lamppppwood handmirrorgoldeyes
AUTHORS NOTE: If I haven’t mentioned it clearly, my little Muse adventures are puzzle pieces to a big old puzzle I’m working on in that super secret underground bunker I have, in a undisclosed location of course. All will become clear my lovelies, I’m just dropping snippets here and there as I weave everything together in that underground bunker. I just thought perhaps I should let you know that there’s more to the Muse than meets the eye. I’m being careful because- spoilers- let’s just say Catt’s (yes, she has a name! yay!) Muse has a habit of disappearing. Like a lot. Let’s join Catt as her Muse returns. Again.)
“Ooooh, I know! Let’s have a girls night! We’ll watch a movie and if you’re good we can have a pillow fight!”
My muse appears unannounced, a white flag waving enthusiastically in each hand. Each flag turns into a pompom then disappears.
“Truce,” she states simply then gives me a curtsy.

A bottle of champagne sits in an ice-filled bucket awaiting our attention. She strides across the living room and sinks into my sofa.
I just watch her.

“Come on,” she pats the couch and waves me over, “it’s already begun. Chocolate?”
She gestures toward the coffee table, now groaning under the weight of an array of chocolate treats.
She knows how to get to me.

I decide to play along.
“What’s the occasion?”
I don’t know how I kept the tone in my voice so casual when I wanted to strangle her. Figuratively speaking, I quickly thought. Just in case she was doing that weird mind-reading thing she sometimes does. So unfair I can’t do that, it would simple up an awful lot of things.
Instead of strangling her I sit next to her. Flies and honey and all that.
Hating to let so much good chocolate go to waste I grab a few Reeses Minis and pop them in my mouth. I let the chocolate melt away leaving me to savor the creamy peanut butter center.

“It’s the End Times you know,” she says matter-of-factly, “we’ve been waiting ages for this. Although you know, donuts really are more apocalypse-friendly, less chance of melting in your hands.”
She looks down her nose at the chocolate-heavy table and lets out a distasteful sniff. I intentionally suck the melted chocolate from my fingers while peering at her from the corner of my eye. She was staring at nothing intently. Ignoring me. I hate being ignored.
“Uh, 2012’s been and gone. The Mayans lost, no end times.”

I pop another Reeses Mini in my mouth. Chocolate and peanut butter beat donuts any day in my book.
She continues to ignore me.
I think of Buffy and the Scoobies and all the donuts they went through. They never seemed to gain weight though, well, except for Xander.
“How many bakeries do they have in Sunnydale anyway?”
I mumble the words around a sudden mouthful of jelly-donut and wonder who I’d have to fight to eat the last one. I hate jelly-donuts but sometimes I can’t help thinking like a Scoobie. Why did my mind have to pick
now to go off on a Buffy-tangent.

“Pay attention if you want to learn anything,” she snaps.”And shut your pie-hole, it’s about to start.”
“What’s about to start?”
The jelly-donuts had turned back into yummy chocolate goodness so I ignore her snark.
“The Beginning Of The End,” she announces with a hand twirl. “This one’s going to be a guaranteed blockbuster chica! Oscar worthy!”
Her normally dark eyes changed, swirled shades of gold mixed with miniscule flecks of fire.
“I hate that fake Hollywood star shit.”
The look she shot me should have burned a hole through me I swear.
“You puny humans are all stars in your own puny little worlds, now catch.”

She tosses me a beautifully carved ivory hand-mirror.
A jumble of words scroll across the reflective surface like the credits at the start of a blockbuster movie.
I make out a few familiar names in the cast of characters.
“Hey! I know them! What are they doing in my movie?” I ask her.
“It’s the Apocalypse,” she sneers, “there’s room for everyone.”

world in handplanetdjinn hand

to be continued…

{May 31, 2013}   Sometimes She Gently Weeps

she sits there
nearly weeping and headed for broken
missing the caress of his fingers flying
hard and fast
soft and easy
she takes whatever he dishes out
and he makes her scream
if so inclined
she always gives him what he wants
he takes her places
the lowest of lows
the highest of highs
that rough and tumble rush
never far behind

he’s been neglecting her
walks by too often
weeks into months unavoidable
she simmers

she feels the longing in his more frequent glances
tries to lure him with her beauty and curves
silently willing him to take her in his arms
waiting for the chains to break as rust flakes into dusty piles

she yearns for his touch always
her back against the wall ever patient

his fingers linger gentle as he passes by more often these days
enough to let her know she’s in his thoughts if not his hands
she will stay there
for him to bring her to life again
creating perfect harmony

{May 31, 2013}   A Sense of Absence

After reading this I will forever look at old photographs with a different eye…beautifully written!

City Jackdaw

Old photographs. I love old photographs, the older the better.

I love them, but I am haunted by the people in them.

I am not talking about spirits or spectres.

What it is that haunts me is a sense of absence.

The absence of the people in the photographs themselves-the fact that they are no longer here with us, their energy and essence now gone, creating a vacuum where they once took up space.

But it is not just an absence of the people that haunts me.

I am haunted also by the absence of resolution.

In most cases our questions remain unanswered, we will never know who these people were, what was in store for them after these photographs were taken. Did they go on to have good lives? Were their lives a success, or a struggle? Did they escape the squalor? Do their lines continue down to us…

View original post 698 more words

AUTHORS NOTE: So here’s another song I wrote for my band…one night we had this gig and in the middle of the set I noticed my ex was there watching me fronting my own band, just like he used to do. When he was alive I mean. We were each other’s true-love-forever for years, also each other’s first relationship and that story gets an entire book but the point is he’s been dead around ten years but he visits me from time to time still, I guess he figured he’d stop by to check it out since it was the old neighborhood and all. Anyway this song wrote itself the next day. I talk too much.
I feel you slip into my mind like a one-way trip to paradise
sneaking past your Mama’s room ’cause you never could take her advice
she told you I was dangerous, I was taking you for a ride
that the only thing I’d do for you was tear you up inside
ain’t it funny how it turned out

leather jacket Mustang love, we were parking by the corner bar
foggy windows concrete angels took it just a bit too far
when the cops brought down your door that night you took the fall
I guess you really meant those things you told me after all
ain’t it funny how it turned out, I’m looking down at you

insatiable an appetite habitually bored
even though I left you still I left you wanting more
“Angie” on the radio would always make you cry
I thought you really meant it when you said your last goodbye
ain’t it funny how it turned out, I’m looking down at you
ain’t it funny how it turned out, I’m looking round for you

mental manipulation
So I wake up extra early today (that was hours ago)fully intending to play catch-up today.
Yesterday was wasted spent in the emergency room with my Dad. He’s 86 years old and healthier than I am but he’s at that age where doctor visits are something he arranges as often as possible just for something to do.
He’s got a regular good old fashioned pulled muscle that somehow miraculously disappears when he does his daily early morning walk. Oh it’s also not there when he goes for his daily 3:15pm on the nose visit to the old man bar down the street.
Or when he walks his already-read newspaper over to the neighbors house every morning.
Or when he goes out for lunch every single day.
Or when he goes to the American Legion to plot with the other Veterans as they try and figure out a way to keep non-Veterans out of the bar.
I think you get the picture.
I know full well and good he’s manipulating the hell out of me.
I know he’s taking advantage of my middle-child mentality and besides, I don’t have a “real” job. Writing is not an acceptable employment option where he’s concerned; work equals a paycheck and I’m not getting a paycheck therefore I do not work.
Apparently I sit around eating bonbons all day even though I never ate a bonbon in my life.
(Breathe self, breathe.)
My inside voice whispers “do it for Mom” so I do.
My Father’s idea of Heaven is living alone without any help from his 3 kids. He has friends you know, he doesn’t need us, as he likes to tell me every time I talk to him.
Hey, how’d I let my Father hijack my post?
I’m trying to talk about me me meeeeeeeeee!!!!!

Me, full of good intentions wanting to do everything at once.
Me, with so many emails in my inbox I’m afraid to even look because I’m nearing the 5k mark for unread emails and I’m not even counting here. Or facebook. Or twitter. Or my other email account. Or the stack of unopened mail giving me dirty looks.
Me, who wants to write all the time only.
Me, with the carpal tunnel acting up which makes it awesome trying to do anything that involves using my hands. (heed my warning- don’t have surgery if you have carpal tunnel, it not only didn’t work, it made it worse)
Me, depressed.
Me, overwhelmed.
Me, needing my Mother.
Me, on the verge of those goddamn tears again.

Does anyone know where I can return all these feelings? I don’t even want my money back.

{May 29, 2013}   Chewing On The Marrow


i’d walk through the woods year-round,
the ones up the street, before they tore down my playground
tender-skin innocent and full of wonder
gonna-be-in-trouble-for bare feet sinking and dragging deep into sandy soft clay
slipping through the pines like a pirate queen
splitting twigs from white birch
and chewing on the marrow,
savoring the almost-taste of birch beer in the near-night,
one eye on the streetlights
calculating the race home and ready to run

i buried a piece of me deep in the weeds back then,
memorized the map in case i forgot me

you found me there that late summer night
innocence bruised and a pocketful of wonder
like one of those heroine girls in a juicy beach-read
you found me flushed and breathless
the uncontrollable reaction you wore curled around me snake-like
pulling me closer to the fire

you leaned me against my tree,
strong and weathered and huge from feeding on all my secrets
humid air thick and heavy
pre-dawn quiet muggy
and when you kissed me
you almost tasted like birch beer
with a little bit of mischief mixed in

{May 29, 2013}   Persephone Letters

AUTHORS NOTE: Ok so here’s the deal; Persephone (yeah, that one)doesn’t have many friends since she married Hades. Not a lot of ‘BFF’ potential when you spend most of your time living in the bowels of Hell and all that. Thelxiepeia is a Siren and Persephone’s best friend and confidante. Due to their circumstances (more on that later, bits and pieces my lovelies, bits and pieces) the bulk of their interactions are through letters, good old fashioned hand written letters. Oh, there is internet in Hell but Persephone doesn’t trust Hades enough to send personal letters electronically, he has a habit of snooping through her email. Saying anymore would be telling not showing (or is it the other way around?) so please to enjoy one of the many letters Seff wrote to Thellie, more to follow after I, rather Persephone, writes them.

Dear Thellie,
I’m finally home.
It seems like forever since I’ve been above ground.
After spending so much time wandering along the River Styx it feels wonderful being able to stretch my legs against the beautiful backdrop of the Atlantic Ocean.
Hades fought me tooth and nail this time.
He didn’t want me to leave at all.
“We’ll never work things out if you keep leaving me” has become his mantra.
Working things out is the last thing on my mind these days Thellie, and oddly, I don’t care.
Not anymore.
So much time has been wasted trying to make something of this farce of a marriage yet the only one trying has been me.
I’ve just about run out of patience.
We had another argument as I was leaving, this is nothing new of course but there was something different about this one.
Where I usually find myself yelling loud enough to frighten even the Reaper himself, this time I was deadly quiet.
I gave him nothing.
Hades did his best to bait me but I refused to bite.
He even went so far as to accuse me of taking a lover.
A year ago I would have gotten my back up at his insinuating I was unfaithful knowing that unfaithfulness is one of his specialties.
Now when I hear these words it just makes me wonder why I haven’t taken a lover.
I’m being hung for a crime I never committed dear friend but if the truth be known, I wish he was right.
I’m so lonely Thellie.
Hades does nothing to ease my loneliness, in fact he does everything he can to keep me isolated.
He’s been hiding most of my correspondence too.
I found a box full of letters addressed to me hidden away in his safe when I opened it to put away some of my jewels.
Hades has gone too far this time.
PS: I can’t wait to see you, we have much to talk about, things that are best said face to face rather than on paper. I’m hoping that will be enough to lure you here as soon as possible, I did learn a few lessons from you after all sweet Siren xx

{May 28, 2013}   Sleepy Haiku

Sometimes you see me
Even when i hide
It’s the wind ,you laugh

{May 28, 2013}   Good Old Summer Time

waiting for the finally
longer than i’d care to admit
though my hackles rise on occasion
when the in-between times stretch out longer than expected

because it crackles between us
lightening-like and out of the blue
jolts me alive and i can breathe again
though it puzzles me, how it goes unnoticed
another side effect of invisibility i suppose
one of those mixed blessing things I’ve read about in books

it confuses me sometimes
your push-pull back-and-forths
then i remember you built a room inside your head
just for me,
and i wonder if you know about the one i built for you
it never even occurred to me you’d care
because i don’t know this game
and the rules are on a sliding scale

it teases at me though
like that first day of summer when the sweat drips down the back of your neck
or that late summer heat wave all crouched down on your front porch
it all rolls into one continuous wave of delightful anticipation

i can smell it now
just a hint of it there in the back of my throat
like honey dripping down
with maybe a dash of something spicy
too elusive to pin down,

just another thing we have in common
it’s when you tickle my senses without even trying
that’s when the shiver kicks in
to remind me what i’m waiting for

I’m going slightly mad.
Now before your get your panties in a knot I am not trying to take credit for that line, the One and Only Freddie Mercury used that line in a song of the same title.
(a moment of silence for the genius that was Freddie Mercury- another one gone too soon)
I could write down all the lines of that song right here right now, but that would be wrong. (Even though the lyrics are an apt description of my current state of mind.)
I could write down all the lines of a song I’ve written myself called ‘Dancing With Dementia’.(And I just may do that in another post.)

Instead I will give a virtual scream as I contemplate the road before me. (insert really loud angsty-type scream here.)

I’ve mentioned before that I have severe time management problems. I wish I could say I’m getting it under control but nope, it’s getting worse.
Somehow, someway, the people in my immediate life seem to think that I’m Gumby.
I am pulled in more directions than actually exist. I am Wonder Women without superpowers which leaves me a woman who wonders how the hell I’m going to juggle everything I need to juggle and still find time for my own damn self.

My phone rings thirteen thousand two hundred forty nine and a half times per day.
That would be a modest estimate.

It’s all “Joanne can you do _____ for me?”, “Joanne can you take me ______ right now?”, “Joanne how do I _____?”, “Joanne did you finish _____ yet?”, “Joanne when will you be able to _____?”, “Joanne why didn’t you _____ yet?” “Does this look clean enough?” “How does this taste?” “What do you think I should eat?” “Did you see my glasses?” “Could you get me a beer?” “Did you/could you/will you/can you/why didn’t you/when will you”, I think you get my point.

I don’t want to bore you with the details (a little late for that, huh?), mostly because the phone just rang again while I was writing this sentence and my train of thought went flying out the window.

See what I mean?

I’m a weird mixture of a Type A personality and a Type B personality.
Does that mean I’m Type A- or possibly Type B+ ?
Is there a whole entire new personality Type, say, a Type J personality as in J for jerk because I am a resentful doormat? A people pleaser? An optimistic idiot? A pessimistic Pollyanna?

I’m in a world of wacky and I still worry about disappointing people.
I wonder if I will ever worry about people disappointing me?

Oh yeah, the public service announcement part; I’m sorry if I don’t get to things around here in a timely manner.
It’s not my usual modus operandi.
It also makes me cranky when I give my word which then gets smashed to smithereens because I’m everything to everybody these days.
I fear it may get to the point where my word means nothing and that, my friends, is one of my biggest worries.
When I say something I mean it.

Unfortunately my life has been abducted and I see no horizon, just endless choppy waves trying to kick my ass and keep me from my own desires, one of which is writing.

Look, this is what it all boils down to: if I don’t get my hands on a Tardis or any kind of time machine and soon, I may start screaming and never stop.
(But if I do get a time machine than ‘soon’ is just relative, right?)

Oh man, I need _______. (because I’m in such a kerfuffle I don’t even know what ______ is.)

Nothing worse than an aimless rant.
Sorry about that chief.

We now return you to your regularly scheduled programing.

et cetera