Love is a whore at the corner of Hooker Lane and Prostitute Crescent.
You wanted to pay. Do it and leave. That's the way it's suppose to happen. But it doesn't quite go like that. She is looking at your eyes and she sees something and it feels like love to her. She cries and her tears are real. She touches your face with her pretty little hand and goosebumps run up your spine and you lose your breath.
You kiss her and stroke her hair and you are staring into her eyes as her pain grabs you by the biceps and touches your heart. So you just hold her you hold her and you love her as if she is a beam sent for you to project sent for you to protect.
She opens up and says words you heard in her tears. You listen you hold her and you just listen as she peers into your subconscious to sit with the frightened child inside of you. You take each others hands and you roll in the softness of the innocence of your childhood. Your silly hopes and dreams. Hopes and dreams that back then were anything but silly.
She is beautiful. She is barely twenty. And you? Well you are going on thirty or is it forty.
You pray God will save her. Not pray you mumble it. Her smile tells you she knows. She feels like your responsibility and you don’t want her to die on the street working her corner. You don’t want to feel but you do. You are a weaved outer core of veins and you do. You feel everything. You are her.
She looks in the White Knight eyes she pinned on your face and you know the pins are there and you see her with your Gladiator brights.
You make love to her and she loves you back and holds you in her dream of what might have been. She is your Queen and you have stripped your armor, stripped your flesh and your organs. You are naked in her shine. You are raw in her light.
Sex? Sex costs one hundred and fifty bucks! Sex? Sex is two dogs humping in the park. Sex is not love, it is empty. Empty because the person is a stranger and there is no emotional connection.
At least that is what you thought.
But one day you are 53 years old and you think of your one hour bought woman. Did I say woman? She was a girl a vulnerable lost girl.
It is more than ten years later and you still remember her. That single hour in your life and it is engraved on your skull. Tattooed to your mind. Just one word. FOREVER. You can barely remember six year long relationships but you can still remember the touch of a woman, yes a woman you were with for just one hour in your life. You can still feel her skin. Her tears still burn like molten lava.
She is still on your palette; you still feel every word that penetrated your hide and struck the part of you that was her. You remember it. Not as a single moment but as every tick of the clock, and the multitudes of emotions, of thoughts, of realizations, of questions that existed in each and every second and you wonder...
Maybe you can buy love. Or at least find it on the other end of a financial transaction, maybe once you did..
Maybe love doesn't last three hundred and sixty five pages like in a novel. Maybe love isn't roses from the first frame to the closing credits, with a beginning a middle and an end
Maybe love is the memory of a 60 minute love affair with a working girl you met all those years ago. A memory safe and sound, written and produced, neatly tucked in the black vinyl grooves on the highway between your heart and your brain.
I am in a wheat field, alone; the husks are tall and abundant, I break them in my hand, bringing them to my face I smell the grains, it is a good crop.
I walk through the field, knowing not one other human life, stirs, not one hundred miles within a three hundred and sixty degree radius of me.
There are screams, the voices of millions; I want to close my ears, instead I listen. A drop of dew rolls off and splatters like an ocean on the earth at my feet. Was it the plants or was it me? Who cries, a planet lost?
I no longer know when I am thinking or speaking, I have no awareness of bodily functions I have stopped counting time, stopped keeping time I no longer know how long I have been here.
The rain will come before the sun falls. It will be good for the crop. The plants are thirsty.
I walk to the farm house. A red tiled, clay roof. A bricked chimney. The walls are bright white. A fresh coat reflects a blinding light. I am glad all the same. The only sound is from below as my feet crush The foliage that covers the ground. I listen to every crunch.
Noise! I smile. I like hearing. I like sounds. I have not oiled hinges, since long ago. I like the squeak it makes; it seems to get louder everyday. Noise!
I enter my humble abode. I laugh. I say it again. My humble abode. I like the sound. I say it several times, more. I laugh. I love my laugh. What a great laugh. What a pleasure it is to laugh.
It is warm out but I light a small log in the fire place, I sit in front staring, listening. After a while it sings to me, Jimmy crack corn and I don't care, buy me some peanuts and Cracker Jack.
I love the sound wood makes, the several different colors of fire. I am silent motionless. I love the show. I watch, listen. Until it’s over and only the ashes remain.
There are screams, the voices of millions; I want to close my ears, instead I listen. A drop of dew rolls off and splatters like an ocean on the earth at my feet. Was it the house or was it me? Who cries, a planet lost?
I am hungry. I eat bread with tomato, cucumber and sprouts. I eat. Slowly. Savor every bite. Fresh. I do not taste acid. That is good. The water is clean.
The tomatoes burst in my mouth. The seeds riddle the back of my throat. The cucumbers crunch and quench my thirst. The sprouts tickle the back of my throat.
But the bread is the best of all fresh from the wood oven still warm. My compliments to the chef I think and once again I laugh. A belly laugh. It is a good joke. I am the chef. I laugh some more.
I must have closed my eyes when it got dark. I always do. Then visions and stories fill my sensibilities. I love it. I have made my way outside and I am sitting looking up. The Sun is at the bottom making its way back up. It is a light show against the sky.
I wish I could add logs to it and hear it crackle. I am amazed by this gift and I thank Mother. I am flying inside myself. My face wants to burst at the lips. I do not budge; I swallow it all through my eyes. Taste it carefully never biting once.
I revel in the silent music the golden heat plays. I touch it inside out. I inhale the scents of the yellow globes slow walk back to the top. My house absorbs it all. The whole drama plays perfectly on its large perfect colorless wall.
I still have colorless liquid in the barn. There is so much of it. All the tools to use it, there are many brushes and trays and poles and ladders. I will spend the light painting the house today. I love the glow, and the funny smell leaves quickly enough. Today will be a busy day for me.
The world is quiet, it is empty and still I breathe. I wonder if I am the only creature left. How will I replicate. Mother is beautiful. She will always be here, perhaps it is better it ends with me, perhaps it is. to be continued... armandhamouth
It is ironic how allergic one can be without even realizing it.
I made a clean break from all the irritants in my life. I was allergic to certain pollens in the air. I also stopped consuming nuts and foods with even traces of nuts.
I needed a breath of fresh air. Certain irritants can cause you to cough and grasp for air.
Secondly I needed to clear my plate of all the nuts and other produce who may have come in contact with them.
For the first time in months I am healthy and happy. I am calm and at peace. The secret to happiness was simple. I found out what gave me allergic reactions and I stayed away from these toxic relationships.
I have replaced my love for nuts with a new appreciation for the simple uncomplicated lot.
Did you know that chocolate is an aphrodisiac. A nice side effect of my new love.
Look at your life closely, find out what you’re allergic to and make a clean break. No use owning a pet if you're allergic to animal dander. You may love them but in the end it comes to no good.
The irritants you can’t avoid use the best medicine I could find for my allergies. It’s an organic product called “living well is the best revenge.”
It is amazing how well it works to know you are happy and irritant free. It is in the category of mind over matter. If you don’t mind them they don’t matter.
Guaranteed, the secret to happiness is to get rid of all the irritants in your life. I didn't even know I was allergic.
We had been married thirteen years. We had two daughters aged four and one year old. I had no idea what she wanted to talk about that day. We went into our bedroom and closed the door. There were no traces of any hatchets, but by God one was about to fall.
I only heard the first few sentences before the room went silent. Her lips were moving but the words made no sound. The echo of my heart was beating in my empty skull. I started counting the beats, as a cold invisible sweat rolled down my brow.
My body was drowning in an unforgiving ditch of sinking mud. The atmosphere was a sandpaper grating against the grain of my senses. I know my lips were moving too. I gather we were speaking. Even the chair I was sitting on betrayed me as it plugged itself into the wall.
There was no call from the governor. The sentence was death by a lethal injection of ‘it is over, I want a divorce.’ My wife of thirteen years ended our relationship that day. It would be the last time our skin would even brush against one another.
If love is bliss, if it is the light then unrequited love is the switch that extinguishes the Sun. Everything we had built in over a decade was finished in just minutes.
“I am not in love with you,” repeated itself in the annals of the entire universe. Surely, the planets were no longer aligned; the stars must have lost their brilliance that day. At least the traffic must have stopped and the economy crumbled worldwide. Was Earth still on its axis? Did gravity not fail us?
Not as much as a mosquito bite was affected that day. All was as it should be. Life was as fine as rain, the day my world stopped spinning and fell off its axis. The day gravity released my body and the free fall that ensued. I was stripped of flesh, raw, completely exposed to the ravages of the elements and no one cared.
I cried that day, I cried until I could cry no more and then I cried again. I cried everyday for the next five years.
Everyday I would mop up the puddle of blood I stood in. It would stick to my shoes and glue me motionless to the floor. I was incapacitated by the bleeding the daring of all my yesterdays. That was my today and there was no tomorrow.
There is no pain like the rejection of the love of your life. I was monogamous then and I am monogamous now. One life, one love. It took me another two years to stop crying completely and another three to grow a new spine.
Finally, a person I was ready to love again. I was ready to meet my one. It was, it is a brand new day and I am searching for my one love. I think I have found her, time only time will answer that question again. It feels good to be alive. It feels good to smell the flowers in the rain.
BOY He had painted a poem earlier on. He read it over and over again. He tried to make each word worth a thousand pictures. Satisfied he signs it.
It's one a.m., he's been watching porn for about an hour. He's bored and restless and decides he will go to the club.
He is wearing a pair of tight jeans and a white T-shirt tattooed to his torso.
Have you ever felt like the leftovers from the butchers table? All ground up and ready to be made into patties. Have you ever felt like meat boy?
A lit cigarette in mouth seems glued to the top of his lip. It hangs there barely touching his flesh.
The minute he steps out the door, he imagines they're all there as if they were waiting for him. Ready to roast him over an open spit.
. It is almost 2 a.m now and all the pop tarts are on the street, fresh out of the toaster.
He walks alone to his own brush. Every muscle flexed he owns it. It's distinctly his walk.
Chantal walks toward him she's staring. He tries to peer into her soul. She won't look him in the eyes.
As she passes Babette grabs him. He doesn't flinch.
Looking at her he takes his cigarette and he flicks it a mile and a half . "Hey Babette!” he whisper, like he was shaking a man's hand. He doesn't say another word.
He keeps walking, pass the street lights and into the dark alone. The Earth is void of another breathing creature. He travels in the safety of his own thoughts.
He takes in a deep breath. He can taste all the desire in the filthy night air. Hear the screams of months past. As he gets closer to the club, he even hears the friction of dancing flesh.
He has reached the Black Hole that is his Universe. Even before he makes it to the door of the club. Lynette shoves him against a brick wall. Hard! She puts her tongue down his throat and licks his lungs.
She grabs him with her tiny little hand. He smells her a scent subtle but distinct stirs up feelings in him.
They don't advertise the entrance. It's very dark just outside the club. Yet he still knows now. He doesn't stop. She owns him. It is Lynette, it's not Lynette. He imagines he doesn't know her. She Pulls him into the alley.
He lets her take him. He does nothing to stop her.
He spends the next while swimming in a pool of pornographic imagery.
She takes control and takes him on the adult ride at the fairway. Lucky! He is just tall enough to get on.
He leaves to float above and watch himself with her. Raw flesh! He stares, as he feels her pulling in and out. They are both there but he only sees her. Everything she is races through his mind.
He looks at himself. His face is blank. She treats him to uncharted territory as she massages deep inside of him.
He floats back to be whole, to hold her, and ride her. Driving hard, fast and mean working the ride to its climax.
The brakes screech and they go catatonic in perfect sync. Neither one of them makes a sound. They stand there motionless, grasping for air. Holding the moment. For a second, a minute, for a lifetime.
He slowly walks out.
For a second...
She holds him gently.
They look at one another.
Their eyes are adjusted to the dark now. She maps every inch of his face with one finger.
Tongues touch lips lock and they just hold
...for a lifetime.
And even before she leaves. He knows she's gone.
Calmly he lights a cigarette, walks to the door of the club and he walks down the stairs. He looks around as his body vibrates to the movement of the music.
There she is waiting for him on the floor. His hips are loose and his legs start to lead as he takes her in his arms and dances
Hello, my name is Janis I’m a rag doll. They say I’m not but I know I am. Red braided wool hair. Button eyes. Sewn red lips, curled up. All stuffed inside with warmth and smiles. Cheeks red.
They locked me here in this hospital they say I am crazy.
I make stuffed animals. I would sell them to the toy store near where I use to live. Not factory toys they seem so dead. They're all the same, toxic and not at all pretty.
If you want a child to understand beauty you have to expose them to beauty. Why give them a factory made toy. It would be better to give them a stick at least it has life.
Sometimes when I find toys thrown out, broken, I bring them home, I fix them and I breathe life into them.
They let me bring my favorites with me to this hospital. I hate the smell, here at the hospital it is toxic. My toys their like my family, here they are on the shelf I made them all. I must brush them please.
Hello, Bibs he’s the youngest so I brush him first! He has a bushy squirrel tail. I used seventeen different colors in his tail just barely different each one. There you go Bibs all done.
(Whispering) I have to do Wendy next she’s a Fox but she gets very jealous that she’s not first. Shhhh, it’s adorable she is so finicky.(Janis lets out a loving laugh)
Everyday I brush them all and we talk and play.
I know their toys but they live within my heart. These are the ones I could not sell. Never!
I don’t know why they locked me here. It’s as if they knocked the stuffing from within me. I try not to get angry but I am angry.
Why would they do this to me? I know I’m different but that’s alright because I’m me. I think they’re afraid of me. People are always afraid of what they don’t understand.
I’m just Janis. I’m a rag doll, long red hair button eyes rosy cheeks a sewn own smile. I make handmade toys; I breathe life into each and everyone.
Please why am I here? Why won’t they let me be free?
What part of "respect the Earth" do we not understand?
Solitude cradles me. Safe in the arms of Mother Nature.
L`arc En Ciel
Sometimes we are so busy searching for the pot of gold we miss the Rainbow!
She could feel his breath against hers. Fueled by their love she drove a stretch of his fabric and consumed the fragrance of his skin . She shivered at the thought that they would ever part. As they continued to share lips she held on to the hope that she could trap and bottle this moment. In that way she could never lose him. armandhamouth
What trick is this? This ultimate experience and yet no words to define it. No words to replicate what I feel.
Spring walked the red carpet dressed in a suit of blossomingcolors that released a delicate inviting fragrance .Summer followed in a scorching hot vibrant green piece accentuated in bright yellow gold.Autumn in antique shades of reds and orange. A striking shawldropped beneath her shoulders. Winter appeared in a pure white evening gown. Each and every sequence separately sewn in.As seasons arrived all life showed up to marvel.
I no longer possessed my bags of dust. The Commission of the Light Empire had revoked my standing as Conjurer. They had disapproved of my relationship with a bearer of life and in their ignorance had ruled against me. I do not take well to punishment. Those life forms had underestimated me. Now the Olders would feel my wrath. I submerged my human heart in the pit of boiling ids. There I sacrificed my borrowed form. First however I had inhaled the woman I love and swore to never exhale again. Now with my partner safe within me all that was left to do was to bring my hands together. Like the flow of the rushing Bloodfalls so the Commission went. My bags of dust were back in my possession. My lover and I could etch out eternity as one and with life in her womb we would have much to celebrate. Perhaps even conjure a new world with life form created in our image.
Even angry Nature sends me ! My goosebumps shiver. If for just this moment I would climb a wall of glass while on fire. She feeds my passion, nature does, makes me say crazy things but never utter a lie.
THE WRITTEN WORD
Every day I would feed on a steady diet of words. I would consume ideas and thoughts and thrive on the creative genius of those who wrote before me. Everyday I would climb higher and higher in my attempt to grow.
The roses were like black ice dark as night. They lived in a crystal vase where they were fed their daily juice. My heart shivered to see them, they were toxic. Yet I noticed there was one that was still red. One with a healthy pulse. Its green leaves vibrant and its cobra sting intact. Just one still with a heart flow. An unmistakable life strength. It was on this one flower that I wagered my money. It was I knew this one rose who would take the lead and the rest would follow.
It gottothepointwhere noone knewwhere Cherylstarted andthe bookshe waswas readingended.
THROUGH MY EYES
As a child on the right evenings the moon would visit my bedroom window. I would skateboard on its crest. Now eighty I still visit with my old friend. Don`t let anyone ever steal your dreams.
It makes sense that we need to function as a team. Even one less pebble can bring down the lot.
Oh beautiful polluted sunset, you poisonous wench, how alluring and deceptive you are!
He left without a word while she was still asleep. They had fought the night before. She threw on her gown from the night before, pushed off the china vase he had given her. She listened to it crash to the floor and sat on the window sill where the bouquet and container had been. She was alone but at least she was the only flower. armandhamouth
The New Candidates for President and Vice President were very young but at least they would be in charge of their own future.
Death also has its purpose and its joy. It exists in the solace of its peace. Greet it with open arms and rest assured you live on in the thoughts of those you touched.Though we mourn in your absence we rejoice in the memories of you.
I for one...
...believe in Fairies!
They were very differentfrom each other and as one, just perfect!
He was not sure why he had stopped that day. Why he had removed his shoes and his socks or why he had rolled up his pants. However when he felt the pink warm sand under his feet and heard the voice of the ocean. It was on that day he made his decision. He threw away his wallet with out a second thought. It was his last link to the drug called society. It was on that day he was born, on that day, he started living .
She was the oldest of her breed but she was still a sight to behold. She was stunningarmandhamouth
A picture of a cherry tree dressed in blossoms left us speechless as we ignored the touched up colors and let our childhood memories paint the image with passion.armandhamouth
An ounce of imagination will save you a pound of effort.
What geniuses we humans are. After centuries of thought, using our combined intelligence, our sense of imagination, our creative initiatives, our passionate juices after all of that, our only solution for war is guns and bombs.
As I reflect on life, It occurs to me a real world exists in reflections!
UNITED STATE OF MEN
There are so many beautiful words that easily attach themselves to women why would any man ever need to lie.
She was a true tree huger and he seemed so 'write' for her besides he was well read!armandhamouth
.A multitude of vibrant colorscomplimentedthe fragrant scent thatveiled theair that morning.
IN THE NOW
This moment for all the green paper bills on the globe.
The day my wife told me it was over I don`t think she noticed I had dropped my glass. I don`t think she noticed what was obvious in the shadows. She broke my heart.