corridor. his dancing fingers pull his marionette closer until the warmth of her left bumsee cheek brushing his strumming arm momentarily distracts him. his breathing stops as she turns to him, leaning down to throw her arms around him+guitar, giggling apologies for reckless backing-back.
her hair smells like oranges when he can finally inhale and he’s instantly distracted all over again until she releases him, whispering the song she wants to hear next in his ear as the scent recedes. his pounding chest is the rhythm he uses now, playing what she wants but not the way she expected. her hips respond instinctively.
she turns to him again, face serious this time as she says, “let me be your scribe…let me write this story. i want to bring you and your work to the whole world…”

walk good.


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