In peaceful bliss, sipping wine on the Riviera. Picking up life ceaselessly until I am in awe of it, until it transforms me with just enough echo to grope at me in the darkness, peer at me through random glass, reconstruct me in language of bewilderment. Life leaves me in awe of possibilities, of what tomorrow may bring.
My words sign off and fall silent for 2011. I will be back January 2, 2012 withering away at my keyboard.
If you have ever had a broken heart, I am going to make you feel it, if you have ever suffered a human loss, I am going to make you heal from it, if you have ever felt alone and afraid, I am going to tell you, you are not the only one, if you have ever danced naked when no one was looking, I am going to tell you, so have I, repeatedly, if you have ever gotten so lost in a song that it became your life, I am going to sing the melody and learn the words.
I already miss the smell of spring, when wild blooms catch up close to the edge of my nostrils, as beyond anyone's common knowledge I lay in the stark silence of winter, hibernating and waiting. Waiting for dormancy to end, the earth to warm, and nocturnal songs of crickets to drift in through my window.
Waiting, for the cold vapor of my mouth to suspend, and I, to turn to a purple haze frenzy of saluted heated passion. Waiting, to loose myself in the rise and fall of waves of rapture. Yes, I simply cannot wait for spring, to forget the gloomy gray fog of winter that holds me like a cage, implied but left unspoken.
I stole sideway glances of the man standing in line next to me. The perfect structure of his jaw line, upper lip slightly curled as a dimple in his right cheek showed with great promise. Standing there, I thought, yes, perhaps he would be the one, as his shadow torched against the marble flooring. Falling into perpetual dream, taking comfort in my romantic melodrama, he looked at me for a second, as a flush of fire rose beneath my breast. He thinks he knows me, from another dream, another life. In tearful apology he regrets stepping on my shoe, and for, perhaps, the breaking of my heart, leaving imprint on the shutter of my life.
Succumbing to the intimacy of being alone in the stillness, just before the opening of dawn, as a cold freezing rain pelts at my windowpane. Swallows frolic in the puddle of my tears, as the lulled vibration of the rain is the only sound I hear. Almost tasting the rain on my lips, slipping further beneath my covers, unbridled thought still resting in the corner of last night's dream.
Unexpected alliances, as a blackbird perched on my windowsill lays claim to my secrets, hiding my pretend, he only scratches the surface of who I am. Seduced by saturated sumptuousness, ribbons of cold current wind their way around my body as I slip from covers, in a siren like sea of fantasy. A fire burns in the abyss of my breath, drunk on the aromatic Christmas air, thoughts turn inward lifting the greatest of burden difficult and deep.
May the fantasy and scent of the holiday impregnate all of you, as my Blog retreats for the holiday until December 27th.
It is early on in the day and thoughts already begin to spill over, my salt is all I taste, my breath is all I hear, my heartbeat is all I feel, as I wrap myself in the satiric novel of life. Air so thick with my presence, it waves in the breeze of electricity which tangles the static of my body. Quenching my palette on life long dreams. Heavily seduced.
An unspeakable chill, as I open the window to blow out any remaining air from my lungs, as I begin the rest of my life in copious contentment. Morning's physical rush swells beneath my cheeks, rising up in a swallow of my own heated desire, my fingers trace the outline of my cheek, the curvature of my collar bone, coming to rest on the soft skin just above my breastbone. Examining some small sliver of life, awkwardly falling into the sound of my own heartbeat, as the sound of a swallow hovers near, in the fertile of a tree, it holds audience over private conversation.
Feeling faintly triumphant as I drift into another world. So adrift in my own sea, I fail to recognize the rain colliding in drum like beat with the glass of my windowpane. The masquerade face of my lover, now falling from one world of unknowing into the next of my warm bed covers. An unseen person intrudes, casting shadow at my feet, replicating a gesture from god in discreet disapproval. Deliciously delightful, my lover speaks another language in impossible dream. Taking opportunity to find that which has not yet been revealed, I remove my own mask and waft in desire, my finger in vaguest outline traces the edge of my soon to be broken heart. Do I dare wake the dream ? Or lie in uncomplicated stillness, eyes set on the breaking of dawn.
Early morning rising, yet sleepy eyes still yawning, catapulting into thought, always the panderer. Is life the catalyst that changes us, or are we the catalyst that changes life? This is my infatuate internal wondering, as a warm breeze parts my words and strokes me in caress. Crowded with immense unspoken dialogue inside my head, a moment of ejection as each word falls as a leaf from a tree. I stumble on their crumbling beneath my feet. Someone, somewhere, breaths alongside with me, the familiar uniform beat of their heart. Do we change life, or has it already changed us? The answer bites at my flesh.
I am a wounded animal finding my way in the dark; as my hands fall to my side, and I breathe in my own breath. Thickly adorned white clouds crisscross the abyss of blue sky, and before long, time loses its significance, aware enough only to ponder my own line of history. Standing in cold sweat, heart pulsing inside my chest. From the first flavorful bite I am addicted, as a hint of holiday permeates the now spicy December air.
The bite of a cold wind strips across my face, burning an imprint of fire and ice across my forehead. Catching my breath under the curse of the burn, remembering your sin, forgetting my own name, as my own flesh presses to flesh. Desire, which sets the fire, or the ice forming inside my heart? Either way, I feel the heat of the burn.
Morning unfolds so untouchable, as words cycle onto paper in thunderous roar.Breath runs in rapid tide, only to momentarily freeze in paused torture as I stand on a cliff of cold morning air. In precarious allure, and tasteful surrender, I daydream an ill - fated lover. Hiding behind the lace of my demure, he pays attention to my unseen. Obeying the silence, his kiss cuts sharp like the tip of a razor against my skin.
In earnest slinkiness I slide from my covers, tasting what it feels like to feel whole, as the whole of my life story sits on the tip of my tongue. Lavished in jewels, recognizing the face in the mirror as my own, my body in stronger than usual heat, as I smell my own perfume. The air hastily asks me what I want today, dressed in black velvet and silk, it drapes me in four - karat diamonds. Trolling into the break of dawn, as diamonds trail down the curvature of my spine, deliverance of a momentary interlude, as sunrise breaks all illusion, striking the gully between my breasts. Diamonds cascade..
In an insidious moment breath hangs in flags of surrender; as I listen to the sound of silence deliver me from the wind, and into the dawn. Sensation on my flesh tenderly brushes me from reality, as sultry swirls sink me into a containment of solace. Body parts tremble in their own warmth, as the power of crimson rose blood heaves up from the pavement, trails of my own voice hauntingly echo as ghosts in the wind.
Part of the earth finally settles as I move just a tad bit closer to the sun. A reticent smile smug on my face, as my flesh burns like simmering coals under the heat of desire, and bite of cold, crisp morning air. Implied but left unspoken, a flutter of steam rises inside of me holding me like a cage. Taking my face in his hands, he devours me with his eyes, as the ripcord of my innermost being releases in a wave across my breast. Doing a sultry rendition of ' will you be my lover ' as my body falls in melodious riffs. Feeling my face flush as the unpretentious waiter, not knowing I have undressed him with my eyes, sedately inquires, " more coffee?”
My reserve dissipates within the boundaries of my blood, as warm breath becomes intoxicating and wicked, flecks of floating gold spawn from my vapor. Silence falls, ascending like the night, as my tiny frame trills in the wind, and the scent of my natural perfume hangs elusively in the air about me. Pulsing rapturously, through trickling fingers touching the center of my soul, the thought of yesterday's 'stranger,' and the smell of a forbidden rose. The rise and fall of my breasts mark the shadow I now chase, along the darkened edge of pavement.
My wings draw back as if ready to fly; it's easy to fall in love with the man standing on the corner, a warm buffer from the chill outside. I wonder if he would read to me, melting my heart, while smothering me in wet, salacious intoxicating kisses. My heart begins to dance, sensation swirls around me like a hurricane, becoming too much to endure I grab the rose from the very attentive, very charming, and extraordinarily handsome man. The pure poetry of the way it feels inside my hand, palpable frost in the air, as my face warms in the seductiveness of his smile. Light flows through, as his flesh merges with mine, and sensation pulses through me. On appearance he has loved me for half a lifetime, in my mid - life crisis, only in my dreams. He is probably a philandering cheat, and I wouldn't have him even if he begged for me with relentless forgiveness. My hot flash now passes, as my body collapses from my unbeknown mental interlude with a perfect stranger. The city is so magical at Christmas time that dreams take shape and fly.
The prickling and polishing of my mid - life crisis, as I stand on a balcony in Tuscany. Appearing very demure in the eyes of a very proper European man looking up at me from the cobblestone below. I can tell by his firm muscular calves and hamstrings, that running is a great part of his daily life. I am intrigued at the thought. Feeling his animalcule need to undress me with his eyes, I open a bit of wishful lustful lace, as I lift my glass of pinot noir in thoughtful abandonment, in the sin of what is soon to come.
Tweeting birds waft through the tree outside my bedroom window, a gentle breeze blows away the weight of the world, coffee permeates the chill of December air, white clouds crisscross a light blue sky, a slow romantic melody plays, as he gazes seductively into my sleepy eyes, just before his cold and sudden departure.
My mid - life crisis serving up lust on my brain.
I phoned Ernest Hemingway this morning, thanking him for the note and flowers he left on my pillow.
Waking up on that strange cliff where the light of day just begins to seep through my window, blocks of prism like sunshine. Still heavily sedated in last night's dream, the doorman at Tiffany's lavishing me with diamonds and jewels. As delight overwhelms me, I wrap my body in pearls. In the heat of my drama, he too, has unknowingly entered my mid - life crisis, taking center stage, as I drape myself in his offerings. With Herculean effort I lift my hipbones from my bed, diamonds forever hitched to myintriguingly odd perception, that breakfast at Tiffany's never tasted so good, if only in seclusion of coveted dream. Lungs now fill with morning air.
An ornate surge of pleasure comes over me as I use my writing as a tool to a portal to somewhere else. Entering the mysterious realm of my thought, scrutinizing every corner, opening up every dramatic scar, as skin free-falls from my bones. I am working on my mid - life crisis, sipping champagne for breakfast with frivolous intentions.
Completely retelling of sadness and pain, of beauty and love, until electrical shock wears through my keyboard, connecting me the author, with you the audience, as you convince yourself you can parallel the barest most secretive spots of your life. Everyone has muddy water in his or her life, as a writer, I try to shape words into something that I, and my audiences, can greater understand. The pain and purgatory of life, as all the love and beauty in life, each has its own course chapters in each of my stories, each of my books. Taking events so personal, characters pull you into their beliefs; make you think of your own. Already waist high in writing of Naked in front of GOD book 2, as Folds of Flesh debuts, and book 1 of my Naked series soon follows.
Rightfully assuring myself that I am entitled to a mid-life crisis like everyone else, I am spending my day in the rain plotting and designing it. Perhaps, my writing, is my mid - life crisis, or, perhaps, it is more lewdly suggestive of impulsive narrative just before I design my mid - life crisis. You know the one, where I slip out in the mid of the night, drive to JFK airport, catch a flight to Paris, and live on the Riviera for a year writing in behavior lewdly suggestive of mania, dancing all night and skinny-dipping at dawn. I have a zillion plausible ideas. I have only just begun!
Observing the world today with a calibrated need of disinterest, wafting esoterically into someone else, some other time and place, joyfully fulfilling my romantic tragic role in my own screenplay. Consciously aware of my nakedness in the breeze, pausing at details in my shadow, reabsorbed by the notion of my own body, no one knows of the thought I am drinking from. Raucous and wild, breaking near pandemonium, recognizing a primacy to my own need, want and desire.
An alien in the fog ponders the wonders of life. Bartering with herself and god, turning tempest thought into justification. Wondering if sweat left on the pavement isn't just a bit of bleed from old wounds, a sacrificial offering as legs lean forward against her own sea of ritual awakening. Convincing self of something so much more, as secrets hold tight within her lips.
Don’t we all just bleed a little from other people’s wounds? Is that not then, the art of human caring?
The world, in cinematic play thinks it knows me. Noting the answer to my riddles will never be made so obvious, as I float in hypnotic state, pulse capturing me, forcing breath to dangle on the edge, sky almost transparent, as my body moves seamlessly into it’s own country.Sweat staining my sleeve with very private thought in an underestimated sort of comfort, a very silent posture of repose. Steadying myself, deeply breathing, knowing all too well, the deer thinks he knows me, yet knows nothing of the nudity of my thought. Shrouded in seaweed and lace, I hide my denouement.
Smoldering dangerously close to euphoria, as revelations come in a seminal moment, utterly familiar, yet entirely unknown, emerging from my former self . Magnetic force pulls me toward an embrace of cold morning air. Once again, a light beneath my flesh turns on, as droplets stream beneath my breasts in a cascade of pearls down my navel.
The ruddy glow of my thighs, the warm vapor stream of breath in front of my chilled lips, profoundly sure I should leave cold New York, for perhaps, the warm romance of Paris. Pathetically realizing however, that I cannot even utter a word of French, I trudge along. Splattering of cold chilling my flesh in a hedonistic affair down to my bones, liberated from the cold, drunk on adrenaline. Finding it difficult to reconstruct the origin of thought that running in the cold air is good for me.
Although my running is my meditative, contemplative start to each of my days, I will be blogging under the toxic influence of untold tales and truths of life in my upcoming days. As my books come to print, more of my stories will unravel onto my blog. Daily observations, mindful thought, flesh and bones bareness, and truths others would dare not say.
So you think you know me?
I love the rain in summer, I hate the cold in winter, I dance naked when no one is home, I love music and wine like it is my job, and oh by the way, Adele, to me, is a god! I like vintage, and I like lace, flats and heels, chunky artsy jewelry, and those ‘little black dresses”. I love books, and books love me. Authors have amassed small fortunes from my spending alone. I dream, I philosophize, I write, I breath, I run, I meditate, I sweat, I fear, I rationalize, I love, I miss, I ponder, I methodically organize my reasoning and thoughts, I think things through, and sometimes not, I love what I love, I hate what I hate, I am impulsive when it feels good, or when it doesn’t, but then afterwards feels lewdly incredible. I can carelessly pick myself up, and then land myself down, a gypsy by trade. I like subdued sexy, the feel of the sun on my skin, the music in my soul, and every brand new day that is offered up to me. Born of Irish Catholic stoic decent, I have learned it takes letting your hair down in life to really live in purest abandonment. I write letters to myself, and on occasion, to someone else. Always send thank you notes, and no, not email ones, how rude. I go to church religiously, thankful to God for all of his and my private conversations and his answering of my prayers. I believe in him, he believes in me, my seat awaits me every Sunday. Antiques fill every idle corner of my living space, the old, the worn, the hidden character of yesterday. I adore them all, the dark wood, and the iron gates. My most appeal would have to be, the beauty I see in rocks, oh how most alluring to me. The colors, the granites, the shapes, and the boulders I have collected over my years. They sit in my garden, on my steps, in my house, on kitchen counters, dining room centerpieces. They are as small as the palm of my hand, and large enough to need a crane to hoist. Yes, my rocks are truly a statement of who I am, they are firm, solid and strong, and they diffuse a sense of power and beauty.
Hypnotic sight of the ground disappearing beneath my feet, as the hurried sensation of the world’s humming enters the chamber of my heart. So, you think you know me? I have only just begun!
